The little courtroom was jammed to its capacity. Hundreds, unable to gain admission, crowded about the entrance and filled the square. The town was in the throes of a vast excitement, what with the trial, the Indian uprising in the north, the escape of Martin Hawk and the flight of Barry Lapelle, hitherto regarded as a rake but not even suspected of actual dishonesty. The Paul Revere, with Captain Redberry in charge, had got away at daybreak, loaded to the rails with foot-loose individuals who suddenly had decided to try their fortunes elsewhere rather than remain in a district likely to be overrun by savages. Moll Hawk sat in front of the judge's table and at her side was Kenneth Gwynne. Mrs. Gwyn and Viola occupied seats on a bench near one of the windows, facing the jury. The prisoner was frightened. She was stiff and uncomfortable in the new dress the sheriff's wife had selected for her. Her black hair was neatly brushed and coiled in two thick lobs which hung down over her ears. Her deep-set eyes darted restlessly, even warily about her as she sat there in the midst of this throng of strange, stern-faced men. Now and then they went appealingly to Mrs. Gwyn or Viola or to the sheriff's wife, and always they seemed to be asking: "What are they going to do to me?" The prosecuting attorney, a young man of slender experience but chivalrous instincts, solemnly announced that he had but two witnesses to examine and then he was through. He called the undertaker to the stand. "In as few words as possible, tell the jury who it was that you buried yesterday afternoon." "Jasper Suggs." "Was he dead?" "He was." "That's all, your honour." "Any questions, Mr. Gwynne?" inquired the judge. "None, your honour." "Call your next witness, Mr. Prosecutor." "Mr. Sheriff, will you take the stand for a moment? Did you see the defendant along about four o'clock yesterday morning?" "I did." "State where." "At her father's cabin." "State what had happened there prior to your arrival, if you know." "This defendant had had a little difficulty with the corpse, and he was dead on the floor when we got there." "From a knife wound?" "Yes, sir." "Who inflicted that wound, if you know?" "Miss Mary Hawk." "You are sure about that, Mr. Sheriff?" "Pos-i-tively." "How can you be sure of that, sir, if you did not witness the deed with your own eyes?" The Court rapped on the table. "This is your own witness, Mr. Prosecutor. Are you trying to cross-examine him, or to discredit his testimony?" "I beg your honour's pardon." Kenneth arose. "We will admit that Jasper Suggs came to his death at the hands of the defendant." "In that case," said his gentlemanly adversary, "the State rests." "Judge" Billings was heard audibly to remark: "Give 'em an inch and they take a mile." "Order in the court! Call your first witness, Mr. Gwynne."