It had already been testified that the fatal shot was fired from a thirty-two calibre revolver. Every person present was alive with the thought that a critical moment in the inquest had come. “Yep; but I gave it away.” “When?” “The night o’ May tenth.” “To whom?” “To Jim Shepard. Jest as he was jumpin’ on the train, I took it out o’ my pocket an’ put it in his’n.” “Do you call that giving it away?” “Yep! That’s what I bought it fur. I don’t need one here; leastwise, I didn’t think so then; but he’s goin’ to a tarnel big place, an’ I thought he ought to had one, so I bought it an’ took it to the train with me that night an’ put it in his pocket.” “Did you say anything to him about it?” “I didn’t hev no time. I was goin’ to give it to him, but we hed to run for the train, an’ I clean forgot it till, jest as he struck the bottom step, I thought on it. All I could do was to chuck it into his pocket, whar his coat swung back.” “Did you see it go in?” “Nope: ’twas too dark.” “Was it loaded?” “All but one bar’l. I fired that off up in the woods that day an’ furgot to load it again.” “Call James Shepard.” Oldbeg started, and when his cousin came from a door back of the coroner, stood as one struck dumb. It was difficult to say what emotion was expressed in his face. Trafford watched him and acknowledged his own uncertainty. “Do you desire to change your testimony last given?” asked the coroner. “I’ve told the truth; I hain’t got nothin’ to change,” he said sulkily. James Shepard gave his testimony regarding his leaving Millbank and answered the questions put to him with reference to the stranger who took the same train, which, of course, simply led up to his disappearance somewhere between Augusta and Brunswick. Then came the question which all were awaiting: “Did your cousin give you a pistol the night you left Millbank?” “Not that I knows on. It’s the fust time I ever heerd about it.” “Do you own a pistol?” “Nope. I hain’t got no use fur a pistol an’ never had.” “Call William Buckworth.” A stout, elderly man, head of the firm of Buckworth & Tompson, notion dealers, came to the stand. After the preliminary questions, the coroner took from a drawer a pistol and handed it to the witness. “What is that?” “A thirty-two calibre Woodruff revolver.” “Did you ever see it before?” “Yes. I sold it on the eighth of May to Jonathan Oldbeg.” “Are you certain of the identity?” The witness then proceeded to the identification, which was absolute. “Are the chambers charged?” “Four are. One is empty and has recently been fired.” “Isaac Trafford will take the stand. “Do you recognize this pistol, Mr. Trafford, as one you have before seen?” “I do.” “State the circumstances.” “I found it on the morning of the twelfth of May hidden in the box hedge in the front yard of the Parlin house. It was in the box nearest the fence that separates the front yard from the driveway, and about twelve feet from the house.”