re
before now, stating that this witness was heard to make threats to
Tarbush yesterday afternoon, right after he was dismissed from my own
court upstairs. Mr. Jorgens, I believe you were there. What did this
young man say after he had for the second time assaulted Ephraim
Adamson--twice in one day, and entirely regardless of the rebuke of the
law?"

"He said, Mr. Coroner," replied Nels Jorgens gravely, even with sadness
in his face, "just when he came out of the crowd where he had left
Adamson laying on the ground already--he said to Tarbush, 'You'll come
next'--or I'll get you next'--something of that kind."

"Was he angry at that time?"

"Yes, Mr. Coroner, he was," said Nels Jorgens, against his will.

Ben McQuaid leaned over to whisper to Jerome Westbrook. "It seems like
this young fellow comes in here with his college education and
undertakes to run this whole town. Pretty coarse work, it looks like to
me."

Jerome Westbrook nodded slowly. He recalled Sally Lester's look.

Of all the six faces turned toward him from the scattered little group
of the coroner's jury, not more than two showed the least compassion or
sympathy. Don Lane's hot temper smarted under the renewed sense of the
injustice which had assailed him yet again.

"What's the game?" he demanded. "Why am I brought here? What's the
matter with you people? Do you mean to charge me with killing this man?
What have I done to any of you? Damn your town, anyhow--the rotten,
lying, hypocritical lot of you all!"

"The less you say the better," said the coroner; and the sheriff's
steady gaze cautioned Don Lane yet more.

"Now, gentlemen," went on Blackman, "we have heard a number of witnesses
here, and we have not found any man here that could bring forward any
sight or sound of any suspicious character in this town. There hasn't
been a tramp or outsider seen here, unless we except this young man now
testifying here. The man on whose body we now are a-setting hadn't a
enemy in this town, so far as has been shown here--no, nor so far as
anyone of us knows. There has been no motive proved up here which would
lead us to suspect anyone else of this crime."

Ben McQuaid once more leaned over to whisper to his seat-mate: "It's a
likely thing a man would be running for his health, a night like last
night, when he didn't have to! Ain't that the truth?"

The coroner rapped with his pencil on the table top. He was well filled
with the sense of his own import