Crossfire Trail (1953) by Louis L'amour

turned his head and motioned to Red Blazer.
    "Red, you get up there and tell the jury what you know."
    Red strode up to the chair that was doing duty for a witness stand and slouched down in the seat. He was unshaven, and his hair was uncombed. He sprawled his legs out and stuck his thumbs in his belt. He rolled his quid in his jaws, and spat.
    "I seen this here Caradec shoot Boyne," he said, "then he ups with his pistol and cut down on Bonaro, who was a standin' in the window, just a-lookin'."
    "Did Bonaro make any threatening moves toward Caradec?"
    "Him?" Red's eyes opened wide. "Shucks, no. Gee was just a standin' there. Caradec was afeerd of him, an' seen a chance to kill him and get plumb away."
    Rafe looked thoughtfully at Barkow. "Is the fact that the witness was not sworn in the regular way in this court? Or is his conscience delicate on the subject of perjury?"
    "Huh?" Blazer sat up. "What'd he say?"
    Barkow flushed. "It hasn't usually been the way here, but--"
    "Swear him in," Caradec said calmly, "and have him say under oath what he just said."
    He waited until this was done, and then as Red started to get up Rafe motioned him back.
    "I've got a few questions," he said.
    "Huh?" Red demanded belligerently. "I don't have to answer no more questions."
    "Yes, you do." Rafe's voice was quiet. "Get back on that witness stand!"
    "Do I have to?" Blazer demanded of Barkow, who nodded.
    If there had been any easy way out, he would have taken it, but there was none. He was beginning to look at Rafe Caradec with new eyes.
    Rafe got up and walked over to the jury.
    "Gentlemen," he said, "none of you know me well. None of us, as Barkow said, know much about how court business should be handled. All we want to do is get at the truth. I know that all of you here are busy men. You're willin' and anxious to help along justice and the beginnin's of law hereabouts, and all of you are honest men. You want to do the right thing. Red Blazer has just testified that I shot a man who was makin' no threatenin' moves, that Bonaro was standing in a window, just watching."
    Caradec turned around and looked at Blazer thoughtfully. He walked over to him, squatted on his haunches and peered into his eyes, shifting first to one side, then the other. Red Blazer's face flamed.
    "What's the matter?" he blared. "You gone crazy?"
    "No," Caradec said. "Just lookin' at your eyes. I was just curious to see what kind of eyes a man had who could see through a shingle roof and a ceilin'."
    "Huh?" Blazer glared.
    The jury sat up, and Barkow's eyes narrowed. The courtroom crowd leaned forward.
    "Why, Red, you must have forgot," Rafe said. "You were in the National when I killed Boyne. You were standin' behind Joe Benson. You were the first person I saw when I looked around. You could see me, and you could see Boyne--but you couldn't see the second-story window across the street!"
    Somebody whooped, and Pat Higley grinned.
    "I reckon he's right," Pat said coolly. "I was standin' right alongside of Red."
    "That's right!" somebody from back in the courtroom shouted. "Blazer tried to duck out without payin' for his drink and Joe Benson stopped him!"
    Everybody laughed, and Blazer turned fiery red, glaring back into the room to see who the speaker was, and not finding him.
    Rafe turned to Barkow and smiled.
    "Have you got another witness?"
    Despite herself, Ann Rodney found herself admiring Rafe Caradec's composure, his easy manner. Her curiosity was stirred. What manner of man was he? Where was he from? What background had he? Was he only a wanderer, or was he something more, something different? His language, aside from his characteristic Texas drawl, his manner, spoke of refinement, yet she knew of his gun skill as exhibited in the Boyne fight.
    "Tom Blazer's my next witness," Barkow said. "Swear him in."
    Tom Blazer, a hulking redhead even bigger than Red, took the stand. Animosity glared from his eyes.
    "Did you see the shootin'?" Barkow asked.
    "You're darned