Crossfire Trail (1953) by Louis L'amour Page A

right I did!" Tom declared, staring at Rafe. "I seen it, and I wasn't inside no saloon! I was right out in the street!"
    "Was Bonaro where you could see him?"
    "He sure was!"
    "Did he make any threatening moves?"
    "Not any!"
    "Did he lift a gun?"
    "He sure didn't!"
    "Did he make any move that would give an idea he was goin' to shoot?"
    "Nope. Not any." As Tom Blazer answered each question he glared triumphantly at Caradec.
    Barkow turned to the jury. "Well, there you are. I think that's enough evidence. I think ..."
    "Let's hear Caradec ask his questions," Pat Higley said. "I want both sides of this yarn."
    Rafe got up and walked over to Tom Blazer, then looked at the judge. "Your Honor, I'd like permission to ask one question of a man in the audience. He can be sworn in or not, just as you say."
    Gargan hesitated uncertainly. Always before, things had gone smoothly. Trials had been railroaded through, objections swept aside, and the wordless little ranchers or other objectors to the rule of Barkow and Shute had been helpless. This time preparations should have been more complete. He didn't know what to do.
    "All right," he said, his misgivings showing in his expression and tone.
    Caradec turned and looked at a short, stocky man with a brown mustache streaked with gray. "Grant," he said, "what kind of a curtain have you got over that window above your harness and saddle shop?"
    Grant looked up. "Why, it ain't rightly no curtain," he said frankly. "It's a blanket."
    "You keep it down all the time? The window covered?"
    "Uh-huh. Sure do. Sun gets in there otherwise, and makes the floor hot and she heats up the store thataway. Keepin' that window covered keeps her cooler."
    "It was covered the day of the shootin'?"
    "Shore was."
    "Where did you find the blanket after the shootin'?"
    "Well, she laid over the sill, partly inside, partly outside."
    Rafe turned to the jury. "Miss Rodney and gentlemen, I believe the evidence is clear. The window was covered by a blanket. When Bonaro fell after I shot him, he tumbled across the sill, tearin' down the blanket. Do you agree?"
    "Shore!" Gene Baker found his voice. The whole case was only too obviously a frameup to get Caradec. It was like Bonaro to try to sneak killing, anyway. "If that blanket hadn't been over the window, then he couldn't have fallen against it and carried part out with him!"
    "That's right." Rafe turned on Tom Blazer. "Your eyes seem to be as amazin' as your brother's. You can see through a wool blanket!"
    Blazer sat up with a jerk, his face dark with sullen rage. "Listen!" he said, "I'll tell you--"
    "Wait a minute!" Rafe whirled on him, and thrust a finger in his face. "You're not only a perjurer but a thief! What did you do with that Winchester Bonaro dropped out of the window?"
    "It wasn't no Winchester!" Blazer blared furiously. "It was a Henry!"
    Then, seeing the expression on Barkow's face, and hearing the low murmur that swept the court, he realized what he had said. He started to get up, then sank back, angry and confused.
    Rafe Caradec turned toward the jury.
    "The witness swore that Bonaro had no gun, yet he just testified that the rifle Bonaro dropped was a Henry. Gentlemen and Miss Rodney, I'm goin' to ask that you recommend the case be dismissed, and also that Red and Tom Blazer be held in jail to answer charges of perjury!"
    "What?" Tom Blazer came out of the witness chair with a lunge. "Jail? Me? Why, you--"
    He leaped, hurling a huge red-haired fist in a roundhouse swing. Rafe Caradec stepped in with a left that smashed Blazer's lips, then a solid right that sent him crashing to the floor.
    Rafe glanced at the judge. "And that, I think," he said quietly, "is contempt of court!"
    Pat Higley got up abruptly. "Gargan, I reckon you better dismiss this case. You haven't got any evidence or anything that sounds like evidence, and I guess everybody here heard about Caradec facin' Bonaro down in the store. If he wanted to shoot him, there was his