By remarkable promptitude and the exercise of the marvellous propertiesascribed impartially to the worm, the eel, and the snake, Bobby andJohnny succeeded in gaining a place in the court-room for the afternoonsession. It was not a very good place. Breast-high in front of them wasa rail. Behind them pressed a suffocating crowd. On the other side ofthe rail were many benches on which was seated another crowd. Thissecond multitude concealed utterly whatever occupied the floor of thecourt-room. Only when one or another of the actors in the proceedingsarose to his feet could the boys make out a head and shoulders. Theycould see the massive walnut desk and the judge, however; and the lowerflat tables at which sat the recording officials. And on the blank whitewall ticked solemnly a big round clock. The second-hand moved forward bya series of swift jerks, but watch as he would Bobby could see noperceptible motion of the other two hands. In the monotony of some ofthe proceedings this bland clock fascinated him.
Likewise the living wall before him caught and held his half-suffocatedinterest--the slope of their shoulders, the material of their coats, theshape of their heads, the cut of their hair. One by one he passed themin review. Two seats ahead sat a thickset man with very long, oily blackhair. He turned his head. Bobby recognized the man who had foundPritchard's body. He nudged Johnny, calling attention to the fact.
The prosecuting attorney was on his feet making a speech. It wasinteresting enough at first, but after a time Bobby's attentionwandered. The prosecuting attorney was a young man, ambitious, and egowas certainly a large proportion of _his_ cosmos. Bobby listened to himwhile he spoke of the obvious motive for the deed; but when he beganagain, and in detail, to go over the evidence already adduced, Bobbyceased to listen. Only the monotonous cadences of the voice went on andon. The clock tick-tocked. People breathed. It reminded him of church.
A little stir brought him back from final drowsiness. A man in the rowahead of him wanted to get out. The disturber carried an overcoat overhis left arm, and it amused Bobby vastly to see the stiff collar of thatovercoat rumple the back hair of those who sat in the second row. As hewatched, it caught the long oily locks of the witness for theprosecution. With a fierce exclamation the man turned, scowling at theother's whispered excuse. When he had again faced the front, he hadrearranged his disturbed locks.
After this slight interruption, Bobby again relapsed into day-dreaming.He fell once more to visualizing the scene of that day. Gradually thecourt-room faded away. He saw the hillside, the burnt logs on the bareground, the popples silvery in the sun, the sky blue above the hill. Thepatch of brown by the rustling scrub oak glimmered before his eyes. Hesaw again the exact angle it lay above him. For the hundredth time helooked over the sights of the rifle, fair against that spot of brown. "Imust have over-shot a foot," he sighed, "or it would have taken himsquare."
And then as he stared over the sights, his finger on the trigger, theimaginary scene faded, the familiar court-room came out of the mists totake its place. Slowly the brown spot at which he aimed dissolved, aman's head took its place; the oily-haired witness for the prosecutionhappened now to occupy exactly the position relative to Bobby's attitudeas had Mr. Kincaid's cap the day of the murder. And through the slightlydisarranged long hair, and exactly in line with the imaginary riflesights Bobby could just make out a dull red furrow running along thescalp. At this instant, as though uneasy at a scrutiny instinctivelyfelt, the man reached back to smooth his locks. The scar at oncedisappeared.