"Swear her."
June lifted her right hand, put her lips to the soiled, old, black
Bible and faced the jury and Hale and Bad Rufe Tolliver whose
black eyes never left her face.
"What is your name?" asked a deep voice that struck her ears as
familiar, and before she answered she swiftly recalled that she
had heard that voice speaking when she entered the door.
"June Tolliver."
"Your age?"
"Eighteen."
"You live--"
"In Lonesome Cove."
"You are the daughter of--"
"Judd Tolliver."
"Do you know the prisoner?"
"He is my foster-uncle."
"Were you at home on the night of August the tenth?"
"I was."
"Have you ever heard the prisoner express any enmity against this
volunteer Police Guard?" He waved his hand toward the men at the
portholes and about the railing--unconsciously leaving his hand
directly pointed at Hale. June hesitated and Rufe leaned one elbow
on the table, and the light in his eyes beat with fierce intensity
into the girl's eyes into which came a curious frightened look
that Hale remembered--the same look she had shown long ago when
Rufe's name was mentioned in the old miller's cabin, and when
going up the river road she had put her childish trust in him to
see that her bad uncle bothered her no more.
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