The plunger had struck below
the rim and near the centre, but not quite on the centre, and Hale
asked for the rifle and examined it closely.
"It's been tampered with," he said quietly, arid he handed it to
the prosecuting attorney. The fact was plain; it was a bungling
job and better proved the Red Fox's guilt. Moreover, there were
only two such big rifles in all the hills, and it was proven that
the man who owned the other was at the time of the murder far
away. The days of brain-storms had not come then. There were no
eminent Alienists to prove insanity for the prisoner. Apparently,
he had no friends--none save the little old woman in black who sat
by his side, hour by hour and day by day.
And the Red Fox was doomed.
In the hush of the Court Room the Judge solemnly put to the gray
face before him the usual question:
"Have you anything to say whereby sentence of death should not be
pronounced on you?"
The Red Fox rose:
"No," he said in a shaking voice; "but I have a friend here who I
would like to speak for me." The Judge bent his head a moment over
his bench and lifted it:
"It is unusual," he said; "but under the circumstances I will
grant your request.
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