Yesterday he tole Jake that he'd shoot him on sight if he,
Jake, come on to the land which Uncle Sam says is his. Do you deny
that?"
"That's 'bout what I tole him," drawled Ransom.
"To-day Jake was shot dead like a dog by somebody who was a-waitin'
for him, hidden in the brush. The widder, pore soul, suspicioning
trouble, follered Jake, and found him with a bullet plumb through his
heart. She heard the shot, and she swore that it come from Ransom's
side o' the fence. And she knows and we know that there isn't a man
'twixt Maine and Californy with a grudge agen Jake, always exceptin'
this yere Ransom."
"That's so," growled the Court.
"Boys, Jake was murdered with a bullet of small bore--not with a
bullet outer a Winchester, sech as most of us carry. Whar did that
ther bullet come from, boys?"
"Outer a Sharp rifle."
"Jest so. Who fired it? Mebbe we'll never know that. But we know this.
'Twas fired by one o' these yere men. One was and is accessory to
t'other. The boy admits he's sweet on Ransom's gal; an' mebbe he did
this dirt to win her. And he swears that Pap was in his corral at six.
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