Starlight and I.wasn’t likely to break down—not much—whatever the jury did or the judge said. All the same, after an hour had passed, and we still waiting there, it began to be a sickening kind of feeling. The day had been all taken up with the evidence and the rest of the trial; all long, dragging hours of a hot summer’s day. The sun had been blazing away all day on the iron roof of the court-house and the red dust of the streets, that lay inches deep for a mile all round the town. The flies buzzed all over the courthouse, and round and round, while the lawyers talked and wrangled with each other; and still the trial went on. Witness after witness was called, and cross-examined and bullied, and confused and contradicted till he was afraid to say what he knew or what he didn’t know. I began to think it must be some kind of performance that would go on for ever and never stop, and the day and it never could end.

At last the sun came shining level with the lower window, and we knew it was getting late. After a while the twilight began to get dimmer and grayer. There isn’t much out there when the sun goes down. Then the judge ordered the lamps to be lighted.

Just at that time the bailiff came forward.

“Your Honour, the jury has agreed.” I felt my teeth shut hard; but I made no move or sign. I looked over at Starlight. He yawned. He did, as I’m alive.

“I wish to heaven they’d make more haste,” he said quietly; “his Honour and we are both being done out of our dinners.”

I said nothing. I was looking at the foreman’s face. I thought I knew the word he was going to say, and that word was “Guilty.” Sure enough I didn’t hear anything more for a bit. I don’t mind owning that. Most men feel that way the first time. There was a sound like rushing waters in my ears, and the courthouse and the people all swam before my eyes.

The first I heard was Starlight’s voice again, just as cool and leisurely as ever. I never heard any difference in it, and I’ve known him speak in a lot of different situations. If you shut your eyes you couldn’t tell from the tone of his voice whether he was fighting for his life or asking you to hand him the salt. When he said the hardest and fiercest thing—and he could be hard and fierce—he didn’t raise his voice; he only seemed to speak more distinct like. His eyes were worse than his voice at such times. There weren’t many men that liked to look back at him, much less say anything.