She paled and shrank from the face, which was brutal even in death, but answered, quietly, "I do."

"Did you know him when alive?"

"I did not."

This answer surprised both the coroner and his jury.

"Your stepfather testified that he came to your home."

"So he did. But I refused to see him. My stepfather met him outside the door. I never spoke to him in my life."

"You may be seated again," said Carmody, and after a slight pause proceeded: "Why did you dislike the deceased? Was he disrespectful to you?"

"He was."

"In what way?"

She hesitated and flushed. "He wrote to me."

"More than once?"

"Yes, several times."

"Have you those letters?"

"No; I destroyed them."

"Could you give me an idea of those letters?"

Hanscom interposed: "She can't do that, Mr. Coroner. It is evident that they were vile."

The coroner pa.s.sed this point. "You say he called at your house--how many times?"

"Two or three, I think."

"Was your father at home each time?"

"Once I was alone."

"Did you meet Watson then?"

"No. I saw him coming in the gate and I went inside and locked the door."

"What happened then?"

"He beat on the door, and when I failed to reply he went away."

"Was he drunk?"

"He might have been. He seemed more like an insane man to me."

Kitsong broke in, "I don't believe all this--"

"When was that?"

"Night before last, at about this time or a little earlier."

"Was he on foot?"

"No; he came on horseback."

"Did he ride away on horseback?"

"Yes, though he could scarcely mount. I was surprised to see how well he was able to manage his horse."

"Did you tell your father of this?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She hesitated. "He would have been very--very much disturbed."

"You mean he would have been angry?"

"Yes."

The coroner suddenly turned the current of his inquiry. "Do you always wear shoes such as you now have on?"

Every eye in the room was directed toward her feet, which were shod in broad-toed, low-heeled shoes.

She was visibly embarra.s.sed, but she answered, composedly: "I do--yes, sir. In fact, I go barefoot a great deal while working in the garden.

The doctor ordered it, and, besides, the ordinary high-heeled shoes seem foolish up here in the mountains."

"Will you be kind enough to remove your shoe? I would like to take some measurements from it."

She flushed slightly, but bent quickly, untied the laces, and removed her right shoe.

The coroner took it. "Please remain where you are, Miss McLaren." Then to the jury, who appreciated fully the importance of the moment, "We will now compare this shoe with the footprints."

"Don't be disturbed, miss," whispered the ranger. "I know the size and shape of those footprints."

The sheriff cleared the way to the porch, where the little patch of flour had been preserved by ropes stretched from post to post, and the outside crowd, pressing closer, watched breathlessly while the jury bent together and compared the shoes and the marks.

It required but a few moments' examination to demonstrate that the soles of the accused woman's shoes were larger and broader and entirely different in every way.

"She may have worn another shoe," Kitsong put in.

"Of course! We'll find that out," retorted the coroner.