Contrary to expectation, the case of the State of South Dakota against Jesse Black was called soon after the sitting of the court Monday afternoon. No testimony was introduced, however, until the following day. Inch by inch, step by step, Gordon fought for a fair jury through that tense afternoon. Merciless in his shrewd examination, keen to detect hesitancy, prejudices sought to be concealed he cleverly and relentlessly unearthed. Chair after chair was vacated,—only to be vacated again. It seemed there was not a man in the county who had not heard somewhat of this much-heralded crime—if crime it were. And he who had heard was a prejudiced partisan. How could it be otherwise where feeling ran so high,—where honest men mostly felt resentment against the man who dared to probe the wound without extracting the cause of it, and a hatred and fear curiously intermingled with admiration of the outlaw whose next move after obtaining his freedom might be to cut out of the general herd, cows of their own brands,—where tainted men, officers or cowmen, awaited developments with a consuming interest that was not above manipulating the lines of justice for their own selfish ends? Yet, despite the obstacles in the way, Gordon was determined to have an unprejudiced jury in so far as it lay in human power to seat such a one in the box. So he worked, and worked hard.  
This impanelling of the jury was not interesting to the crowd. Many had no hint of its deeper meaning. Others saw it in the light of child’s play—a certain braggadocio on the part of the young lawyer. They wanted the actual show to begin—the examination of witnesses. They came and went restlessly, impatiently waiting. Wiser heads than theirs knew that the game was already on in deadly earnest. If these had been lucky enough to get seats in the small and overcrowded court-room, they remained glued to them. They were waiting to see what manner of men would be chosen—Jesse’s peers—to pass judgment on his acts and mete out for him just deserts—if they were capable of a just verdict. The square-jawed, keen-witted, clean-cut captain of justice, who had forgotten that the campaign had aged him irrevocably and that some whitened hair would never grow brown again, meant that they should be capable. The opposing lawyers smiled tolerantly at the numerous challenges. These smiles went far to convince many of the infallibility of their defence. Amused tolerance is a powerful weapon on more fields than one where men war with their wits. It is a wise man who cultivates the art.
 
“We have chosen the right man,” whispered Langford to Mary. They had secured seats near the front and were of those who knew the game was being played.
 
“He is great,” returned Mary. If only her father could be there to help! The odds were fearful. Louise, sitting at her table within the bar, with faith in this man’s destiny sufficient to remove mountains, smiled down at her friends.
 
“Louise is an angel,” said Mary, affectionately.
 
“Yes, she is,” responded Langford, absently, for he was not looking at the girl reporter, nor were his thoughts on her side of the rail. He wished for the sake of Williston’s “little girl” that there were not so much tobacco stench in the room. But this was a vague and intangible wish. He wished with the whole strength of his manhood—which was much—that this man on trial might be made to pay the penalty of his crime as a stepping-stone to paying the penalty of that greater crime of which he firmly believed him guilty. His own interest had become strangely secondary since that hot July day when he had pledged himself to vengeance. This falling off might have dated from a certain September morning when he had lost himself—for all time—to a girl with pain-pinched face and fever-brightened eyes who wore a blue wrapper. His would not be a personal triumph now, if he won.
 
Court adjourned that evening with the jury-box filled. The State’s friends were feeling pretty good about it. La............