“Please the court, Your Honor,” Murchison said. “As the person named in the indictment is identified only as Pearlie, and as my defendant readily agrees that he is the Pearlie so named, there is no legal requirement that any other name be used. I’m sure Your Honor is aware there have been cases tried and adjudicated for persons known only as John Doe.”
Judge McCabe stroked his chin for a moment as he studied the document before him. Clearing his throat, he looked up at Pearlie.
“Do you hereby state before this court that you are the person identified in this indictment as Pearlie?”
“I do, Your Honor,” Pearlie replied.
“Then Pearlie it shall be,” McCabe said. He turned back to the document and continued to read. “In the case of The People verses Pearlie, the charge is murder, and murder in the first degree.”
This time, McCabe looked over at the prosecutor’s table. “Murder in the first degree? Are you sure you wouldn’t like to amend this charge? I was under the impression that it was a spur-of-the-moment killing. Murder in the first degree requires premeditation. That’s going to be a hard case to make, don’t you think?”
“First degree, Judge,” Quentin called out. “I want this son of a bitch to hang.”
Angrily, McCabe picked up his gavel and brought it down sharply on the table. “Order in the court!” he said. “Any more outbursts like that, Mr. Quentin, and I will have you escorted from this court. Do you understand?”
Quentin glared at the judge, but said nothing.
“Do you understand, sir?” McCabe asked, the tone of his voice even sharper than before.
“Yeah, I understand,” Quentin replied.
Gilmore turned toward Quentin. “This is going to be hard enough as it is,” he said quietly. “Please don’t make it any harder.”
“Mr. Prosecutor, do you wish to amend the charge?” McCabe asked again.
“No, Your Honor. There is no set time limit for pre-medication. It can be as little as a second.”
“Very well, the charge shall be prosecuted as entered. With lawyer for the defense present, and with the prosecutor present, we shall now proceed with voir dire of the impaneled jury.”
The first juror questioned by Murchison was James Colby. “Mr. Colby, what is your occupation?”
“I’m a rancher—sort of,” Colby replied.
“Sort of?”
“I’m still running longhorns when everyone else is switching to Herefords. It’s getting harder to hang on.”
“Did you know Billy Ray Quentin?”
“Yeah, I knew him,” Colby replied.
“How well did you know him?”
“In a town this size, and with someone like Billy Ray, almost every one knew him.”
“What do you mean, someone like Billy Ray?”
“He was the son of the wealthiest man in the county. And he could be quite unpleasant. Like I said, everyone knew him.”
“Do you have any financial obligation or business relationship with Pogue Quentin?”
“No,” Colby answered resolutely.
“Do you think you could render an honest verdict, based entirely upon the evidence presented in this case?”
“I do.”
“The defense accepts the juror, Your Honor,” Murchison said, returning to his seat.
“Voir dire, Mr. Prosecutor?” McCabe said.
Gilmore stood up, but did not walk away from the prosecutor’s table. “Mr. Colby, you said that Billy Ray could be unpleasant. What did you mean by that?”
“You knew him as well as I did, Percy,” Colby answered. “Why would you even have to ask such a thing?”
“Did you like Billy Ray?”
“I don’t know if anyone liked him,” Colby replied. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be fair.”
“I see. Let’s change directions, Mr. Colby. Were you present at a meeting in Pogue Quentin’s home several months ago, when several ranchers from the area made the decision to pool their livestock and property into one larger cooperative ranch?”
“You know I was. You were there, too.”
“Yes, I was. And I know the answer to this question as well, but I want you to answer it for sake of the court. Did you join with the others?”
“No. I did not.”
“Why didn’t you join, Mr. Colby?”
Colby looked over toward Quentin with a disapproving expression on his face.
“Because I thought he was just settin’ everything up so as to cheat us out of our land,” Colby said. “And it
