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inform the witness that he is to respond only to my questions. Not make speeches.”
    Looking toward the end of the table, Judge Cline said quietly, “He’s right, Ranger.”
    Smiling victoriously, Tanneman continued, “Now, answer this, please. Wouldn’t you be worried that the robbers would shoot the people inside—and leave one of your fellow Rangers on guard outside?”
    “You asked me what I would have done, Rose. I told you.” Carlow stared at the accused Ranger with a look Tanneman had seen before, but never directed at him. It was a look that tore into a man and challenged his manhood. He didn’t like it.
    “I have no more questions of this witness, Judge.” Tanneman looked away.
    Carlow turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I have written testimony from Ranger Deconer. He was wounded by Hillis Rose and is recovering. Should I read it?”
    Tanneman winced, but didn’t look up. The judge directed Johnson to ask Carlow about the wounded lawman’s testimony. Carlow read the simply written text and looked up at the arrested Ranger again.
    “Now, Mr. Rose, do you have any questions for this witness related to this written testimony?”
    Tanneman Rose licked his lips. A dream last night had him enjoying revenge against all of them.
    “Yes, I do,” he said without raising his head. “Ranger Carlow, if you entered a bank thinking it was being robbed and came out looking for the robbers, what would you have done if someone came at you, shooting?”
    Carlow looked down at the hilt of the war knife barely visible above his Kiowa leggings. He flashed a wide smile as he looked up.
    “Well, Rose, if I had on a fake beard and was holding a bag full of the bank’s money, I would figure the town had discovered what I was doing—and either surrender or start shooting. Kinda separates the wheat from the chaff.”
    The same jurors who had chuckled earlier laughed.
    “You didn’t answer my question.”
    “Yeah, I did. You and your brother wanted the town’s hard-earned money,” Carlow said, his voice showing glimpses of temper. “But we were waiting for you. Your brother tried to kill us. You decided it wouldn’t happen to you.”
    He started to add that the other two brothers had been waiting to help, but didn’t. There was no proof of that, only his hunch. It might muddy the case against Tanneman, giving him the opportunity to point out they weren’t there and that this was a personal vendetta against them—with no real evidence.
    Somewhere in the packed audience, a man cheered. Portland stood to see who it was until Judge Cline told him to sit down.
    Tanneman again said he was finished with the witness and Johnson called the bank teller to the stand. Carlow returned to his seat beside Kileen. As the skinny teller walked to the designated witness chair, he glanced in Tanneman’s direction, then sat down, blowing his nose into a handkerchief,
    Carlow realized something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He whispered his concern to Kileen and asked if anyone had visited the prisoner while he had been taking his turn helping with guard duty, as the Rangers had done. Nodding, Kileen indicated that Tanneman had asked to see the teller and the vice president, stating as his own counsel he had a right to interview key witnesses. Both had met with him for a few minutes, at different times, then left. So had Tanneman’s other brothers. Kileen didn’t think anything untoward had occurred.
    “Aye, fooled, we may have been,” Kileen growled.
    Judge Cline turned toward him briefly. His scowl indicated he wanted silence.
    Turning back toward the now seated witness, Johnson crossed his arms. “Mr. Branson, would you please tell us what happened in the First National Bank on the morning in question.”
    “Well, there was a lot of confusion, I can tell you that,” the man said, rubbing his hands together as if the motion would relieve his nervousness. His nose made even more noises than usual, almost a symphony.
    “Yes, go