Plainly they were fascinated by this tale, and they were following it step by step with nods.
"You didn't make no noise, either," went on Bull Hunter.

"You slipped up to the cabin real soft, and you climbed up on the east side of the house over some rocks." "Why in reason should a man climb over rocks?
Why wouldn't he go right to the door ?" "Because you didn't want to be seen." "Then why not the west window, fool!" "You tried that window first, but they was some dry brush lying in front of it, and you couldn't come close enough to look in without making a noise stepping on the dead wood.

So then you went around to the other side and climbed over the rocks until you could look into the cabin.

Am I right ?" "I--no, curse you, no! Of course you ain't right!" shouted Anderson.
"Looking right through that window," said Bull heavily, "you seen Armstrong, the man you hated, facing you, and, with his back turned, was Pete Reeve.

You said to yourself, 'Drop Armstrong with a bullet, catch Reeve, and put the blame on him!' Then you pulled your gun." He pushed aside the ponderous armchair which stood beside him at the head of the table.
"Say," shouted the sheriff, paler than ever now, "what are you accusing me of ?" "Murder!" thundered Bull Hunter.
The roar of Bull's voice chained every one in his place, the sheriff with staring eyes, and Jud in the act of raising his hand.
"I'll jail you for slander!" said the sheriff, fighting to assurance and knowing that he was betrayed by his pallor and by the icy perspiration which he felt on his forehead.
"Anderson," said Bull, "I seen the marks of them iron heels of yours on the rock!" That was a little thing, of course.