That was the trouble, they weren't doing anything. But how did you tell an editor Bren Early was holed up at Mrs. Pierson's, wouldn't answer the door, and Moon hadn't showed up yet? If, in fact, he ever would. The newsmen sent wires to their editors that said, in essence, “Big story to break soon,” and had a few more drinks while they waited for something to happen.

The morning of the hearing the newsmen staying at the Congress came down to the dining room and there was Dana Moon and his wife having a breakfast of grits and ham. Moon did not understand what the newsmen were so excited about. Where had he been? Home. If they wanted to see him why didn't they come visit? They asked him why he had been subpoenaed and he said that's why they had come to town this morning, to find out.

Moon and his wife, news reporters trailing behind, stopped by the Fly Gallery to see the latest “showing” in the window: Armando hanging from the telegraph pole. Neither of them said anything as they continued down LaSalle Street to the jail and went upstairs to the hearing.

When the reporters who had been waiting outside Mrs. Pierson's house arrived, they said it didn't look like Bren Early was coming.

After all the excitement and suspense the hearing did not prove to be much of a show. (Which John Slaughter and others could have predicted from the beginning.) Though there was one surprise that stirred considerable interest.

Maurice Dumas, cap under his arm, took the witness stand and told the county attorney, yes, he had seen Mr. Sundeen ride out of Sweetmary with seventeen men. No, Mr. Sundeen would not let any of the reporters follow them. Five hours later he had joined Mr. C.S. Fly and a man in Mr. Sundeen's employ, one Ruben Vega, and accompanied them out to a place where they were to witness a meeting between Mr. Sundeen and Armando Duro. What they found instead was Armando hanging from a pole. Maurice Dumas began to tell about Ruben Vega being “genuinely astonished,” but the county attorney, Stuart Ison, said that was all and for him to step down.

C.S. Fly supported the young newsman's testimony as to the purpose of their journey and what they found out on the road. He did not however-if he had witnessed it-mention Ruben Vega's stunned surprise.

Next, Eladio Duro took the stand. Answering the county attorney's questions he admitted, yes, his people had fired on Mr. Sundeen's group when they crossed the property line. (There were several objections by Mr. Goldwater, Sundeen's counsel, during Eladio's testimony, most of which were sustained by Judge Hough.) Eladio described men coming to their house and a Mexican convincing them it was safe to come out and speak to Mr. Sundeen. But as soon as they were outside, Sundeen's men drew pistols and began to shoot at them. Three people fell dead and another was wounded. Before his father could get back in the house Sundeen's men grabbed him and carried him off. Eladio was asked where his family and friends were now. He said they were hiding because they were afraid for their lives. (Objection: judgmental. Sustained.)

Mr. Goldwater, the defense attorney, cross-examined, asking Eladio if the Mexican who spoke to them first carried something in his hands. Yes, Eladio said, a flag of truce. He was asked if his people had fired weapons at Mr. Sundeen and his men. No. But weren't shots fired at Mr. Sundeen's men? No. From others not standing in the yard? Oh, yes; from Sundeen's men who were up on the slope above the house. But weren't three of Sundeen's men struck down by gunfire and killed? Yes, Eladio said. Shot by mistake, he assumed, by their own companions. Eladio was asked to think very carefully before answering the next question. Did the first shots come from the men in the yard or the men on the slope above the house? Eladio was silent and then said, they seemed to both come at the same time.

Mr. Goldwater then called Dana Moon to the stand and asked him if he had been present at Armando Duro's the morning of May the 19th.

“Not actually present,” Moon said, already uncomfortable sitting here in this hot room full of people…picturing where the cells had been a few years before and where he had talked to Bren through the iron bars.

“But you observed what took place there?”

“Yes.”

“You observed a man holding a white flag?”

“Yes.”

“How far away were you?”

“About four hundred yards.”

“Did you see any others, or another group of men, up on the slope above the house?”

“No.”

“You observed the shooting?”

“Yes.”

“Did you take part in the shooting?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hit anyone?”

Moon hesitated. “I can't say for sure.”

“Did you shoot to kill?”

“I fired to prevent Armando and his people, all of them unarmed, from being shot down in cold blood.”

“Did you shoot to kill?”

“Yes.”

Goldwater walked back to the table where Sundeen sat patiently listening before asking Moon, “Did anyone shoot at you?”

“I can't say.”

“You mean you can't tell when someone is shooting at you?”

“If they did, they didn't come close.”

“You were firing at…whom?”

Moon looked at Sundeen three strides away, closer than he had been the last time, in Sonora. Sundeen stared back at him as if ready to smile.

“Him,” Moon said, “and his men. They were about…they were shooting at Armando's people.”

“They were what?”

“I said they were shooting at Armando's people.”

“But you fired at them first, didn't you?”

“They were drawing their weapons-at that distance…I would say they fired first or at the same time.”

“You heard gunfire before you aimed and fired?”

Jesus Christ, Moon thought, feeling the perspiration under his shirt. He said, “I anticipated their fire. Their weapons were out. In a moment they were firing.”

“You just said they were drawing their weapons.”

“They were drawing-seeing it from that distance, weapons were out. In a moment they were firing.”

“What does the distance have to do with it? You saw what you thought they intended to do and you reacted, didn't you? You began shooting.”

“I knew what they were gonna do. What they did. They killed three of the Mexicans, didn't they?”

“I don't know,” Mr. Goldwater said. “Did they? There was gunfire coming from two directions. Didn't you open fire first?…”

“No, they did.”

“And they returned your fire?”

“That wasn't what happened.”

“Well, from the facts we have, I would say there was either a grave misunderstanding-the two parties in the yard began to talk and you misinterpreted it, or…you deliberately fired at the yard, not caring who you hit, one group or the other. Or…and this is conjecture, though possibly worth investigating…you were purposely firing at the Mexican group-”

“Why would I do that?”

“You realize you admit you fired with intent to kill,” the defense lawyer said. “That action is subject to interpretation, for I would dare to say the yard itself was a small target at four hundred yards, where the variance of a fraction of an inch could mean the difference in the taking of one man's life or another man's.”

Moon looked at the county lawyer who was not objecting to any of these ideas the defense lawyer was planting. Moon said, “Sundeen was in the yard. Let's hear him tell what happened. It ought to be a pretty good story.”

He saw Kate smile and heard sounds of approval from the audience.

But then the defense lawyer stepped in front of him, close, and said quietly, “I could ask who else was up there with you. Do you want to implicate others? Did they also shoot to kill?” The defense lawyer stared at him before adding, “Do you see where I can take this?” Moon felt relief when the dark-haired, well-dressed man from Bisbee turned to Judge Hough and said something and the judge asked Ison, the county lawyer, to approach the bench-the table next to which Moon sat in a straight chair.