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Show page 134 He had seen pain, the pain of trying to explain something of enormous value to an unknowing courtroom. He watched her as Burrows dismissed her and F a r r e l l passed again and she walked past his t a b l e , proud but hurt. Burrows rocked on his feet, feeling v i c t o r i o u s . Judge Moore rapped for order. F a r r e l l was on his feet, motioning Storey to the stand. His f i r s t question, "Storey, did you bear malice toward Forrest Clinton?" brought a clear "no" in Storey's firm voice, and gained attention. "Extend your hands. Storey." F a r r e l l turned to the jury. "This blue spot here on Storey's hand is a bullet wound, tough, healed in weather and o i l f i e l d muck, almost like scar t i s s u e now. I ' l l ask the defendant to explain i t . Don't withdraw your hands, Storey." "My l e f t hand was pressed against F o r r e s t ' s chest," Storey began, "pushing him away. I was pulling the gun back with the other. His left hand was over my right hand, on the gun. When the shot came, the shot that pierced my hand and entered his body, he relaxed his grip, his left hand grip on me and the gun. He continued holding on to the jug with his right hand." Storey dropped his hands. "That's the xvay i t was, best of my memory." "You hadn't taken a drink from the jug, had you, Storey?" F a r r e l l asked. "That's what Forrest was trying to get me to do. I refused. I couldn't drink then - not to my own l o s s . He wanted me to lean the gun against the house and come inside and join the party." |