"I see..." he said hesitantly, still standing. He was uncomfortable with the little details and their consistently. He didn't want to believe her, and these scratched and clawed at his conviction that his father was innocent.

He finally sat down stiffly, like he was on a spring, ready to jump back up any second. He placed his hands on his knees. "Miss Alfonsi," he said, looking at the saloon table in front of him. "My father was a family man. He was good and responsible." There had been arguments between his parents. His father had always seemed somewhat reserved, closed, far less involved than his mother. But that didn't say anything. "What evidence do you have to make such claims against a good man?"