These three witnesses but fulfilled the formalities of the Law in proving that the dead man was murdered and robbed, but there was a great stir in the hall when the next witness entered the box.
This was a corn-stalk of a man who wore a long yellow beard, and seemed to consist of legs, arms, and head; his body being of such small importance in the scheme of his construction as to be hardly noticeable.
“John Rutherford,” said the Crown Prosecutor, “kindly tell the jury your trade or calling.”
“Digger,” answered the witness, as laconically as possible.
“The witness means,” said the barrister, turning to the jury, “that he mines for gold,” an explanation which nobody needed. “But be so good as to inform the Court if you know a hostelry named The Lucky Digger.”
A smile stole over the lean witness’s face. “I reckon I’ve bin there,” he said.
“Were you there on the afternoon of Saturday, the 25th of February, last?”
“I might ha’ bin.”
“You can’t be certain?”
“You’ve hit it, mister—I can’t be certain.”