About the boat he was equally outspoken. The men had built a boat in which to cross the river, where there was a little feed and where stock occasionally drifted in to graze. Sometimes they mired in the mud while trying to drink; when the river was low that often happened. They had built the boat so that they could cross the river and haul out mired stock. He had never dreamed that it might be used for a more sinister purpose, but he could see how that would be possible without his knowledge or approval.
On cross-examination he named approximately the date of his last visit to the ledge. He had decided to store away six thousand dollars as a nest egg that could tide him over if hard times came upon him. The last time he had gone there was in the middle of June, when he had taken five hundred dollars in gold and put it away with the rest. That amount just rounded out his six thousand, he said. There had been no occasion to go there after that.
"Ain't that old pelican the damnedest liar you ever seen, Bud?" Gelle whispered behind his hand—they having given their testimony and been dismissed. "Gilt-edged, though. He'll git away with it."
Bud nodded gloomily. He had been watching Butch Cassidy and wishing hotly that he had a gun. It began to look as though Butch was going to get away with something—ride off scot-free and leave a smirch on the good name of the Meadowlark that, in the minds of the Smoky Ford bank's officers, would be harder to erase than Macbeth's haunting blood stain.
Butch glanced at the two, his light eyes narrowing under frowning brows. It was evident that Butch also had something on his mind. Beside him Kid Kern leaned against the wall, careless on the surface, but never missing a look or a movement anywhere, and paying especial attention to Butch and Bud.
"Gosh!" Gelle ejaculated under his breath. "Pore old Snowball's goin' to be pumped dry now—and he don't know a darned thing about nothin'."
"Character witness, maybe," Bud made ironical reply.
"It'll be a pippin," Gelle predicted. "Snowball don't know nothin' good about that old coot."
Sam rolled his eyes in mental anguish, probably imagining that he himself was being accused of something. He stuttered and didn't know anything he was expected to know. He was palpably terrified, and whenever he caught Palmer's eyes upon him he shrank pitiably in his chair. And then, mercifully, his wild eyes strayed to Gelle's face and clung there as to his savior. He blinked, swallowed twice, gripped the chair arms and began to talk—to his beloved "Mist' Meddalahk", who had given him human sympathy and a dollar. A question or two he answered intelligibly. Then, abruptly, his tongue-tied fear dropped from him.
"Yessuh, yessuh, Ah doan' know nuthin' 'bout no doin's mah boss he been up to. Boss, he want his dinnah awn time—dass all ole Sam consuhmed about.