“I hain’t seen n-nobody else go by,” says Mark.
“What’s it say?”
He’d got it all smoothed out now, and, though it was sopping wet and the ink had run quite a lot, he could read it. For a minnit he didn’t say a word, but he had the most peculiar look on his face.
“Well?” says I.
He handed it over. At first I couldn’t make head or tail of it. The last words were plain enough—“Coming by first train”—and the name that was signed was Billings, but the first part was Chinese to me. All the same, it kind of reminded me of something.
“Huh!” says I. “What’s it about?”
Mark pulled another paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was the sheet of letter he picked up near the wreck.
“C-c-c-compare ’em,” says he, with a peculiar grin.
I did, and the figures and letters were the identical same: “The S. 40 of the N. W. ¼ of Sec. 6, Town 1 north, R. 4 west.” I was a mite startled, but, for all that, I couldn’t see what there was to be startled about. I guess it was the way Mark acted.
“There’s s-somethin’ up,” says he. “I bet a penny it’s got somethin’ to do with your uncle.” He pinched his cheek and squinted his eyes like he always does when he’s thinking, and then wagged his head.