Hinkle nodded. “All right, Pete. Tell us about it.”
“Well, now, Andy—Your Honor—if it’s just the same to everybody, I’ll skip the part about the tracks and finding Adam until cross-examination. It’s just going over the same old ground again. I’ve been talking to Hobby, and we found everything just about as you heard it from these boys.” His eye shifted toward the witness bench. “All except one little thing about the tracks, and that was done after the murder, and might have been happen-so. And I was wanting to hurry up and get back to Garfield to-night. We’re going to bury Adam at sundown.”
“All right, Pete. But we’ll cross-examine you—if not to-day, then to-morrow. It pays to work tailings, sometimes.”
“That’s queer, too. I was just coming to that—in a way. Mining. Adam went up there to prospect for gold—placer gold. When the big rain came, the night he was killed, all tracks were washed out, of course. We hadn’t got far when dark came—and then the rain. But yesterday I went combing out the country to look for Adam’s outfit of camp stuff, and also to see if perhaps he had found any claims before he was killed. And I found this.”
He handed to the judge a small paper packet, folded and refolded, and wrapped round with a buckskin string. The judge opened it.
“Coarse gold!” he said. “Like the Apache gold in the seventies! Pete, you’ve got a rich mine if there’s much of this.”
“It is rich dirt,” said Pete. “I got that from less than a dozen pans. But it is not my mine.”
“How so?”
“I got home late last night. This morning I looked in all the pockets in the clothes Adam was wearing. Here is what I found in his vest.” He handed to Hinkle a small tobacco sack, rolled to a tiny cylinder.