He signed Tom to move the light again. "There follows an obliterated address, and the words, 'scarcely think she'll ever get it. My left arm's almost rotten now.'"
He stopped again a moment, and his face had grown hard when he went on: "You see, the thing—is—contagious, and that devil Funnel-paint, or somebody, has played the same trick before. I wonder if the man who wrote this looked quite as bad as the nigger did."
"Hold on!" said Jefferson sharply. "I guess none of us have any use for that kind of talking, and you swilled yourself with permanganate, any way."
"The result will probably be the same, whether one thinks of it or not. You will, however, notice that the man's name was Jackson, and the woman's Mary Nicol."
It was evident that this was a forced attempt to break away from the subject, and though Tom grinned, it was in a sickly fashion.
"That's no how astonishing. She was the last," he said. "Hadn't you better turn over, and see if there's any more of it?"
Austin contrived to lift another of the pulpy pages, and once more the close writing appeared, but it was difficult to make out, and their faces were close together when Tom lowered the lamp. They showed curiously grave, as well as hollow, in the smoky light, for there was reason for believing that the man who had made those notes was dead, and it was clear that the horrible thing which had stricken him might also come upon them.
"The last of the bags buried this afternoon," Austin read. "Watson took a new bearing. W. half N. to the cottonwood, with twist of creek in line. Forty paces—he made it thirty-nine. Graham says one packet left in the old place where the niggers got scent of it, and the quills on the second islet; memo, it makes £50 to me."
He dropped the book, and Tom came near letting go the lamp, while for a moment or two afterwards they stared at one another. Austin was quivering a little, but Jefferson made a restraining gesture as he laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Steady! I guess we've got the clue," he said. "There are two islets two or three leagues back down the creek. You passed them coming up. Still, what do they put up in quills?"