“I guess you’ve made a job, boys,” he told them. “The soft spots ought to dry out in about a week, but we can’t wait till then. You want to remember there’s a thousand dollars for the man who finds him.”
They glanced at the morass hesitatingly. It did not look inviting. In places the reeds grew as high as their heads, and one could not tell what depths they hid. In other spots there were tracks of slimy ooze in which one might sink a long way. None of them, however, was fastidious, and they waded out into the mire, shouting warnings to one another, disappearing now and then among the grass. The search was partially rewarded, for while Prescott and a companion were skirting a clump of reeds they saw part of a soaked garment protruding from the slime. For a few moments they stood looking at it irresolutely; and then Prescott, mustering his courage, advanced and seized the stained material. It came away more readily than he had expected, and he turned to his companion, conscious of keen relief, with a brown overall jacket in his hand. A further examination, shrinkingly made, revealed nothing else, and after marking the place they waded to the bank. The garment was carefully washed in the creek and the men gathered in a ring round Curtis when he inspected it.
“Have any of you seen this thing before?” he asked, holding it up.
None of them would identify it. Thin duck overalls are commonly worn by ranchers and working people, in place of heavier clothing, during the hot weather. Then Curtis turned to Prescott.
“What’s your idea?”
“It isn’t Jernyngham’s,” the rancher said decidedly. “It’s too old, for one thing; looks as if it had been in the water quite a while.”
“Hard to tell,” commented Curtis. “But go on.”
Prescott took the jacket and held it so that the others could see the inside of the collar.
“No maker’s tag,” he continued. “Now Cyril always bought the kind they give you a doll with.”
One of the others laughed and supplied the name of the manufacturer, which was attached to every garment.