“We will now call on one other witness,” announced the judge, and the prisoner started as though he expected to see Simon Goldollar himself appear on the stand. What he did see was one of his own native drivers from Fort Yukon, with Kurilla to act as interpreter.
“Do you admit Injun testimony in this court?” he asked, disgustedly.
“Certainly we do,” replied the judge.
“If I’d known that,” he muttered, “I’d have bought a dozen or so to testify on my side.”
The Indian’s testimony was to the effect that this white man had left another white man in a native hut at Fort Yukon so sick that all the Indians thought he would die.
“Of course I can’t buck agin Injun testimony,” growled the prisoner; “but I say it’s a lie, all the same, and don’t prove nothing.”
“There is one thing that we must not neglect,” said the judge. “Marshall, you may search the prisoner.”
The latter struggled furiously, but was overpowered and held by strong hands while the marshall searched his pockets. From these were produced a number of articles, including a wallet, which the judge opened, spreading its contents on the table before him.
“Do you recognize anything here?” he asked of Jalap Coombs.
“I can identify this as having been in Goldollar’s possession,” answered the mate, picking up one of the articles that had dropped from the wallet, and holding it so that all might see.