“A right interesting office, sir!” he said. “I have never been in here before. All those papers, now, they are about lands, are they not? The titles and deeds, and such things?”
“Yes,” said Sharp. “They are supposed to contain all the title papers.”
“This one, now,” said the boy, taking up Bexar Scrip No. 2692, “what land does this represent the title of? Ah, I see ‘Six hundred and forty acres in B–––– country? Absalom Harris, original grantee.’ Please tell me, I am so ignorant of these things, how can you tell a good survey from a bad one. I am told that there are a great many illegal and fraudulent surveys in this office. I suppose this one is all right?”
“No,” said Sharp. “The certificate is missing. It is invalid.”
“That paper I just saw you place in that file, I suppose is something else—field notes, or a transfer probably?”
“Yes,” said Sharp, hurriedly, “corrected field notes. Excuse me, I am a little pressed for time.”
The boy was watching him with bright, alert eyes.
It would never do to leave the certificate in the file; but he could not take it out with that inquisitive boy watching him.
He turned to the file room, with a dozen or more files in his hands, and accidentally dropped part of them on the floor. As he stooped to pick them up he swiftly thrust Bexar Scrip No. 2692 in the inside breast pocket of his coat.
This happened at just half-past four o’clock, and when the file clerk took the files he threw them in a pile in his room, came out and locked the door.