Needless to say another night was lost in which to sleep, but they were in no mood to lie down in peaceful slumber after looking at anything like that. Lying on the shore side by side in the yellow moonlight, they were a weird and ghastly sight.
Westy bent down and saw that around the neck of one was an object of some kind. He touched it carefully and then again. Taking out his trusty penknife, he cut the string that held it, not caring to touch the poor creature with his bare hands.
As it came off, and Westy held it up, he saw to his surprise that it was an oil-skin wallet. No wonder it had stayed intact while the flesh of its owner had deteriorated into nothingness!
He held it up in the light while Uncle Jeb and Artie gathered around him. It was air-tight all right and Westy found, when he finally got it open, that it contained papers; probably some important, official documents, they thought.
While the moon was bright it was not light enough to see clearly and so be able to read them.
When morning came and breakfast was finished, Westy brought the papers out. The writing was pretty unintelligible now, but still Westy could make out words here and there. He gasped with astonishment and read aloud to his dumbfounded listeners.
Mr. John Temple’s name was mentioned, as representing a certain railroad, and giving him the right of way over a certain tract of ground belonging to one Ezra Knapp, for a given consideration. It all ran along those lines and there was at least enough decipherable to know what it was all about.
“It’s the agreement!” exclaimed Uncle Jeb, “thet Mr. Temple felt so bad over losing!”
“Then⸺” before Artie could finish Westy broke in.
“They must be the skeletons of the lost surveyors!”