Mr. Craig. Oh, he was a white male in his twenties, five nine, five eight, something like that; about 140 to 150; had kind of medium brown sandy hair—you know, it was like it'd been blown—you know, he'd been in the wind or something—it was all wild-looking; had on—uh—blue trousers——
Mr. Belin. What shade of blue? Dark blue, medium or light?
Mr. Craig. No; medium, probably; I'd say medium.
And, a—uh—light tan shirt, as I remember it.
Mr. Belin. Anything else about him?
Mr. Craig. No; nothing except that he looked like he was in an awful hurry.
Mr. Belin. What about the man who was driving the car?
Mr. Craig. Now, he struck me, at first, as being a colored male. He was very dark complected, had real dark short hair, and was wearing a thin white-looking jacket—uh, it looked like the short windbreaker type, you know, because it was real thin and had the collar that came out over the shoulder (indicating with hands) like that—just a short jacket.
Mr. Belin. You say that he first struck you that way. Do you now think that he was a Negro?
Mr. Craig. Well, I don't—I didn't get a real good look at him. But my first glance at him—I was more interested in the man coming down the hill—but my first glance at him, he struck me as a Negro.