Elbert had no chance to interrupt. The enumeration went on without a break, including the Dry Cache mine, saddle-horse, all goods stored in cabin and corral-shed, bank-books, documents and keys to a lock-box in the San Forenso Bank—amounting to about ninety thousand dollars, Mr. Leadley explaining that he had refused an offer of seventy-five thousand dollars for the mine itself.
‘Don’t sell in a hurry,’ he broke in. ‘There’s a gold tooth in her head. Mort Cotton understands. You can tell that to Bart—’
‘I tell Bart—’
‘That’s the general idea—’
‘But how do you mean, Mr. Leadley?’
‘Because Mort Cotton can’t go—I’ve talked to him—and administerin’ property isn’t his line. It’s—it’s because I took to you—that’s the main reason. Listen on—let me get it all out straight.’
Gradually it appeared that Mr. Leadley’s desire was to leave the bulk of what he possessed to his only son, Bart Leadley, now somewhere in Sonora, Mexico, at large, and Elbert’s work to find same. Elbert was to be identified by Mr. Cotton who would help him through business of bank and possible probate, and answer all questions as to why the property could not be left and arranged for in the usual way. A generous salary and expense account was provided, and on the day Bart Leadley was brought back to the States, Elbert was at liberty to assign to himself a one-fifth interest in the Dry Cache mine; a second one fifth to go to Mort Cotton, memo of which was on separate paper, and three fifths to the son, Bart Leadley.
Elbert’s eye was held to the page, after this was written, his mind so lost in what it all meant, that the voice from the bunk actually startled after a silence:
‘Well, how about it, young man—does the paper stand?’
‘But—in case your son isn’t to be found—at least, from anything I can do?’