"Nothing identifying, no," answered Ivan. "Marks had been cut off the clothes, pockets empty, only thing was a broken rib and busted backbone, like a bullet had crashed through him from front to back."
"Been dirt done on that island, all right—not so long ago either," opined Bingo. "It must have been the Siwash. I expect there's more graves there, if we'd take a look. Oh, that Indian's a bad one. Probably he's been killing people and burying them out there right along."
"Not probably—no," objected Henry. "Remember, I know Adam John. He's not that kind of an Indian."
It was late when Lahleet got back to Harrington's office—four in the afternoon.
"Did you retain Thompson?" asked Henry, eagerly.
"Just. He has been at home asleep all day."
"Well, I be darned! Thompson was in that bunch. Well, that won't hurt," decided Henry on reflection. "Makes him solid with the town, and when he fights for Adam John it will have all the more force. But, say, did you hear they found a grave out there on the island?"
"Yes," said Lahleet—so quickly, so quietly, so resignedly, that Harrington felt himself instantly warned off the subject by every instinct of chivalry.
Consequently he did not tell her that already he had rushed out to the island to examine the grave and every shred of its contents for clues to the mystery of the stolen twenty thousand and had found none.
