“Didn’t see one handy,” Banule replied cheerfully, “took the first thing I could reach.”
“It just about keeps one pack-train on the trail supplying you with tools.”
“Guess I am a little careless.” Banule seemed unruffled by the reproach—because he had heard it so many times before, no doubt.
“Yes, you’re careless,” Bruce answered vigorously, “and I’m telling you straight it worries me; I can’t help wondering if your carelessness extends to your work. There, you know, you’ve got me, for I can’t tell. I must trust you absolutely.”
Banule shrugged a shoulder—
“This ain’t the first plant I’ve put up, you know.” He added—“I’ll guarantee that inside two weeks we’ll be throwin’ dirt. Eh, Smaltz? Ain’t I right?”
Smaltz, who was stooping over, did not immediately look up. Bruce saw an odd expression cross his face—an expression that was something like derision. When he felt Bruce looking at him it vanished instantly and he straightened up.
“Why, yes,” with his customary grin, “looks like we orter make a start.”
The peculiar emphasis did not escape Bruce and he was still thinking of the look he had caught on Smaltz’s face as he asked Banule: