He assured his interlocutor that he was going in. His mood isolated the phrase; its significance vastly different from “going on.”
“Buying?”
“I think not.”
“It is a good time to buy.” Rickard suspected a real-estate agent. “For land is low, rock-bottom prices on account of the uneasiness about the river. People are afraid. They want to see the company redeem some of its promises before they come in; and the company isn’t in much of a hurry.”
Rickard raised his chin that his collar might bind his suffering neck in a different place, and then asked what company he referred to.
The young-old face with the faded eyes looked at him in surprise. “The D. R. Company, Desert Reclamation, which brought us all here.”
“Scamps?” The newcomer’s survey of the long line of naked mountains and lean lands that formed the neck of the valley gave a snub of casualness to the question.
“No. Fools!” The answer was as swift as a bullet. “Though some people think them worse than that. I don’t go so far, I’m willing to say they’ve tried. I’ll say that much. But they haven’t the know-how.”
“I’d rather be a scamp than a fool,” ventured Rickard. “It’s more progressive.” He drew a look of amused recognition from the faded valley man.
“Newspaper man? No? They are always coming in now since the break. I’m usually able to spot them.”