“No thanks. I’ll just take a little of this.” He poured himself some pineapple juice from a large can. Smitty watched him drink it.
“What’s on for chow tonight?”
The Indian’s eyes gleamed. “Vienna sausage and that’s all I got. I have to go get rations for a whole week now. I haven’t got no time to make bread or nothing. That guy,” he pointed upward, “he tell me just today to get this stuff.”
“Well, that’s O.K., Smitty,” Martin murmured soothingly, as he left, “it’ll be all right.”
On deck he found two of the crew coiling the long black water hose.
“Pretty empty, wasn’t she?”
One of them nodded. He was a heavy blond fellow, a professional seaman. “Are we going out west?” he asked.
“That’s right. Leaving tomorrow.”
“That’s what Bervick said. We didn’t know what he was bulling or not. Weather don’t look bad.”
Martin looked at the pale sky. “You can’t ever tell,” he said.