“He came in here about nine or ten years ago and went down river to an island where he does a little clammin’ and pearl huntin’. He’s always talking about revolutions and sunken treasure and such as that. He’s as crazy as they make them.”
Such talk might sound crazy to the people of the valley but to Tim it was another link in his story.
“How far down river is it to Crazy John’s?” asked Tim.
“About thirty miles and bad water all the way. He’s way off the main channel and he don’t like company. Keeps a couple of regular man-eating dogs. Some folks say he’s got mines planted all around the island so he can blow up anyone he doesn’t want around. No one from here’s ever been on the place.”
“Here’s one that’s going,” said Tim. “Fix me out with a boat and an outboard. I’ll be back as soon as I can get some grub at the store.”
Tim felt jubilant as he walked up from the river bank. Ford, or “Mr. Seven,” was only twenty-four hours ahead of him.
The sound of an airplane motor drummed over the village and Tim looked up to see the Jupiter swinging around to land in the only field that could be used. It was a mile outside the village and he knew he would have plenty of time to secure his food and a couple of blankets before Ralph arrived.
“Fix me up with enough food for about four days on the river,” Tim told the storekeeper, “and I’ll want a couple of good, warm blankets. I expect the nights in the valley are a little chilly.”
“They’re all of that,” agreed the storekeeper. When the food and blankets were ready, Tim paid the bill and left the store. At the far end of the street Ralph was hurrying in to town and Tim waited for him.
“Starting out as a peddler?” asked the newcomer.