He retraced his steps to the bayou bank and turned back toward the house. As he did so, Hammond appeared coming toward him, knife in hand.
"I'm going to cut me a pole and land a couple o' fish for supper," announced the chauffeur, grinning. "Got things cleaned up fine, cap'n! You won't know the old shack."
"Good enough," said Gramont. "Here, step over this way! I want to show you something."
He led Hammond to the rivulet and pointed out the thin film of oil on the surface.
"There's our golden fortune, sergeant! Oil actually coming out of the ground! It doesn't happen very often, but it does happen—and this is one of the times. I'll not bother to look around any farther."
"Glory be!" said Hammond, staring at the rivulet. "Want to hit back for town?"
"No; we couldn't get back until sometime to-night, and the roads aren't very good for night work. I'm going to get some leases around here—perhaps I can do it right away, and we'll start back in the morning. Go ahead and get your fish."
Regaining the house, he saw that Hammond had indeed cleaned up in great style, and had the main room looking clean as a pin, with a fire popping on the hearth. He did not pause here, but went to the car, got in, and started it. He drove back to the road, and followed this toward town for a few rods, turning in at a large and very decent-looking farmhouse that he had observed while passing it on the way out.
He found the owner, an intelligent-appearing Creole, driving in some cows for milking, and was a little startled to realize that the afternoon was so late. When he addressed the farmer in French, he received a cordial reply, and discovered that this man owned the land across the road from the Ledanois place—that his farm, in fact, covered several hundred acres.
"Who owns the land next to the Ledanois place?" inquired Gramont.