"Isn't a low flash-point a disadvantage?" Benson asked. "It must make the oil explosive."
"It does, but all petroleum's refined and the by-products they take off, which include gasoline, fetch a remarkably good price. Shake a few drops on the end of a hot log and we'll see how it lights."
A fire burned in a ring of stones in the middle of the tepee and Benson carefully did as he was told. Hardly had the oil fallen on the wood than it burst into flame.
"As I thought!" said Harding. "I suspect the presence of one or two distillates that should be worth as much as the kerosene. We'll get the stuff analysed later, but you had better stopper the flask, because we don't want the smell to rouse Lane's curiosity. The important point is that as I've reasons for believing the oil is fresh from the ground, Clarke must have found it shortly before the blizzard overtook him. That fixes the locality and we shouldn't have much trouble in striking the spot when we come back again." His eyes sparkled as he concluded: "It's going to be well worth while; this is a big thing."
Blake did not feel much elation. His was not a mercenary nature, and he had all along thought his comrade too sanguine, though he meant to back him.
"In a way, it was very hard luck for Clarke," he said. "If you're right in your conclusions, he's been searching for the oil for several years, and now he was cut off just when it looks as if he'd found it."
"You don't owe him much pity. What would have happened if we hadn't met the police?"
"It's unpleasant to think of. No doubt we'd have starved to death."
"A sure thing!" said Harding. "It hasn't struck you that this was what he meant us to do?"
Blake started. "Are you making a bold guess, or have you any ground for what you're saying?"