"Leaving no one at all at camp?" the other said.
Johnny said, "There were at least a score of men here, Mr. Mellor."
"No officers. Suppose an emergency came up?"
Johnny felt like saying, An emergency did come up, two of them in fact. That's why we were all gone at once. But for some reason he decided against explaining current happenings at Bidon Cinq until he had a clearer picture. He said, "There are only three of us here, Mr. Mellor. We have to stretch our manpower. Derek Mason had to go over to Amérene el Kasbach with Mohammed Mohmoud and his men to clear out those nomads and their livestock."
"What did they find? Where were the Tuareg from?"
"They haven't returned yet." Automatically, Johnny took up his can of beer and took a swallow from it.
Mellor's eyebrows went up. "Drinking this early in the day, McCord?"
Johnny sighed deeply, "Look, Mr. Mellor, Pierre Marimbert and I just returned from several hours in the desert, inspecting pumps. We're dehydrated, so we're drinking cold beer. It tastes wonderful. I doubt if it will lead either of us to a drunkard's grave."
Mellor scowled pompously. He said finally, "See here, McCord—the reason I called—you can be expecting a reporter from one of the French publications—"
"She's here."