“Five or six years, maybe,” Doc said. “The frame’ll be as good as that for ten years more. There’s nothing more to rot.”
“Well,” said Garry, “it looks to my keen scout eye as if that wreck had been there for about six months and the skeleton for about six years.”
“Maybe if you had tried shutting your keen scout eye and opening it in a hurry—— Hey, Tomasso?” teased Doc.
“Maybe they got here at the same time but the man lived for a while,” Tom condescended to reply.
“You’ve got it just the wrong way round, my fraptious boy,” said Doc. “The skeleton’s been here longer, if anything.”
“Did you see that hickory stick there—all worm-eaten?” Tom asked. “It had some carving on it. None of these trees are hickory trees.”
“I saw it but I didn’t notice the carving,” said Doc, surprised.
“Didn’t you notice there weren’t any hickory trees anywhere around there?” Tom asked.
“No, I didn’t—I’m a punk scout—I must be blind,” said Doc.
“You’re good on first-aid,” said Tom, indifferently.