McLagan shook his head. He was gazing out to sea now and stood abstractedly filling his pipe.
“No,” he said. Then his eyes came back again to the scene of the wreck with the screaming sea-birds circling about it. “Psha!” he cried impatiently. “What’s the use? Yes, the boats if you like. It’s the whole darn thing. It’s got me guessing, so I can’t forget it.”
Peter chuckled.
“That’s all right,” he said. “It don’t worry me a thing. It’s oil for mine. You can play around with all the wrecks if you fancy that way. I’m beating it right back to camp.”
McLagan nodded.
“Yes. It’s oil, not wrecks, for you an’ me,” he said, as though striving to convince himself. “I know that. But—yes, you beat it right back to camp and I’ll be along up the moment I touch the answer our folks send to that report. I’ll just wait around for that. I’m figgering there’ll be a big move on that new field when we get word. The drilling we’re doing now looks like it’ll be a circumstance to the thing coming. Maybe I’ll even have to run down to Seattle, after I’ve made my own inspection. Still, that won’t be till the late fall.”
Peter agreed, his keen eyes lighting afresh.
“That’s how it looks to me,” he said.
“Yes. Are you stopping around to eat?”
“No. I’ll make camp on the river. I’ll pass up on slack water and grab the tide later.” Peter laughed and nodded down at the wreck. “You’ll get another look at that while you’re waiting reply from our folks,” he observed slily.