The boys were drifting over toward the Council Hall for a better look at the many Navajos in stiff black hats and colorful shirts who clustered around its doorway when they heard a familiar shout.
“Wait up!” Pepper March dashed across the dusty street and pounded them on their backs as if they were his best friends. “Gee, it’s good to see a white man you know.”
“You saw us only yesterday,” Sandy pointed out rather coldly.
“Oh, but that was business. Come on. I’ll buy a Coke. What have you been up to? How do you like working for an old crank? What’s biting Hall’s geologist? Boy, isn’t it hot? Did you know that I’m learning to fly Red’s Bonanza? How’s your well coming along?”
“Whoa!” cried Quiz. “Relax! We’ve been working like sin. We like Mr. Hall. His geologist is going to bite your Mr. Cavanaugh pretty soon, I’m thinking. It is exactly 110 degrees in the shade. We did not know you were learning to fly a plane. And the situation at the well is strictly our own affair.”
“Uh—” said Pepper, “you’re not sore about what happened yesterday, are you? Red was only trying to make a sale.”
“Nope. We’re not sore,” Sandy answered. “But we’re beginning to take a dim view of your boss.”
“Why, Red’s the grandest guy you ever met. Do you know what he’s got me doing?”
“There you go again, asking personal questions,” said Quiz.
“I’m helping him set up a string of light beam transceivers that will keep his camps here and at Shiprock in constant communication with his agent down at Gallup.”