“What on earth for?” Sandy almost choked on his Coke in amazement. “What’s the matter with the telephone, telegraph and short-wave radio stations that are scattered all over this territory? And how come Cavanaugh has to have a permanent camp at Window Rock, and an agent in Gallup?”
“Now who’s asking the questions?” Pepper said smugly. “Have another Coke?”
“No, but we’ll buy you one,” Quiz replied, and added with a wink at his pal, “It must be quite a job, setting up one of your stations.”
“Sure is!” The blond boy expanded at this implied praise. “It’s never been done before over such long distances, Red says. You have to focus the beam perfectly, or it’s no good. But, after you do that, nobody can eavesdrop on you unless....” He stopped short, and jumped off the diner stool as though it had suddenly become hot. “Well, so long, fellows. I’ve got to be getting back to camp. See you around.” And he departed as abruptly as he had come.
“Now what kind of business was that?” Sandy asked as he paid the entire bill.
“Monkey business, I guess,” Quiz answered. “I think Mr. Hall ought to know about those stations, and maybe Mr. White, the Indian Agent, should be told too.” He kicked at the dust thoughtfully as they walked slowly down Window Rock’s main street.
“Hmmm. You have to get a license from the government to operate a short-wave station,” said Sandy. “But I don’t suppose you need one yet for a light-beam job. Now, just supposing that Cavanaugh wanted to—”
“Wanted to what?”
“That’s what I don’t know. But I sure would like to find out. Let’s be getting back to the motel.”
They found themselves in the middle of a tense scene when they entered the motel patio. Twenty or thirty oil and uranium men were gathered there, their chairs propped comfortably against the adobe walls, while they listened to Cavanaugh and Donovan argue the merits of the big man’s electronic explorer.