“That’s tough, Quiz.” The oilman came over and slipped a fatherly arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Your father will be all right soon, I’m sure, but we certainly will miss you up at the well. Now the problem is to get you back to Farmington quick so you can catch the midnight bus. I’ll send your things on, soon as we get back.”
“One of my trucks is returning to Farmington after supper,” spoke up the oilman named Tom. “You can go in that.”
“Thanks,” gulped Quiz.
The ban about talking at mealtime was broken that night. All the oil and uranium men were agreed that Cavanaugh was a bad-mannered blusterer, but they differed sharply about the value of his electronic detector.
“He has made several good uranium strikes with the thing,” a bearded prospector insisted, “though what good they’re going to do him I can’t imagine, with the government not buying except from established mills. But don’t sell Red Cavanaugh short. He has made millions out of electronics, they say. He knows electronics. He’s a smart operator. You keep an eye on the bids he makes tomorrow and you’ll see what I mean.”
“Well, I’m not throwing my seismograph away for a while yet,” Tom retorted. “I’ll put my money on Don’s opinion any day.”
The boys tried to follow the conversation, but Quiz’s heart was not in it, and he only picked at his food. Finally he excused himself and headed for the dining-room door with Sandy after him.
“It’s a tough break,” he said half an hour later while he and his pal stood at the edge of town and stared upward at that amazing natural bridge called the Window Rock.
“It sure is,” Sandy agreed glumly. “Maybe you can come back, though.”
“Not a chance. Dad will be laid up most of the summer, and he can’t afford to hire a manager, the way things are. There’s nothing I can— Hey! Look!” He grabbed Sandy’s arm and pointed. “See that point of light twinkling ’way up on top of the Window Rock? That isn’t a star, is it?”