Hall was just driving into camp as they arrived.
“We’ve found a rich uranium lode or lens, I think, John,” Ralph shouted to him. For once he had lost his Indian calm and was almost dancing with excitement.
“You don’t say,” yawned the producer as he dragged himself out of the car.
“Well!” Ralph stared, openmouthed, at this cool reception. “What’s the matter, boss? Don’t you care?”
“Where are we going to sell the ore?” Hall asked gently.
“Oh!” Ralph wilted. “I hadn’t thought of that. The government only buys from people who have mills.”
“Sure. A uranium strike these days is just like money in a safe for which you have lost the combination.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hall,” Stack interrupted, “but doesn’t Midray own an interest in a uranium mill?”
“Oh, yes.” Hall smiled grimly at the surveyor. “Midray owns an interest in most everything. It will be delighted to help me develop the lode—in exchange for three-fourths of the profits.
“That’s better than nothing, though.” He straightened his shoulders. “A uranium strike will shorten the odds enough so I can take a chance on drilling a well here. Why, what am I grousing about? This could be a real stroke of luck. How did you happen to find it?”