“The plan was well worked out. We’ve put the salmon industry on a sound foundation. It will continue so for years unless—”
“These Orientals are allowed to come over here and set three-mile-long nets across the bay,” suggested Blackie.
“That’s just it!” McGee struck the table a resounding blow. “They’re taking advantage of a technicality of international law. And unless we drive them out—”
“Not too loud,” Blackie cautioned. “There goes one of them now.”
“What?” McGee sprang to his feet. A slender, dark-haired person was passing down the path before the cabin.
“No,” he settled back in his place. “He’s not one of ’em. He’s one of our Eskimos. We have three of them down here. It’s a little off their regular beat. But they are keen at locating the runs of salmon. Inherited it from their fathers, I—
“But say!” his voice rose. “He does look like one of those Orientals.”
“Sure he does,” Blackie agreed.
“We might use him for a sort of spy,” McGee’s voice dropped to a whisper. “His name’s Kopkina. Used to work in a restaurant. He picked up the Oriental lingo, at least enough to pass for one of ’em. If some of them come around here, we’ll have Kopkina mix in with them. He might find things out, important facts.”
“It’s a good idea,” Blackie agreed.