“Just some of them,” Johnny agreed, giving the wheel a turn.
“Come to think of it,” MacGregor went on, “there are a few white men who are not so honorable.”
“Quite a few,” Johnny agreed.
Truth is, Johnny was dead tired. He wanted nothing quite so much as to crawl into some warm corner and sleep for hours and hours.
“I don’t hate them all the same,” MacGregor squinted his eyes to look through the fog. Then he demanded low, “Hear anything, Johnny?”
“Not a thing.”
“Thought I heard a voice coming out of the fog.”
For some time after that neither spoke. They were listening with all their ears for some sound that might tell them the mysterious moving shadow was about to pass.
“What is this shadow?” Johnny asked himself. “Submarine, some fast, silent craft, or a whale?”
He liked the idea of a submarine. The Orientals had them. Why not use them for laying nets? Easy enough to vanish when danger was near.