They went down a rocky path to the nearer beach, and sat on the bottom of an upturned scow. As they were chatting they heard the creak of a door, opening on rusty hinges. A man came out from one of the nearer shacks. His clothes were fairly new, he wore a brown slouch hat and tan shoes—evidently he was not a fisherman; neither was he a farmer nor a common loafer; he looked as if he came from a town. He was smoking a small briar pipe.
“What are you doing here?” The man’s tone was a little peremptory, though not exactly surly.
David enjoyed such a question. With a pleasant, friendly smile he answered, “Just sitting here and thinking.”
“That’s all you’re doing, eh?”
“It is at present,” David answered. “What are you doing yourself?”
The man frowned; looked up the creek, looked across at the opposite shore. “Nobody lives here now,” he stated after a minute. “Sometimes I come and fish from that bridge.”
“What’s happened to the place?” asked Lanky.
“I don’t know. Only nobody comes here now.”
“Well, we came this afternoon,” said David. “You see, we’re explorers.”
“You won’t find anything to explore.”