“Just a little fishing party up here,” he said with an attempt of heartiness. He was dressed in a rich-looking brown suit, and a huge sparkler gleamed from his elaborate silk cravat. He was smoking a big cigar.
He darted a warning look from his small eyes as two younger, roughly dressed men in the background allowed their heretofore guarded voices to become a bit too loud. One man caught the look, and ceased abruptly.
“It certainly is a good country for it,” replied Graves pleasantly. “I trust we will not impose on you too much⸺”
“Not at all, not at all,” the stout man assured him, but the looks of the others belied his words.
Groups had drawn off a little way and were conversing in undertones. All the men seemed to have poker faces—there was no hint of expression in them, although both flyers, as they removed their coveralls, caught disquieting as well as disquieted looks thrown their way. Graves continued to converse with the fat man. The tough-looking customer who had originally joined the conversation stood by himself, meditatively chewing a blade of grass. His huge right hand, which had been in his coat pocket at the start, was lifted to his jutting, prize-fighter’s chin, while his expressionless gray eyes dwelt steadily on the airmen.
“Quite some ship, eh? It’s a big reskel!” The dialect of a New York east-side Jew came familiarly to the flyers’ ears. It was a small, hook-nosed, black-haired man, whose shirt, tie and putteed legs all gave an impression of personal nicety even here in the wilderness. His face was somewhat pasty, and his lips very thin. He did not look over twenty-five.
“It sure is,” Hinkley assured him, throwing both pairs of coveralls into the cockpit of the ship.
Neither of the flyers wore a blouse, but were arrayed in O. D. shirts, breeches and boots. Both wore a sagging belt and holster, with the butt of a Colt .45 protruding from each container. Their garb and general appearance fitted the wildness of their surroundings perfectly. Graves had his automatic out of sight, in his pocket. The sight of the guns the flyers wore caused additional low-voiced conversation on the part of the onlookers.
The hard-faced American turned and started for the cabin without a word. Hinkley and Broughton walked over toward Graves.
Every one but the fat man started to walk around the ship, examining it with interest. Broughton started to walk toward the lower edge of the clearing. He had an idea that he wanted to verify by pacing off the distance and examining the rim of trees on the lower end.