“The gun,” Gary reminded him again.
Harry passed it over to his voiceless partner. “Give it to him in the morning, Jonesy, if I ain't back. Now come on, come on, I can't wait all night.”
Gary explained about the underwater cables, running from one shore to the other.
“How do you know them cables are there?” Harry demanded excitedly.
“I helped put ’em in,” Gary lied. “I was working with the Western Union construction gang. The cables are there, all right. We put ’em in eight or ten years ago. Just look for the signboard—”
Harry was off like a flushed deer.
Sully quickly climbed to his feet and made as if to follow, only to totter a few steps and sink down again. The skinny old man sounded as though he were crying. The silent Jonesy fondled the shotgun and sighed. Harry's passage through the field was an incautiously noisy one; so eager was he to reach the bridge and the cables that he made no attempt to conceal himself or mask the sound of his movements.
Gary waited until the last hasty footfall had faded into distant silence. He turned. “All right, Jonesy, I'll take that shotgun now.”
The scavenger handed it over without a word.