“Clear ground or space within the fences?”
“Clear ground.”
“Ten acres, plus.”
“Oh!” said Sam. “That’s quite a lot.”
“Huh!”
There was an odd note in the Shark’s tone. Sam glanced at him keenly; suspicion seized him that the other might have an inkling of what was in his mind.
“I—I’m wondering if there’s room for—well, for something,” he said suggestively.
The Shark grunted. “Umph! So’m I”; turned; stalked away. Sam chuckled. His suspicion was strengthened, but his liking for the Shark was not lessened. Plainly that youth could keep a secret with the best of them.
Sam strolled on, crossing the field and coming to the road. There he paused for a little. A wagon loaded high with boards for the new buildings went creaking by; a farmer jogged along on his way back from town; then a touring automobile, with much luggage in its tonneau, sped by, raising a great cloud of dust. Plainly, there was a good deal of traffic, of one sort or another, but Sam reflected comfortably that the camp would be far enough from the highway to escape its bustle.
He was about to turn back, when the sharp bark of a motorcycle caught his ear, and in a moment more the machine shot around a bend in the road. It was traveling at a great pace, which slackened quickly when the rider caught sight of the figure by the roadside. Sam could not repress a start of surprise. His eyes were good, and in spite of the semi-disguise of goggles and low-drawn cap he recognized Zorn, even as he perceived that the traveler intended to halt for parley.