His companion smiled.
"If they aren't, they'll be fools. I reckon there's enough oil
fields here for seven companies. There'll be a bit for us, too,
Tavernake, I guess. Don't you want to come back to New York and
spend it?"
Tavernake laughed once more, but this time his laugh was not
wholly natural.
"Spend it!" he repeated. "What is there to spend it on?
Uncomfortable clothes, false plays, drinks that are bad for you,
food that's half poisoned, atmosphere that stifles. My God,
Pritchard, is there anything in the world like this! Stretch out
your arms, man. Lie on your back, look up at the stars, let that
wind blow over your face. Listen."
They listened, and again they heard nothing, yet again there
seemed to be that peculiar quality about the silence which spoke
of the vastness of space.
Pritchard rose to his feet.
"New York and the fleshpots for me," he declared. "Keep in
touch, and good luck old man!"
Next day at dawn they parted, and Tavernake, with his three
companions, set his face towards an almost undiscovered tract of
land. Their progress was slow, for they were all the time in a
country rich with possibilities. For weeks they climbed, climbed
till they reached the snows and the wind stung their faces and
they shivered in their rugs at night. They came to a land of
sparser vegetation, of fewer and wilder animals, where they heard
the baying of wolves at night, and saw the eyes of strange
animals glisten through the thicket as the flames of their
evening fire shot up toward the sky.
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