Tom chuckled at the idea. "No, son, 'twas the boat. Truth is, Marjie
just flat refused to go."
The driver of the DUKW was turning around, ready to leave. "Hey, Mr.
Beebe," he shouted, "how soon should I come back?"
Tom answered for him. "No telling, captain. Could be all day. Ye'll
just have to keep checking."
As Paul climbed into the boat, he noticed a bundle of sticks and a
cellophane bag stuffed with pieces of cloth. "What they for, Tom?" he
asked.
"They're rags from my wife's scrap bag. They're to make flags to mark
where the dead animals are. Can't expect the 'copters to find 'em if
they don't know where they be."
Although the air was bitter cold, the wind had lessened and holes
of blue sky showed through the clouds. But the water about them was
muddy-brown and full of drift. Grandpa reached for an oar.
"Wait a minute!" Tom said. "I got strict instructions from Marjie to
give you coffee afore we set out. Wait a minute."