“Gold is what?” Bernie said. “Nine hundred bucks an ounce, give or take? Sixteen ounces in a pound, and supposing we’ve got … ” He went on like that for a while, the sound very pleasant in my ears. I wandered around, sniffing here and there in the wreckage of the old wooden plane. Usually when you sniff around in the desert you come across all kinds of animal smells, but here in the tiny box canyon there weren’t any. I nosed my way under a wooden plank, and hey! What was this? A round metal thing, kind of shaped like a Frisbee. I’d seen one of these not too long ago. What was it again? What was it for? Had there been something inside? I had that feeling in my head when I come close to remembering. Does that ever happen to you? Close, but no cigar, as humans say, why I’m not sure. I chewed one once. Once was enough.
“Chet? Something up?”
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