Sweat ran down Marshall’s forehead and stung his eyes. He wiped at his face with frustrated strokes of the handkerchief, and jammed it back in his pocket. How did they live in this heat, let alone work in it he wondered to himself. Long lengths of twine outlined various parts of the dig site. The locals they had hired to augment his university's team were more than eager, and they had made incredible progress. But to what?
A small unassuming man sidled up to Marshall, and gave him a quizzical gl...
Marshall sipped the rancid coffee from an ill treated tin cup, the smile never leaving his face as he looked out over the beehive of activity. John Allard ducked out of a tent behind him with some rolled up papers under his arm and sidled up alongside Marshall.
“The last of the equipment should be arriving today from the old dig site, but we are having trouble getting some of the locals to come and dig here.”
Allard said matter of factly.
“More superstition?” Marshall replied without breaking his gaze...
The flimsy wooden door flung open and slammed against the wall, Marshall quick behind it, wicker basket in hand, grabbed the door and slammed it shut.
John Allard looked on bemused. He had learned long ago not to get caught up in every bit of eccentricity that Marshall brought to him.
“Well hello to you too, how was your camping trip?”
Marshall paced in a circle, sweating, mouthing something as he worked through what to say.
“Well out with it, did you find some other career defining dig site while y...