“Where are we going?” Burton asked from the front bench.
“It’s called the Dream Mine,” Roxie told them.
“That sounds cheerful,” Poe judged.
“A man named Koyle had it dug,” Roxie said. “He told everyone he’d dreamed that if you dug a shaft where he said, you’d hit an old Nephite mine, all dug out and just full of precious metal sitting around waiting to be taken away.”
“What’s Nephite?” Burton asked. “Is that like bauxite?”
“The Nephites were an ancient people,” Roxie informed him. “They lived around here a long time ago.”
“Hiya, heya, hiya, heya,” Tam chanted, then made his best Indian war-whoop, slapping his hand against his round O of a mouth. “I’ll admit I may be disadvantaged because I got my schooling in Ireland, but the sisters never told me about Indians digging for bauxite.”
“The ancient world is as unexplored and mysterious as is the modern,” Burton growled, and took his eyes off the jittering road to shoot Tam a gruff, schoolteacherly look. “Nobody can afford to pat himself on the back for his wisdom just yet. Least of all the Irish.”
“Go to Hell.” Tam took a slug off his bottle.
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