“The big boss does want to be seeing you both,” was the spike boy’s message; and Dick and Larry hurried down the line to the temporary field headquarters where the chief was sitting on a spike keg, with a couple of planks on trestles for a work table.
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you fellows since this drive began,” was the greeting they got. “Pull up a couple of those empty kegs and sit down. Now that we have a few minutes I want you to tell me all about that scouting expedition you made yesterday. Give me the details.”
Dick did the telling, or most of it, boiling the report down into the fewest possible words to save the chief’s time.
“A thoroughly good, workmanlike job,” was the hearty commendation to follow Dick’s narrative; and then, with the shadow of a smile lurking in the sober gray eyes: “We won’t say anything about the fellow named Jones. There was really no good reason why you should have suspected him or doubted his story. Now then, a few more particulars about that O. C. supply camp you found at the head of the valley; about what amount of material have they on hand at that point?”
It was Larry who answered this question, and he fished out his note-book and showed the sketch he had made of the camp and the route of the O. C. across the valley. Much of his work during the summer had been the checking of material, and he was able to form a reasonably good estimate of how much track a given quantity of cross-ties and rails would lay.
“I’d say they have, maybe, two miles of ties and rails piled up in that camp,” was his venture at the quantities.
“Not more than that?”
“No, sir; I think not.”
“That is good news; better than I expected to hear. If we can make the crossing and get ahead of them in the upper canyon, we’ll beat them yet. Now about that rock cutting you say they’re working in above their camp; how big is it?”
Again it was Larry who answered.