CHAPTER III
A BREACH OF DISCIPLINE
“What do you reckon these O. C. people will do, Larry, when they find that we’ve got ahead of them in the canyon?”
“Huh?” came a yawning grunt from the opposite tent cot. Then: “Good goodness! can’t you let a fellow sleep for a few minutes?”
“A few minutes? It’s ten o’clock, and I’ll bet we’re the only two people left in this camp—unless the other one is the mess cookee!”
“Ah-yow!” gaped the sleeper, turning upon his back and stretching his arms over his head. “I feel as if I’d been up three nights hand-running, and then some. Ten o’clock, did you say?”
“Yep, and five minutes after. I guess Mr. Ackerman gave orders to let us sleep—to pay for the hiking we did yesterday and last night. But you haven’t told me yet what you think the O. C. bunch will do, now that we’ve pushed our grading force up and got ahead of them at the place where they were fixing to cross the river.”
Before Larry could answer the tent flap was pulled open and a well-built young fellow about two years their senior stuck his face in and grinned good-naturedly at them.
“Now then, lazyheads!” was his greetings; “’bout ready to turn out and wash your face and hands?”
“We’re thinking about it,” said Dick. “But just why, in particular—if you don’t mind telling us?”