They proceeded to do it. By making a short detour to the left they found scrub thickets enough to mask their descent, and in the gulch itself there was also timber cover enough to let them come within easy listening distance of the track-laying battle. The big, bearded chief of construction of the Overland Central—the man who had captured and locked them up the day before—was walking up and down the line, shouting out orders to his foremen, and they knew what to expect if they should run afoul of him. So they kept themselves hidden pretty carefully in the scrub timber growth.
After a bit—after it had grown quite dark—the chief strode away toward the valley camp and they breathed easier. They could hear the men talking as they worked, but there was nothing in the talk to tell them what they wanted to know.
“We’ve got to do something better than this,” Larry whispered in Dick’s ear. Then: “Say—look at that water boy. He must have bought his outfit in the same store that we did ours.”
Taking him by and large, the water boy in question might have passed for Larry’s own brother, a year or so younger. He was an over-sized, curly-haired chap in corduroys, flannel shirt, and a battered campaign hat. Also, he was wearing a pair of engineer’s lace-boots—cast-offs, they guessed they were, since they seemed to be about three sizes too large for the boy.
When they first saw him he was walking up and down with his bucket of water and dipper to let the workmen drink as they called to him; and he had just passed for the third time, going toward camp with the bucket empty, when Larry again called attention to him.
“If I could only swap jobs with that kid for an hour or so, I’ll bet I could find out something,” he whispered. Then: “What’s he doing now?”
In the flare of the working torches they could still see the boy with the big boots. He was stumbling along up the newly laid track as if he were half asleep.
“Bet you that kid’s just out of bed,” Dick muttered. “Been sleeping all day and still hasn’t had enough. Now look at that, will you?”
“That” was the spectacle of the boy hiding his bucket behind a track tool box and shuffling aside under the trees to stretch out upon the ground and compose himself to take a nap. Larry started. “If I only had that old hat of his!” he breathed.
“Let me!” Dick hissed; but Larry put him firmly back into the shadows. “Not much!—this is a homely man’s job, and you’re too pretty. Stay here and listen to every word that’s said.” And with that he glided away toward the somnolent water carrier.