“Aw; you make me sort of tired with your everlasting jokes,” returned the maker of estimates; but, as on the night before, he went to bed soberly thoughtful.
The next morning there was more disappointment in store. The night shift, pressing the pile-driving, had had bad luck. Along in the small hours there had been an earthquake—at least, so the driver foreman averred—and immediately following it the slide had begun to crawl as a whole, continuing in motion for the remainder of the night. As a result, the bulkhead, and the pile-driver itself, had been slowly buried; and when the two boys got on the ground the steam shovel had been put in again to dig its companion machine out of the shale grave.
Reporting to Goldrick for duty, Larry and Dick were told that they might have the day off. There was nothing to be done until the pile-driver could be dug out, and there was no use in setting up grade stakes only to have them buried as fast as they were driven.
“Well, what shall we do with our holiday?” Dick asked, after they had strolled back to camp. “Mr. Bob Goldrick seems a whole lot peeved this morning—for which you can’t blame him a little bit—and I guess he doesn’t want us around under foot.”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Larry, falling back upon a phrase which was growing to be a habit with him. “I believe I’d like to see where this slide starts—where it’s all coming from, I mean.”
“Gee!” Dick interposed; “that would mean climbing Bull Peak!”
“Well, what of it? We’ve got the day for it, if we want to take it.”
“All right,” said Dick with a little sigh which meant that he knew full well what he was in for on a day’s hike with the stubborn one who never turned back until he had accomplished his purpose. “Anything you say. But we’re going to need a balloon or an aeroplane before we ever see the top of old Bull.”