Roger, of course, went out with the other men every day, scaling points picked out for him by the chief as places he desired occupied, measuring from the rod elevated by the boy, who then, at a signal, was ordered to go to the next point scheduled. To a boy as fond of climbing as was Roger, for a day or two this was good fun, but the novelty soon passed by and he did his day's work with a persistent regularity, which, though it brought forth the results required, was lacking in the adventurous. In short, the continuity of risky work became monotonous.
It was due to this cause, perhaps, that one afternoon, when this sort of thing had been proceeding for several weeks, Roger, passing from one outjutting piece of rock to another, but a few feet away, jumped carelessly, twisted his ankle beneath him and fell, spraining his wrist. Despite the sprain, however, he reached the point to which he had been sent, and then, instead of going on, returned to the topographer.
"What's the matter?" called Masseth, who had seen him fall, as soon as he came in hearing. "Did you hurt yourself?"
"Sprained my wrist, I think, Mr. Masseth," answered the boy. "Beastly sorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to lay off for the rest of the afternoon."
Photograph by U.S.G.S.
A Hard Point to Measure.
Note the comparative size of horse and men at the foot.
"Let's see, son." The topographer felt the wrist, then feeling that no bones were broken, and that a day or two would set it all right again, bade Roger go to the main camp and let the cook change places with him for a few days.