“Coming up fast, brother. Three inches in the last twenty minutes. Another half hour and this road may be completely covered.”
Flash ran back to the truck. Doyle had turned it around and was impatiently waiting.
“Jump in!” he commanded. “We’re going to be late getting to Excelsior City now that we have to back-track.”
“Listen, Doyle!” Flash was excited. “While we’re breaking our necks trying to reach there, we’ll be passing up better pictures.”
“What do you mean, better pictures?”
“The bridge is going out any time.”
“Maybe,” Doyle retorted. “But we’re not waiting here several hours on a slim chance like that! Our assignment is to shoot the polo match.”
Flash gazed steadily at the technician.
“Sorry to disagree. We’re staying right here.”
“Say who do you think you are?” Doyle drawled insolently. “I’m not taking orders from any fresh kid.”