"Seven o'clock! All out! Step lively! Change cars for breakfast!" were the next words that Dick Prescott heard.
By the time that the fellows had dressed, in the warm cabin, and had started to pry the shutters back, the first dim promise of daylight was showing in the east. A little later it was broad daylight.
By this time, too, after most of the fellows had slept soundly for hours, the situation seemed altogether different. Even Dutcher slipped out of his bunk and began to dress briskly.
"Say," he grinned, "but you fellows were somewhat scared last night."
"Yes," admitted Dave. "Weren't you?"
"Not a bit," asserted Hen bravely. "Sa-ay——"
He paused, looking around him in wonderment, then demanded tartly:
"What on earth are you fellows laughing at?"
"Laughing just to—to think what boobies we were when we had the brave Hen Dutcher with us to set us a better example," answered Tom Reade sarcastically. "No use in talking, Hen! You're the only fellow in this outfit that has any sand."
"Say, you needn't try to get too funny, now," remarked Hen suspiciously. "You fellows were all so scared that maybe you thought I was as bad as you. But I was only putting it on, just to see how far you'd all go."