"But, my Lord, Rog, she can't stay here!" he cried.
"So I told her. So Charley told her. But she's here. In her tent. On her air mattress. Her rocking chair beside her. Her books on occultism at her head."
"I was going to ask you to read that letter from Washington to-night," said Ernest, feebly, "but I feel that I need immediate rest. I'll go up in the morning to see Dick and if he still has his grouch with him, I'll bring him back to tackle the lady."
Roger yawned. "Guess I will leave the mail until morning. That woman has exhausted me more than any job we've tackled yet."
He blew out the candle and in a few moments the little camp was silent in the star glow.
CHAPTER VI
THE LETTER FROM WASHINGTON
In spite of his weariness, Roger could not sleep. He scarcely had closed his eyes when the memory of Dick's curious ugliness made him open them and stare into the darkness. What in the world could induce a seemingly pleasant fellow like Dick to go off apparently without cause into a deep seated grouch?