“No fooling!”
“I’m serious. A mountain goat lives in the most inaccessible places. He’s got eyes like binoculars, he’s smart and fast, and he’s not afraid of anything that walks. I’ve known of cases where mountain goats have killed a lion. He may not be much to look at, but I can promise you an exciting chase and one you won’t forget in a hurry. Okay?”
Sandy and Mike both nodded their heads in agreement. “Okay,” they chorused.
“Good.” Hank stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m for bed,” he announced. “And you better do the same. If we’re going hunting tomorrow, we’ll have to be up at....”
“Oh, no!” Mike groaned as he lumbered to his feet. “Don’t tell me—dawn again! Why is it,” he asked plaintively, “that everything around here starts at dawn?”
“Tell you what,” Hank said, moving to the door of one of the bedrooms that opened off from the main room. “When we get back, we’ll let you lie around in bed some morning all you like.”
“Sure,” Sandy agreed. “We’ll let you sleep till six—or maybe even seven.”
“Lucky boy.” Mr. Cook chuckled as he reached over to turn down the wick of the kerosene lamp. “Just let me know what the sunrise is like tomorrow morning, will you? Personally, I plan to sleep until noon.”
“Still want that goat?” Hank asked Mike, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Mike grinned back at him. “See you at dawn,” he said. “If I’m lucky, I may even have one eye open.”