CHAPTER TWELVE
Rockslide
The urgent jangling of the alarm clock woke Sandy first. The room was icy cold and pitch-black, but the soft glow of the dial read four-thirty. Sandy forced himself to grope free of the blanket and shut off the insistent clamor. He leaned over and gave Mike’s shoulder a shake.
“Hey, Mike!” he called.
Mike groaned, opened one eye, and then turned back to the wall, muttering something under his breath.
Sandy shook him a second time. “Wake up, Mike. Let’s go.”
The figure under the blanket heaved up and settled back down on the mattress. “Whazzamattawhyuh, huh?” it said.
Sandy sighed and swung his feet down on the cold floor. “A brilliant conversationalist,” he observed, reaching for his trousers. “May I quote you on that?” A bulge under the blanket made a tempting target. He gave it a friendly whack. “Rise and shine, boy. We’ve got a date with a goat.”
There was a sharp yelp and a flurry of movement. Slowly a tousled head appeared from under the covers and regarded Sandy with a baleful look. “No self-respecting goat is up at a time like this,” he said bitterly. “So let me go back to sleep. What time is it, anyway?”
“After four-thirty. I’m going to go out and see about breakfast. See you in the kitchen.”
Mike reached for the covers. “Good,” he grunted. “That gives me another fifteen minutes.”