“How's this, men!” cried Dyer sharply; “why aren't you out on the marsh?”
No one answered for a minute. Then Baptiste:
“He mak' too tam cole for de marsh. Meester Radway he spik dat we kip off dat marsh w'en he mak' cole.”
Dyer knew that the precedent was indisputable.
“Why didn't you cut on eight then?” he asked, still in peremptory tones.
“Didn't have no one to show us where to begin,” drawled a voice in the corner.
Dyer turned sharp on his heel and went out.
“Sore as a boil, ain't he!” commented old Jackson Hines with a chuckle.
In the cook camp Dyer was saying to the cook, “Well, anyway, we'll have dinner early and get a good start for this afternoon.”
The cook again laid down his paper. “I'm tending to this job of cook,” said he, “and I'm getting the meals on time. Dinner will be on time to-day not a minute early, and not a minute late.”