"As soon as we can get our permit," replied Bob.
Plant chuckled.
"Well, you did get in a hole there, didn't you? I guess you better go ahead. It'll take all summer to get the permit, and you don't want to lose a season, do you?"
Astonished at the effrontery of the man, Bob could with difficulty control his expression.
"We expect to start to-morrow or next day," he replied. "Just as soon as we can get our teams organized. Just scribble me a temporary permit, will you?" He offered a fountain pen and a blank leaf of his notebook.
Plant hesitated, but finally wrote a few words.
"You won't need it," he assured Bob. "I'll pass the word. But there you are."
"Thanks," said Bob, folding away the paper. "You seem to be comfortably fixed here."
Plant heaved his mighty body to its legs. His fat face beamed with pride.
"My boy," he confided to Bob, laying a pudgy hand on the young man's shoulder, "this is the best camp in the mountains—without any exception."