“But for them they might have been a-swarmin’ across the river like flies,” growled Raulings.
“Don’t forget we’re on the job too,” grinned Chaney.
Sam Randall raised the glass to his eyes. What a marvelous change the powerful instrument wrought. Details as clear and distinct as though the camp were right before them flashed before his eyes. Several big commissary wagons with rounded tops, resembling prairie schooners, all drawn by four-mule teams, stood motionless in a row.
Nearer the foreground a rude structure open at the sides, built of boxes and poles, with a thatched roof of branches and twigs, was evidently the kitchen, for a stove and other accessories of the culinary department reposed in the center. On the outside, a miscellaneous collection of boxes, sacks, and tarpaulin-covered goods was scattered all about.
To the left, a group of soldiers busily unloaded the nearest wagon, while close to the shore of the river a long line of horses grazed in a patch of grass.
“I declare, I almost expect to hear a sentry challenge me!” cried Sam.
“Do let me have a look,” pleaded Don.
After another moment spent in studying the form of a shaggy dog, which having discovered their presence was barking vigorously, the Rambler handed over the glass.
“Ah, jolly fine!” exclaimed Don. “There’s a chap who tipped me a wink—honest it looked so, anyway. Guess he wants us to pay ’em a visit.”
“Nothing doing,” said the sergeant. “This is about the nearest we’ll get to the boys in khaki.”