CHAPTER VI
“DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM!”
Inside the big chuck tent of the construction camp the cook was busy forking steak to tin plates and ladling potatoes into deep dishes.
“Git a move on you, Red Haid,” he ordered.
Bob Dillon distributed the food at intervals along the table which ran nearly the whole length of the canvas top. From an immense coffee pot he poured the clear brown liquid into tin cups set beside each plate. This done, he passed out into the sunshine and beat the triangle.
From every tent men poured like seeds squirted from a squeezed lemon. They were all in a hurry and they jostled each other in their eagerness to get through the open flap. Straw boss, wood walkers, and ground men, they were all hungry. They ate swiftly and largely. The cook and his flunkey were kept busy.
“More spuds!” called one.
“Coming up!” Dillon flung back cheerfully.
“Shoot along more biscuits!” a second ordered.
“On the way!” Bob announced.