“It’s sinful country,” said Conlon at length. “Better break it into two days, Ted. We can’t do more than we can, you know.”
“Bein’ that near the sky it orter hev larned better,” added Ike. “But it seemin’ly ain’t. You’ll hev ter give us two days fur the Brothers, Ted.”
Ted Douglas’ hands were in his pockets, and his quiet eyes sifting round the group.
“We’re takin’ the Brothers an’ the Dome to-day,” he said. “Anybody got anythin’ more to say?”
A month’s hill-mustering will weed weaklings out of any camp under heaven. Indubitably, the boys were toughened, lung, sinew, and muscle, to any strain that might fall. But they were growing stale, and more than one was foot-sore, and the flame of mutiny was just a new-born flicker in the camp.
Three yards off Buck was strapping the last pack, and casting the great saddles athwart the horses with a jangle of chains. Mogger muttered underbreath, and through the smoke of his half-lit pipe Lou Birot was watching Ted Douglas.
“We can’t do it in a day,” said Scott, sulkily.
“Do you mean that you won’t?”
Scott looked round for support. He made no answer.
“Come on,” said Ted, kindly. “Don’t be
