"Come on, boys," he yelled. "We're going through to-night."
"Oh, hold up, Knight!" said Duff. "What the hell's eating you? We'll
grub first anyway."
"No," said Knight. "The next rapid is a bad bit of water, and if we're
going through to-night, I want that bit behind me, before it gets too
dark. So come along!"
"Oh, cut it out, Knight," said Duff, in a gruff but conciliatory tone.
"We'll camp right here."
"It's all the same to me," said Knight, flinging his pack down. "When
you want to go on, say the word. You won't have to ask me twice."
Duff looked over the six feet of bone and sinew and muscle of the young
rancher, made as if to answer, paused a moment, changed his mind, and
said more quietly:
"Don't be an ass, Knight. I'm not trying to hang your shirt on a tree."
"You know damned well you can't," said Knight, who was still white with
passion.
"Oh, come off," replied Duff. "Anyway, I don't see what young Dunbar is
to you. We must get through to-morrow night. The overseas contingent is
camping at Valcartier, according to these papers and whatever happens I
am going with that contingent.
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