Roger, of course, went out with the other men every day, scaling points picked out for him by the chief as places he desired occupied, measuring from the rod elevated by the boy, who then, at a signal, was ordered to go to the next point scheduled. To a boy as fond of climbing as was Roger, for a day or two this was good fun, but the novelty soon passed by and he did his day's work with a persistent regularity, which, though it brought forth the results required, was lacking in the adventurous. In short, the continuity of risky work became monotonous. It was due to this cause, perhaps, that one afternoon, when this sort of thing had been proceeding for several weeks, Roger, passing from one outjutting piece of rock to another, but a few feet away, jumped carelessly, twisted his ankle beneath him and fell, spraining his wrist. Despite the sprain, however, he reached the point to which he had been sent, and then, instead of going on, returned to the topographer. "What's the matter?" called Masseth, who had seen him fall, as soon as he came in hearing. "Did you hurt yourself?" "Sprained my wrist, I think, Mr. Masseth," answered the boy. "Beastly sorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to lay off for the rest of the afternoon." [Illustration: A HARD POINT TO MEASURE. Note the comparative size of horse and men at the foot. _Photograph by U.S.G.S._] "Let's see, son." The topographer felt the wrist, then feeling that no bones were broken, and that a day or two would set it all right again, bade Roger go to the main camp and let the cook change places with him for a few days. "I'll write to Mr. Mitchon, and tell him of your promotion to camp cook," called Masseth, laughing as Roger rode away. On arriving at the camp and giving his message to the cook, the latter readily agreed to help for a few days. "I'll go at once," he said, "the teamster should be back to-morrow, and while things are running pretty short, I guess you'll have enough to hold out." The following morning early, after having told Roger everything he was to look after, the cook started for the side camp to take Roger's place, while the latter looked after the camp. Long and weary seemed the morning to the boy, so inactive it was after the strenuous life he had been leading for some weeks, and, though the teamster usually got in before noon, when evening came he had not arrived. Roger, who had counted on the cook's knowledge of the teamster's time, found himself almost without food for supper, and made a very light repast. He was just about to turn in for a sleep, when he heard the sound of horses' hoofs and went out to greet the teamster. "Is that you, Jim?" he called out. "Guess not, pardner," answered a strange voice, and a cowman loped into the circle of light. "This here a United States camp?" he queried. "Yes," answered the boy. "An' who's running the shebang?" "I am just at present," Roger answered. "But I expected the teamster here to-day."