"Pinkitty-plank-plink!" twanged Matt Rice's banjo, starting into
another rollicking air.

"I guess it's taps, boys," called Blaisdell in his low but resonant
voice. "Look at the chief's tent; he's putting out his candles now."

A glance at the gradually darkening walls of the chief engineers
big tent showed that this was the case.

"We'll all turn in," nodded Blaisdell.

So Tom and Harry hastened to their tent, where they unfolded their
camp cots and set them up. There was not much bed-making. The
body of the cot was of canvas, and required no mattress. From
out of their baggage each took a small pillow and pair of blankets.
At this altitude the night was already rather chilly, despite
the fact that it was July.

Rapidly undressing in the dark the young engineers crawled in
between their blankets.

"Well, at last," murmured Harry, "we're engineers in earnest.
That is," he added rather wistfully, "if we last."

"We've got to last," replied Tom in a low voice, hardly above
a whisper, "and we're going to. Harry, we've left behind us the
playtime of boyhood, and we're beginning real life! But in that
playtime we learned how to play real football. From now on we'll
apply all of the best and most strenuous rules of football to