The yearling squad, each man feeling the cut of the sharp corners
of the heavy balk on his right shoulder, yet, bearing it patiently,
awaited the next command.
"Mr. Jordan, this is not a loafing contest," admonished Prescott
in a low voice.
"For---ward!" ordered Jordan with provoking deliberation.
The yearlings under him, made of vastly better material, sprang
forward with their balks, laying them in record time across the
top of the next pontoon. The lashers then fell upon their work
of securing the balks as though they loved labor.
"Chess!" called Dick, remaining on shore this time, and the yearlings
with the planks hastened forward, each carrying a plank. Here
and there, a lighter cadet staggered somewhat under the plank
he was carrying, yet hastened forward to finish his duty of the
moment with military speed.
Another pontoon was ready.
"Balks!" called Cadet Prescott. "Balks!"
Jordan got his squad started at last.
Dick glanced swiftly, but in wonder at Lieutenant Armstrong.
That Army officer, however, seemed industriously thinking about
something else.
"Jordan is truly taking charge of the balks!" muttered Prescott
to himself. "He is going to balk me so that I can't get the bridge
constructed before recall!"
"Running the balk chasers" is always unpopular work among the
cadets. Properly done, this work calls for a great deal of alertness,
speed and precision.
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