yourn—why, I had to let yu' go your way. Why, that wasn't the ordinary play with the ordinary tenderfoot they treated you to! You ain't a common tenderfoot this trip. You're the foreman's friend. They've hit him through you. That's the way they count it. It's made them encouraged. Can't yu' see?"
Scipio stated it plainly. And as we ran by the next station, "Howard!" they harshly yelled. "Portland 1256!"
We had been passing gangs of workmen on the track. And at that last yell the Virginian rose. "I reckon I'll join the meeting again," he said. "This filling and repairing looks like the washout might have been true."
"Washout?" said Scipio.
"Big Horn bridge, they say—four days ago."
"Then I wish it came this side Rawhide station."
"Do yu'?" drawled the Virginian. And smiling at Scipio, he lounged in through the open door.
"He beats me," said Scipio, shaking his head. "His trail is turruble hard to anticipate."
We listened.
"Work bein' done on the road, I see," the Virginian was saying, very friendly and conversational.
"We see it too," said the voice of Trampas.
"Seem to be easin' their grades some."
"Roads do."
"Cheaper to build 'em the way they want 'em at the start, a man would think," suggested the Virginian, most friendly. "There go some more I-talians."
