“Been followin’ construction work long?” asked Halfaman.
“Virtually all my life,” returned the other.
At this another of the listeners sighed wearily, and whispered to one near him:
“Get dat, will youse? Been follyin’ de big camps all his life! C’n youse beat it? I’m bettin’ he never seen a railroad camp—hey? No foolin’!”
His friend nodded with a grimace that showed agreement.
When he had finished eating, the new friend of The Falcon rose, and, lying flat, took a long drink from the cold mountain stream.
“Well,” he announced, “I’m beatin’ ’er up to the tracks. C’mon, if you’re goin’ with me, Jack. There’s a westbound freight due before so very long, if the switchman didn’t lie—and he didn’t look like he had brains enough to lie.”
“Much obliged for de scoffin’s, Halfaman,” volunteered one of the tramps as The Falcon followed the freckled youth through the fence.
“Keep the change!” called Halfaman. “But next time I’m settin’ up the eats, le’ me do the invitin’.”
There was no answer; and the two struggled up the hill, and walked along the track toward a water tank to hide and wait the coming of the next westbound freight.