"We are. How far is it?"
"The lower yard is about four miles up yonder creek. The other yards are two and three miles further. The railroad runs down to the upper bend of the creek, two miles from town. If you hoof it that far, I reckon you can get a ride on the engine the rest of the way. But perhaps you want hosses. If so, you can hire a couple over to Shanley's barroom."
"I'd just as lief walk, if it's only two miles," said Dale. "I'd like the ride on the engine."
The station master laughed. "Don't think it's such a road as you've just left," he said. "On the curves it's enough to knock out your teeth. But, even so, it's better than walking."
"We'll leave the trunks on check for the present," said Owen. "And our valises, too."
"All right, throw the bags in the room yonder—nobody around here will touch 'em—and I'll put the trunks in alongside. If you'd come in half an hour sooner you could have ridden up with Jake Powell in the big wagon. He was down here for flour that came in on the morning freight."
"Do you know if Mr. Balasco is up at the camp?" asked Dale, seeing that the station master was inclined to be talkative.
"Yes, he went up yesterday. He was down to Portland three or four days." The railroad man looked at them again. "You look as if you might be a couple of lumbermen."
"That is what we are, and we're here to look for a job," answered Owen. "We come from Maine."
"Great hossflies! Maine! You didn't travel none to get here, I reckon."