I then asked, “Can you tell a fellow who is broke where he can get a free bed?”
He looked at me with an amused smile. “You are up against it, too, are you, Jack? Well, I am broke, too, and the only free bed I know of is the kind I am sleeping in, and that’s an oven at the brick yards. A lot of us boys go out there during these slack times.”
“An oven at the brick yards!” I said in astonishment. “How do you get there?”
“Well, you go out Larimer Street to Twenty-third, then you turn out Twenty-third and cross Twenty-third Street viaduct. It’s about two miles. You’ll know the kilns when you come to them; you can’t miss them. But don’t go before eleven o’clock; the ovens are not cool enough before that time.”
“To-night I sleep in an oven at the brick yards,” I said to myself, with cast-iron determination.
It was a very cold night, but at eleven o’clock I started out Larimer Street to find my free bed. Having crossed the Twenty-third Street viaduct I was lost in darkness; there were no lights save in the far distance. I stumbled along over the frozen ground, fearing at any moment an attack, for Denver is not free from hold-ups. I could hear men’s voices, but could see nothing. It was not a pleasure-outing except as the thrill caused by the swift approach of the unknown may be pleasurably exciting. Finally the lights of the brick yard shone upon me with its great, long rows of flaming kilns. I had arrived at my novel dormitory. Stepping up to a stoker at work near the entrance, I asked:
“Can you show a fellow where he can find a place to lie down out of the cold?”
He raised his head and looked at me, and said, “I’ll show you a place.” Leaning his shovel against the kiln, and picking up his lantern, he said, “Come with me.” He paused at a kiln. “Some of the boys are sleeping in here to-night.” I followed as he entered the low, narrow opening of a kiln and raised his light. We were in a round oven or kiln about forty feet in circumference. By the light of his lifted lantern I counted thirty men.
“There are about seventy sleeping in the empty kilns to-night; I think you will find a place to lie down there,” he said, as he pointed to a place between two men.
I at once lay down, and with a “Good-night” he left me to the darkness and to the company of those homeless sleepers, who, in all our great city, could find no other refuge from death.