"You're looking blue to-night," commented the latter.
"Well," acknowledged Winthrop grimly, "there's a reason. I've put quite a lot of work in on that road-bed the last few weeks, but the trouble is I won't get a dollar unless I stay with it and keep up to specification until next pay-day."
"Of course!" said the man who had spoken. "Why should you want to quit?"
Winthrop glanced at the letter.
"I've had a warning. Guess I'll have to pull out again sudden one of these days."
There was silence for a few moments after this. The men had gone on well together, and within certain limits the toilers in a track-grading camp make friends rapidly, but for all that there are unwritten rules of etiquette in such places, and questions on some points are apt to be resented.
Still, Winthrop's face was troubled, and his expression hinted that it might be a consolation to take somebody into his confidence.
"Creditors?" one of his companions ventured to suggest.
"You've hit it first time, Drakesford. Bondholder who's been bleeding me quite a few years now. Raked in what I made each harvest—left me not quite enough to live on—until I began to see that I'd have to work a lifetime to get clear of him. When I knocked a little off the debt one good year he piled up something else on me. Then I was short last payment, and he shut down on my farm."
Drakesford turned to his companion.