Out of the empty distance came the click, clink, clank of hammers and shovels as the section-men, a mile down the track, stepped into work behind the train.
"Prospectin'?" queried a lank individual, slouching up to Winthrop.
"A little," said Winthrop. "It's pretty dry work."
"Uhuh. It's goin' to be hot about noon."
"I suppose so. Will you kindly give me a hand with this monstrosity," said Winthrop, indicating the pack. "The agent seems to be busy."
"Sure! She ain't roped very tight."
Which proved to be true. The bundle, with a kind of animate indifference, slowly sagged, opened, and things began to trickle from it in its journey across the platform. Among the things was the bottle of brandy. The lank individual picked this up tenderly and set it to one side. Winthrop noticed his solicitude, and smiled.
"We can rope 'em up again," said the lank one, suddenly becoming enthusiastic. "My name's Jim Hicks. I'm constable here."
"I see. Well, I'm William Winthrop, from Los Angeles. I'm a naturalist. Will you accept a cigar?"
"Thanks. You want to pack this here bottle, too?"