Ross joined in the laugh which greeted this sally all around him. The man opposite lowered his paper, and looked over his glasses.
"Volcanoes and hopes, Sandy," he amended quickly, instantly retiring again behind his paper.
Ross did not understand the significance of the retort, but he noticed that several men around exchanged glances and that Sandy’s face lost a fraction of its good nature. And when Sandy’s face lost its humorous expression, it was not pleasing.
Dusk and Cody drew near together. The train dropped over the "rim," and steamed along through the Big Horn Basin, coming to a final standstill in front of another station and water-tank.
"Cody," announced the brakeman. "All out."
Ross, suitcase in hand, his top-coat over his arm, stumbled out of the train, still swaying with the perpetual motion of the last few days. A big open wagon with side seats stood beside the platform. At the call of the driver Ross looked around interrogatively at Sandy, who was still beside him.
"Oh, we’re two miles from the town yet," Sandy replied to the look. "Pile in. Train can’t make it over the shelves between here and Stinkin’ Water."
Ross silently "piled in." Sandy sat down beside him, and the wagon filled with the other passengers.
Behind them, stretching back into the darkness, their heads sagging sleepily, was a row of teams, their neck-yokes joined by a chain, their heads connected by a single rein running through the ring at the left side of the bit.
"Hey, there," called one of the men in the wagon, "does Grasshopper strike the trail to-night for Meeteetse?"