The foreman, instead of sympathizing with him, joined in the laugh. (The entire gang had put us down as tenderfeet.)
There was no use getting mad, for these tough-looking chaps were too many for us, and we did the next best thing.
We gave up our job and walked back to the shanties.
At 10 o'clock the men came in for dinner, when we informed the foreman that we had thrown up our job and that he could settle with us.
"Settle nothing," said the big fellow, laughing. "You've not worked enough to pay your fare from Tucson yet. You can get your dinner here, and after that, meals are fifty cents apiece, if you dine in these cars."
We walked over to the little store with the intention of investing Allen's thirty-five cents in groceries for our dinner, but there was nothing doing.
The man's stock consisted mostly of pop and cigars, which articles he probably got from Los Angeles.
"How much for pop?" I asked.
"Fifteen cents a bottle," was the reply.