Dazed by these signs, I went out on the platform to get away from the noise. There the Virginian said to me: “Cheer up! You'll not be so easy for 'em that-a-way next season.”
He said no more; and with his legs dangled over the railing, appeared to resume his newspaper.
“What's the matter?” said I to Scipio.
“Oh, I don't mind if he don't,” Scipio answered. “Couldn't yu' see? I tried to head 'em off from yu' all I knew, but yu' just ran in among 'em yourself. Couldn't yu' see? Kep' hinderin' and spoilin' me with askin' those urgent questions of yourn—why, I had to let yu' go your way! Why, that wasn't the ordinary play with the ordinary tenderfoot they treated you to! You ain't a common tenderfoot this trip. You're the foreman's friend. They've hit him through you. That's the way they count it. It's made them encouraged. Can't yu' see?”
Scipio stated it plainly. And as we ran by the next station, “Howard!” they harshly yelled. “Portland 1256!”
We had been passing gangs of workmen on the track. And at that last yell the Virginian rose. “I reckon I'll join the meeting again,” he said. “This filling and repairing looks like the washout might have been true.”
“Washout?” said Scipio.
“Big Horn bridge, they say—four days ago.”
“Then I wish it came this side Rawhide station.”
“Do yu'?” drawled the Virginian. And smiling at Scipio, he lounged in through the open door.