"Where's the contractor?" he asked suddenly, his mind made up. "I'm goin' to ask him for a job."
"I met him half an hour ago at the 'Bucket of Blood,'" answered his new friend. "I'll go along with you; perhaps we'll find him there."
They soon reached the saloon with the sanguinary name, and luckily found the contractor. John stated his errand and stood while the man looked him over. "Perhaps you might work in the cook house," he said at length. "You're too light to drive a scraper."
"Yes, I could do that, but I don't want to. I want out-of-door work. Have you got a horse-wrangler yet?"
As luck would have it, the job John wanted was not given out, and, after telling of his experience, he was appointed night horse-wrangler.
To get a saddle and riding outfit was the next thing necessary, and this Tom Malloy lent him from the store of such things he had won at cards.
John found that to part from the man who had befriended him in his need was the only really trying thing in connection with leaving Helena. Squalid as were most of his associations with the place, he was really sorry to go away from Tom Malloy. The thought of being once more in the saddle, however, delighted him, and it was with a preponderance of joy rather than sorrow, therefore, that he clambered early one morning into the rough wagon that was to convey his party to the scene of operations and saw the city disappear in the distance.
Soon he would be astride of a horse, out in the open. No walls to encompass him, no roofs to shut out the sky—what a glorious and inspiring thought it was!