"Them nags has to take a rest," he announced, calmly. "Beats me, Jed, why any one should want to come out here. Only wish I had 'nuff coin to git away."
The station-master laughed.
"'Tain't the first time you've said so, Bill," he observed, dryly.
"An' won't be the last, nuther. I ain't never had no chance. Jack Bender went off to Portland, an' I hear tell he's makin' lots of money. I'm smart as him, any day."
"Big Bill's" restless eyes fixed themselves on the other's face, and, as if expecting that his statement might be challenged, he paused.
Then, as silence ensued, Bob Somers spoke up. "How long will it take us to reach the village?" he asked.
"If the old rattleboard don't git throw'd down the precipice, about five hours."
"What precipice?" asked Tom Clifton, with an uneasy look.
"Over at Blinker's Pass—a clean drop of three hundred feet, 'most straight as the walls of this here shanty, eh, Jed?"
"Whew! Anything ever happen there?" asked Tom.