“What’s the work, boss, anyhow?” they asked.
“Can you ‘polish’ the head of a drill?” asked McKay. He inquired as a matter of form, for one glance at their slouching shoulders and their thin chests had given him his answer. “Can’t?” he observed cheerfully. “Well, I guess your work will be ‘mucking’ on a narrow gauge railway grade that we are building.”
“Mucking!” growled one. “Ain’t there nothing else that we can do besides scratch around with a pick and shovel?”
“Well, Sullivan, it is that at first. Later, if I can get you a job out at the main camp, I will. It is sort of hard on you fellows to have to grub with all these ‘Mex’ at the road camp; but as soon as you get a little ‘time’ saved up you can start in buying your own stuff and messing together.”
“Save up ‘time’!” exclaimed Sullivan. “Hell! There ain’t no use savin’ anything in this Gawd-forsaken country.”
“Well, cheer up, anyway!” laughed McKay. “Here is the ground where the road camp lies.” Several camp-fires blazed suddenly out of the darkness. Around them many shadowy figures were grouped. These gathered with interest about the newcomers, noisily commenting upon their appearance. “Here we are, boys. The tents ain’t down here yet; but sleeping out of doors is powerful healthy. Sure Mike!” he added, poking a grinning Mexican boy in the ribs. “Seguro Miguel! Nothing like it, is there, Pedro?”
“How about the rattle-bugs, Boss?” asked Sullivan, the malcontent.
“There ain’t no rattlesnakes out in April. Besides, if there was, they would not bite your carcass,” answered McKay, irritated by the man’s attitude of continual grumbling.
The men all busied themselves unrolling their blankets and looking for sheltered places in which to sleep. Loring was not accustomed to construction camps. He thought that for the white men, at least, sleeping accommodations must have been provided.
“Where can I sleep?” he asked McKay.