“I'm following it, you bet,” he declared, kicking the rail. “Not yet though. Nor I'll not go to Washakie to have 'em josh me. And yonder lays Boston.” He stretched his arm and pointed eastward. Had he seen another man going on in this fashion alone in the dark, among side-tracked freight cars, he would have pitied the poor fool. “And I guess Boston'll have to get along without me for a spell, too,” continued Lin. “A man don't want to show up plumb broke like that younger son did after eatin' with the hogs the bishop told about. His father was a Jim-dandy, that hog chap's. Hustled around and set 'em up when he come back home. Frank, he'd say to me 'How do you do, brother?' and he'd be wearin' a good suit o' clothes and--no, sir, you bet!” Lin now watched the great headlight of a freight train bearing slowly down into Green River from the wilderness. Green River is the end of a division, an epoch in every train's journey. Lanterns swung signals, the great dim thing slowed to its standstill by the coal chute, its locomotive moved away for a turn of repose, the successor backed steaming to its place to tackle a night's work. Cars were shifted, heavily bumping and parting. “Hello, Lin!” A face was looking from the window of the caboose. “Hello!” responded Mr. McLean, perceiving above his head Honey Wiggin, a good friend of his. They had not met for three years. “They claimed you got killed somewheres. I was sorry to hear it.” Honey offered his condolence quite sincerely. “Bruck my leg,” corrected Lin, “if that's what they meant.” “I expect that's it,” said Honey. “You've had no other trouble?” “Been boomin',” said Lin. From the mere undertone in their voices it was plain they were good friends, carefully hiding their pleasure at meeting. “Wher're yu' bound?” inquired Honey. “East,” said Lin. “Better jump in here, then. We're goin' west.” “That just suits me,” said Lin. The busy lanterns wagged among the switches, the steady lights of the saloons shone along the town's wooden facade. From the bluffs that wall Green River the sweet, clean sage-brush wind blew down in currents freshly through the coal-smoke. A wrench passed through the train from locomotive to caboose, each fettered car in turn strained into motion and slowly rolled over the bridge and into silence from the steam and the bells of the railroad yard. Through the open windows of the caboose great dull-red cinders rattled in, and the whistles of distant Union Pacific locomotives sounded over the open plains ominous and long, like ships at sea. Honey and Lin sat for a while, making few observations and far between, as their way is between whom flows a stream of old-time understanding. Mutual whiskey and silence can express much friendship, and eloquently. “What are yu' doing at present?” Lin inquired. “Prospectin'.”