"You carry those things as easy as a walking-stick," Wakefield observed, ready to reciprocate in point of compliments. "What do you use them for?" "Ben mendin' the bit o' _codderoy_ down yonder," was the answer. "Is that your trade?" "No, not partic'larly. I make a trade of most anything I kin work at. Happened to be out of a job last week, so I took up with this." "Got through with it?" "Yes; stopped off to-day. Got done just in time. They start in on the road next week, 'n they've took me on." "What road's that?" "The new branch in." "Oh! In to Lame Gulch. I heard they were going to start in on that." "Yes; the 'Rocky Mounting' are doin' it. They say there'll be trains runnin' in from the Divide inside of six months." Wakefield looked sceptical; he had heard that sort of talk before. "Do you like railroad work?" he asked. "Not so well's this. I like my own job better, only 'taint so _stayin'_. Might 've had another month's work, on the road to the canon over there; but that would ha' ben the end on 't. So I'm goin' to throw up that job this afternoon." "What's wanted on the canon road?" "Wal, it wants widenin', an' it wants bracin' up here 'n there, 'n there's a power of big stuns to be weeded out. A reel purty job it's goin' to be, too, in there by the runnin' water, among the _fars_ 'n the birds 'n the squirrels." "I suppose you could hardly have managed that all by yourself?" "Oh, yes! It's an easy job." "And you think you could have done it with just your two hands and a shovel and a crowbar?" "Wal, yes,--'n a pinch o' powder now and then, 'n somethin' to drill a hole with,--an' a little nat'ral gumption." Wakefield liked the sound of it all uncommonly well. For a man who had come to a rough place in his own road,--a jumping-off place he had once thought it might prove to be,--would it not be rather a pleasant thing, to smooth off a road for the general public? It would be a stroke in the game, at least, and that was his main concern just now. Such a good, downright, genuine sort of work too! He had an idea that if he could once get his grip on a crowbar, and feel a big rock come off its bottom at his instigation, he should have a stirring of self-respect. After all, of all that he had lost, that was perhaps the most important thing to get back. Just as he had arrived at this sensible conclusion his companion came to a halt. "Here's my shanty; where's yours?" he asked. "Haven't got any!" "I'd ask you in if we wasn't packin' up to go." "Does your wife go with you?" "Why, nat'rally!" "Say," Wakefield queried, as the man turned in at the gate. "How did you go to work to get that job up in the canon?" "Went to 'Bijah Lang, the street-commissioner." "You haven't got any friend who would like you to pass the job over to him?" "No." "Think I could do it?" "Wal, yes,--if you've got the gumption! Your arms and legs 'pear to be all right! Ever see any work of the kind?"