Here Orr Tweet grasped the enthusiast's sleeve. "How about those jerkline skinners for southern California?" he asked. "Saw it in the paper." "I'll see, old-timer--I'll look that up for you right away. Just step inside, please--you and your pal. Let you know all about it in two minutes. Line up for a good job, boys! Get out and make a stake! Just a minute, boss man. Step right inside." Inside a railing, where many clerks were at work, the applicants were turned over to a sallow young man, who, being informed of what they wanted, consulted certain memoranda. Then he swiveled toward the two and gave them the particulars. "Gold Belt Cut-off," he said. "Buildin' across the desert in southern California. Good camps--good pay--good grub--good water----" "Cut all that," dryly interrupted Orr Tweet. "All right, sir," replied the clerk cheerfully. "Main contractors, Demarest, Spruce & Tillou. Want fifty muckers and fifty skinners--two jerkline skinners--must be A-1. Fifty-five a month and found. Fee two dollars. Ship you out one o'clock to-morrow. On?" Tweet nudged Hiram and nodded, and Hiram tendered four silver dollars. "Just a minute," said the clerk--though accepting the money. "This office can't afford to get in bad with big contractors like Demarest, Spruce & Tillou. They've specified A-1 jerkline skinners, to skin eight, ten, and twelve over the desert and mountains. Are you there?" "We are there," replied Orr Tweet. The clerk looked doubtful. "Well, guess we'll have to take your word for it. Chances are you'll break away when you get to where you're makin' it, anyway. This is kind of a special job, though. Demarest himself wrote a personal letter about the two jerkline skinners. They're not for him, it seems--just to be shipped down with the other skinners and muckers and hard-rock men we're sendin' him. The jerkline skinners are for 'Jerkline Jo.' Ever heard that name? If you're jerkline skinners that have followed railroad work you ought to've heard o' Jerkline Jo. Usta be monakered 'Gypo Jo.'" "We're not railroaders," said Mr. Tweet glibly. "We're from Mendocino County--the big woods you know. But we can skin 'em for Jerkline Jo or any other man." "I'll take a chance," said the clerk briskly. "If you'd just wanted to get your railroad trip out o' Frisco you'd not thought to pick out the jerkline job, when only two were wanted. Jerkline Jo is a woman, though." "Yeah?" returned Mr. Tweet, then said to the heartbroken Hiram: "You can't escape 'em, it seems, Hooker--you big mountain of a lady killer! This is gonta be good. Send us to Jerkline Jo, old hoss! She'll bless you with her last breath. Chances are you'll meet a regular woman, now, Hiram--not a doll with three years' wages on her back! A big outdoor picture like you fallin' for a bunch o' female French pastry like that!" The employment agency clerk shrugged and took their names. CHAPTER X JERKLINE JO