They were soon on the depot platform, and their trunks were handed out after them. Their arrival was unexpected, and the station master and the half dozen rough-looking men standing around gazed at them speculatively. Then the express went on its way, leaving them to do for themselves in this strange spot, three thousand miles from their home in Maine. Tunley consisted of a depot, a general store, a combination hotel and barroom, and half a dozen cabins, the homes of the men who looked after the lumber in the yard and along the creek. It was a flat, hot place, with the cañon wall to the east and the west, the broad river in front, and the split of the creek in the rear. The creek was a winding one, and on either side grew clumps of small firs. There had been big firs there years before, but these had all been cut down for timber long ago. "This is the station for the Wilbur-Balasco Company's camp, isn't it?" said Owen to the station master, by way of an opening. "It is," was the answer, and the railroad man looked them over with a keen eye. "Bound for that place, I reckon?" "We are. How far is it?" "The lower yard is about four miles up yonder creek. The other yards are two and three miles further. The railroad runs down to the upper bend of the creek, two miles from town. If you hoof it that far, I reckon you can get a ride on the engine the rest of the way. But perhaps you want hosses. If so, you can hire a couple over to Shanley's barroom." "I'd just as lief walk, if it's only two miles," said Dale. "I'd like the ride on the engine." The station master laughed. "Don't think it's such a road as you've just left," he said. "On the curves it's enough to knock out your teeth. But, even so, it's better than walking." "We'll leave the trunks on check for the present," said Owen. "And our valises, too." "All right, throw the bags in the room yonder--nobody around here will touch 'em--and I'll put the trunks in alongside. If you'd come in half an hour sooner you could have ridden up with Jake Powell in the big wagon. He was down here for flour that came in on the morning freight." "Do you know if Mr. Balasco is up at the camp?" asked Dale, seeing that the station master was inclined to be talkative. "Yes, he went up yesterday. He was down to Portland three or four days." The railroad man looked at them again. "You look as if you might be a couple of lumbermen." "That is what we are, and we're here to look for a job," answered Owen. "We come from Maine." "Great hossflies! Maine! You didn't travel none to get here, I reckon." "We didn't come right through--we stopped off for a spell in Michigan." "Would you like to meet some of the boys around here? If so, I'll call 'em up, and introduce you over to Shanley's, too."