He was shaking and wretched, and he exaggerated no part of the misery he had known.

“When did you get in?” asked Langham.

“I beat my way in on the ten-thirty; I rode most of the way from Columbus on top of the baggage car—­I’m half dead, boss!”

“Have you seen any one?”

“No one but you.  I got off at the crossin’ where they slow up and come along here; I wasn’t thinkin’ of a damn thing but gettin’ home to my old woman.  I guess I’ll hit the ties right now!” he concluded with sudden resolution, and once more his small blue eyes were turned toward the bridge.

“I’ll walk across to the other side with you,” said Langham hastily.

“The crick’s up quite a bit!” said the handy-man as they set foot on the bridge.

Langham glanced out into the gloom, where swollen by the recent rains the stream splashed and whirled between its steep banks.

“Yes, way up!” he answered.

As he spoke he stepped close to Montgomery’s side and raised his voice.

“Stop a bit,” said Joe halting.  “I shan’t need this now,” and he drew the piece of gas-pipe from his trousers pocket.  “I’d have hammered the life out of Andy Gilmore!” he said, as he tossed the ugly bludgeon from him.

“You haven’t told me where you have been,” said Langham, and once more he pressed close to Montgomery, so close their elbows touched.

The handy-man moved a little to one side.

“Where ain’t I been, you better ask, boss,” he said.  “I seen more rotten cities and more rotten towns and more rotten country than you can shake a stick at; God A’mighty knows what’s the good of it—­I dunno!  Everybody I seen was strangers to me, never a face I knowed anywhere; Chicago, Kansas City, St. Louis, Denver—­to hell with ’em all, boss; old Mount Hope’s good enough for me!” And the handy-man shrugged his huge slanting shoulders.

“Don’t go so fast, Joe!” Langham cautioned, and his eyes searched the darkness ahead of them.

“It’s a risky business for you, boss,” said the handy-man.  “You ain’t used to this bridge like me.”

“Do you always come this way?” asked Langham.

“Always, in all seasons and all shapes, drunk or sober, winter or summer,” said the handy-man.

“One wouldn’t have much chance if he slipped off here to-night,” said Langham with a shudder.

“Mighty little,” agreed Montgomery.  “Say, step over, boss—­we want to keep in the middle!  There—­that’s better, I was clean outside the rail.”

“Can you swim?” asked Langham.

“Never swum a stroke.  The dirt’s good enough for me; I got a notion that these here people who are always dippin’ themselves are just naturally filthy.  Look at me, a handy-man doing all kinds of odd jobs, who’s got a better right to get dirty—­but I leave it alone and it wears off.  I’m blame certain you won’t find many people that fool away less money on soap than just me!” said Joe with evident satisfaction.  “The old woman’s up!” he cried, as he caught the glimmer of a light on the shore beyond.