you think I was going to wait four hours in that hole!  I went out of that building to beat the limited—­never thought of the wheelbarrow till I was halfway to the station.  And there was some of the liveliest stepping you ever saw.  Couldn’t see a thing except the light on the rails from the arc lamp up by the station.  I got about halfway there—­running along between the rails—­ and banged into a switch—­knocked me seven ways for Sunday.  Lost my hat picking myself up, and couldn’t stop to find it.”

Peterson turned in toward one of a long row of square frame houses.

“Here we are,” he said.  As they went up the stairs he asked:  “Did you make the train?”

“Caught the caboose just as she was swinging out.  They dumped me out in the freight yards, and I didn’t get home till ’most five o’clock.  I went right to bed, and along about eight o’clock Brown came in and woke me up.  He was feeling pretty nervous.  ‘Say, Charlie,’ he said, ’ain’t it time for you to be starting?’ ‘Where to?’ said I.  ‘Over to Stillwater,’ he said.  ’There ain’t any getting out of it.  That drive’s got to be running tomorrow.’  ‘That’s all right,’ said I, ’but I’d like to know if I can’t have one day’s rest between jobs—­Sunday, too.  And I lost thirty-two pounds.’  Well, sir, he didn’t know whether to get hot or not.  I guess he thought himself they were kind of rubbing it in.  ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘are you going to Stillwater, or ain’t you?’ ‘No,’ said I, ’I ain’t.  Not for a hundred rope drives.’  Well, he just got up and took his hat and started out.  ‘Mr. Brown,’ I said, when he was opening the door, ’I lost my hat down at Stillwater last night.  I reckon the office ought to stand for it.’  He turned around and looked queer, and then he grinned.  ’So you went over?’ he said.  ‘I reckon I did,’ said I.  ’What kind of a hat did you lose?’ he asked, and he grinned again.  ’I guess it was a silk one, wasn’t it?’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘a silk hat—­something about eight dollars.’”

“Did he mean he’d give you a silk hat?” asked Peterson.

“Couldn’t say.”

They were sitting in the ten-by-twelve room that Peterson rented for a dollar a week.  Bannon had the one chair, and was sitting tipped back against the washstand.  Peterson sat on the bed.  Bannon had thrown his overcoat over the foot of the bed, and had dropped his bag on the floor by the window.

“Ain’t it time to eat, Pete?” he said.

“Yes, there’s the bell.”

The significance of Bannon’s arrival, and the fact that he was planning to stay, was slow in coming to Peterson.  After supper, when they had returned to the room, his manner showed constraint.  Finally he said:—­

“Is there any fuss up at the office?”

“What about?”

“Why—­do they want to rush the job or something?”

“Well, we haven’t got such a lot of time.  You see, it’s November already.”

“What’s the hurry all of a sudden?  They didn’t say nothing to me.”