and took from the rack a heavy canvas bag, which he handed to the
conductor.

"That's the 'turkey'--" he explained, "his war bag. Bud'll throw
it off at Scott's, and Jack'll get it there."

"How far back is he?" asked Thorpe.

"About ten mile. He'll hoof it in all right."

A number of men descended at Scott's. The three who had come into
collision with Jimmy and Bud were getting noisier. They had
produced a stone jug, and had collected the remainder of the
passengers,--with the exception of Shearer and Thorpe,--and now were
passing the jug rapidly from hand to hand. Soon they became musical,
striking up one of the weird long-drawn-out chants so popular with
the shanty boy. Thorpe shrewdly guessed his companion to be a man
of weight, and did not hesitate to ascribe his immunity from
annoyance to the other's presence.

"It's a bad thing," said the walking-boss, "I used to be at it
myself, and I know. When I wanted whisky, I needed it worse than a
scalded pup does a snow bank. The first year I had a hundred and
fifty dollars, and I blew her all in six days. Next year I had a
little more, but she lasted me three weeks. That was better. Next
year, I says to myself, I'll just save fifty of that stake, and blow
the rest. So I did. After that I got to be scaler, and sort've
quit. I just made a deal with the Old Fellow to leave my stake with
headquarters no matter whether I call for it or not. I got quite a
lot coming, now."