and was
sobbing noiselessly, as men sob, in the room which he had left--shaking
with deep and terrible gasps that racked his very soul. But it was
already daybreak; it was trail's-end now for Garry. It does make a
difference if one knows that someone cares.

CHAPTER XVII

HONEY!

Upon their return to Thirty-Mile, two nights later, Joe's attitude of
criticism was the first thing which piqued Steve's interest. There was
something ludicrous in the former's voice as he sat and anathematized
the food which the cook-boy brought to the table, even though he
devoured hungrily all that his plate would hold. And because Joe was
so obviously primed for a sensation that evening, out of sheer
perversity Steve struggled to draw him into a discussion of a topic,
which, just as obviously, had no appeal just then.

"What I hope to do," he confided gravely to Garry, "is to finish up at
Morrison and make possible the transfer of some of those men up here.
We are working only one shift now. With two I figure we could sail
along a-fogging. How does that strike you, Joe?"

That was only one of his many attempts, but all of them, save for the
inner laughter which they afforded; were totally without result. Joe's
answers were monosyllabic--his attention wandering at best. To that
particular question he nodded his head, spiritlessly.

"This butter ain't none too fresh," he growled sourly, "and I wonder if
that cook-boy thinks we dote on ham every meal? I don't for one. It
may be all right, if a man's plumb starving to death, but it don't lend
no real elegance to a repast."

That gloomy complaint brought little more than a sparkle to Steve's
eyes, but it made Garry lean forward in his place. Throughout the meal
while the other two fenced in just such fashion he forgot his own food
to listen, delighted anticipation in every feature. And when they had
finished supper and pushed back their chairs, he stood grinning a
little, watching Joe survey that littered room which served as office
and sleeping-quarters for the chief engineer of the East Coast Company.
Fat Joe's gaze swung from wall to wall, from littered corner to
heaped-up chair. Then he shook his head in despair.

"It looks to me, Steve," he grunted, "as though you ain't never had no
real training in tidiness, have you? There don't seem to be no system
at all in the way you leave your things around. There's one boot over
in that corner; it's got a mate, I know,