yage as their descendants have got now--it's possible.
The old hooker, from all accounts, had a pretty full passenger list,
and there may have been some who secured accommodations with few
questions asked, and a subsequent coat of glorified whitewash that they
couldn't have got if they'd stayed at home where they were intimately
known--that is, they couldn't have got the coat of glorified whitewash.

It's true that there's a few years between the landing of the
_Mayflower_ and the inception of Big Cloud, but the interval doesn't
count--the principle is the same. Out in the mountains on the Hill
Division, "Who's Who" begins with the founding of Big Cloud--it is
verbose, unprofitable and extremely bad taste to go back any farther
than that--even if it were possible. There's quite a bit known about
the J. Smiths, the T. Browns and the H. Something-or-others now, with
the enlightenment of years upon them--but there wasn't then. There
were a good many men who immigrated West to help build the road through
the Rockies, and run it afterwards--for reasons of their own. There
weren't any questions asked. Plain J. Smith, T. Brown or H.
Something-or-other went--that was all there was to it.

He said his name was Walton--P. Walton. He was tall, hollow-cheeked,
with skin of an unhealthy, colorless white, and black eyes under thin,
black brows that were unnaturally bright. He dropped off at Big Cloud
one afternoon--in the early days--from No. 1, the Limited from the
East, climbed upstairs in the station to the super's room, and coughed
out a request to Carleton for a job.

Carleton, "Royal" Carleton, the squarest man that ever held down a
divisional swivel chair, looked P. Walton over for a moment before he
spoke. P. Walton didn't size up much like a day's work anyway you
looked at him.

"What can you do?" inquired Carleton.

"Anything," said P. Walton--and coughed.

Carleton reached for his pipe and struck a match.

"If you could," said he, sucking at the amber mouthpiece between words,
"there wouldn't be any trouble about it. For instance, the
construction gangs want men to----"

"I'll go--I'll do anything," cut in P. Walton eagerly. "Just give me a
chance."

"Nope!" said Carleton with a grin. "I'm not hankering to break the
Sixth Commandment--know what that is?"

P. Walton licked dry lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Murder," said he. "But you might as well let it come that way as any
other. I'm pretty