Munford came to the work before the gangs were deep enough into the hills to lose daily, or rather nightly, touch with Big Cloud. And the way of his coming was this: The town, springing up in a night, had its beginning in the wooden shanty the engineers built as headquarters for the Hill Division that was to be. Then, with mushroom growth, came shacks innumerable; and these shacks, for the most part, were gambling hells and dives and saloons, and the population was Indian, Chinese and bad American. To these places of lurid entertainment flocked the toilers at night, loading down the construction empties as they backed their way to the spurs and sidings that soon spread out like a cobweb around headquarters.

Naturally, rows were of pretty frequent occurrence between the company’s men and the leeches who bleed them with crooked games and stacked decks over the roulette, faro and stud-poker tables. But of them all in the delectable pursuit of separating the men and their pay-checks, Pete McGonigle’s “Golden Luck” saloon was in the van, both as to size and crookedness. And that high station of eminence it maintained until the night a stranger wrecked it by no more delicate a method than that of kicking over the roulette table, sending it and the attendant, who was presiding over the little whirling ball in Pete’s interest, crashing to the floor. That stranger was Munford. And that was how Munford came to join the army of the Rockies.

A number of the company men were present and they sided in with Munford. Before this amalgamation, Pete and his hangers-on went down to ignominious defeat, and the “Golden Luck,” to utter demolishment and ruin. News of the fracas spread rapidly to the other “joints.” The dive-keepers joined forces, the company men did likewise, and that night became the wildest in the history of Big Cloud.

Munford took command of his new-found friends from the start. In the street fight that followed he did wondrous things—and did them with zest, delight and effectiveness. With his great bulk he towered above his companions, and the sweep of his long arms as they rose and fell, the play of his massive shoulders as he lunged forward to give impetus to his blows, was a marvelous sight to see. But the details of that fight have no place here. Its result, however, was that Munford, previously unknown and unheard of, became thereafter, a marked man in Big Cloud.

When the fight was over the company men, elated with victory though somewhat the worse for wear, retired to the yard to wait for the construction trains to take them up to their work. And while they waited they spent the time gazing in admiration at Munford who sat on the edge of a flat-car, his legs dangling over, blowing softly on his knuckles, a smile of divine contentment on his face.

What was Munford going to do? demanded McGuire and the cronies of his particular gang who had had the honor of being present at Pete’s when the evening’s proceedings were instituted, and who therefore felt they had a prior claim to the hero’s consideration over and above that of the men from other sections of the work who had taken part in the fight. Munford did not know. Would he go up the line with them and take a job with their gang if they promised to get him one? Munford would. So he kept his seat when the construction train pulled out just as the dawn was breaking, and twenty miles up the road at Twin Bear Creek they tumbled him off and introduced him to Alan Burton, foreman of Bridge Gang No. 3.

At the sight of his battered and jaded crew, who in no wise appeared fit for the day’s work before them, Burton swore savagely and with great bitterness of tongue bade them get to their work. Then he turned in his ill-humor to Munford, who was still standing beside him.

“Who the devil are you? What you doin’ here? Where d’ye come from?”

The questions came quick and sharp like a volley of small arms.

Munford eyed the wiry little chunk of a man, scarcely up to his own shoulders, in silence, taking him in from head to foot.

“Well,” snapped Burton, “speak up!”

“Munford’s my name,” said Munford, coolly. “I’m here for a job. Where I come from ain’t none of your blamed business, is it?”

“Ain’t it?” said Burton. “Well, then, you can walk back there, my bucko!” and he turned on his heel and followed the men to their work.

Munford sat down on the doorsill of the camp shanty and with a laugh pulled out his pipe and began to smoke. He was still sitting there a half-hour later when the foreman came back.

“If you’ve got far to go,” grinned Burton, “you’d better get started.”

“No hurry,” replied Munford, imperturbably.

“You’re a queer card,” said Burton, after a moment. “What’s this about the trouble down at Big Cloud last night the boys are so full of they can’t do anything besides talk?”

Munford chuckled quietly. “Nothin’ much,” said he.

“Nothing much, eh? They say you put the ‘Golden Luck’ and Pete McGonigle to the bad, and then cleaned out every dive in town. You’re quite a reformer, ain’t you? I’ll tell you this, though, it won’t be healthy for you around these parts from now on.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Munford. “Say, how about that job?”

Burton laughed. “You’ve got a sweet nerve to ask for a job, and you responsible for a gang that won’t be able to do a day’s work among the lot of them between now and night. Did up McGonigle’s, eh? Well, I don’t know, I reckon in the long run that’ll be worth more to the company than the day’s work. All right, sport, you can go to work—until Pete and his crowd scare you out, which I predict won’t be long. And while you’re here, if you get itchy for trouble don’t look for it among the men, come to me.”

“Well, I’ll—” gasped Munford. “Why, I could twist you like—” Then he laughed in pure delight at Burton’s spunk “Oh, sure! Sure, I will.”

It took Munford no longer than a day to get the hang of the work. He was already more than a demigod in the eyes of Bridge Gang No. 3, and that counted for much. They were eager and ready to show him what they knew themselves, whereas the ignorance and rawness of any other newcomer would have been turned to good account in the shape of gibes and jests at his expense. In two days, from a natural adaptability coupled with his great strength, that was the strength of two men, Munford had fitted into place with the same nicety that one part of a well designed machine fits into another.

To the crews of the construction trains bringing up the bridge material he was pointed out with pride by his mates—though, indeed, that action was superfluous—as “the boy who did the trick at Pete’s.” And from these in turn Munford learned that down at Big Cloud, Pete and others of his ilk had sworn that, sooner or later, they would fix him for it. At this he only laughed and, doubling his great arm bared to the shoulders, intimated that there could be no greater pleasure in life for him than to have them try it. And that night sitting outside the camp after supper, McGuire, as spokesman, alluding to the threat, proposed that under Munford’s leadership they should make another raid on Big Cloud.

Burton, passing by, caught the gist of the conversation. “I want to see you a minute, Munford,” he called, shortly.

Munford got up and followed to the foreman’s little shanty that stood a few yards away from the main camp. Once inside, Burton shoved him into a chair and shook his fist under Munford’s nose.

“Didn’t I tell you yesterday morning,” he spluttered angrily, “that if you were looking for trouble to come to me and leave the gang alone? And here you’re at it again, what? Go down to Big Cloud and raise hell, eh? You great, big overgrown calf!” Munford blinked at the foreman, speechless. It was a long time since he had taken words like these from any man, much less a little spitfire like Burton.

“Trouble!” continued the irate Burton, hardly pausing for breath. “You live on it, don’t you? Eat it, eh? Well, you’ll get a fill of it before long that’ll give you the damnest indigestion you ever heard of. I promise you that! But you keep your hands off my crew! Now you listen to what I’m saying!”

“Aw, go hang!” said Munford, contemptuously. “I can’t help it, can I, if they want to go down to Big Cloud? If you’re so blamed anxious about them, it’s a wonder you don’t go around every night and tuck ‘em into their bunks!”

For a moment Burton looked as though he were going to jump into Munford and mix it then and there; but instead, with a short laugh, he turned and walked to the other side of the room, sat down on the edge of his bunk and pulled out his pipe. He cut some tobacco from his plug, rolled it between his palms, packed his pipe slowly and lighted it. It was five minutes before he broke the silence; Munford was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“I don’t suppose throwing a few timbers across Twin Bear Creek means much of anything to you, Munford, eh?” he asked quietly.

“Not so much,” replied Munford carelessly, a little puzzled at the question.

“No? Well, it means a lot to me, a whole lot! Until that trestle is up, we can’t shove material over to the other side, ties and rails and heavy stuff. Progress on the Hill Division depends just at this minute on Bridge Gang No. 3, and concretely on me. I don’t propose to have it interfered with by the men going down to Big Cloud and getting their heads broke, understand?”

“Oh, I guess we can take care of our heads, if that’s all that bothers you,” drawled Munford. “And I furthermore guess your bloomin’ little bridge you seem so stuck on won’t take any hurt by lettin’ the boys have their fling. Anyway, whether it will or not, what’s the use of you shootin’ off all your talk? You can’t stop ‘em! If they want to go, they’ll go. And say, Burton”—an inspiration coming to Munford—“come on down with us. I’ll promise you the time of your life.”

“I ought to have put it up to you differently, I guess, and saved my breath,” said Burton in disgust. “You’re just a hulk of bone and muscle and your head’s wood. You can lift a timber and swing a pick or axe because you’ve got the strength. But that’s all you know, or all you’re good for!”

The cool contempt in Burton’s voice stung Mun-ford more than the words themselves.

“Is that so!” he snarled, resorting to his favorite habit of blowing on his knuckles. “I’d show you fast enough what I’m good for, you runt, if you was a little bigger!”

“Maybe you’ll find I’m big enough one of these days,” said Burton, sharply. “Now I’ll put it to you straight so that you’ll understand. I’ll show you whether I can stop the gang going to Big Cloud or not. No man rides on the construction trains after to-day without a pass signed by me. That’s orders! If the men don’t like it, you can tell them it’s your fault. The next row in Big Cloud wouldn’t stop at fists. And as for you, you wouldn’t come out of it alive.”

“You needn’t worry about me,” sneered Munford. “I’m——”

“You’re a fool! The thickest-headed, trouble-hunting fool it’s ever been my cursed luck to run against!” exclaimed Burton angrily.

Munford brushed his great shock of hair out of his eyes with a nervous sweep of his hand. “I ain’t ever before taken the back talk from any man that I’ve taken from you—without hurtin’ him,” he said thickly, rising from his chair. “And I’m goin’ to get out of here before I hurt you!” He walked quickly across the shanty and swung around in the doorway. “By God, I wish you was bigger!” he flung out.

Munford walked back to the men’s camp and listened to their conversation awhile in sullen silence. They were still on the same topic and were waxing more enthusiastic each minute.

“Aw, dry up!” said Munford, cutting in at last. “It’ll be a long time before any of you see Big Cloud again.”

“Who says so?” demanded McGuire, aggressively.

Munford jerked his thumb in the direction of the foreman’s shanty. “Him,” he said laconically.

“How’s he goin’ to stop it? What for? What’s the matter with him, anyway? It’s none of his business!” the men were talking in chorus.

“He’s fussy about gettin’ his dinky little bridge through,” sneered Munford. “He says he ain’t goin’ to have broken heads interferin’ with it, either. From now on you’ve got to get a pass to ride on the construction train. Likewise, he said if you didn’t like it I was to tell you”—here Munford paused to glance around the circle—“that it’s my fault and I’m the cause of all the trouble.”

“What did you tell him?” demanded the crew.

“I told him to go hang. What else would I tell him?”

“Bully for you!” shouted McGuire, slapping his leg in delight. “Did he fire you?”

This was something Munford had not thought of.

“Fire me?” he repeated. Then slowly, pondering the idea: “No, he didn’t. It’s funny he didn’t, though; I gave him back talk ‘enough.”

“Aw,” said McGuire, with a sneer, “that’s easy. He’d have fired you quick enough if he dared.”

“Why,” said Munford innocently. “I wouldn’t have touched him if he had. He’s too small to touch—I told him that, too.”

“‘Tain’t that,” McGuire returned. “He ain’t afraid of any man, big or little. I’ll give him credit for that. It’s his bridge, and that means his job, that he’s afraid of.”

“What’s my gettin’ fired got to do with the bridge?” demanded Munford, in amazement.

“Aw, go on; you know what I mean. If Burton has trouble with us the bridge work stops, don’t it? And the company’ll be askin’ Burton the reason why, won’t they? Well, Burton knows there’s some things we won’t stand for, and firin’ you after we brought you up here is one of them. And that’s right, too, eh, mates?”

There was emphatic assent from the men.

Munford, a little flustered at this wholesale exhibition of homage, fidgeted nervously. “Much obliged,” said he, clumsily. “Don’t put yourselves out on my account. I——”

“That’s all right,” broke in McGuire. “Burton won’t try it; he knows better. As for gettin’ a pass to get out of camp, I dunno about that.” He got up, stretched himself and yawned. “The way I look at it, it’s more up to Munford here than it is to Burton. I’m goin’ to turn in, but I’ll say first that the night Munford says Big Cloud, then Big Cloud it is for Bridge Gang No. 3. That’s the way we talked it before we knew about Burton mixin’ in, and I reckon it stands just the same now.”

And the camp retired to their bunks and to sleep, voicing McGuire’s sentiments and swearing a unanimous and enthusiastic allegiance to Munford; all but Munford himself who did not sleep but lay awake tossing restlessly though, ............