six feet high, in a blue shirt and cowboy hat, with a red
handkerchief twisted round his throat, comes along with a pole, and
skewering it under the fallen ox very cleverly levers it on to its feet
again, holding it up until it forces its way upward itself. He jabs at
it once or twice to make it move, but not unkindly. He looks a rough
specimen and has a two days' growth of beard, but we go up to him, as I
want to ask questions about the cattle. To our astonishment the moment
he speaks we know him for an educated Englishman. "Oh, they're not badly
looked after," he says; "they've all been out at Kamloops for twelve
hours to get rest and food and water. They were only put on the cars an
hour since."

Looking at him keenly I find something very familiar in his face. "Are
you a Winchester man?" I ask.

"By Jove!" he says, "Mitton!" and simultaneously I cry "Wharton!" and
our hands are locked.

"Got a rough job?" I ask.

He laughs. "It's all in the day's work," he says. "I've done worse
things. It's a man's job, anyhow."

"Are you going to live out here permanently?"

"No; not good enough. I've been knocking about now two years, and unless
you've got capital you can't make a start; a man can always keep
himself, of course, and you see something of life too, but for a
permanency, no, it's not good enough! I wrote to my people only last
week I'd be turning up next fall to settle down again."

He has to go to help the men who are raising the wheels of the truck on
to the line again with jacks. It has been a queer accident altogether.
The train was running down in the early hours of this morning when a
huge boulder, which had been loosened by the vibration of its passing,
fell with terrific force against this particular car, and knocked it off
the rails; the coupling-pin connecting it with the next one in front
broke, and the engine and first few trucks ran on a little. Luckily the
derailed truck ploughed the ground and stopped within a foot or two of
the awful gulf yawning below, though those following, which had kept on
the track, gave it a shunt forward.

It is not long before all is shipshape again, and we draw slowly past,
waving to Wharton, who stands up in his caboose, or van, a handsome,
healthy figure of a man. He was one of the best short-slips Winchester
ever had. For some time after this we pass waiting trains at every
siding, for all the traffic has been held up by the accident.

For the rest of that day