"In Ipek I coulden get my
room," said one, "tho' I 'ad wired for 't, 'cause one o' them 'airy
popes [Greek priests] 'ad come wid 'is fambly. I 'ad to sleep like a
'og, you fellers, jess like a 'og." We had been under the impression
that burning patriotism had called all these men back to their country,
but one sturdy fellow disabused us.
"No, you fellers," he said, "there weren't no work for us in 'Murrica.
Mos' o' the places 'ad closed down ter a shift or two at the mos' per
wik. And fer fellers wats used to livin' purty well there weren't enough
ter pay board alone. We gotter come or we'd a starved." Of course this
was not true of many.
On again, rain and sun alternating, but still we were cold, feet
especially.
These mountains, these continual groups of slouching, slouch-hatted
"Americans," these little weathered log cabins, falling streams, and
pine trees reminded one of some tale of Bret Harte, and one found one's
self expecting the sudden appearance of Broncho Billy or Jack Hamlin
mounted upon a fiery mustang.
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