ABSTRACT
The sun hung like a sandy ball above the rim of dull mesquite that surrounded the pipeline camp. Forming a half circle about the cook-shack, they rested uncomfortably and “razzed” the lone fat man who had not yet finished eating. “Fat” was always last—last to start work, last to stop eating, and certainly last to stop talking. “Fat” ate on, unconcerned with their tired humour. Gradually the men drifted into small groups and lay droning a preparation for the evening’s talk. The men howled derisively, and Fat, who had been listening half attentively, arose from his stool and sauntered into the centre of the group. “When Paul worked on the highlines he had a wooden leg himself,” added an ax-linesman. “It was ninety feet long and the men used to wear one out every three days climbing up to bum him for cigarettes.”
