What they needed was a truck to take the ore out and directly to Safford without the expense and time-consuming unloading of the burros and loading of the truck. The burros could be put on the arrastra full time, and their production would be much higher.

But for a truck to get down and then up through Rattlesnake Canyon would take a road, a real one, and some bridges to cross the creek where the siding cliffs were too steep and rocky to cut through. It would take men. A lot of them.

Men, fortunately, were cheap. Arizona's prosperity had proved somewhat less than originally thought, and a lot of men had traveled there, looking for work and opportunity, and had found little of either. Jeff posted a notice at the Klondyke store that he was prepared to hire a gang of laborers. He would return the following Wednesday at noon to interview prospective workers.

He thought he might find three or four that first week, but when he arrived, there were several groups milling about. His notice had attracted more than twenty men. He shook hands with each one, using the handshake as a gauge of strength and history of hard work. Anyone with soft or weak hands was immediately dismissed. Men with hard grips and calloused hands were taken on.

One man, in particular, stood out. He was a big man, old, nearly as old as Jeff himself. He had large, drooping moustaches that gave him a somber, melancholy air. He was both strong and well used to hard work. Jeff asked his name.

“Sisson. Tom Sisson.”

“What kinds of work are you used to?”

“Most of it,” Sisson replied. “I've been a ranch hand, a deliveryman, and a night watchman. I'm a first-rate farrier, and I was an army scout for nearly twenty years.”

“How about the last couple of years? What have you done the last two years?”

“Road work, mostly. Digging and scraping.”

“And who did you do that for?”

“The state of Arizona.”

“And where?”

“Florence. Arizona State Penitentiary.”

Jeff smiled. He liked the man's candor.

“You would have found out anyway. Save the trouble of an argument later on.”

“What was you in for?”

“Horse stealing.”

Jeff scowled.

“It was fair pay for what was owed me. I just evened things out.”

“But you stole them.”

“I did. You going to turn me down on that account?”

“Where did you steal them?”

“Apache reservation.”

“So those was likely stole horses anyway?”

“I don't know,” Sisson said. “I had some horses stole. Figured they was on the reservation, but those wasn't the ones I took. I took other ones. Figured it all come out pretty even.”

“No. I ain't going to turn you down for that. That sounds all reasonable to me. But you got other things going against you. You're old.”

“So are you. You figure many of these fellows could outwork either one of us?”