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Updated: May 11, 2025
So Casey Ryan, having lost his outfit and come so near to death that he could barely keep his feet under him, walked into a tent and stood there thinking it couldn't be true. A folding camp chair stood near the opening, and Casey sat down from sheer weakness while he looked about him. The tent was a twelve-by-fourteen, which is a bit larger than one usually carries in a pack outfit.
"It's right here you're trying to make money by putting on one man to do the work of two." "How?" Bannon's quiet manner exasperated the delegate. "Use your eyes, man you can't make eight men carry a twelve-by-fourteen stick." "How many shall I put on?" "Ten." "All right." "And you'd better put eight men on the other sticks." The delegate looked up, nettled that Bannon should yield so easily.
"It's right here you're trying to make money by putting on one man to do the work of two." "How?" Bannon's quiet manner exasperated the delegate. "Use your eyes, man you can't make eight men carry a twelve-by-fourteen stick." "How many shall I put on?" "Ten." "All right." "And you'd better put eight men on the other sticks." The delegate looked up, nettled that Bannon should yield so easily.
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