At the top he found himself on a narrow railway track which ran between huge piles of rusty scrap-iron.

These piles, separated by tracks, extended in every direction he could not tell how far, though in the distance he could see the vague outlines of some great factory-like building.

The men began to carry loads of the iron down to the beach, and French Pete, gripping him by the arm and again warning him not to make any noise, told him to do likewise.

At the beach they turned their burdens over to 'Frisco Kid, who loaded them, first in the one skiff and then in the other.

As the boats settled under the weight, he kept pushing them farther and farther out, in order that they should keep clear of the bottom.
Joe worked away steadily, though he could not help marveling at the queerness of the whole business.