My Grandfather told the following story one evening when I was small, as we were sitting in the warm glow of a fireplace after an evening of song and banjo playing.

He had been working on a road gang in the southern interior of British Columbia sometime in the early 1900's. At the week's end, the men in the camp received their pay and most decided to head to town for the night, to celebrate, spend some money and sleep in a clean bed. My Grandfather remained in camp.

He was sitting later in the evening by the fire, when he noticed one of his fellow workers, who had gone with the group to town, sitting across the fire from him, staring into the flames. My Grandfather, a bit surprised at his return, tried to strike up a conversationwith him, but his friend remained silent. Respecting his desire not to socialize and because it was getting late, my grandfather retired for the night.

The following morning word came from town that the local hotel had burned to the ground during the night, along with some of the workers from the camp who had decided to stay there, including my grandfather's silent friend.

It was the only tall tale he ever told and we were inclined to believe him.