Desert Dust

by Edwin L. Sabin

  CHAPTER II

  TO BETTER ACQUAINTANCE

  The train had started amidst clangor of bell and the shouts of good-byeand good-luck from the crowd upon the station platform. We had rolled outthrough train yards occupied to the fullest by car shops, round house,piled-up freight depot, stacks of ties and iron, and tracks covered withfreight cars loaded high to rails, ties, baled hay, all manner and meansof supplies designed, I imagined, for the building operations far in theWest.

  Soon we had left this busy Train Town behind, and were entering the opencountry. The landscape was pleasing, but the real sights probably layahead; so I turned from my window to examine my traveling quarters.

  The coach--a new one, built in the company's shops and decidedly upon apar with the very best coaches of the Eastern roads--was jammed; everyseat taken. I did not see My Lady of the Blue Eyes, nor her equal, butalmost the whole gamut of society was represented: Farmers, merchants, afew soldiers, plainsmen in boots and flannel shirt-sleeves and long hairand large hats, with revolvers hanging from the racks above them or fromthe seat ends; one or two white-faced gentry in broadcloth andpatent-leather shoes--who I fancied might be gamblers such as now and thenplied their trade upon the Hudson River boats; two Indians in blankets;Eastern tourists, akin to myself; women and children of country type; andso forth. What chiefly caught my eye were the carbines racked against theends of the coach, for protection in case of Indians or highwaymen, nodoubt. I observed bottles being passed from hand to hand, and tilted enroute. The amount and frequency of the whiskey for consumption in thiscountry were astonishing.

  My friend snored peacefully. Near noon we halted for dinner at the town ofFremont, some fifty miles out. She awakened at the general stir, and whenI squeezed by her she immediately fished for a packet of lunch. We hadthirty minutes at Fremont--ample time in which to discuss a very excellentmeal of antelope steaks, prairie fowl, fried potatoes and hot biscuits.There was promise of buffalo meat farther on, possibly at the next mealstation, Grand Island.

  The time was sufficient, also, to give me another glimpse of My Lady ofthe Blue Eyes, who appeared to have been awarded the place of honorbetween the conductor and the brakeman, at table. She bestowed upon me asubtle glance of recognition--with a smile and a slight bow in one; but Ifailed to find her upon the station platform after the meal. That I shouldobtain other opportunities I did not doubt. Benton was yet thirty hours'travel.

  All that afternoon we rocked along up the Platte Valley, with the PlatteRiver--a broad but shallow stream--constantly upon our left. My seatcompanion evidently had exhausted her repertoire, for she slumbered atease, gradually sinking into a shapeless mass, her flowered bonnet askew.Several other passengers also were sleeping; due, in part, to the whiskeybottles. The car was thinning out, I noted, and I might bid in advance forthe chance of obtaining a new location in a certain car ahead.

  The scenery through the car window had merged into a monotony accentuatedby great spaces. As far as Fremont the country along the railroad had beenwell settled with farms and unfenced cultivated fields. Now we had issuedinto the untrammeled prairies, here and there humanized by an isolatedshack or a lonely traveler by horse or wagon, but in the main a vastsun-baked dead sea of gentle, silent undulations extending, brownish,clear to the horizons. The only refreshing sights were the Platte River,flowing blue and yellow among sand-bars and islands, and the side streamsthat we passed. Close at hand the principal tokens of life were the littleflag stations, and the tremendous freight trains side-tracked to give usthe right of way. The widely separated hamlets where we impatientlystopped were the oases in the desert.

  In the sunset we halted at the supper station, named Grand Island. Myseat neighbor finished her lunch box, and I returned well fortified byanother excellent meal at the not exorbitant price, one dollar and aquarter. There had been buffalo meat--a poor apology, to my notion, forgood beef. Antelope steak, on the contrary, was of far finer flavor thanthe best mutton.

  At Grand Island a number of wretched native Indians drew my attention, forthe time being, from quest of My Lady of the Blue Eyes. However, she wasstill escorted by the conductor, who in his brass buttons and officiousair began to irritate me. Such a persistent squire of dames ratheroverstepped the duties of his position. Confound the fellow! He surelywould come to the end of his run and his rope before we went muchfarther.

  "Now, young man, if you get shet of your foolishness and decide to tryNorth Platte instead of some fly-by-night town on west," my seat companionaddressed, "you jest follow me when I leave. We get to North Platte afterplumb dark, and you hang onto my skirts right up town, till I land you ina good place. For if you don't, you're liable to be skinned alive."

  "If I decide upon North Platte I certainly will take advantage of yourkindness," I evaded. Forsooth, she had a mind to kidnap me!

  "Now you're talkin' sensible," she approved. "My sakes alive! Benton!" Andshe sniffed. "Why, in Benton they'll snatch you bald-headed 'fore you'vebeen there an hour."

  She composed herself for another nap.

  "If that pesky brakeman don't remember to wake me, you give me a poke withyour elbow. I wouldn't be carried beyond North Platte for love or money."

  She gurgled, she snored. The sunset was fading from pink to gold--a goldlike somebody's hair; and from gold to lemon which tinted all the prairieand made it beautiful. Pursuing the sunset we steadily rumbled westwardthrough the immensity of unbroken space.

  The brakeman came in, lighting the coal-oil lamps. Outside, the twilighthad deepened into dusk. Numerous passengers were making ready for bed: themen by removing their boots and shoes and coats and galluses andstretching out; the women by loosening their stays, with significantclicks and sighs, and laying their heads upon adjacent shoulders ordrooping against seat ends. Babies cried, and were hushed. Finalnight-caps were taken, from the prevalent bottles.

  The brakeman, returning, paused and inquired right and left on his waythrough. He leaned to me.

  "You for North Platte?"

  "No, sir. Benton, Wyoming Territory."

  "Then you'd better move up to the car ahead. This car stops at NorthPlatte."

  "What time do we reach North Platte?"

  "Two-thirty in the morning. If you don't want to be waked up, you'd betterchange now. You'll find a seat."

  At that I gladly followed him out. He indicated a half-empty seat.

  "This gentleman gets off a bit farther on; then you'll have the seat toyourself."

  The arrangement was satisfactory, albeit the "gentleman" with whom Ishared appeared, to nose and eyes, rather well soused, as they say; butfortune had favored me--across the aisle, only a couple of seats beyond, Iglimpsed the top of a golden head, securely low and barricaded in byluggage.

  Without regrets I abandoned my former seat-mate to her disappointment whenshe waked at North Platte. This car was the place for me, set apart by thesalient presence of one person among all the others. That, however, is aptto differentiate city from city, and even land from land.

  Eventually I, also, slept--at first by fits and starts concomitant withrailway travel by night, then more soundly when the "gentleman," mycomrade in adventure, had been hauled out and deposited elsewhere. I fullyawakened only at daylight.

  The train was rumbling as before. The lamps had been extinguished--thecoach atmosphere was heavy with oil smell and the exhalations of humanbeings in all stages of deshabille. But the golden head was there, aboutas when last sighted.

  Now it stirred, and erected a little. I felt the unseemliness of sittingand waiting for her to make her toilet, so I hastily staggered to achievemy own by aid of the water tank, tin basin, roller towel and smalllooking-glass at the rear--substituting my personal comb and brush for thepair hanging there by cords.

  The coach was the last in the train. I stepped out upon the platform, forfresh air.

  We were traversing the real plains of the Great American Desert, I judged.The prairie grasses had shortened to brown stubble interspersed with ba
resandy soil rising here and there into low hills. It was a country withoutnorth, south, east, west, save as denoted by the sun, broadly launchinghis first beams of the day. Behind us the single track of double railsstretched straight away as if clear to the Missouri. The dull blare of thecar wheels was the only token of life, excepting the long-eared rabbitsscampering with erratic high jumps, and the prairie dogs sitting boltupright in the sunshine among their hillocked burrows. Of any town therewas no sign. We had cut loose from company.

  Then we thundered by a freight train, loaded with still more ties andiron, standing upon a siding guarded by the idling trainmen and by anoperator's shack. Smoke was welling from the chimney of the shack--andthat domestic touch gave me a sense of homesickness. Yet I would not havebeen home, even for breakfast. This wide realm of nowhere fascinated withthe unknown.

  The train and shack flattened into the landscape. A bevy of antelopeflashed white tails at us as they scudded away. Two motionless figures,horseback, whom I took to be wild Indians, surveyed us from a distantsand-hill. Across the river there appeared a fungus of low buildings,almost indistinguishable, with a glimmer of canvas-topped wagons fringingit. That was the old emigrant road.

  While I was thus orienting myself in lonesome but not entirely hopelessfashion the car door opened and closed. I turned my head. The Lady of theBlue Eyes had joined me. As fresh as the morning she was.

  "Oh! You? I beg your pardon, sir." She apologized, but I felt that thediffidence was more politic than sincere.

  "You are heartily welcome, madam," I assured. "There is air enough for usboth."

  "The car is suffocating," she said. "However, the worst is over. We shallnot have to spend another such a night. You are still for Benton?"

  "By all means." And I bowed to her. "We are fellow-travelers to the end, Ibelieve."

  "Yes?" She scanned me. "But I do not like that word: the end. It is not apopular word, in the West. Certainly not at Benton. For instance----"

  We tore by another freight waiting upon a siding located amidst a widedebris of tin cans, scattered sheet-iron, stark mud-and-stone chimneys,and barren spots, resembling the ruins from fire and quake.

  "There is Julesburg."

  "A town?" I gasped.

  "The end." She smiled. "The only inhabitants now are in the station-houseand the graveyard."

  "And the others? Where are they?"

  "Farther west. Many of them in Benton."

  "Indeed? Or in North Platte!" I bantered.

  "North Platte!" She laughed merrily. "Dear me, don't mention NorthPlatte--not in the same breath with Benton, or even Cheyenne. A town ofhayseeds and dollar-a-day clerks whose height of sport is to go fishing inthe Platte! A young man like you would die of ennui in North Platte.Julesburg was a good town while it lasted. People _lived_, there; andmoved on because they wished to keep alive. What is life, anyway, but aconstant shuffle of the cards? Oh, I should have laughed to see you inNorth Platte." And laugh she did. "You might as well be dead undergroundas buried in one of those smug seven-Sabbaths-a-week places."

  Her free speech accorded ill with what I had been accustomed to inwomankind; and yet became her sparkling eyes and general dash.

  "To be dead is past the joking, madam," I reminded.

  "Certainly. To be dead is the end. In Benton we live while we live, anddon't mention the end. So I took exception to your gallantry." She glancedbehind her, through the door window into the car. "Will you," she askedhastily, "join me in a little appetizer, as they say? You will find it asuperior cognac--and we breakfast shortly, at Sidney."

  From a pocket of her skirt she had extracted a small silver flask,stoppered with a tiny screw cup. Her face swam before me, in myastonishment.

  "I rarely drink liquor, madam," I stammered.

  "Nor I. But when traveling--you know. And in high and--dry Benton liquoris quite a necessity. You will discover that, I am sure. You will notdecline to taste with a lady? Let us drink to better acquaintance, inBenton."

  "With all my heart, madam," I blurted.

  She poured, while swaying to the motion of the train; passed the cup to mewith a brightly challenging smile.

  "Ladies first. That is the custom, is it not?" I queried.

  "But I am hostess, sir. I do the honors. Pray do you your duty."

  "To our better acquaintance, then, madam," I accepted. "In Benton."

  The cognac swept down my throat like a stab of hot oil. She poured forherself.

  "A votre sante, monsieur--and continued beginnings, no ends." She daintilytossed it off.

  We had consummated our pledges just in time. The brakeman issued, stumpingnoisily and bringing discord into my heaven of blue and gold andcomfortable warmth.

  "Howdy, lady and gent? Breakfast in twenty minutes." He grinned affably ather; yes, with a trace of familiarity. "Sleep well, madam?"

  "Passably, thank you." Her voice held a certain element of calminterrogation as if to ask how far he intended to push acquaintance."We're nearing Sidney, you say? Then I bid you gentlemen good-morning."

  With a darting glance at him and a parting smile for me she passed inside.The brakeman leaned for an instant's look ahead, up the track, andlingered.

  "Friend of yours, is she?"

  "I met her at Omaha, is all," I stiffly informed.

  "Considerable of a dame, eh?" He eyed me. "You're booked for Benton,too?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Never been there, myself. She's another hell-roarer, they say."

  "Sir!" I remonstrated.

  "Oh, the town, the town," he enlightened. "I'm saying nothing against it,for that matter--nor against her, either. They're both O. K."

  "You are acquainted with the lady, yourself?"

  "Her? Sure. I know about everybody along the line between Platte andCheyenne. Been running on this division ever since it opened."

  "She lives in Benton, though, I understand," I proffered.

  "Why, yes; sure she does. Moved there from Cheyenne." He looked at mequeerly. "Naturally. Ain't that so?"

  "Probably it is," I admitted. "I see no reason to doubt your word."

  "Yep. Followed her man. A heap of people moved from Cheyenne to Benton, byway of Laramie."

  "She is married, then?"

  "Far as I know. Anyway, she's not single, by a long shot." And he laughed."But, Lord, that cuts no great figger. People here don't stand on ceremonyin those matters. Everything's aboveboard. Hands on the table until timeto draw--then draw quick."

  His language was a little too bluff for me.

  "Her husband is in business, no doubt?"

  "Business?" He stared unblinking. "I see." He laid a finger alongside hisnose, and winked wisely. "You bet yuh! And good business. Yes, siree. Areyou on?"

  "Am I on?" I repeated. "On what? The train?"

  "Oh, on your way."

  "To Benton; certainly."

  "Do you see any green in my eye, friend?" he demanded.

  "I do not."

  "Or in the moon, maybe?"

  "No, nor in the moon," I retorted. "But what is all this about?"

  "I'll be damned!" he roundly vouchsafed. And--"You've been having a quietlittle smile with her, eh?" He sniffed suspiciously. "A few swigs ofthat'll make a pioneer of you quicker'n alkali. She's favoring you--eh?Now if she tells you of a system, take my advice and quit while yourhair's long."

  "My hair is my own fashion, sir," I rebuked. "And the lady is not fordiscussion between gentlemen, particularly as my acquaintance with her isonly casual. I don't understand your remarks, but if they are insinuationsI shall have to ask you to drop the subject."

  "Tut, tut!" he grinned. "No offense intended, Mister Pilgrim. Well, you'reall right. We can't be young more than once, and if the lady takes you intow in Benton you'll have the world by the tail as long as it holds. Shemoves with the top-notchers; she's a knowing little piece--no offense. Herand me are good enough friends. There's no brace game in that deal. I onlyaim to give you a steer. Savvy?" And he winked. "You're out
to see theelephant, yourself."

  "I am seeking health, is all," I explained. "My physician had advised aplace in the Far West, high and dry; and Benton is recommended."

  His response was identical with others preceding.

  "High and dry? By golly, then Benton's the ticket. It's sure high, andsure dry. You bet yuh! High and dry and roaring."

  "Why 'roaring'?" I demanded at last. The word had been puzzling me.

  "Up and coming. Pop goes the weasel, at Benton. Benton? Lord love you!They say it's got Cheyenne and Laramie backed up a tree, the best daysthey ever seen. When you step off at Benton step lively and keep an eye inthe back of your head. There's money to be made at Benton, by the wiseones. Watch out for ropers and if you get onto a system, play it. Thereain't any limit to money or suckers."

  "I may not qualify as to money," I informed. "But I trust that I am nosucker."

  "No green in the eye, eh?" he approved. "Anyhow, you have a good lead ifyour friend in black cottons to you." Again he winked. "You're not abad-looking young feller." He leaned over the side steps, and gazed ahead."Sidney in sight. Be there directly. We're hitting twenty miles and betterthrough the greatest country on earth. The engineer smells breakfast."