To Better Acquaintance

: Desert Dust

The train had started amidst clangor of bell and the shouts of good-bye

and good-luck from the crowd upon the station platform. We had rolled out

through train yards occupied to the fullest by car shops, round house,

piled-up freight depot, stacks of ties and iron, and tracks covered with

freight cars loaded high to rails, ties, baled hay, all manner and means

of supplies designed, I imagined, for the building operations far in the
br />
West.



Soon we had left this busy Train Town behind, and were entering the open

country. The landscape was pleasing, but the real sights probably lay

ahead; 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 a

par with the very best coaches of the Eastern roads--was jammed; every

seat taken. I did not see My Lady of the Blue Eyes, nor her equal, but

almost the whole gamut of society was represented: Farmers, merchants, a

few soldiers, plainsmen in boots and flannel shirt-sleeves and long hair

and large hats, with revolvers hanging from the racks above them or from

the seat ends; one or two white-faced gentry in broadcloth and

patent-leather shoes--who I fancied might be gamblers such as now and then

plied their trade upon the Hudson River boats; two Indians in blankets;

Eastern tourists, akin to myself; women and children of country type; and

so forth. What chiefly caught my eye were the carbines racked against the

ends of the coach, for protection in case of Indians or highwaymen, no

doubt. I observed bottles being passed from hand to hand, and tilted en

route. The amount and frequency of the whiskey for consumption in this

country were astonishing.



My friend snored peacefully. Near noon we halted for dinner at the town of

Fremont, some fifty miles out. She awakened at the general stir, and when

I squeezed by her she immediately fished for a packet of lunch. We had

thirty minutes at Fremont--ample time in which to discuss a very excellent

meal of antelope steaks, prairie fowl, fried potatoes and hot biscuits.

There was promise of buffalo meat farther on, possibly at the next meal

station, Grand Island.



The time was sufficient, also, to give me another glimpse of My Lady of

the Blue Eyes, who appeared to have been awarded the place of honor

between the conductor and the brakeman, at table. She bestowed upon me a

subtle glance of recognition--with a smile and a slight bow in one; but I

failed to find her upon the station platform after the meal. That I should

obtain other opportunities I did not doubt. Benton was yet thirty hours'

travel.



All that afternoon we rocked along up the Platte Valley, with the Platte

River--a broad but shallow stream--constantly upon our left. My seat

companion evidently had exhausted her repertoire, for she slumbered at

ease, gradually sinking into a shapeless mass, her flowered bonnet askew.

Several other passengers also were sleeping; due, in part, to the whiskey

bottles. The car was thinning out, I noted, and I might bid in advance for

the chance of obtaining a new location in a certain car ahead.



The scenery through the car window had merged into a monotony accentuated

by great spaces. As far as Fremont the country along the railroad had been

well settled with farms and unfenced cultivated fields. Now we had issued

into the untrammeled prairies, here and there humanized by an isolated

shack or a lonely traveler by horse or wagon, but in the main a vast

sun-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 streams

that we passed. Close at hand the principal tokens of life were the little

flag stations, and the tremendous freight trains side-tracked to give us

the right of way. The widely separated hamlets where we impatiently

stopped were the oases in the desert.



In the sunset we halted at the supper station, named Grand Island. My

seat neighbor finished her lunch box, and I returned well fortified by

another excellent meal at the not exorbitant price, one dollar and a

quarter. There had been buffalo meat--a poor apology, to my notion, for

good beef. Antelope steak, on the contrary, was of far finer flavor than

the best mutton.



At Grand Island a number of wretched native Indians drew my attention, for

the time being, from quest of My Lady of the Blue Eyes. However, she was

still escorted by the conductor, who in his brass buttons and officious

air began to irritate me. Such a persistent squire of dames rather

overstepped the duties of his position. Confound the fellow! He surely

would come to the end of his run and his rope before we went much

farther.



"Now, young man, if you get shet of your foolishness and decide to try

North Platte instead of some fly-by-night town on west," my seat companion

addressed, "you jest follow me when I leave. We get to North Platte after

plumb dark, and you hang onto my skirts right up town, till I land you in

a 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 your

kindness," I evaded. Forsooth, she had a mind to kidnap me!



"Now you're talkin' sensible," she approved. "My sakes alive! Benton!" And

she sniffed. "Why, in Benton they'll snatch you bald-headed 'fore you've

been there an hour."



She composed herself for another nap.



"If that pesky brakeman don't remember to wake me, you give me a poke with

your 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 gold

like somebody's hair; and from gold to lemon which tinted all the prairie

and made it beautiful. Pursuing the sunset we steadily rumbled westward

through the immensity of unbroken space.



The brakeman came in, lighting the coal-oil lamps. Outside, the twilight

had deepened into dusk. Numerous passengers were making ready for bed: the

men by removing their boots and shoes and coats and galluses and

stretching out; the women by loosening their stays, with significant

clicks and sighs, and laying their heads upon adjacent shoulders or

drooping against seat ends. Babies cried, and were hushed. Final

night-caps were taken, from the prevalent bottles.



The brakeman, returning, paused and inquired right and left on his way

through. 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 North

Platte."



"What time do we reach North Platte?"



"Two-thirty in the morning. If you don't want to be waked up, you'd better

change 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 to

yourself."



The arrangement was satisfactory, albeit the "gentleman" with whom I

shared appeared, to nose and eyes, rather well soused, as they say; but

fortune had favored me--across the aisle, only a couple of seats beyond, I

glimpsed the top of a golden head, securely low and barricaded in by

luggage.



Without regrets I abandoned my former seat-mate to her disappointment when

she waked at North Platte. This car was the place for me, set apart by the

salient presence of one person among all the others. That, however, is apt

to differentiate city from city, and even land from land.



Eventually I, also, slept--at first by fits and starts concomitant with

railway travel by night, then more soundly when the "gentleman," my

comrade in adventure, had been hauled out and deposited elsewhere. I fully

awakened only at daylight.



The train was rumbling as before. The lamps had been extinguished--the

coach atmosphere was heavy with oil smell and the exhalations of human

beings in all stages of deshabille. But the golden head was there, about

as when last sighted.



Now it stirred, and erected a little. I felt the unseemliness of sitting

and waiting for her to make her toilet, so I hastily staggered to achieve

my own by aid of the water tank, tin basin, roller towel and small

looking-glass at the rear--substituting my personal comb and brush for the

pair hanging there by cords.



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

fresh air.



We were traversing the real plains of the Great American Desert, I judged.

The prairie grasses had shortened to brown stubble interspersed with bare

sandy soil rising here and there into low hills. It was a country without

north, south, east, west, save as denoted by the sun, broadly launching

his first beams of the day. Behind us the single track of double rails

stretched straight away as if clear to the Missouri. The dull blare of the

car wheels was the only token of life, excepting the long-eared rabbits

scampering with erratic high jumps, and the prairie dogs sitting bolt

upright in the sunshine among their hillocked burrows. Of any town there

was no sign. We had cut loose from company.



Then we thundered by a freight train, loaded with still more ties and

iron, standing upon a siding guarded by the idling trainmen and by an

operator's shack. Smoke was welling from the chimney of the shack--and

that domestic touch gave me a sense of homesickness. Yet I would not have

been home, even for breakfast. This wide realm of nowhere fascinated with

the unknown.



The train and shack flattened into the landscape. A bevy of antelope

flashed white tails at us as they scudded away. Two motionless figures,

horseback, whom I took to be wild Indians, surveyed us from a distant

sand-hill. Across the river there appeared a fungus of low buildings,

almost indistinguishable, with a glimmer of canvas-topped wagons fringing

it. That was the old emigrant road.



While I was thus orienting myself in lonesome but not entirely hopeless

fashion the car door opened and closed. I turned my head. The Lady of the

Blue Eyes had joined me. As fresh as the morning she was.



"Oh! You? I beg your pardon, sir." She apologized, but I felt that the

diffidence was more politic than sincere.



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

both."



"The car is suffocating," she said. "However, the worst is over. We shall

not 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, I

believe."



"Yes?" She scanned me. "But I do not like that word: the end. It is not a

popular word, in the West. Certainly not at Benton. For instance----"



We tore by another freight waiting upon a siding located amidst a wide

debris 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-house

and 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 North

Platte--not in the same breath with Benton, or even Cheyenne. A town of

hayseeds and dollar-a-day clerks whose height of sport is to go fishing in

the Platte! A young man like you would die of ennui in North Platte.

Julesburg was a good town while it lasted. People lived, there; and

moved on because they wished to keep alive. What is life, anyway, but a

constant shuffle of the cards? Oh, I should have laughed to see you in

North Platte." And laugh she did. "You might as well be dead underground

as buried in one of those smug seven-Sabbaths-a-week places."



Her free speech accorded ill with what I had been accustomed to in

womankind; 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, and

don't mention the end. So I took exception to your gallantry." She glanced

behind her, through the door window into the car. "Will you," she asked

hastily, "join me in a little appetizer, as they say? You will find it a

superior 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 my

astonishment.



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



"Nor I. But when traveling--you know. And in high and--dry Benton liquor

is quite a necessity. You will discover that, I am sure. You will not

decline to taste with a lady? Let us drink to better acquaintance, in

Benton."



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



She poured, while swaying to the motion of the train; passed the cup to me

with 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 for

herself.



"A votre sante, monsieur--and continued beginnings, no ends." She daintily

tossed it off.



We had consummated our pledges just in time. The brakeman issued, stumping

noisily and bringing discord into my heaven of blue and gold and

comfortable warmth.



"Howdy, lady and gent? Breakfast in twenty minutes." He grinned affably at

her; yes, with a trace of familiarity. "Sleep well, madam?"





"Passably, thank you." Her voice held a certain element of calm

interrogation 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, and

lingered.



"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 and

Cheyenne. 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 me

queerly. "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, by

way 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 ceremony

in those matters. Everything's aboveboard. Hands on the table until time

to 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 his

nose, and winked wisely. "You bet yuh! And good business. Yes, siree. Are

you 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 quiet

little smile with her, eh?" He sniffed suspiciously. "A few swigs of

that'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 your

hair's long."



"My hair is my own fashion, sir," I rebuked. "And the lady is not for

discussion between gentlemen, particularly as my acquaintance with her is

only casual. I don't understand your remarks, but if they are insinuations

I shall have to ask you to drop the subject."



"Tut, tut!" he grinned. "No offense intended, Mister Pilgrim. Well, you're

all right. We can't be young more than once, and if the lady takes you in

tow in Benton you'll have the world by the tail as long as it holds. She

moves with the top-notchers; she's a knowing little piece--no offense. Her

and me are good enough friends. There's no brace game in that deal. I only

aim to give you a steer. Savvy?" And he winked. "You're out to see the

elephant, yourself."



"I am seeking health, is all," I explained. "My physician had advised a

place 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, and

sure 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 days

they ever seen. When you step off at Benton step lively and keep an eye in

the back of your head. There's money to be made at Benton, by the wise

ones. Watch out for ropers and if you get onto a system, play it. There

ain't any limit to money or suckers."



"I may not qualify as to money," I informed. "But I trust that I am no

sucker."



"No green in the eye, eh?" he approved. "Anyhow, you have a good lead if

your friend in black cottons to you." Again he winked. "You're not a

bad-looking young feller." He leaned over the side steps, and gazed ahead.

"Sidney in sight. Be there directly. We're hitting twenty miles and better

through the greatest country on earth. The engineer smells breakfast."



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