What with assorting and stowing the bales of cloth and the other goods in the Jenks two , watering the animals and staking them out anew, tinkering with the equipment and making various essays with the bull whip, I found occupation enough; nevertheless there were moments of , or while passing to and fro, when I was aware of the scenes and events in this Western world around about.
The sounded calls for the routine at Fort Steele—a cantonment, yet, of tents and rough board buildings upon the bare brown soil near the river bank, north of us, and less than a month old. The road was a line of white dust from the river clear to Benton, and through the murk the water haulers and and freighters, animals and men alike befloured and choked. The dust cloud rested over Benton. It in another line , kept in by on-traveling stage and wagon—by wheel, and boot, bound for Utah and Idaho. From the town there extended a third dust line, marking the stage and freighting 163road through the Indian country to the mining settlements of the famous South Pass of the old Oregon Trail; yes, and with branches for the gold regions of Montana.
The railroad trains kept thundering by us—long freights, dusty and indomitable, bringing their loads from the Missouri River almost seven hundred miles in the east. And rolling out of Benton the never-ceasing construction trains sped into the desert as if upon urgent errands in response to some sudden demand of More, More, More.
Upon all sides beyond this business and energy the country stretched and uninhabited; a great waste of naked, hot, resplendent land blotched with white and red, showing not a green spot except the course of the Platte; with , hills rising above its fantastic surface, and, in the distance, bluish mountain ranges that appeared to float and waver in the sun-drenched air.
The sounds from Benton—the hammering, the shouting, the , the of the locomotives—drifted faintly to us, into the cracking of whips and the oaths and songs by the wagon drivers along the road. Of our own little camp I took gradual stock.
It, like the desert reaches, evinced little of , for while booted men busied themselves at tasks similar to mine, others lolled, spinning and ; the several women, at wash-boards and at 164pots and pans and needles, worked in sun and shade; children played at makeshift games, dogs drowsed the wagons, and outside our circle the and oxen grazed as best they might, their only vexation the blood-sucking flies. The flies were of Benton.
Captain Adams loped away, as if to town. Others went in. While I was idle at last and rather enjoying the hot sun as I sat resting upon a convenient wagon-tongue Daniel hulked to me, still snapping his ox .
“Haowdy?” he addressed again; and surveyed, eying every detail of my clothing.
“Howdy?” said I.
“Yu know me?”
“Your name is Daniel, isn’t it?”
“No, ’tain’t. It’s Bonnie Bravo on the trail.”
“All right, sir,” said I. “Whichever you prefer.”
“I ’laow we pull out this arternoon,” he volunteered farther.
“I’m agreeable,” I responded. “The sooner the better, where I’m concerned.”
“I ’laow yu (and he pronounced it, nasally, yee-ou) been seein’ the elephant in Benton an’ it skinned yu.”
“I saw all of Benton I wish to see,” I granted. “You’ve been there?”
“I won four bits, an’ then yu bet I quit,” he greedily proclaimed. “I was too smart for ’em. I ’laow yu’re a greenie, ain’t yu?”
“In some ways I am, in some ways I’m not.”
“I ’laow yu aim to go through with this train to Salt Lake, do yu?”
“That’s the engagement I’ve made with Mr. Jenks.”
“Don’t feel too smart, yoreself, in them new clothes?”
“No. They’re all I have. They won’t be new long.”
“Yu bet they won’t. Ain’t afeared of peterin’ aout on the way, be yu? I ’laow yu’re sickly.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I smiled, although he was irritating in the extreme.
“It’s four hunderd mile, an’ twenty mile at a stretch withaout water. Most the water’s pizen, too, from hyar to the mountings.”
“I’ll have to drink what the rest drink, I suppose.”
“I ’laow the Injuns are like to get us. They’re powerful bad in that thar desert. Ain’t afeared o’ Injuns, be yu?”
“I’ll have to take my chances on that, too, won’t I?”
“They sculped a whole passel o’ surveyors, month ago,” he persisted. “Yu’ll sing a different tyune arter yu’ve been corralled with nothin’ to drink.” He viciously snapped his whip, the while inspecting me as if seeking for other in my armor. “Yu aim to stay long in Zion?”
“I haven’t planned anything about that.”
“Reckon yu’re wise, Mister. We don’t think much o’ Gentiles, yonder. We don’t want ’em, nohaow. They’d all better git aout. The Saints settled that country an’ it’s ourn.”
“If you’re a sample, you’re welcome to live there,” I retorted. “I think I’d prefer some place else.”
“Haow?” he . “Thar ain’t no place as good. All the rest the world has sold itself to the devil.”
“How much of the world have you seen?” I asked.
“I’ve seen a heap. I’ve been as fur east as Cheyenne—I’ve teamed acrost twice, so I know. An’ I know what the elders say; they come from the East an’ some of ’em have been as fur as England. Yu can’t fool me none with yore Gentile lies.”
As I did not attempt, we remained in silence for a moment while he waited, .
“Say, Mister,” he suddenly. “Kin yu shoot?”
“I presume I could if I had to. Why?”
“Becuz I’m the dangest best shot with a Colt’s in this hyar train, an’ I’ll shoot ye for—I’ll shoot ye for (he lowered his voice and glanced about furtively)—I’ll shoot ye for two bits when my paw ain’t ’raound.”
“I’ve no to waste at present,” I informed. “And I don’t claim to be a crack shot.”
“Damn ye, I bet yu think yu are,” he accused. “Yu set thar like it. All right, Mister; any time yu want to try a little poppin’ yu let me know.” And 167with this, which struck me as a veiled threat, he lurched on, snapping that infernal whip.
He left me with the uneasy impression that he and I were due to measure strength in one way or another.
Wagon Boss Adams returned at noon. The word was given out that the train should start during the afternoon, for a short march in order to break in the new animals before tackling the real westward trail.
After a deal of , of loads and tautening covers and , hawing and whoaing, about three o’clock we formed line in to the commands “Stretch out, stretch out!”; and with every cask and barrel dripping, whips cracking, voices urging, children , the Captain Adams wagon in the lead (two pink sunbonnets upon the seat), the valorous Daniel’s next, and Mormons and Gentiles ranging on down, we creaking and swaying up the Benton road, amidst the of hot, scalding dust.
It was a mixed train, of Gentile mules and the more numerous Mormon oxen; therefore not a “bull” train, but by pace designated as such. And in the I was a “-whacker” or even “mule-skinner” rather than a “bull-whacker,” if there is any difference in rôle. There is none, I think, to the animals.
manfully at the left wheel behind Mr. Jenks’ four span of mules, trailing my eighteen-foot and occasionally well-nigh cutting off my own ear when I tried to throw it, I played the 168teamster—although sooth to say there was little of play in the job, on that road, at that time of the day.
The sun was more vexatious, being an hour lower, when we bravely entered Benton’s boiling main street. We made brief halt for the finishing up of business; and a lane through the and vehicles and animals there , the challenges of the street gamblers having us in vain, we proceeded—our Mormons gazing straight ahead, scornful of the devil’s enticements, our few Gentiles responding in kind to the quips and waves and salutations.
Thus we eventually left Benton; in about an hour’s march or some three miles out we formed corral for camp on the farther side of the road from the railroad tracks which we had been skirting.
Travel, except upon the tracks (for they were rarely vacant) ceased at sundown; and we all, having eaten our suppers, were sitting by our fires, smoking and talking, with the sky in the west and the desert getting mysterious with purple shadows, when as another construction train of box cars and platform cars clanked by I chanced to note a figure spring out asprawl, alight with a whiffle of sand, and staggering up hasten for us.
First it the hulk Daniel, who was temporarily out on , keeping the animals from the tracks. I saw him lean from his saddle; then he rode spurring in, like a calf:169
“Paw! Paw! Hey, yu-all! Thar’s a woman yonder in britches an’ she ’laows to come on. She’s lookin’ for Mister Jenks.”
Save for his excited stuttering silence , a minute. Then in a storm of rude raillery—“That’s a hoss on you, George!” “Didn’t know you owned one o’ them critters, George,” “Does she wear the britches, George?” and so forth—my friend Jenks arose, peering, his whiskered mouth so agape that he almost dropped his pipe. And we all peered, with the women of the mute but intensely curious, while the figure, braving our stares, came on to the fires.
“Gawd !” Mr. Jenks delivered.
Likewise straightening I mentally repeated the ejaculation, for now I knew her as well as he. Yes, by the muttered others in our party knew her. It was My Lady—formerly My Lady—clad in short Spanish jacket, tightish pantaloons, booted to the knees, pulled down upon her yellow hair a black soft hat, and hanging from the just-revealed belt around her slender waist, a revolver trifle.
She paused, small and alone, viewing us, her eyes very blue, her face very white.
“Is Mr. Jenks there?” she hailed clearly.
“Damn’ if I ain’t,” he . He at me. “Yes, ma’am, right hyar. You want to speak with me?”170
“By gosh, it’s Montoyo’s woman, ain’t it?” were the comments.
“I do, sir.”
“You can come on closer then, ma’am,” he . “There ain’t no secrets between us.”
Come on she did, with only an instant’s and a little compression of the lips. She swept our group fearlessly—her gaze crossed mine, but she betrayed no sign.
“I wish to engage passage to Salt Lake.”
“With this hyar train?” Jenks.
“Yes. You are bound for Salt Lake, aren’t you?”
“For your health, ma’am?” he .
She faintly smiled, but her eyes were steady and wide.
“For my health. I’d like to throw in with your . I will cook, keep camp, and pay you well besides.”
“We haven’t no place for a woman, ma’am. You’d best take the stage.”
“No. There’ll be no stage out till morning. I want to make arrangements at once—with you. There are other women in this train.” She flashed a glance around. “And I can take care of myself.”
“If you aim to go to Salt Lake your main holt is Benton and the stage. The stage makes through in four days and we’ll use thirty,” somebody counseled.
“An’ this bull train ain’t no place for yore kind, anyhow,” another. “We’ve quit roarin’—we’ve cut loose from that hell-hole yonder.”
“So have I.” But she did not turn on him. “I’m never going back. I—I can’t, now; not even for the stage. Will you permit me to travel with you, sir?”
“No, ma’am, I won’t,” rasped Mr. Jenks. “I can’t do it. It’s not in my line, ma’am.”
“I’ll be no trouble. You have only Mr. Beeson. I don’t ask to ride. I’ll walk. I merely ask protection.”
“So do we,” somebody sniggered; and I hated him, for I saw her sway upon her feet as if the words had been a blow.
“No, ma’am, I’m full up. I wouldn’t take on even a yaller dog, ’specially a she one,&r............