It was six weeks later, with My Lady all recovered and I long since healed, and Fort Bridger pleasant in our memories, when we two rode into Benton once more, by horse from the nearest stage point. And here we sat our saddles, silent, wondering; for of Benton there was little significant of the past, very little of the present, of its future.  
Roaring Benton City had vanished, you might say, . The iron tendrils of the Pacific Railway , stretching into the sunset, and Benton had followed the , to Rawlins (as had been told us), to Green River, to Bryan—likely now still , for the track was traveling fast, charging the mountain slopes of Utah. The restless dust had settled. The Queen Hotel, the Big Tent, the rows of canvas, , tin, sheet metal, what-not stores, saloons,

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