Part 6 (1/2)

”And the women, too, if I may judge,” I smiled.

”Some of us. Yes,” she repeated, ”you're likely to do well, out here, if you'll permit me to advise you a little.”

”Under your tutelage I am sure I shall do well,” I accepted. ”I may call upon you in Benton? If you will favor me with your address----?”

”My address?” She searched my face in manner startled. ”You'll have no difficulty finding me; not in Benton. But I'll make an appointment with you in event”--and she smiled archly--”you are not afraid of strange women.”

”I have been taught to respect women, madam,” said I. ”And my respect is being strengthened.”

”Oh!” I seemed to have pleased her. ”You have been carefully brought up, sir.”

”To fear G.o.d, respect woman, and act the man as long as I breathe,” I a.s.serted. ”My mother is a saint, my father a n.o.bleman, and what I may have learned from them is to their credit.”

”That may go excellently in the East,” she answered. ”But we in the West favor the Persian maxim--to ride, to shoot, and to tell the truth. With those three qualities even a tenderfoot can establish himself.”

”Whether I can ride and shoot sufficient for the purpose, time will show,”

I retorted. ”At least,” and I endeavored to speak with proper emphasis, ”you hear the truth when I say that I antic.i.p.ate much pleasure as well as renewed health, in Benton.”

”Were we by ourselves we would seal the future in another 'smile'

together,” she slyly promised. ”Unless that might shock you.”

”I am ready to fall in with the customs of the country,” I a.s.sured. ”I certainly am not averse to smiles, when fittingly proffered.”

So we exchanged fancies while the train rolled over a track remarkable for its smoothness and leading ever onward across the vast, empty plains bare save for the low shrubs called sage-brush, and rising here and there into long swells and abrupt sandstone pinnacles.

We stopped near noon at the town of Cheyenne, in Wyoming Territory.

Cheyenne, once boasting the t.i.tle (I was told) ”The Magic City of the Plains,” was located upon a dreary flatness, although from it one might see, far southwest, the actual Rocky Mountains in Colorado Territory, looking, at this distance of one hundred miles, like low dark clouds. The up grade in the west promised that we should soon cross over their northern flanks, of the Black Hills.

Last winter, Cheyenne, I was given to understand, had ten thousand inhabitants; but the majority had followed the railroad west, so that now there remained only some fifteen hundred. After dinner we, too, went west.

We overcame the Black Hills Mountains about two o'clock, having climbed to the top with considerable puffing of the engine but otherwise almost imperceptibly to the pa.s.sengers. When we were halted, upon the crown, at Sherman Station, to permit us to alight and see for ourselves, I scarcely might believe that we were more than eight thousand feet in air. There was nothing to indicate, except some little difficulty of breath; not so much as I had feared when in Cheyenne, whose six thousand feet gave me a slightly giddy sensation.

My Lady moved freely, being accustomed to the rarity; and she a.s.sured me that although Benton was seven thousand feet I would soon grow wonted to the atmosphere. The habitues of this country made light of the spot; the strangers on tour picked flowers and gathered rocks as mementoes of the ”Crest of the Continent”--which was not a crest but rather a level plateau, wind-swept and chilly while sunny. Then from this Sherman Summit of the Black Hills of Wyoming the train swept down by its own momentum from gravity, for the farther side.

The fellow Jim had not emerged, as yet, much to my relief. The scenery was increasing in grandeur and interest, and the play of my charming companion would have transformed the most prosaic of journeys into a trip through Paradise.

I hardly noted the town named Laramie City, at the western base of the Black Hills; and was indeed annoyed by the vendors hawking what they termed ”mountain gems” through the train. Laramie, according to My Lady, also once had been, as she styled it, ”a live town,” but had deceased in favor of Benton. From Laramie we whirled northwest, through a broad valley enlivened by countless antelope scouring over the gra.s.ses; thence we issued into a wilder, rougher country, skirting more mountains very gloomy in aspect.

However, of the panorama outside I took but casual glances; the phenomenon of blue and gold so close at hand was all engrossing, and my heart beat high with youth and romance. Our pa.s.sage was astonis.h.i.+ngly short, but the sun was near to setting beyond distant peaks when by the landmarks that she knew we were approaching Benton at last.

We crossed a river--the Platte, again, even away in here; briefly paused at a military post, and entered upon a stretch of sun-baked, reddish-white, dusty desert utterly devoid of vegetation.

There was a significant bustle in the car, among the travel-worn occupants. The air was choking with the dust swirled through every crevice by the stir of the wheels--already mobile as it was from the efforts of the teams that we pa.s.sed, of six and eight horses tugging heavy wagons.

Plainly we were within striking distance of some focus of human energies.

”Benton! Benton in five minutes. End o' track,” the brakeman shouted.