ts, 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