so close at hand was all engrossing, and my heart beat
high with youth and romance. Our passage was astonishingly 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 passed, 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.

"My valise, please."

I brought it. The conductor, who like the other officials knew My Lady,
pushed through to us and laid hand upon it.

"I'll see you out," he announced. "Come ahead."

"Pardon. That shall be my privilege," I interposed. But she quickly
denied.

"No, please. The conductor is an old friend. I shall need no other
help--I'm perfectly at home. You can look out for yourself."

"But I shall see you again--and where? I don't know your address; fact is,
I'm even ignorant of your name," I pleaded desperately.

"How stupid of me." And she spoke fast and low, over her shoulder.
"To-night, then, at the Big Tent. Remember."

I pressed after.

"The Big Tent! Shall I inquire there? And for whom?"

"You'll not fail to see me. Everybody knows the Big Tent, everybody goes
there. So au revoir."

She was swallowed in the wake of the conductor, and I fain must gather my
own belongings before following. The Big Tent, she said? I had not
misunderstood; and I puzzled over the address, which impinged as rather
bizarre, whether in West or East.

We stopped with a jerk, amidst a babel of cries.

"Benton! All out!" Out we stumbled. Here I was, at rainbow's end.

CHAPTER IV

I MEET FRIENDS

What shall I say of a young man like myself, fresh from the green East of
New York and the Hudson River, landed expectant as just aroused from a
dream of rare beauty, at this Benton City, Wyoming Territory? The dust, as
fine as powder and as white, but shot through with the crimson of sunset,
hung like a fog, amidst which swelled a deafening clamor from figure