done
his best and his last for the U. P. R.

17

Neale and Larry and Slingerland planned to go into the hills late in
the fall, visit Slingerland's old camp, and then try to locate the gold
buried by Horn. For the present Larry meant to return to Benton, and
Neale, though vacillating as to his own movements, decided to keep an
eye on the cowboy.

The trapper's last words to Neale were interesting. "Son," he said,
"there's a feller hyar in Medicine Bow who says as how he thought your
pard Larry was a bad cowpuncher from the Pan Handle of Texas."

"Bad?" queried Neale.

"Wal, he meant a gun-throwin' bad man, I take it."

"Don't let Reddy overhear you say it," replied Neale, "and advise your
informant to be careful. I've always had a hunch that Reddy was really
somebody."

"Benton 'll work on the cowboy," continued Slingerland, earnestly. "An',
son, I ain't so all-fired sure of you."

"I'll take what comes," returned Neale, shortly. "Good-bye, old friend.
And if you can use us for buffalo-hunting without the 'dom' Sooz,' as
Casey says; why, we'll come."

After Slingerland departed Neale carried with him a memory of the
trapper's reluctant and wistful good-bye. It made Neale think--where
were he and Larry going? Friendships in this wild West were stronger
ties than he had known elsewhere.

The train arrived at Benton after dark. And the darkness seemed a windy
gulf out of which roared yellow lights and excited men. The tents, with
the dim lights through the canvas, gleamed pale and obscure, like so
much of the life they hid. The throngs hurried, the dust blew, the band
played, the barkers clamored for their trade.

Neale found the more pretentious hotels overcrowded, and he was
compelled to go to his former lodgings, where he and Larry were
accommodated.

"Now, we're here, what 'll we do?" queried Neale, more to himself. He
felt as if driven. And the mood he hated and feared was impinging upon
his mind.

"Shore we'll eat," replied Larry.

"Then what?"

"Wal, I reckon we'll see what's goin' on in this heah Benton."

As a matter of fact, Neale reflected, there was nothing to do that he
wanted to do.

"You-all air gettin' the blues," said Larry, with solicitude.

"Red, I'm never free of them."

Larry put his hands on Neale's shoulder. Demonstration of this kind was
rare in the cowboy.

"Pard, are we goin' to see this heah Benton, an' then brace, an' go back
to work?"

"No. I can't hold a jo