ment, yet, of tents and rough board buildings squatting upon the
bare brown soil near the river bank, north of us, and less than a month
old. The wagon road was a line of white dust from the river clear to
Benton, and through the murk plodded the water haulers and emigrants and
freighters, animals and men alike befloured and choked. The dust cloud
rested over Benton. It fumed in another line westward, kept in suspense by
on-traveling stage and wagon--by wheel, hoof and boot, bound for Utah and
Idaho. From the town there extended northward a third dust line, marking
the stage and freighting road through the Indian country to the mining
settlements of the famous South Pass of the old Oregon Trail; yes, and
with branches for the gold regions of Montana.

The railroad trains kept thundering by us--long freights, dusty and
indomitable, bringing their loads from the Missouri River almost seven
hundred miles in the east. And rolling out of Benton the never-ceasing
construction trains sped into the desert as if upon urgent errands in
response to some sudden demand of More, More, More.

Upon all sides beyond this business and energy the country stretched lone
and uninhabited; a great waste of naked, hot, resplendent land blotched
with white and red, showing not a green spot except the course of the
Platte; with scorched, rusty hills rising above its fantastic surface,
and, in the distance, bluish mountain ranges that appeared to float and
waver in the sun-drenched air.

The sounds from Benton--the hammering, the shouting, the babbling, the
puffing of the locomotives--drifted faintly to us, merged into the
cracking of whips and the oaths and songs by the wagon drivers along the
road. Of our own little camp I took gradual stock.

It, like the desert reaches, evinced little of feverishness, for while
booted men busied themselves at tasks similar to mine, others lolled,
spinning yarns and whittling; the several women, at wash-boards and at
pots and pans and needles, worked contentedly in sun and shade; children
played at makeshift games, dogs drowsed underneath the wagons, and outside
our circle the mules and oxen grazed as best they might, their only
vexation the blood-sucking flies. The flies were kin of Benton.

Captain Adams loped away, as if to town. Others went in. While I was idle
at last and rather enjoying the hot sun as I sat resting upon a convenient
wagon-tongue Daniel hulked to me, still snapping his ox goad.

"Hao