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 figures rushing hither and thither about the platform like half-world shades. A score of voices dinned into my ears as two score hands grabbed at my valise and shoved me and dragged me.

“The Desert Hotel. Best in the West. This way, sir.”

“Buffalo Hump Corral! The Buffalo Hump! Free drinks at the Buffalo Hump.”

“Vamos, all o’ you. Leave the gent to me. I’ve had him before. Mike’s Place for you, eh? Come along.”

“The Widow’s CafÉ! That’s yore grub pile, gent. All you can eat for two bits.”

A deep voice boomed, stunning me.

“The Queen, the Queen! Bath for every room. 55 Individual towels. The Queen, the Queen, she’s clean, she’s clean.”

It was a magnificent bass, full toned as an organ, issuing, likewise as out of a reed, from a swart dwarf scarcely higher than my waist. The word “bath,” with the promise of “individual towels,” won me over. Something must be done, anyway, to get rid of these importunate runners. Thereupon I acquiesced, “All right, my man. The Queen,” and surrendering my bag to his hairy paw I trudged by his guidance. The solicitations instantly ceased as if in agreement with some code.

We left the station platform and went ploughing up a street over shoetops with the impalpable dust and denoted by tents and white-coated shacks sparsely bordering. The air was breezeless and suffocatingly loaded with that dust not yet deposited. The noises as from a great city swelled strident: shouts, hammerings, laughter, rumble of vehicles, cracking of lashes, barkings of dogs innumerable—betokening a thriving mart of industry. But although pedestrians streamed to and fro, the men in motley of complexions and costumes, the women, some of them fashionably dressed, with skirts eddying furiously; and wagons rolled, horses cantered, and from right and left merchants and hawksters seemed to be calling their wares, of city itself I could see only the veriest husk.

The majority of the buildings were mere 56 canvas-faced up for a few feet, perhaps, with sheet iron or flimsy boards; interspersed there were a few wooden structures, rough and unpainted; and whereas several of the housings were large, none was more than two stories—and when now and again I thought that I had glimpsed a substantial stone front a closer inspection told me that the stones were imitation, forming a veneer of the sheet iron or of stenciled pine. Indeed, not a few of the upper stories, viewed from an unfavorable angle, proved to be only thin parapets upstanding for a pretense of well-being. Behind them, nothing at all!

In the confusion of that which I took to be the main street because of the stores and piles of goods and the medley of signs, what with the hubbub from the many barkers for saloons and gambling games, the constant dodging among the pedestrians, vehicles and horses and dogs, in a thoroughfare that was innocent of sidewalk, I really had scant opportunity to gaze; certainly no opportunity as yet to get my bearings. My squat guide shuttled aside; a group of loafers gave us passage, with sundry stares at me and quips for him; and I was ushered into a widely-open tent-building whose canvas sign depending above a narrow veranda declared: “The Queen Hotel. Beds $3. Meals $1 each.”

Now as whitely powdered as any of the natives I stumbled across a single large room bordered at one side by a bar and a number of small tables (all well 57 patronized), and was brought up at the counter, under the alert eyes of a clerk coatless, silk-shirted, diamond-scarfed, pomaded and slick-haired, waiting with register turned and pen extended.

My gnome heavily dropped my bag.

“Gent for you,” he presented.

“I wish a room and bath,” I said, as I signed.

“Bath is occupied. I’ll put you down, Mr.——” and he glanced at the signature. “Four dollars and four bits, please. Show the gentleman to Number Six, Shorty. That drummer’s gone, isn’t he?”

“You bet.”

“The bath is occupied?” I expostulated. “How so? I wish a private bath.”

“Private? Yes, sir. All you’ve got to do is to close the door while you’re in. Nobody’ll disturb you. But there are parties ahead of you. First come, first served.”

I persisted.

“Your runner—this gentleman, if I am not mistaken (and I indicated the gnome, who grinned from dusty face), distinctly said ‘A bath for every room.’”

Bystanders had pushed nearer, to examine the register and then me. They laughed—nudged one another. Evidently I had a trace of green in my eye.

“Quite right, sir,” the clerk assented. “So there is. A bath for every room and the best bath in town. 58 Entirely private; fresh towel supplied. Only one dollar and four bits. That, with lodging, makes four dollars and a half. If you please, sir.”

“In advance?” I remonstrated—the bath charge alone being monstrous.

“I see you’re from the East. Yes, sir; we have to charge transients in advance. That is the rule, sir. You stay in Benton City for some time?”

“I am undetermined.”

“Of course, sir. Your own affair. Yes, sir. But we shall hope to make Benton pleasant for you. The greatest city in the West. Anything you want for pleasure or business you’ll find right here.”

“The greatest city in the West—pleasure or business!” A bitter wave of homesickness welled into my throat as, conscious of the enveloping dust, the utter shams, the tawdriness, the alien unsympathetic onlookers, the suave but incisive manner of the clerk, the sense of having been “done” and through my own fault, I peeled a greenback from the folded packet in my purse and handed it over. Rather foolishly I intended that this display of funds should rebuke the finicky clerk; but he accepted without comment and sought for the change from the twenty.

“And how is old New York, suh?”

A hearty, florid, heavy-faced man, with singularly protruding fishy eyes and a tobacco-stained yellowish goatee underneath a loosely dropping lower lip, had stepped forward, his pudgy hand hospitably outstretched 59 to me: a man in wide-brimmed dusty black hat, frayed and dusty but, in spots, shiny, black broadcloth frock coat spattered down the lapels, exceedingly soiled collar and shirt front and greasy flowing tie, and trousers tucked into cowhide boots.

I grasped the hand wonderingly. It enclosed mine with a soft pulpy squeeze; and lingered.

“As usual, when I last saw it, sir,” I responded. “But I am from Albany.”

“Of course. Albany, the capital, a city to be proud of, suh. I welcome you, suh, to our new West, as a fellow-citizen.”

“You are from Albany?” I exclaimed.

“Bohn and raised right near there; been there many a time. Yes, suh. From the grand old Empire State, like yourself, suh, and without apologies. Whenever I meet with a New York State man I cotton to him.”

“Have I your name, sir?” I inquired. “You know of my family, perhaps.”

“Colonel Jacob B. Sunderson, suh, at your service. Your family name is familiar to me, suh. I hark back to it and to the grand old State with pleasure. Doubtless I have seen you befoh, sur. Doubtless in the City—at Johnny Chamberlain’s? Yes?” His fishy eyes beamed upon me, and his breath smelled strongly of liquor. “Or the Astor? I shall remember. Meanwhile, suh, permit me to do the honors. First, will you have a drink? This way, suh. I am partial to 60 a brand particularly to be recommended for clearing this damnable dust from one’s throat.”

“Thank you, sir, but I prefer to tidy my person, first,” I suggested.

“Number Six for the gentleman,” announced the clerk, returning to me my change from the bill. I stuffed it into my pocket—the Colonel’s singular eyes followed it with uncomfortable interest. The gnome picked up my bag, but was interrupted by my new friend.

“The privilege of showing the gentleman to his quarters and putting him at home shall be mine.”

“All right, Colonel,” the clerk carelessly consented. “Number Six.”

“And my trunk. I have a trunk at the depot,” I informed.

“The boy will tend to it.”

I gave the gnome my check.

“And my bath?” I pursued.

“You will be notified, sir. There are only five ahead of you, and one gentleman now in. Your turn will come in about two hours.”

“This way, suh. Kindly follow me,” bade the Colonel. As he strode before, slightly listed by the weight of the bag in his left hand, I remarked a peculiar bulge elevating the portly contour of his right coat-skirt.

We ascended a flight of rude stairs which quivered to our tread, proceeded down a canvas-lined corridor 61 set at regular intervals on either hand with numbered deal doors, some open to reveal disorderly interiors; and with “Here you are, suh,” I was importantly bowed into Number Six.

We were not to be alone. There were three double beds: one well rumpled as if just vacated; one (the middle) tenanted by a frowsy headed, whiskered man asleep in shirt-sleeves and revolver and boots; the third, at the other end, recently made up by having its blanket covering hastily thrown against a distinctly dirty pillow.

“Your bed yonduh, suh, I reckon,” prompted the Colonel (whose accents did not smack of New York at all), depositing my bag with a grunt of relief. “Now, suh, as you say, you desire to freshen the outer man after your journey. With your permission I will await your pleasure, suh; and your toilet being completed we will freshen the inner man also with a glass or two of rare good likker.”

I gazed about, sickened. Item, three beds; item, one kitchen chair; item, one unpainted board washstand, supporting a tin basin, a cake of soap, a tin ewer, with a dingy towel hanging from a nail under a cracked mirror and over a tin slop-bucket; item, three spittoons, one beside each bed; item, a row of nails in a wooden strip, plainly for wardrobe purposes; item, one window, with broken pane.

The board floor was bare and creaky, the partition walls were of once-white, stained muslin through 62 which sifted unrebuked a mixture of sounds not thoroughly agreeable.

The Colonel had seated himself upon a bed; the bulge underneath his skirts jutted more pronouncedly, and had the outlines of a revolver butt.

“But surely I can get a room to myself,” I stammered. “The clerk mistakes me. This won’t do at all.”

“You are having the best in the house, suh,” asserted the Colonel, with expansive wave of his thick hand. He spat accurately into the convenient spittoon. “It is a front room, suh. Number Six is known as very choice, and I congratulate you, suh. I myself will see to it that you shall have your bed to yourself, if you entertain objections to doubling up. We are, suh, a trifle crowded in Benton City, just at present, owing to the unprecedented influx of new citizens. You must remember, suh, that we are less than one month old, and we are accommodating from three to five thousand people.”

“Is this the best hotel?” I demanded.

“It is so reckoned, suh. There are other hostelries, and I do not desire, suh, to draw invidious comparisons, their proprietors being friends of mine. But I will go so far as to say that the Queen caters only to the Élite, suh, and its patronage is gilt edge.”

I stepped to the window, the lower sash of which was up, and gazed out—down into that dust-fogged, 63 noisy, turbulent main street, of floury human beings and grime-smeared beasts almost within touch, boiling about through the narrow lane between the placarded makeshift structures. I lifted my smarting eyes, and across the hot sheet-iron roofs I saw the country south—a white-blotched reddish desert stretching on, desolate, lifeless under the sunset, to a range of stark hills black against the glow.

“There are no private rooms, then?” I asked, choking with a gulp of despair.

“You are perfectly private right here, suh,” assured the Colonel. “You may strip to the hide or you may sleep with your boots on, and no questions asked. Gener’ly speaking, gentlemen prefer to retain a layer of artificial covering—but you ain’t troubled much with the bugs, are you, Bill?”

He leveled this query at the frowsy, whiskered man, who had awakened and was blinking contentedly.

“I’m too alkalied, I reckon,” Bill responded. “Varmints will leave me any time when there’s fresh bait handy. That’s why I likes to double up. That there Saint Louee drummer carried off most of ’em from this gent’s bed, so he’s safe.”

“You are again to be congratulated, suh,” addressed the Colonel, to me. “Allow me to interdeuce you. Shake hands with my friend Mr. Bill Brady. Bill, I present to you a fellow-citizen of mine from grand old New York State.” 64

The frowsy man struggled up, shifted his revolver so as not to sit on it, and extended his hand.

“Proud to make yore acquaintance, sir. Any friend of the Colonel’s is a friend o’ mine.”

“We will likker up directly,” the Colonel informed. “But fust the gentleman desires to attend to his person. Mr. Brady, suh,” he continued, for my benefit, “is one of our leading citizens, being proprietor of—what is it now, Bill?”

“Wall,” said Mr. Brady, “I’ve pulled out o’ the Last Chance and I’m on spec’. The Last Chance got a leetle too much on the brace for healthy play; and when that son of a gun of a miner from South Pass City shot it up, I quit.”

“Naturally,” conceded the Colonel. “Mr. Brady,” he explained, “has been one of our most distinguished bankers, but he has retired from that industry and is considering other investments.”

“The bath-room? Where is it, gentlemen?” I ventured.

“If you will step outside the door, suh, you can hear the splashing down the hall. It is the custom, however, foh gentlemen at tub to keep the bath-room door closed, in case of ladies promenading. You will have time foh your preliminary toilet and foh a little refreshment and a pasear in town. I judge, with five ahead of you and one in, the clerk was mighty near right when he said about two hours. That allows twenty minutes to each gentleman, which is the limit. 65 A gentleman who requires more than twenty minutes to insure his respectability, suh, is too dirty foh such accommodations. He should resort to the river. Ain’t that so, Bill?”

“Perfectly correct, Colonel. I kin take an all-over, myself, in fifteen, whenever it’s healthy.”

“But a dollar and a half for a twenty minutes’ bath in a public tub is rather steep, seems to me,” said I, as I removed my coat and opened my bag.

“Not so, suh, if I may question your judgment,” the Colonel reproved. “The tub, suh, is private to the person in it. He is never intruded upon unless he hawgs his time or the water disagrees with him. The water, suh, is hauled from the river by a toilsome journey of three miles. You understand, suh, that this great and growing city is founded upon the sheer face of the Red Desert, where the railroad stopped—the river being occupied by a Government reservation named Fort Steele. The Government—the United States Government, suh—having corralled the river where the railroad crosses, until we procure a nearer supply by artesian wells or by laying a pipe line we are public spirited enough to haul our water bodily, for ablution purposes, at ten dollars the barrel, or ten cents, one dime, the bucket. A bath, suh, uses up consider’ble water, even if at a slight reduction you are privileged to double up with another gentleman.”

I shuddered at the thought of thus “doubling up.” God, how my stomach sank and my gorge rose as I 66 rummaged through that bag, and with my toilet articles in hand faced the washstand!

They two intently watched my operations; the Colonel craned to peer into my valise—and presently I might interpret his curiosity.

“The prime old bourbon served at the fust-class New York bars still maintains its reputation, I dare hope, suh?” he interrogated.

“I cannot say, I’m sure,” I replied.

“No, suh,” he agreed. “Doubtless you are partial to your own stock. That bottle which I see doesn’t happen to be a sample of your favorite preservative?”

“That?” I retorted. “It is toilet water. I am sorry to say I have no liquor with me.”

“The deficiency will soon be forgotten, suh,” the Colonel bravely consoled. “Bill, we shall have to personally conduct him and provide him with the proper entertainment.”

“What is your special line o’ business, if you don’t mind my axin’?” Bill invited.

“I am out here for my health, at present,” said I, vainly hunting a clean spot on the towel. “I have been advised by my physician to seek a place in the Far West that is high and dry. Benton”—and I laughed miserably, “certainly is dry.” For now I began to appreciate the frankly affirmative responses to my previous confessions. “And high, judging by the rates.” 67

“Healthily dry, suh, in the matter of water,” the Colonel approved. “We are not cursed by the humidity of New York State, grand old State that she is. Foh those who require water, there is the Platte only three miles distant. The nearer proximity of water we consider a detriment to the robustness of a community. Our rainy weather is toler’bly infrequent. The last spell we had—lemme see. There was a brief shower, scurcely enough to sanction a parasol by a lady, last May, warn’t it, Bill? When we was camped at Rawlins’ Springs, shooting antelope.”

“Some’ers about that time. But didn’t last long—not more’n two minutes,” Bill responded.

“As foh fluids demanded by the human system, we are abundantly blessed, suh. There is scurcely any popular brand that you can’t get in Benton, and I hold that we have the most skillful mixtologists in history. There are some who are artists; artists, suh. But mainly we prefer our likker straight.”

“We’re high, too,” Bill put in. “Well over seven thousand feet, ’cordin’ to them railroad engineers.”

“Yes, suh, you are a mile and more nearer Heaven here in Benton than you were when beside the noble Hudson,” supplemented the Colonel. “And the prices of living are reasonable; foh money, suh, is cheap and ready to hand. No drink is less than two bits, and a man won’t tote a match across a street foh less than a drink. Money grows, suh, foh the picking. Our 68 merchants are clearing thirty thousand dollars a month, and the professional gentleman who tries to limit his game is considered a low-down tin-horn. Yes, suh. This is the greatest terminal of the greatest railroad in the known world. It has Omaha, No’th Platte, Cheyenne beat to a frazzle. You cannot fail to prosper.” They had been critically watching me wash and rearrange my clothing. “You are not heeled, suh, I see?”

“Heeled?” I repeated.

“Equipped with a shooting-iron, suh. Or do you intend to remedy that deficiency also?”

“I have not been in the habit of carrying arms.”

“’Most everybody packs a gun or a bowie,” Bill remarked. “Gents and ladies both. But there’s no law ag’in not.”

I had finished my meager toilet, and was glad, for the espionage had been annoying.

“Now I am at your service during a short period, gentlemen,” I announced. “Later I have an engagement, and shall ask to be excused.”

The Colonel arose with alacrity. Bill stood, and seized his hat hanging at the head of the bed.

“A little liquid refreshment is in order fust, I reckon,” quoth the Colonel. “I claim the privilege, of course. And after that—you have sporting blood, suh? You will desire to take a turn or two foh the honor of the Empire State?”

The inference was not quite clear. To develop it I 69 replied guardedly, albeit unwilling to pose as a milksop.

“I assuredly am not averse to any legitimate amusement.”

“That’s it,” Bill commended. “Nobody is, who has red in him; and a fellow kin see you’ve cut yore eye-teeth. What might you prefer, in line of a pass-the-time, on spec’?”

“What is there, if you please?” I encouraged.

He and the Colonel gravely contemplated each other. Bill scratched his head, and slowly closed one eye.

“There’s a good open game of stud at the North Star,” he proffered. “I kin get the gentleman a seat. No limit.”

“Maybe our friend’s luck don’t run to stud,” hazarded the Colonel. “Stud exacts the powers of concentration, like faro.” And he also closed one eye. “It’s rather early in the evening foh close quarters. Are you particularly partial to the tiger or the cases, suh?” he queried of me. “Or would you be able to secure transient happiness in short games, foh a starter, while we move along, like a bee from flower to flower, gathering his honey?”

“If you are referring to card gambling, sir,” I answered, “you have chosen a poor companion. But I do not intend to be a spoil sport, and I shall be glad to have you show me whatever you think worth while in the city, so far as I have the leisure.” 70

“That’s it, that’s it, suh.” The Colonel appeared delighted. “Let us libate to the gods of chance, gentlemen; and then take a stroll.”

“My bag will be safe here?” I prompted, as we were about to file out.

“Absolutely, suh. Personal property is respected in Benton. We’d hang the man who moved that bag of yours the fraction of one inch.”

This at least was comforting. As much could not be said of New York City. The Colonel led down the echoing hall and the shaking stairs, into the lobby, peopled as before by men in all modes of attire and clustered mainly at the bar. He led directly to the bar itself.

“Three, Ed. Name your likker, gentlemen. A little Double X foh me, Ed.”

“Old rye,” Bill briefly ordered.

The bartender set out bottle and whiskey glasses, and looked upon me. I felt that the bystanders were waiting. My garb proclaimed the “pilgrim,” but I was resolved to be my own master, and for liquor I had no taste.

“Lemonade, if you have it,” I faltered.

“Yes, sir.” The bartender cracked not a smile, but a universal sigh, broken by a few sniggers, voiced the appraisal of the audience. Some of the loafers eyed me amusedly, some turned away.

“Surely, suh, you will temper that with a dash of fortifiah,” the Colonel protested. “A pony of brandy, 71 Ed—or just a dash to cut the water in it. To me, suh, the water in this country is vile—inimical to the human stomick.”

“Thank you,” said I, “but I prefer plain lemonade.”

“The gent wants his pizen straight, same as the rest of you,” calmly remarked the bartender.

My lemonade being prepared, the Colonel and Bill tossed off full glasses of whiskey, acknowledged with throaty “A-ah!” and smack of lips; and I hastily quaffed my lemonade. From the dollar which the Colonel grandly flung upon the bar he received no change—by which I might figure that whereas whiskey was twenty-five cents the glass, lemonade was fifty cents.

We issued into the street and were at once engulfed by a ferment of sights and sounds extraordinary.