“The car is suffocating,” she said. “However, the worst is over. We shall not have to spend another such a night. You are still for Benton?”
“By all means.” And I bowed to her. “We are fellow-travelers to the end, I believe.”
“Yes?” She scanned me. “But I do not like that word: the end. It is not a popular word, in the West. Certainly not at Benton. For instance——”
We tore by another freight waiting upon a siding 30 located amidst a wide débris of tin cans, scattered sheet-iron, stark mud-and-stone chimneys, and barren spots, 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.