“Considerable of a dame, eh?” He eyed me. “You’re booked for Benton, too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Never been there, myself. She’s another hell-roarer, they say.”
“Sir!” I remonstrated.
“Oh, the town, the town,” he enlightened. “I’m saying nothing against it, for that matter—nor against her, either. They’re both O. K.”
“You are acquainted with the lady, yourself?”
“Her? Sure. I know about everybody along the 33 line between Platte and Cheyenne. Been running on this division ever since it opened.”
“She lives in Benton, though, I understand,” I proffered.
“Why, yes; sure she does. Moved there from Cheyenne.” He looked at me queerly. “Naturally. Ain’t that so?”
“Probably it is,” I admitted. “I see no reason to doubt your word.”