Several graders had been killed, in shooting scrapes; the night at new Julesburg had been a wild one; the track-layers who were anxious to spend their money waxed impatient to arrive. As soon as the rails reached the sprawling tent-and-shanty town, on the third day, the terminus supplies were moving up, on flat-cars, from North Platte.
The big building used by Casement Brothers, the contractors, occupied a car by itself. It could be taken apart like a toy building of blocks or cardboard. All the sections were numbered; and were unjointed, piled upon a car, moved on, and set up again.
That was the case with a number of other buildings—stores and offices, and the like. Some of them were painted to look as though they had brick or stone fronts—but they were only flimsy wood. Why, anybody who wished to erect a home on a lot could buy the house for $300 in Chicago, and have it shipped, ready to be stuck together.
The railroad company owned the lands upon which these terminal towns or “base” towns were located. The company land agents sold or leased the town lots, and the speculators who acquired the lots ran the figures up as high as $1000.
The rails paused a few days at this new Julesburg, while the supplies from North Platte were brought up, and side-tracks were laid for switching. After supper the first night in, Terry and little Jimmie, his side-partner, went sight-seeing—like everybody else.
What a place—what an ugly, sprawling, dusty, noisy place, of tents and shacks and jostling people, flannel-shirted, booted track-layers and graders, blanketed Mexicans, even a few Arapaho Indians, attracted hither-thither by the shouts and songs and revolver shots, while candles, lanterns and coal-oil lamps tried to turn the dusk into day.
“The man over there is yelling ‘Hurrah for the wickedest town in America!’ Hear him?” half whispered Jimmie.
“It’s a heap worse than North Platte ever was,” Terry answered. “North Platte’s a division point and will be a city; but Pat says this town won’t last long. When the gamblers and whiskey-sellers move on with the rails, there won’t be anything left.”
Suddenly he and Jimmie met, face to face, General Dodge himself, with little General “Jack” Casement and a party, two of them in military uniform. The generals stopped short.
“What are you boys doing here?”