The U. P. Trail

by Zane Grey

  21

  Benton slowed and quieted down a few days before pay-day, to get readyfor the great rush. Only the saloons and dance-halls and gambling-hellswere active, and even here the difference was manifest.

  The railroad-yard was the busiest place in the town, for every trainbrought huge loads of food, merchandise, and liquor, the transporting ofwhich taxed the teamsters to their utmost.

  The day just before pay-day saw the beginning of a singular cycleof change. Gangs of laborers rode in on the work-trains from thegrading-camps and the camps at the head of the rails, now miles westof Benton. A rest of several days inevitably followed the visit of thepay-car. It was difficult to keep enough men at work to feed and waterthe teams, and there would have been sorry protection from the Indianshad not the troops been on duty. Pay-days were not off-days for thesoldiers.

  Steady streams of men flowed toward Benton from east and west; and thatnight the hum of Benton was merry, subdued, waiting.

  Bright and early the town with its added thousands awoke. The morningwas clear, rosy, fresh. On the desert the colors changed from soft grayto red and the whirls of dust, riding the wind, resembled little cloudsradiant with sunset hues. Silence and solitude and unbroken levelreigned outside in infinite contrast to the seething town. Bentonresembled an ant-heap at break of day. A thousand songs arose, crude andcoarse and loud, but full of joy. Pay-day and vacation were at hand!

  "Then drill, my Paddies, drill! Drill, my heroes, drill! Drill all day, No sugar in your tay, Workin' on the U. P. Railway."

  Casey was one Irish trooper of thousands who varied the song and tuneto suit his taste. The content alone they all held. Drill! They werelaborers who could turn into regiments at a word.

  They shaved their stubby beards and donned their best--a bronzed,sturdy, cheery army of wild boys. The curse rested but lightly upontheir broad shoulders.

  Strangely enough, the morning began without the gusty wind so common tothat latitude, and the six inches of powdery white dust did not rise.The wind, too, waited. The powers of heaven smiled in the clear, quietmorning, but the powers of hell waited--for the hours to come, the nightand the darkness.

  At nine o'clock a mob of five thousand men had congregated around thestation, most of them out in the open, on the desert side of the track.They were waiting for the pay-train to arrive. This hour was the onlyorderly one that Benton ever saw. There were laughter, profanity,play--a continuous hum, but compared to Benton's usual turmoil, it waspleasant. The workmen talked in groups, and, like all crowds of mensober and unexcited, they were given largely to badinage and idle talk.

  "Wot was ut I owed ye, Moike?" asked a strapping grader.

  Mike scratched his head. "Wor it thorty dollars this toime?"

  "It wor," replied the other. "Moike, yez hev a mimory."

  A big Negro pushed out his huge jaw and blustered at his fellows.

  "I's a-gwine to bust thet yaller nigger's haid," he declared.

  "Bill, he's your fr'en'. Cool down, man, cool down," replied a comrade.

  A teamster was writing a letter in lead-pencil, using a board over hisknees.

  "Jim, you goin' to send money home?" queried a fellow-laborer.

  "I am that, an' first thing when I get my pay," was the reply.

  "Reminds me, I owe for this suit I'm wearin'. I'll drop in an' settle."

  A group of spikers held forth on a little bank above the railroad track,at a point where a few weeks before they had fastened those very railswith lusty blows.

  "Well, boys, I think I see the smoke of our pay-dirt, way down theline," said one.

  "Bandy, your eyes are pore," replied another.

  "Yep, she's comin'," said another. "'Bout time, for I haven't two-bitsto my name."

  "Boys, no buckin' the tiger for me to-day," declared Bandy.

  He was laughed at by all except one quiet comrade who gazed thoughtfullyeastward, back over the vast and rolling country. This man was thinkingof home, of wife and little girl, of what pay-day meant for them.

  Bandy gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

  "Frank, you got drunk an' laid out all night, last payday."

  Frank remembered, but he did not say what he had forgotten that lastpay-day.

  A long and gradual slope led from Benton down across the barren deserttoward Medicine Bow. The railroad track split it and narrowed to a merethread upon the horizon. The crowd of watching, waiting men saw smokerise over that horizon line, and a dark, flat, creeping object. Throughthe big throng ran a restless murmur. The train was in sight. It mighthave been a harbinger of evil, for a subtle change, nervous, impatient,brooding, visited that multitude. A slow movement closed up thedisintegrated crowd and a current of men worked forward to encounterresistance and opposing currents. They had begun to crowd foradvantageous positions closer to the pay-car so as to be the first inline.

  A fight started somewhere, full of loud curses and dull blows; and thena jostling mass tried the temper of the slow-marching men. Some bossyelled an order from a box-car, and he was hooted. There was no order.When the train whistled for Benton a hoarse and sustained shout ranthrough the mob, not from all lips, nor from any massed group, but takenup from man to man--a strange sound, the first note of calling Benton.

  The train arrived. Troops alighting preserved order near the pay-car;and out of the dense mob a slow stream of men flowed into the car at oneend and out again at the other.

  Bates, a giant digger and a bully, was the first man in the line, thefirst to get his little share of the fortunes in gold passing out of thecar that day.

  Long before half of that mob had received its pay Bates lay dead upon asanded floor, killed in a drunken brawl.

  And the Irishman Mike had received his thirty dollars.

  And the big Negro had broken the head of his friend.

  And the teamster had forgotten to send money home.

  And his comrade had neglected to settle for the suit of clothes he waswearing.

  And Bandy, for all his vows, had gone straight for bucking the tiger.

  And Frank, who had gotten drunk last pay-day, had been mindful of wifeand little girl far away and had done his duty.

  As the spirit of the gangs changed with the coming of the gold, so didthat of the day.

  The wind began to blow, the dust began to fly, the sun began to burn;and the freshness and serenity of the morning passed.

  Main street in Benton became black-streaked with men, white-sheeted withdust. There was a whining whistle in the wind as it swooped down. Itcomplained; it threatened; it strengthened; and from the heating desertit blew in stiflingly hot. A steady tramp, tramp, tramp rattled theloose boards as the army marched down upon Benton. It moved slowly,the first heave of a great mass getting under way. Stores and shops,restaurants and hotels and saloons, took toll from these first comers.Benton swallowed up the builders as fast as they marched from thepay-train. It had an insatiable maw. The bands played martial airs, andsoldiers who had lived through the Rebellion felt the thrill and thequick-step and the call of other days.

  Toward afternoon Benton began to hurry. The hour was approaching whencrowded halls and tents must make room for fresh and unspent gangs. Theswarms of men still marched up the street. Benton was gay and noisy andbusy then. White shirts and blue and red plaid held their brightnessdespite the dust. Gaudily dressed women passed in and out of the halls.All was excitement, movement, color, merriment, and dust and wind andheat. The crowds moved on because they were pushed on. Music, laughter,shuffling feet and clinking glass, a steady tramp, voices low and voicesloud, the hoarse brawl of the barker--all these varying elements mergedinto a roar--a roar that started with a merry note and swelled to anameless din.

  The sun set, the twilight fell, the wind went down, the dust settled,and night mantled Benton. The roar of the day became subdued. Itresembled the purr of a gorging hyena. The yellow and glaringtorches, the bright lamps, the dim, pale lights behind tent walls, allaccentuated the bla
ckness of the night and filled space with shadows,like specters. Benton's streets were full of drunken men, staggeringback along the road upon which they had marched in. No woman now showedherself. The darkness seemed a cloak, cruel yet pitiful. It hid theflight of a man running from fear; it softened the sounds of brawlingand deadened the pistol-shot. Under its cover soldiers slunk awaysobered and ashamed, and murderous bandits waited in ambush, and brawnyporters dragged men by the heels, and young gamblers in the flush ofsuccess hurried to new games, and broken wanderers sought some place torest, and a long line of the vicious, of mixed dialect, and of differentcolors, filed down in the dark to the tents of lust.

  Life indoors that night in Benton was monstrous, wonderful, and hideous.

  Every saloon was packed, and every dive and room filled with a hoarse,violent mob of furious men: furious with mirth, furious with drink,furious with wildness--insane and lecherous, spilling gold and blood.

  The gold that did not flow over the bars went into the greedy handsof the cold, swift gamblers or into the clutching fingers of wild-eyedwomen. The big gambling-hell had extra lights, extra attendants,extra tables; and there round the great glittering mirror-blazing barstruggled and laughed and shouted a drink-sodden mass of humanity. Andall through the rest of the big room groups and knots of men stoodand sat around the tables, intent, absorbed, obsessed, listeningwith strained ears, watching with wild eyes, reaching with shakinghands--only to gasp and throw down their cards and push rolls of goldtoward cold-faced gamblers, with a muttered curse. This was the nightof golden harvest for the black-garbed, steel-nerved, cold-eyedcard-sharps. They knew the brevity of time, and of hour, and of life.

  In the dancing-halls there was a maddening whirl, an immense andincredible hilarity, a wild fling of unleashed, burly men, an honestdrunken spree. But there was also the hideous, red-eyed drunkenness thatdid not spring from drink; the unveiled passion, the brazen lure, theraw, corrupt, and terrible presence of bad women in absolute license ata wild and baneful hour.

  That was the last pay-day Beauty Stanton's dancing-hall ever saw.Likewise it was to be the last she would ever see. In the madness ofthat night there was written finality--the end. Benton had reached itsgreatest, wildest, blackest, vilest. But not its deadliest! That mustcome--later--as an aftermath. But the height or the depth was reached.

  The scene at midnight was unreal, livid, medieval. Dance of cannibals,dance of sun-worshipers, dance of Apaches on the war-path, dance ofcliff-dwellers wild over the massacre of a dreaded foe--only theseorgies might have been comparable to that whirl of gold and lust inBeauty Stanton's parlors.

  Benton seemed breathing hard, laboring under its load of evil, dancingtoward its close.

  Night wore on and the hour of dawn approached. The lamps were dead; thetents were dark; the music was stilled; and the low, soft roar was but ahollow mockery of its earlier strength.

  Like specters men staggered slowly and wanderingly through the graystreets. Gray ghosts! All was gray. A vacant laugh pealed out and astrident curse, and then again the low murmur prevailed. Bentonwas going to rest. Weary, drunken, spent nature sought oblivion--ondisordered beds, on hard floors, and in dusty corners. An immense andhovering shadow held the tents and halls and streets. Through thisopaque gloom the silent and the mumbling revelers reeled along. Loudervoices broke the spell only for an instant. Death lay in the middle ofthe main street, in the dust--and no passing man halted. It lay as welldown the side streets in sandy ditches, and on tent floors, and behindthe bar of the gambling-hell, and in a corner of Beauty Stanton'sparlor. Likewise death had his counterpart in hundreds of prostratemen, who lay in drunken stupor, asleep, insensible to the dust in theirfaces. No one answered the low moans of the man who, stabbed and robbed,had crawled so far and could crawl no farther.

  But the dawn would not stay back in order to hide Benton's hideousness.The gray lifted out of the streets, the shadows lightened, the eastkindled, and the sweet, soft freshness of a desert dawn came in on thegentle breeze.

  And when the sun arose, splendid and golden, with its promise andbeauty, it shone upon a ghastly, silent, motionless sleeping Benton.