The U. P. Trail

by Zane Grey

  24

  So for Neale the wonderful dream had come to pass, and but for thememory that made all hours of life bitter his cup of joy would have beenfull.

  He made his headquarters in Benton and spent his days riding east orwest over the line, taking up the great responsibility he had longtrained for--the maintaining of the perfect condition of the railroad.

  Toward the end of that month Neale was summoned to Omaha.

  The message had been signed Warburton. Upon arriving at the terminus ofthe road Neale found a marvelous change even in the short time since hehad been there. Omaha had become a city. It developed that Warburton hadbeen called back to New York, leaving word for Neale to wait for orders.

  Neale availed himself of this period to acquaint himself with the menwhom he would deal with in the future. Among them, and in the roarof the railroad shops and the bustle of the city, he lost, perhapstemporarily, that haunting sense of pain and gloom. Despite himself thedeference shown him was flattering, and his old habit of making friendsreasserted itself. His place was assured now. There were rumors in theair of branch lines for the Union Pacific. He was consulted for advice,importuned for positions, invited here and there. So that the days inOmaha were both profitable and pleasurable.

  Then came a telegram from Warburton calling him to Washington, D.C.

  It took more than two days to get there, and the time dragged slowly forNeale. It seemed to him that his importance grew as he traveled, a factwhich was amusing to him. All this resembled a dream.

  When he reached the hotel designated in the telegram it was to receive awarm greeting from Warburton.

  "It's a long trip to make for nothing," said the director. "And that'swhat it amounts to now. I thought I'd need you to answer a few questionsfor me. But you'll not be questioned officially, and so you'd betterkeep a close mouth... We've raised the money. The completion of theU.P.R. is assured."

  Neale could only conjecture what those questions might have been, forthe director offered no explanation. And this circumstance recalledto mind his former impression of the complexity of the financial andpolitical end of the construction. Warburton took him to dinner andlater to a club, and introduced him to many men.

  For this alone Neale was glad that he had been summoned to the capital.He met Senators, Congressmen, and other government officials, and manypoliticians and prominent men, all of whom, he was surprised to note,were well informed regarding the Union Pacific. He talked with them, butanswered questions guardedly. And he listened to discussions and talkscovering every phase of the work, from the Credit Mobilier to theChinese coolies that were advancing from the west to meet the Paddies ofhis own division.

  How strange to realize that the great railroad had its nucleus, itsimpetus, and its completion in such a center as this! Here were thefrock-coated, soft-voiced, cigar-smoking gentlemen among whom Warburtonand his directors had swung the colossal enterprise. What a vastdifference between these men and the builders! With the handsomewhite-haired Warburton, and his associates, as they smoked their richcigars and drank their wine, Neale contrasted Casey and McDermott andmany another burly spiker or teamster out on the line. Each class wasnecessary to this task. These Easterners talked of money, of gold, as agrade foreman might have talked of gravel. They smoked and conversedat ease, laughing at sallies, gossiping over what was a tragedy westof North Platte; and about them was an air of luxury, of power, ofimportance, and a singular grace that Neale felt rather than saw.

  Strangest of all to him was the glimpse he got into the labyrinthineplot built around the stock, the finance, the gold that was constructingthe road. He was an engineer, with a deductive habit of mind, buthe would never be able to trace the intricacy of this monumentalaggregation of deals. Yet he was hugely, interested. Much of the scornand disgust he had felt out on the line for the mercenaries connectedwith the work he forgot here among these frock-coated gentlemen.

  An hour later Neale accompanied Warburton to the station where thedirector was to board a train for his return to New York.

  "You'll start back to-morrow," said Warburton. "I'll see you soon, Ihope--out there in Utah where the last spike is to be driven. Thatwill be THE day--THE hour!... It will be celebrated all over the UnitedStates."

  Neale returned to his hotel, trying to make out the vital thing thathad come to him on this hurried and apparently useless journey. His mindseemed in a whirl. Yet as he pondered, there gradually loomed up thereflection that in the eastern, or constructive, end of the greatplan there were the same spirits of evil and mystery as existed in thewestern, or building, end. Here big men were interested, involved; outthere bigger men sweat and burned and aged and died. The difference wasthat these toilers gave all for an ideal while the directors and theirpartners thought only of money, of profits.

  Neale restrained what might have been contempt, but he thought that ifthese financiers could have seen the life of the diggers and spikers ashe knew it they might be actuated by a nobler motive. Before he droppedto sleep that night he concluded that his trip to Washington, and therecognition accorded him by Warburton's circle, had fixed a new desirein his heart to heave some more rails and drive some more spikes for therailroad he loved so well. To him the work had been something for whichhe had striven with all his might and for which he had risked his life.Not only had his brain been given to the creation, but his muscles hadached from the actual physical toil attendant upon this biggest of bigjobs.

  When Neale at last reached Benton it was night. Benton and night! And hehad forgotten. A mob of men surged down and up on the train. Neale hadextreme difficulty in getting off at all. But the excitement, the hurry,the discordant and hoarse medley of many voices, were unusual at thathour around the station, even for strenuous Benton. All these men werecarrying baggage. Neale shouted questions into passing ears, until atlength some fellow heard and yelled a reply.

  The last night of Benton!

  He understood then. The great and vile construction camp had reachedthe end of its career. It was being torn down--moved away--depopulated.There was an exodus. In another forty-eight hours all that hadbeen Benton, with its accumulated life and gold and toil, would beincorporated in another and a greater and a last camp--Roaring City.

  The contrast to the beautiful Washington, the check to his half-dreamingmemory of what he had experienced there, the sudden plunge into thisdim--lighted, sordid, and roaring hell, all brought about in Neale arevulsion of feeling.

  And with the sinking of his spirit there returned the old hauntingpangs--the memory of Allie Lee, the despairing doubts of life or deathfor her. Beyond the camp loomed the dim hills, mystical, secretive, andunchangeable. If she were out there among them, dead or alive, to knowit would be a blessed relief. It was this horror of Benton that hefeared.

  He walked the street, up and down, up and down, until the hour was lateand he was tired. All the halls and saloons were blazing in full blast.Once he heard low, hoarse cries and pistol-shots--and then again quick,dull, booming guns. How strange they should make him shiver! But allseemed strange. From these sounds he turned away, not knowing what to door where to go, since sleep or rest was impossible. Finally he went intoa gambling-den and found a welcome among players whose faces he knew.

  It was Benton's last night, and there was something in the air,menacing, terrible.

  Neale gave himself up to the spirit of the hour and the game. He hadalmost forgotten himself when a white, jeweled hand flashed over hisshoulder, to touch it softly. He heard his name whispered. Looking up,he saw the flushed and singularly radiant face of Beauty Stanton.