"They were tough. But they were not Benton.
And the next camp west, which will be the last--it will be Roaring
Hell. What will be its name?"
"Why is Benton worse?" inquired Neale.
"The big work is well under way now, with a tremendous push from
behind. There are three men for every man's work. That lays off two
men each day. Drunk or dead. The place is wild--far off. There's
gold--hundreds of thousands of dollars in gold dumped off the
trains. Benton has had one payday. That day was the sight of my
life! ... Then... there are women."
"I saw a few in the dance-hall," replied Neale.
"Then you haven't looked in at Stanton's?"
"Who's he?"
"Stanton is not a man," replied Hough.
Neale glanced inquiringly over his glass.
"Beauty Stanton, they call her," went on Hough. "I saw her in New
Orleans years ago when she was a very young woman--notorious then.
She had the beauty and she led the life... did Beauty Stanton."
Neale made no comment, and Hough, turning to pay for the drinks, was
accosted by several men. They wanted to play poker.
"Gentlemen, I hate to take your money," he said. "But I never refuse
to sit in a game. Neale, will you join us?"
They found a table just vacated. Neale took two of the three
strangers to be prosperous merchants or ranchers from the Missouri
country.
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