A mob of men surged down and up on the train.
Neale had extreme difficulty in getting off at all. But the
excitement, the hurry, the discordant and hoarse medley of many
voices, were unusual at that hour around the station, even for
strenuous Benton. All these men were carrying baggage. Neale shouted
questions into passing ears, until at length some fellow heard and
yelled a reply.
The last night of Benton!
He understood then. The great and vile construction camp had reached
the end of its career. It was being torn down--moved away--
depopulated. There was an exodus. In another forty-eight hours all
that had been Benton, with its accumulated life and gold and toil,
would be incorporated in another and a greater and a last camp--
Roaring City.
The contrast to the beautiful Washington, the check to his half-
dreaming memory of what he had experienced there, the sudden plunge
into this dim--lighted, sordid, and roaring hell, all brought about
in Neale a revulsion of feeling.
And with the sinking of his spirit there returned the old haunting
pangs--the memory of Allie Lee, the despairing doubts of life or
death for her. Beyond the camp loomed the dim hills, mystical,
secretive, and unchangeable. If she were out there among them, dead
or alive, to know it would be a blessed relief.
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