CHEYENNE.
Paul looked about him with eager curiosity, for he had all a youth's
keen zest in visiting unknown places. He saw one long street, of
unusual width, lined with an indiscriminate variety of buildings from
one-story saloons and offices to two and three-story buildings.
The Inter-Ocean Hotel, in front of which his guide halted, was a fine
brick structure of three stories, which seemed hardly at home in the
loosely built town, which had sprung up as if by magic on the prairies.
"This is where I put up," said Mr. Scott.
"I'll take a room here, if they can give me one."
"I'll see that you have one. They know me--Jim Scott--and they'd make
room if they hadn't one. Do you know what they used to call this
settlement?"
"No."
"'Hell on Wheels' was the name they give it in early days."
"Was that to invite settlers?" asked Paul, laughing.
"I expect it was because it was about the roughest, most lawless place
between Omaha and Frisco. Why the principal occupation of the first
settlers was gamblin', drinkin' rot-gut whisky, and shootin'. There
wasn't a day passed hardly but some chap was found lyin' in the street
with a hole in his head or a bullet in his heart. I tell you them was
rough times."
"I hope things have changed," said Paul, by no means prepossessed in
favor of Cheyenne by what he had heard. "If they haven't, I don't think
I shall stay here long."
"Oh, yes, it's settled down, so that life is pretty safe. They had to
raise a vigilance committee to set things straight like they did in
Frisco. It's all right now."
"I am glad to hear it."
Meanwhile they had entered the hotel, and Paul succeeded in securing a
room adjoining that of Mr. Scott, or Jim Scott, as he insisted on being
called.
After he had washed and changed his clothing, he sat down to a
substantial meal, which he enjoyed with the hearty appetite of youth.
Then Mr. Scott invited him to take a walk about the town.
"I say, youngster, have you got a father and mother?"
"My father is dead, but I have a mother and sister living."
"And what did your mother say to your comin' out here?"
"She was willing, knowing that I had my own way to make."
"I haven't chick or child myself. I had a wife once, but she died
twenty years ago. Now I've got money, but sometimes I feel lonely."
"It isn't too late for you to marry again, Mr. Scott."
"Mr. Scott?"
"I mean Jim."
"Maybe you're right, but there ain't many women would hitch on to me
except for my money, and I'm better without such. I say, youngster, do
you mind my keepin' company with you while you stay in these parts?"
"Certainly not, Jim. I shall feel fortunate in having one with me who
knows so much more about the country than I."
"That's all right, then. When do you want to start for Custer City?"
"To-morrow, if there is a chance."
"Then I'll get ready, too."
"What is the distance?"
"Two hundred and fifty miles, and pretty long miles, some of 'em."
"Do we travel by stage?"
"Yes. One has been put on lately. When I went first, I traveled by
wagon, and was a week on the road, maybe ten days. Now, if you travel
at night, we can reach Custer City in forty-eight hours or thereabouts."
"I suppose the road is a lonely one?"
"You may say that. As far as Fort Laramie it is pretty well settled.
There is a ranch about every twelve miles."
"Do you call that well settled?"
"Well," said Jim, "we call it so out here."
"I shouldn't think people would feel crowded, living at such distances."
"We like plenty of room, you see, Paul."
The next morning Paul and his new friend started for Custer City,
and in due time arrived at the Black Hills metropolis without any
adventures that need recording.