Headed as they were, and having no other special objective point inview, it was only natural for the two fugitives to drift into Sheridan.This was at that time the human cesspool of the plains country, aseething, boiling maelstrom of all that was rough, evil, and brazenalong the entire frontier. Customarily quiet enough during the hoursof daylight, the town became a mad saturnalia with the approach ofdarkness, its ceaseless orgies being noisily continued until dawn. Butat this period all track work on the Kansas Pacific being temporarilysuspended by Indian outbreaks, the graders made both night and day alikehideous, and the single dirty street which composed Sheridan, lined withshacks, crowded with saloons, the dull dead prairie stretching away onevery side to the horizon, was congested with humanity during every hourof the twenty-four.
It was a grim picture of depravity and desolation, the environmentdull, gloomy, forlorn; all that was worthy the eye or thought beingthe pulsing human element. All about extended the barren plains, exceptwhere on one side a ravine cut through an overhanging ridge. From theseething street one could look up to the summit, and see there thegraves of the many who had died deaths of violence, and been bornethither in "their boots." Amid all this surrounding desolation wasSheridan--the child of a few brief months of existence, and destined toperish almost as quickly--the centre of the grim picture, a mere clusterof rude, unpainted houses, poorly erected shacks, grimy tents flappingin the never ceasing wind swirling across the treeless waste, the uglyred station, the rough cow-pens filled with lowing cattle, the huge,ungainly stores, their false fronts decorated by amateur wielders ofthe paint brush, and the garish dens of vice tucked in everywhere. Thependulum of life never ceased swinging. Society was mixed; no man caredwho his neighbor was, or dared to question. Of women worthy the namethere were few, yet there were flitting female forms in plenty, thesaloon lights revealing powdered cheeks and painted eyebrows. It wasa strange, restless populace, the majority here to-day, disappearingto-morrow--cowboys, half-breeds, trackmen, graders, desperadoes,gamblers, saloon-keepers, merchants, generally Jewish, petty officials,and a riff-raff no one could account for, mere floating debris. The townwas an eddy catching odd bits of driftwood such as only the frontierever knew. Queer characters were everywhere, wrecks of dissipation,derelicts of the East, seeking nothing save oblivion.
Everything was primitive--passion and pleasure ruled. To spend easilymade money noisily, brazenly, was the ideal. From dawn to dawn thesearch after joy continued. The bagnios and dance halls were ablaze; thebar-rooms crowded with hilarious or quarrelsome humanity, the gamblingtables alive with excitement. Men swaggered along the streets lookingfor trouble, and generally finding it; cowboys rode into open saloondoors and drank in the saddle; troops of congenial spirits, frenziedwith liquor, spurred recklessly through the street firing into the air,or the crowd, as their whim led; bands played popular airs on balconies,and innumerable "barkers" added their honeyed invitations to theperpetual din. From end to end it was a saturnalia of vice, a babel ofsound, a glimpse of the inferno. Money flowed like water; every man washis own law, and the gun the arbiter of destiny. The town marshal,with a few cool-headed deputies, moved here and there amid the chaos,patient, tireless, undaunted, seeking merely to exercise some slightrestraint. This was Sheridan.
Into the one long street just at dusk rode Keith and Neb, the thirdhorse trailing behind. Already lights were beginning to gleam in thecrowded saloons, and they were obliged to proceed slowly. Leaving thenegro at the corral to find some purchaser for the animals, and suchaccommodations for himself as he could achieve, Keith shouldered hisway on foot through the heterogeneous mass toward the only hotel, a longtwo-storied wooden structure, unpainted, fronting the glitter of thePioneer Dance Hall opposite. A noisy band was splitting the air withdiscordant notes, a loud-voiced "barker" yelling through the uproar, butKeith, accustomed to similar scenes and sounds elsewhere, strode throughthe open door of the hotel, and guided by the noisy, continuous clatterof dishes, easily found his way to the dining-room. It was crowdedwith men, a few women scattered here and there, most of the former inshirt-sleeves, all eating silently. A few smaller tables at the back ofthe room were distinguished from the others by white coverings in placeof oil-cloth, evidently reserved for the more distinguished guests.Disdaining ceremony, the newcomer wormed his way through, finallydiscovering a vacant seat where his back would be to the wall, thusenabling him to survey the entire apartment.
It was not of great interest, save for its constant change and theprimitive manner in which the majority attacked their food supply,which was piled helter-skelter upon the long tables, yet he ran hiseyes searchingly over the numerous faces, seeking impartially for eitherfriend or enemy. No countenance present, as revealed in the dim lightof the few swinging lamps, appeared familiar, and satisfied that heremained unknown, Keith began devoting his attention to the dishesbefore him, mentally expressing his opinion as to their attractiveness.Chancing finally to again lift his eyes, he met the gaze of a mansitting directly opposite, a man who somehow did not seem exactly inharmony with his surroundings. He was short and stockily built, withround rosy face, and a perfect shock of wiry hair brushed back from abroad forehead; his nose wide but stubby, and chin massive. Apparentlyhe was between forty and fifty years of age, exceedingly well dressed,his gray eyes shrewd and full of a grim humor. Keith observed all thisin a glance, becoming aware at the same time that his neighbor wasapparently studying him also. The latter broke silence with a quick,jerky utterance, which seemed to peculiarly fit his personal appearance.
"Damn it all--know you, sir--sure I do--but for life of me can't tellwhere."
Keith stared across at him more searchingly, and replied, ratherindifferently:
"Probably a mistake then, as I have no recollection of your face."
"Never make a mistake, sir--never forget a face," the other snapped withsome show of indignation, his hands now clasped on the table, one stubbyforefinger pointed, as he leaned forward. "Don't tell me--I've seen yousomewhere--no, not a word--don't even tell me your name--I'm going tothink of it."
Keith smiled, not unwilling to humor the man's eccentricity, andreturned to his meal, with only an occasional inquiring glance acrossthe table. The other sat and stared at him, his heavy eyebrows wrinkled,as he struggled to awaken memory. The younger man had begun on his piewhen the face opposite suddenly cleared.
"Damn me, I've got it--hell, yes; hospital tent--Shenandoah--bulletimbedded under third rib--ordinary case--that's why I forgot--clearas mud now--get the name in a minute--Captain--Captain Keith--that'sit--shake hands."
Puzzled at the unexpected recognition, yet realizing the friendliness ofthe man, Keith grasped the pudgy fingers extended with some cordiality.
"Don't remember me I s'pose--don't think you ever saw me--delirious whenI came--hate to tell you what you was talking about--gave you hypodermicfirst thing--behaved well enough though when I dug out the lead--Miniebullet, badly blunted hitting the rib--thought you might die with bloodpoison--couldn't stay to see--too damn much to do--evidently didn'tthough--remember me now?"
"No, only from what you say. You must have been at General Waite'sheadquarters."
"That's it--charge of Stonewall's field hospital--just happened to rideinto Waite's camp that night--damn lucky for you I did--young snip therewanted to saw the bone--I stopped that--liked your face--imagined youmight be worth saving--ain't so sure of it now, or you wouldn't beout in this God forsaken country, eating such grub--my name'sFairbain--Joseph Wright Fairbain, M.D.--contract surgeon for therailroad--working on the line?"
Keith shook his head, feeling awakening interest in his peculiarcompanion.
"No; just drifted in here from down on the Arkansas," he explained,briefly. "Did you know General Waite was dead?"
The doctor's ruddy face whitened.
"Dead?--Willis Waite dead?" he repeated. "What do you mean, sir? Are yousure? When?"
"I ought to be sure; I buried him just this side the Cimmaron Crossingout on the Santa Fe
trail."
"But do you know it was General Waite?" the man's insistent tone full ofdoubt.
"I have no question about it," returned Keith, conclusively. "The manwas Waite's size and general appearance, with gray beard, similar to theone I remember he wore during the war. He had been scalped, and his facebeaten beyond recognition, but papers in his pockets were sufficient toprove his identity. Besides, he and his companion--a young fellow namedSibley--were known to have pulled out two days before from Carson City."
"When was this?"
"Ten days ago."
Fairbain's lips smiled, the ruddy coloring sweeping back into hischeeks.
"Damn me, Keith, you came near giving me a shock," he said, jerkily."Shouldn't be so careless--not sure my heart's just right--tendencyto apoplexy, too--got to be guarded against. Now, let me tellyou something--maybe you buried some poor devil out at CimmaronCrossing--but it wasn't Willis Waite. How do I know? Because I saw him,and talked with him yesterday--damn me, if I didn't, right here in thistown."
Chapter XVII. In the Next Room