Posted by Chuck on July 26, 2004 at 05:39:27:
As I quickly crouched next to the Kid and Pancho, I asked again what we were up against.
“You see,” Cisco replied, “we were in El Paso when the bank was faced with a sudden withdrawal. As you know, I’ve been known to take things that seemed to be unwanted so I understood what those men went through. Pancho, however, thought we should help return the stolen money so we trailed the banditos into Mexico and Pancho managed to obtain the two saddlebags of gold.”
“You said you shoots em, Cisco, if they moved.”
“Well, I suppose I did. As I mentioned, they were banditos but not all of them were Mexican. Most seemed to be gringos. One went for his gun and I shot him and another before we could escape. We took their horses letting them loose after we had traveled a mile or two. There was some trouble initially when we returned the gold. It would seem that the sheriff thought Pancho and I were responsible. However when faced with the fact that we were returning the gold, the sheriff agreed that we were innocent and let us go. Not long after we left El Paso, we found that the rest of the gang were on our trail….” he let the rest lie in the dust.
“So now we got maybe twenty bandits trying to kill us?”
“Maybe eleven or twelve by now,” Cisco said with a sly smile playing in his eyes.
Obviously he and Pancho had already been waylaid and finished off two or three. Problem was there were still more out there and they’d keep coming unless we killed most - if not all - of em. One shot skipped over the rocks as a rifle barked once more. Cisco shot once and then ducked and reloaded. I could see he had a single-action Sharps. That would let the gang get closer while he was reloading - and they were starting to do that when I let loose with three shots of my own. Two cried out as if they’d been hurt real bad. Another fell back against a boulder before slowly falling to his final rest. Four more shots rang from my Winchester before the rest realized that there was more firepower here than they thought. I could see by then that there were five bodies twitching in the dust. Problem was there was so much black powder that I couldn’t see so well so I just reloaded. Looking up once more I saw Cisco nod in appreciation.
Just then another shot rang out But it didn‘t knock off any rock chips near us. Nope. The shot came from the west and another bandit pitched forward. Somewhere out there someone else was helping‘ us. I weren‘t gonna look no gift horse in the mouth so I waited.
There seemed to be around seven or eight left and they started closing into our position. If they got around on our left, there was a place I could see that would permit em to keep us pinned down enough for the rest of em to get into better positions on the right. Cisco and Pancho let loose with a few shots of their own. Either Pancho or Cisco managed to wing one of em cause we heard another scream of pain. Problem was there was a lotta cursing that went with it which meant that the guy weren’t‘ dead. .
Well the range was pretty good and a bunch of em was moving pretty quick. I quickly ducked as I saw one of em get to that left spot I’d just found. We were in pretty deep trouble. Only thing to do was breath dirt. I was about to do that when another shot from the west pitched the feller over. The rest mighta made up there minds right there but they didn’t until after Cisco killed another by hitting him with an excellent head shot. I gave him a mock salute to which he responded by smiling. A third shot from the mysterious stranger helping us decided the skirmish once and for all. Waving their rifles, they came outta the rocks. From what I could see there were six of em which meant that Poncho was more likely the one who had counted our foes correctly. I said as much to Cisco. He just shrugged as we all went to take charge of the survivors.
Two of em had been wounded. Another wounded man was lying on the ground. It was obvious he’d die within the hour. As we got near the surviving bandits, another man with his rifle ready showed up from behind em. He was dressed too fancy I thought for riding hereabouts. Wore a strange round hat that would look good in a gambling house most likely. It only took a few minutes to tie em up. As we did that, we made our introductions. Our new friend turned out to be called Masterson. Apparently he had been heading to Dallas when he’d heard about the robbery. He’d almost caught the gang by the time they’d got to Amarillo - though I don’t know what he woulda done if he’da caught em though. Only one man and there had to have been around twelve of em.
We waited while he got his horse. I asked Cisco and Pancho if they’d ever heard of this ‘Masterson’ feller. Cisco thought he mighta been a sheriff or deputy marshal but he weren’t sure. When he got back, I noticed he had a walking stick tied to his saddle. Like I said, he dressed really funny. Anyway it didn’t take long before we helped him tie the six to their horses so’s he could take em back to Amarillo for hanging. He tied up two of the dead to their horses as well - for the reward probably. Although we asked if he needed help, he declined saying it wouldn’t take more than a day to get back. They’d either go willingly or he’d shoot em before they got back. I also gave him the latest on Quana Parker warning him that he’d better take care or he’d take to being dead. I suppose he listened although I never found out.
Wasn’t too long after we parted company than the Kid said he’d have to be leaving soon as well. He and Pancho were gonna head out to Santa Fe - why I didn’t know then and I never found out. I only remembered that for a few days in March 1863, the Confederate flag of General Henry Sibley flew over Santa Fe, until he was defeated by Union troops. Anyway now I was once again alone - well alone with Dutch and my own thoughts. Ya can’t get away from those.
Only a few days passed until I cut trail with someone else - well more’n a few someones. It was a trail drive - one that I didn’t expect to see this far west. I suppose I shoulda. The trail boss was called Gil Favor. There were other drovers around like Rowdy Yates, Mushy, George Duffield, Jim Quincy, Joe Scarlet, and Pete Nolen. An old character called by the rest, “Wishbone” was the cook. They’d originally been doing trail riding around the late eighteen sixties - well Favor, Yates, Duffield, and Wishbone had. All we discussed was trail riding. Not much different now from what I did not too long ago. They had a better chuck though.
Maybe you don’t know about chucks so I’ll tell ya. A chuck or chuck wagon as they’re called sometimes is a trail rider’s portable kitchen wagon. Charlie Goodnight invented the darn thing back in sixty-six I think. I don’t remember him much but Captain Tatum spoke ‘bout him. He also was a former Ranger. Anyways he owned one of the first cattle ranches in the Texas Panhandle, called the JA Ranch. Think it was located in the Palo Duro Canyon but aint so sure about that. He did help create the Goodnight-Loving Trail - a cattle route from Texas that led into eastern New Mexico and Colorado.
Chuckwagon food’s mostly black-eyed peas, corn and cabbage. There are bins for flower and stuff for biscuits, sugar, and spices, and, of course, lotsa beans. With that ya gets mostly lots of beef (since it’s nearby), bison steaks and other critters if someone shoots em. Good cooks fix up stews spiced with chiles, garlic, and onion. We had catfish when we had the time to catch em from rivers or lakes. Sourdough breads (sourdough bullets we use to kid the cook about), quick biscuits, skillet corn bread and cowboy coffee were always available when there was time - especially coffee.
The chuckwagon was drawn by oxen or mules since you didn‘t need speed. The wagon usually carried food, eating utensils, a water barrel, as well as tools and bed rolls, all tucked away in drawers and shelves and covered by a canvas covering. A hinged counter that folded out was used for chopping and preparing the food. By the by, you might wanna know where it got its name. Mostly it was because of the beef that was available. The cheapest part of a steer that’s cut up was always called the “chuck”. I suppose that meant that anyone called “Chuck” was cheap. But then I don’t know English all that well since I only knows ‘Merican.
We traveled together for a couple of days which meant that I got the chance to get stocked up on chiles and salt. I repaid em by shooting some buffalo. That’s whatcha does when you take on a job and make friends. Anyway they was moving too slow for me so bidding the group farewell, I headed out for Denver.
Now as I’ve said, Texas is big. But even Texas comes to an end in places. And Colorado was one of those places. I’d heard there were mines all over the place - gold and silver. As I was heading north, I saw a few places where fanatics had dug holes into the ground. One reason I never took up the search for gold was that a person could become crazy because of that search. Gold could be a curse as well as a blessing. I’ve never found any situation that would ever change my thoughts on that.
As I mighta mentioned, I was heading to Denver to gain passage on a train north to Casper. There I’d catch a train heading west to San Francisco. Now that was a place where lotsa gold had been found less than a year after the Mexican-American War. Funny that cause if the gold had been found by Mexicans, the War mighta taken a different turn. As it was, Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna y Peréz de Lebrón, the supreme commander of Mexican forces, was exiled when it was found that he had sold millions of acres in Arizona and New Mexican Territories to the U. S. After being kicked out he was sent to some island called Staten in New York someplace. His secretary noticed he was chewing something and figured he might make some sorta money from it. Guy was named Adams, I think. Anyway he started making lotsa gum in New York City. Stupid immigrants will chew anything I suppose. Aint like smoking or drinking, I suppose. That’s what men does when they want to relax - as if I ever had the money for all that relaxing stuff.
Anyway while I road Dutch north, I was thinking on whether it would be better to keep Dutch or sell him in Denver where I’d be getting a good price fer him. Figured maybe I could get another in Australia since horses might not like going on ships. Funny thing about stuff like that was that we was almost to Denver when I decided.
So what did I find when we got there? The fools were eating food on the ground. As I rode up and asked, I found they were called ’pioneer picnics’ - as foolish a name as another I suppose. That was when I found out that the next train would leave at noon. Nothing to do about it but stay the night. And what a night it turned out to be.
While there, I asked about how Denver got started. Someone said that Denver looked just as if it had been dropped outta the clouds accidentally and that by someone who meant to carry it further on. They just got tired and let it fall anywhere. Just now it was on the Platt which their local leader wanted to make a riverboat town. I knew enough of the Platt that it’d dry up to nothing in times of drought. The territory looked to my mind’s eye to be nothing more than ranchland. Oh, I spotted a few sodbusters - farmers, if ya likes. Not sure what they was growing - maybe taters or, I donno, maybe beets. Don’t make no never-mind. Ya needed veggies and fruits sometimes. Mostly I ate meat. It’s whatcha catches that helps ya along.
I found a hotel to stay at overnight. Not a bad’n either. I’d checked with the locals and they recommended it. Some said that I should visit Mattie’s House of Mirrors over on Market Street. Don’t know if ya knows it but that’s a poke place and suppose to be the most elegant and famous one around the town. Madame run it called Mattie Silks. Now aint that one helova name for a hore. I found out later that she run a couple of other houses in Denver.
Anyway I was out checking out the sights of them giant six-story buildings and all when something happened that shouldn’ta. I mean I shoulda just gone to bed and not been visiting one of them German drinking places. So I didn’t get drunk or nothing but I was feeling fine. I suppose there was a local law about it but they was a local sheriff that they called a ’policeman’ that went and tried arresting a German guy in the Turnverein where I was fer drinking beer after midnight. Lotsa German locals threw the guy outta the place. Weren’t none of their guys gonna get arrested for drinking. Rather than get into trouble, right away, I took the local streetcar to my hotel. Didn’t take long to fall asleep. That German beer is mighty strong. And mighty contagious. It’s my opinion thatja don’t drink no German beer cause it does things to your mind.
I suppose it was better drinking a few beers than to go to the "maison de joie" as Mattie Silks’ place was nicknameded. I donno. I liked House of Mirrors much better. I did pass the place and recalled the strong odor of perfume. But I didn’t go inside. Think even without Martha, I didn’t wanna push it. No idea what diseases mighta been caught there.
Local blacksmith bought Dutch at a decent price. But I kept my saddle and weapons. Not many people out there had seen my Winchester before and I wasn’t gonna show em more. Bad enough that I didn’t pack up my shooters and knives. Don’t do to go unarmed though when you’re in strange territory. When I got on the train, though, I kinda figured it was a safer place. Trains don’t get robbed none and when you’re wearing iron, no one’s gonna challenge ya to a fight. I wasn’t at all concerned about the Arapahoe then cause that rotten coward, Colonel Chivington had killed most of em off along with a bunch of peaceful Cheyenne at a place called Sand Creek. Two hundret and fifty against one hundret and thirty aint my idea of ‘good‘ - ’specially when they was mostly women and children and old men. Naw, sometimes whites are worse than the worst of the Indians. Mostly alla the Injuns I’d ever met were fair - even if they were trying to kill you. And even when they hadda torture ya, you knew that it was a show of your bravery to stick it out. Maybe it was just a Texas thing but I thought Chivington and those that participated in the massacre shoulda died screaming while ants ate their eyes. That was one of many times I was ashamed of being white.
Anyway, getting on the train weren’t all that bad. I settled down for a nice nap when a fancy dude that weren’t actually a sugerfoot guy sat next to me. That is he were dressed more or less in black but in fancy duds like he was keeping a house of ill repute. Had a talk with him and found out he were a gambler named Bret. I suppose you mighta called him a tinhorn but he didn’t look all that rich to me. But he did play a mean game of cards. When he found out that I wanted to play but not gamble, he was willing to show me some tricks he’d learned over time. Said his daddy taught him and his brother most of what he knowed. But then, out here ya learned from your dad or larned from someone else. This Maverick guy said he was going to San Francisco too, so I was willing to travel with him for a time.
I did ask about his brother, Bart, but he said he didn’t know where he’d gone to. Didn’t matter as it turned out. I suppose it was lucky that Bart and I was sitting in our seats cause the train slowed down and suddenly stopped. Several of the passengers - us included - got out to see what was going on. A guy called a “Conductor” said it weren’t nothing but when we asked kindly, he told us that the tracks were loose from the wood but that would be taken care of shortly. I asked what woulda happened if we’d continued and he said that we mighta wrecked and some of us mighta got kilt. Of course the reason he was so friendly was that I was still carrying my pistols. That plus knowing I was from Texas, mighta had something to do with his loosening his tongue.
Didn’t take long to fix the problem and we continued north. Sunday, our train stopped at a station for two hours during the night on account of Indians. Made North Platte a few hours after sunrise where we had breakfast. This was a very warm morning. Later we had dinner at Sidney Station. That’s the way it was sometimes.
I has to tell ya that I never went on no railroad before. The train was fast going maybe thirty miles an hour. I donno much about the speed but it was faster than I’d ever done on a horse. I found ya gotta watch it when you put your head out the windows cause if you’re close to the engine, sometimes sparks can catch in your beard. Some drummer found out about that. And once we had to put out a fire that got onto one of the cars. Also you got times when ya gotta stop and check out the tracks. I suspect the rails had been put down too quick cause to be slower would have cost more. Them Yankees always were trying to make more off their business activities. Not all that much different from the English who invested heavily in ranches and other stuff out West. But then I ain’t one to know much about that. Only what I heard while on the train north and later west. I did continue west even in the face of the danger that daily train travel brought ya. You faced the possibilities of death on the range wherever you were so train travel weren’t’ that different from traveling horseback.
We finally arrived in Cheyenne, Wyoming. I’d heard that even part of Wyoming had been part of Texas at one time. Not something I was a-gonna bring up to anyone in the Territories though. Wyoming reminded me of some of the dry plains in West Texas. Good cattle country if you let the critters roam but you couldn’t raise em behind no fence. Cheyenne aint much different from what I saw while we was traveling north. A desert town in a desert Territory. Only got decent watering from Crow Creek which fed the Lodge Pole, and then wound up in the Platte. There was some sorta sandstone locomotive house where they fixed them engines and some stone machine shops were being built for the railroad company. Only decent hotel was a long, porticoed frame hotel which belonged to the Union Pacific. It had rooms enough for fifty people and you could eat pretty good there for fifty cents. The beef at the Cheyenne Hotel had to have wintered upon those mountain deserts and was as rich and tender as I ever tasted even in Texas.There was an enormous tent of a traveling circus, however. I suppose the only thing keeping the town alive were the railroad, a little cattle trading, and the Sweetwater gold mines some two or three hundred miles to the northwest.
We had arrived at Cheyenne about 6 o'clock p.m. Bret and I had supper at Rollins House after which we walked around town where we witnessed strange sights. The whole city was the scene of one high carnival, gambling saloons, and other places of an immoral character in full blast. Bands of music discoursing from the fronts of various places kept it so noisy that ya couldn‘t sleep. So we went out onto streets crowded with men and numerous houses illuminated, and vice and riot having full and unlimited control. I wouldn‘t have wanted to been there on Sunday. Maverick did some gambling while I had a beer or three. I couldn’t stand it no more so went to bed around seven.
Next day we found out that there was gonna be a delay leaving for San Francisco cause someone had done the unthinkable. We found out later that the James gang (which I think was mostly Jesse, Frank and the Younger boys) had been done somewhere in Iowa - Adair, I think. Happened on the Chicago, Rock Island, & Pacific Railroad which somehow did a connection with the Union Pacific. I never found out much about that though. It did delay the train at least a day. (for more, go to http://www.angelfire.com/mi2/jamesyoungergang/adair.html ).
Anyway since the train didn’t leave until the next day, I had to stay as well. I suppose lotsa delays happen in railroading. Had em on the trail, too. It’s one reason time hadn’t much meaning for me. As I wondered around Cheyenne I found what was know as a “Dollar Store”. Some twenty-five year-old guy ran it. Seems he’d come to Cheyenne in 1867 but as a gambler found he had too much competition so he hit upon a profitable solution. He opened his “Dollar Store” in which high-priced merchandise was put in the front store windows priced at only a dollar. When greedy purchasers got inside, he’s sucker em into a game of three-card monte. He’d then strip them of all their money so they’d never buy any of that ‘cheap’ stuff. His name was Ben Marks.
That Sunday I went to one of the local churches. I’m religious sometimes but only when I can find a church nearby. That also had been hammered into my head by Martha. She was determined that I was gonna act like a Christian whether I wanted or no.
Anyway I went to church and afterward talked to the preacher. He mentioned that not too far away was a place that was like no other. If I thought this place was sinful, I’d better not visit the town of Benton. About sixty souls had already met their Maker in gunfights. The preacher said that it’s reputation was nearer that of Sodom and Gomorrah than any other place in America. It wasn’t there no more but had vanished when the railroad was finished. This was as he told me…
”When I traveled there to find out what was true and what wasn’t, I found that congregation of scum and wickedness was within the Desert section and consisted of nearly two thousand men and a dozen or two women. They were encamped on the alkali plain in tents and board shanties. There wasn’t a tree, or shrub, or blade of grass visible. Nothing except ankle deep dust. The dust was so fine and volatile that the slightest breeze loaded the air with it and irritated every sense poisoning half of them. The town was disgusting by day and dangerous by night. Almost everybody was dirty, many filthy, and with the marks of the lowest of vices, they had to average a murder a day. There was gambling and drinking and hurdy-gurdy dancing. It festered in corruption, disorder, and death and should rotted away in in the dry air of the place. But just as I was leaving - not saving a single soul - it ended its short life, striking tents, razing its shanties, and with their dwellers, moved another fifty miles to get on with their bilking the local railroad workers again and again. Where these people came from originally; where they went to when the road was finished, and their occupation was over, were both puzzles too intricate for me. Hell would appear to have been raked to furnish them; and to it they must have naturally returned after graduating here, fitted for its highest seats and most diabolical service.”
He never took his young wife to visit the sinful place as he thought it. And that was what I remembered from Reverend ’Mad Man’ Mike McBride who then left to be with his Sara. I never found out why he got called ’Mad Man’ however. Maybe it was before he’d become a preacher. That sometimes happens as well as I recalled not so long ago when I’d been Rangering.
Anyways, those of us traveling west got on board. Just as the train started up, Bret started running like the Devil himself was after his soul. I didn’t know what had happened but I sure knew he’d not been in church. As I found out later, he shoulda…
I aint much into this train traveling though it is faster than horse. Of course with horses ya don’t’ gotta worry none ’bout no road either. Horse does need a bit of resting now and then plus some feed when ya gets to where the grass don’t grow. I took a stage once. It’s faster than riding your pony I suppose. Problem is that even those horses gotta rest whether ya gots four or six horse teams. But ya still gotta stop at some station and get the horses changed. And while that’s happening, ya gets your vittles which I’ve noticed aint much better than beans and stringy beef. Perhaps there are good cooks at those way stations. Maybe. But I aint et at one of em.
Why talk about that? Cause ya thinks that cause that dang train is a machine that it don’t need nuttin for to run it. But ya still gotta stop and get water and wood mostly. I heard that they got some of those engines that eat coal but I didn’t see none of that on this trip. ’Sides the wood and water, them guys what made the track didn’t always make the track right. Sometimes the track broke off and the train would head some place it ought not to have. You pays your way to take a chance to get your self killed aint so good a thing to do. I found this out by listening to Brett and some of the others that were regulars.
Then there’s the mountains. Ya don’t gotta change your horse out when ya goes up into the High Lonesome. But things are different for trains. Has to do with the altitude from what I picked up. Some fancy man from England said they even got smaller trains there. I kinda figured they got em there cause they’ve got such a small country - loud, but small. In these here United States, we got long distances to travel so trains gotta be bigger. Lots to think on when riding trains cause ya don’t got much you can do on em.
Well I suppose you could say you could do a bit of shooting from em. And I did have my rifle. But I don’t hunt nothin’ that I don’t wanna eat so I stayed outta that. We was goin’ up some mountain side when we saw a bear - grizz it looked like to me. Since the train had slowed some on account of the ’grade’ as someone said, it was an easy shot to make - I thought so at least. But most of them guys was from the East and didn’t have no sense of when to shoot and when not to. Brit guy though did. He nailed that grizz between the eyes. Took two shots to do it but then we weren’t going so fast. Makes ya feel sad when ya see someone killing something just for the fun of it. Oh, I’ve shot a bear or two - mountain lions, too, if ya has to ask. But the shooting was done cause we needed meat or had to save ourselves from getting eaten. Shooting for fun aint no good.
I only mention this cause we came across a buncha buffalo. Musta been a small herd cause it only stopped the train for a couple of hours. I’ve known for a buffalo herd to take two- three days to pass across the plains. Anyway while we were stalled, a buncha them Eastern fellers just up and shot twenty or more. I had to grit my teeth hard to stop from pukin’. If this was what was going on nowadays, I weren’t surprised to see any of the tribes of injuns go on the warpath. I mentioned this to Brett but he said he’d seen lotsa of that killing since the railroad had come through. I didn’t know it but a couple of years later I found out that Sheridan and Sherman figured that to kill off most of the natives would be easiest if ya killed off the buffalo and starved em to death. Probably told that damn fool of an officer, Custer. But then Custer had no common sense no how.
As we traveled, I met a man called Curtis. He told me there were about seven hundred Chinese employed in grading and laying track, and perhaps one hundred white men who done did the building of the railroad to Sacramento. Mr. Curtis had been the engineer in charge. He said that the Chinese made the best road-builders in the world. He had a contractor - a Mr. Strobridge - who said to him that the Chinese larned all parts of the work very quickly. They didn’t drink, fight, or strike; although, they did gamble, if not prevented. Chinemens were always said to be very cleanly in their habits. Curtis said that it’s the custom after they has had their suppers every evening, to bathe themselves all over in small tubs. I doubt if any of the white laborers did as much.
Anyways, these Chinese received twenty-eight dollars per month of twenty-six working days, and for this they furnished all their own supplies of food, tents, cooking utensils, etc., but the contractor paid the cooks. They worked in gangs of from twelve to twenty men, who form a mess; and the head-man of the gang receives the wages of all, and divides the money among them. But none of em ever heard of God, I can tell ya - at least according to preachers. He did mention that they did have religion and that priests sometimes work alongside. Funny that. Never heard of no preacher or priest or even rabbi that would do hard labor like those Chinamens did.
Reason I put this here was cause Mr. Curtis had met one of their priests who had the unlikely name of Caine. First thing I thought of was Cain and Able. I think he was called Kwai Chang Caine. But then I don’t remember names so good.
As we passed through Wyoming, the land became even more desolate, if possible. Only jack rabbits and lizards live here. Nothing will grow but sagebrush which means it might make good cattle country if there was enough water and ya let the cattle roam. Some people said it was the loneliest place they’d ever seen. They never had seen Texas though. People was saying it’ll be a million years before Wyoming was ever settled. Even the small rail towns like Wilcox and Medicine Bow look all the same - dusty desolation. I kinda left it that they was mostly Easterners who knew nothing of what it was like in the real West.
The next town we stopped at was Evanston near the Wyoming-Utah border. Evanston’s kinda pretty what with the Bear River on one side and steep divides on the other. It was there that I saw my first Chinese. They still live in small groups in towns west of here, I was told. Like I’d been told, these Chinese were clean, pleasant people. Problem was that most whites think of em much like they thought of Injuns. But then there’s no telling’ what some people think. I overheard some ladies speaking of em….
"... is a matter of obsession with these quiet, little people! They bathe every day--a full bath! Can you imagine? One would be liable to catch pneumonia! I do think we could use some of these Celestial laborers on the East Coast. They are legendary for their discipline and endurance. To look at their smooth, olive-colored, serene, and utterly expressionless faces, made me wonder, in vain bewilderment, what emotions, what passions, what opinions of one's self lay beneath it"
Sometimes people think bad. Sometimes people think good. Mostly people are strange though cause I kinda figured these Chinese were not so much different than Texans except they spoke different and had different customs.
Anyways soon after leaving Evanston we started going up the Wasatch Mountains. Place called “Echo Canyon” was very pretty with deep gorges and high mountains. Mountains are a bit different from the plains but then the train didn‘t go as fast either. A bit different chugging through tunnels and over trestles as we wound down Weber Canyon into the Salt Lake Valley. I’d heard of that place - a place where dry prairie was now green and fertile - a typical sodbuster place.
AlOmega