of an unborn steer, served by the trim little lady of a hundred years
hence, there in that potential village of Goodale. And as I smoked my
cigarette, I felt very thankful for all the beautiful things that do not
exist.

And I slept that night in the great front bedroom, the ceiling of which
is of diamond and turquoise.




CHAPTER III

HALF-WAY TO THE MOON


At last the sinuous yellow road dropped over the bluff rim and, to all
appearances, dissolved into the sky--a gray-blue, genius-colored sky.

It was sundown, and this was the end of the trail for us. Beneath the
bluff rim lay Benton. We flung ourselves down in the bunch-grass that
whispered dryly in a cool wind fresh from the creeping night-shade. Now
that Benton lay beneath us, I was in no hurry to look upon it.

_Fort Benton?_ What a clarion cry that name had been to me! Old men--too
old for voyages--had talked about this place; a long time ago, 'way down
on the Kansas City docks, I had heard them. How far away it was then!
Reach after reach, bend after bend, grunting, snoring, toiling, sparring
over bars, bucking the currents, dodging the snags, went the snub-nosed
steamers--brave little steamers!--forging on toward Fort Benton. And it