"Wall, those Mormons are good providers. They'll share with you whatever they have, for no pay, but if you rub 'em the wrong way or go to dickerin' with 'em they're closer'n the hide on a cold mule. You didn't make sheep's eyes at ary of the women?" "No, sir. I am done with women." "And right you are." "However, I could not help but see that the Captain's daughter is pleasing to look upon. I should be glad to know her, were there no objections." "How? His daughter?" "Miss Rachael, I believe. That is the name he used." "The young one, you mean?" "Yes, sir. The one who served me with breakfast. Rosy-cheeked and plump." "Whoa, man! She's his wife, and not for Gentiles. They're both his wives; whether he has more in Utah I don't know. But you'd best let her alone. She's been j'ined to him." This took me all aback, for I had no other idea than that she was his daughter, or niece--stood in that kind of relation to him. He was twice her age, apparently. Now I could only stammer: "I've no wish to intrude, you may be sure. And Daniel, his son--is he married?" "That whelp? Met him, did you? No, he ain't married, yet. But he will be, soon as he takes his pick 'cordin' to law and gospel among them people. You bet you: he'll be married plenty." CHAPTER XI WE GET A "SUPER" What with assorting and stowing the bales of cloth and the other goods in the Jenks two wagons, watering the animals and staking them out anew, tinkering with the equipment and making various essays with the bull whip, I found occupation enough; nevertheless there were moments of interim, or while passing to and fro, when I was vividly aware of the scenes and events transpiring in this Western world around about. The bugles sounded calls for the routine at Fort Steele--a mere cantonment, yet, of tents and rough board buildings squatting upon the bare brown soil near the river bank, north of us, and less than a month old. The wagon road was a line of white dust from the river clear to Benton, and through the murk plodded the water haulers and emigrants and freighters, animals and men alike befloured and choked. The dust cloud rested over Benton. It fumed in another line westward, kept in suspense by on-traveling stage and wagon--by wheel, hoof and boot, bound for Utah and Idaho. From the town there extended northward a third dust line, marking the stage and freighting road through the Indian country to the mining settlements of the famous South Pass of the old Oregon Trail; yes, and with branches for the gold regions of Montana. The railroad trains kept thundering by us--long freights, dusty and indomitable, bringing their loads from the Missouri River almost seven hundred miles in the east. And rolling out of Benton the never-ceasing construction trains sped into the desert as if upon urgent errands in response to some sudden demand of More, More, More.