A short novel from 1963, Clay Randall was a penname for the prolific Clifton Adams, who wrote Westerns under his own name as well.
What we have here is a story of, why would a shantytown in the middle of Indian territory occupied by nothing but riff-raff go out of their way to build an ornate opera house.
Full of human observations and odd characters. Not a vital read as this genre is chockful of intriguing reads, but reminds me again why I keep returning to this literary area.
Solid if not essential.