cried again: “There he comes! I knew he would!”
Sure enough, from the house, before and below, near the trail, out
had darted a dog, to stand a moment, listening and peering――then,
head up and ears pricked, to line himself at full speed for Billy. On
he scoured (what a big fellow he was when he drew near), while Billy
whistled and shouted and laughed and praised.
When they met, Billy flung himself from his saddle for a moment, and he
and the big dog wrestled in sheer delight.
“Isn’t he a dandy?” called Billy to Red. “Smartest old fellow in
Kansas. He saved my sisters’ lives once from a panther. I’d rather have
him than a man any time.”
They rode on, with Turk gambolling beside them. He was a brindled boar
hound, looking like a Great Dane.
Now Turk raced ahead, as if to carry the news; and several people had
emerged from the house and were gathered before the door gazing. Billy
waved his big hat, and they waved back. They were a woman and four
girls.
“That’s ma and my sisters,” said Billy. Down he rushed, at full gallop
of his mule; Davy thudded in his wake.
“Hello, mother! Hello, sisses!”
“Oh, it’s Will! Will!”
Dismounting, Billy was passed from one to another and hugged and
kissed. He was held the longest and closest in his mother’s arms. Turk
barked and barked.
“Here, Red; come on,” ordered Billy, of Dave. “Mother, this is my
friend Dave Scott. He’s going to visit us, and then I’ll get him a
job on the trail. These girls are my sisters, Dave. Don’t be afraid
of them. Take care of him, Turk. He’s all right, old fellow. He’s a
partner.” And Turk, sniffing of Davy and wagging his great tail, seemed
to understand.
“Any friend of Will’s is more than welcome,” said Billy’s mother, and
she actually kissed Dave. The girls shyly shook hands, and he knew that
they welcomed him, too.
Then they all went into the house, where Billy must sit down and tell
about his experiences. That took some time, for he had been gone a
year. But before he started to talk and answer questions, he said:
“Here, ma; here’s my pay check. How do you want it cashed――gold or
silver?”
“For goodness sake, Will!” gasped Mother Cody, while his sisters
peeped. “Is this all yours?”
“No,” said Billy, solemnly shaking his head. “I can’t say it is,
mother.”
“Then whose is it?” she asked anxiously.
“Yours,” laughed Billy.
The Cody house was a heavy log cabin of two rooms and a rough roof, in
the Salt River Valley across which ran the Salt Lake overland trail.
Fort Leavenworth and the Missouri River were only four miles eastward,
and two miles below Fort Leavenworth was Leavenworth City. The Cody
farm had been located by Billy’s father as soon as Kansas had been
opened for settlement, in 1853, but Billy’s father had died two years
ago. As Davy soon saw, Billy was the man of the family, and whatever he
earned was badly needed.
It was good fun visiting at the Codys. There was Mrs. Cody and the four
girls, Julia, Eliza, Helen and May, who seemed to think that Billy
knew everything. Julia was older than he, but the others were younger.
There was Turk the big dog; and not far from the Cody place lived other
settlers who had children. But among all the boys Billy Cody was the
only one who had been out across the plains drawing man’s pay with a
wagon train.
The Codys lived right at the edge of the Kickapoo Indian reservation.
Billy knew the Indians and they liked him; he could shoot with bow and
arrow, and could talk Kickapoo, and had learned a lot of clever ways to
camp and travel.
Best of all, past the Cody place, across Salt Creek Valley wended the
Overland Trail――climbing the hill here, and disappearing into the west.
Over it always hung that veil of dust from the teams and wagons that
had set out. All kinds of “outfits,” as Billy called them, travelled
it: the straining, creaking “bull trains,” carrying freight for the
big freighting firm of Russell, Majors & Waddell; the settlers, bound
westward, with their canvas-topped wagons bursting with household
goods, the women and children often walking alongside; soldiers, for
the forts of the Indian country; gold-seekers with pack mules; “tame”
Indians, from the reservations or from outside villages; parties
returning for the “States,” from California and Utah and the mountains,
some of them with droves of horses, some without anything at all.
It was a very important highway, this Salt Lake, California and Oregon
“Overland” Trail, which had one beginning at Leavenworth on the
Missouri, only six miles from the Cody place; and the Codys saw all the
travel that started on it. So no wonder Billy had made up his mind to
be a plainsman and work on the trail; and no wonder that Davy wanted to
do likewise. It seemed a useful work, and much needed; but it called
for stout mind and brave heart, as well as sturdy body. As for sturdy
body the work itself made people strong. The proper mind and heart were
the more necessary qualifications.
Billy soon took the two mules into Leavenworth, and returned them to
the company. When he came home, he gave his mother a double handful of
gold pieces.
“Will, it doesn’t seem possible that you’ve earned all this!”
“Well, I guess if you’d been along, ma, you’d have known that I earned
them; wouldn’t she, Dave!” laughed Billy. “I earned enough just while I
was in the mule fort to keep us the rest of our lives――only, I haven’t
got it yet.”
“You’ll never go out again, will you, Will?” appealed his mother
anxiously. “Promise me.”
Billy put his arms about her and hugged her tight. She was a frail
little mother, not nearly as strong as Billy, and she never felt well,
Billy had explained to Dave. Now he said, holding her:
“I can’t promise, ma. We need the money, and that’s the quickest way
to earn it. But I always come back safe, don’t I? Don’t you ever worry
about _me_. I can take care of myself. I’m as good as a man, you know.”
Mother Cody only sighed, and kissed him. She said nothing more.
V
DAVY GOES ON HERD
“Red,” said Billy, after three weeks had passed, “what do you want to
do? I’m going out again.”
“Where, Billy?” asked Dave.
“Out across the plains. Got another job with a bull train. I can’t
stand this loafing. You can stay here, I reckon. My mother’ll be glad
to have you. Or I’ll get you a job with the company.”
Of course, Davy had no notion of staying on at the Cody home, where
means were scant and where Mrs. Cody, helped by Billy, had all she
could do to take care of her own children. No; he wanted to earn his
way in the world.
“I think I’d rather go to work,” he answered. “When will you start,
Billy?”
“Next week. Come on into town. We’ll see Mr. Russell. He’ll fix you
out.”
“Maybe I’m too small.”
“No, you aren’t. Size isn’t what counts, out here. It’s what a fellow
does, not how he looks. See?”
This sounded encouraging, for Billy seemed to know. Hadn’t he gone
to work himself herding cattle for the Russell, Majors & Waddell
Freighting Company, when he was aged only ten? And now at thirteen he
was almost the same as a man! Davy determined to show his own pluck,
and do his best, and make himself a place as a worker in those busy
days when the great West was being settled.
That noon Billy borrowed a couple of ponies from a neighbor, and he and
Dave rode in to Leavenworth City.
“That Mr. Russell is the finest man you ever met,” declared Billy.
“Mr. Majors is a good one, too, but Mr. Russell is the one who’s taken
special care of me. He was a mighty close friend of my father’s; when
dad was selling hay to Fort Leavenworth Mr. Russell let me ride about
the country with him and I learned a lot about the freighting business.
Times looked kind of hard and somebody stole my pony, and he told me
to keep a stiff upper lip and come to Leavenworth and he’d give me a
job herding at twenty-five a month. That was four years ago. I’ve been
working for the company ever since, except when I had to go to school.
When I started in, it was just Russell & Majors――William H. Russell
and Alexander Majors; last spring Mr. William Waddell joined them,
and now the company is Russell, Majors & Waddell. Mr. Majors has been
freighting ever since eighteen forty-eight, on the Santa Fe Trail down
into New Mexico. Now the company hauls all the government stuff from
Fort Leavenworth across the plains to Fort Laramie and over to Salt
Lake. That train I went out with last summer carried nearly two hundred
thousand pounds of freight. They’re running about three thousand wagons
now, and use four thousand men. They’re a big company, but they treat
their men right; and whatever Mr. Russell or Mr. Majors offers you, you
take. If we don’t find either of them at the fort they’ll be in town, I
reckon.”
Fort Leavenworth was located on the high land, overlooking the Missouri
River, two miles above Leavenworth City. It was an important, solid
fort, with stone buildings grouped about a large parade ground, and the
flag floating in the breeze. Soldiers of the infantry, cavalry, and
dragoons were moving hither-thither, drilling or attending to other
duties, and on the outskirts of the post were parked a great number of
freight wagons, attended by their teamsters.
As he and Davy rode through the wagons, on either side of the trail,
Billy called out to one of the men.
“Hello, Buck.”
“Hello, Billy.”
“Is Mr. Russell around here?”
“Yes. He’s over at the quartermaster’s office.”
“When do you pull out, Buck?”
“Thursday the tenth, Billy.”
“All right. I’ll be on hand.”
“That’s Buck Bomer,” explained Billy, as he and Davy rode on. “He’s the
wagon boss I’m going out with. Now we’ll find Mr. Russell.”
They had no difficulty in passing the guard stationed beside the road
where it entered the edge of the post. Billy seemed to be a familiar
figure here. He led the way to a large building that looked like
a warehouse, where several freight wagons were standing and where
soldiers and civilians were trudging about, as if loading freight.
At the end of the platform Billy slipped off his horse, and tied him;
Dave did likewise.
“Come on,” bade Billy. “There’s Mr. Russell now. That sandy little man
talking with the officer. We’ll hail him when we get the chance.”
They lingered a few minutes, while Billy edged closer, waiting to be
recognized. Davy followed him about anxiously. Presently Mr. Russell
caught sight of Billy, and smiled and nodded. The officer turned away,
and Billy sprang forward to seize the opportunity.
“How are you, Billy,” greeted Mr. Russell. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve brought my friend Dave Scott over, Mr. Russell,” informed Billy.
“He’s the boy I spoke about. He’d like a job, if you can give it to
him.”
Mr. Russell eyed Dave up and down. A small man was Mr. Russell. He had
a freckled complexion, a rather dried-up appearance, and an abrupt
manner; and he was as keen as tacks. He did not seem to be a man who
could handle rough teamsters; but evidently he could. Davy tried to
stand his gaze, and not to be embarrassed.
“What can you do?”
“He’ll tackle anything.”
“He’s the boy who left his shirt to the buffalo, is he?”
“Yes, sir. We all liked him with the wagons.”
“Well, I can’t send him out this time. We don’t need him with a train.”
Mr. Russell spoke directly to Davy. “Did you ever herd?”
“Not much, sir. But I think I could.”
“Well, you go on down to Leavenworth and see Mr. Majors. He’s hiring
the herding end of the business. If he wants to take you on, all
right.” And Mr. Russell turned away. He was a man of short speech.
“Much obliged, Mr. Russell,” answered the two boys.
“Come on, Dave,” bade Billy, making for the two ponies.
They mounted, to go on to Leavenworth City. This was in plain sight
from the high land where the fort was located. It was nestled
prettily in a wooded basin beside the river two miles southeast. Fort
Leavenworth was on the trail between it and Salt Creek Valley, and the
trail continued to the Missouri at the town itself.
A lively place Leavenworth proved to be. It contained about five
thousand people, living there, and a lot more who were simply pausing
until they had outfitted for the trail westward. The streets were
crowded with teams and wagons and people; and the river was dotted with
rowboats, barges and several steamboats.
Billy Cody hustled right along, without giving Dave much time to look
about. Evidently he was bound for the company office. In fact, suddenly
he said so.
“There’s the Planters’ Hotel, Red,” he spoke, pointing. “It’s the
biggest. The company’s office is right across the street, kittycorner.
See it?”
Kittycorner from the Planters’ Hotel (which was a large three-story
building, with a wide porch and a verandah, too, running around its
face) Dave saw a sign reading, in big letters, “Russell, Majors &
Waddell,” on a brick building. The streets hereabouts were more crowded
than at any other point, and the two boys had difficulty in threading
their way, dodging people and horses and oxen and wagons.
“Better tie up here,” spoke Billy abruptly, his quick eye sighting
a vacant hitching spot at the sidewalk. “This place is getting too
populous for me; can’t hardly breathe.”
They wedged in, tied their horses, and Billy led the way to the
Russell, Majors & Waddell office――headquarters of the great overland
freighting firm.
“That’s Mr. Majors at the desk,” he informed, undertone, to Dave, on
the threshold. And――“How do you do, Mr. Waddell?” he said respectfully,
as another man was brushing past them.
“How-do-do, Billy,” responded the man. “Back again, are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, take care of yourself, my boy,” and Mr. Waddell hastened away,
as if on matters important.
“He’s the third partner,” whispered Billy. “But you don’t see him very
often. Mr. Majors and Mr. Russell seem to run the plains part of the
business.”
Mr. Waddell had been a stoutly-built man, with florid complexion and
full, heavy face inclining to jaw. Mr. Majors was almost his opposite,
being a rather tall man, although strongly built, with a kindly, sober
face and a long brown beard. As Billy and Dave approached his desk he
glanced up.
“How do you do, Mr. Majors?” said Billy, hat in hand.
“How are you, Billy?”
“This is my friend Dave Scott, Mr. Majors. He’s looking for a job. He’s
been staying at my house since we came in last month with Lew Simpson’s
train from Laramie. I’m going out again in a day or so, and he wants to
get to work. We saw Mr. Russell up at the fort, and he said for us to
come down here to see you.”
“When did you see him?” queried Mr. Majors crisply.
“We just come from him. He thought there might be a job of herding
open.”
“That boy’s pretty young.”
“He’s not any younger than I was when I started in, Mr. Majors.” Billy
spoke like a man, and Mr. Majors appeared to regard him as a man.
“Where are your parents?” asked Mr. Majors of Davy.
Dave gulped.
“I haven’t any. I was with my uncle.”
“Where’s he?”
Davy shook his head and gulped again. Billy helped him out.
“The Injuns struck their wagon on the trail and wiped them out, Mr.
Majors. The Cut Nose band had Dave, and he came into our train after
that mule fort fight. He made good with us; Lew Simpson and Wild Bill
and George Woods and everybody will say that; and he’ll make good
anywhere you put him, I believe.”
“Well,” said Mr. Majors, “if he has no folks that’s a different matter.
I don’t want to encourage any boy to leave his home when he ought to be
going to school, and getting the right bringing up generally. It’s a
rough life for a boy or man either out on the plains. Do you swear?” he
demanded, suddenly.
Dave stammered.
“I don’t mean to. I don’t think I do.”
“That’s right,” asserted Mr. Majors. “I won’t have anybody around or
working for our company who blasphemes or lies. I won’t have it at all.
There’s no sense in swearing. All right then. I can put you at herding,
if you really want to work. We’ll pay you twenty-five dollars a month,
the same as we pay all herders. Got a horse?”
“No, sir,” said Davy.
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll furnish you a mount, of course. You can
have the one that other herder’s using. I hope you’ll make a better
herder than most of the others. Herding is a business just like any
other business, my boy. Whatever you do, do well. If you make a good
herder, we’ll give you a chance at something more. Nearly everybody
has to start in at herding. Billy here did. Now he’s drawing full pay
with the wagon trains. He’ll tell you what to do. You can sign the pay
roll and start in this afternoon. Mr. Meyers,” and Mr. Majors addressed
his book-keeper, “have this boy sign the pay roll and the pledge. He’s
going on herd, with the cattle out west of town.”
“Yes, Mr. Majors,” answered the book-keeper, opening a large book.
“Come over here, boy.”
Davy thought this rather sudden, but made no comment. He walked boldly
over to the book-keeper.
“Sign here,” bade Mr. Meyers, indicating with his finger. And Davy
wrote, in his best manner: “David Scott.”
“Here’s something else,” bade the book-keeper. “Better read it. We all
have to sign it, if we work for the company.”
Davy read the slip. It said:
“While I am in the employ of Russell, Majors & Waddell, I agree not to
use profane language, not to get drunk, not to gamble, not to treat
animals cruelly, and not to do anything else that is incompatible with
the conduct of a gentleman. And I agree, if I violate any of the above
conditions, to accept my discharge without any pay for my services.”
Mr. Majors had strolled over, to inspect, as Davy signed. He nodded.
“I’m glad to see you can write, my boy,” he said. “That’s more than
some of the men can do. Billy here had to make his mark the first time
he signed with us.”
“He can write now, though,” informed Davy, loyally, remembering the
scribbling on the wagon. “I’ve seen him.”
“Yes, Billy’s found out that he’s no worse off for having put in some
time at school. He’ll be glad enough of all the school that he can get
before he’s gone much farther. Have you got bedding, my boy?”
“N-no, I haven’t,” faltered Davy. “Maybe I can find some though.”
“We can rake up a quilt or two for you,” offered Mr. Majors. But Billy
spoke quickly.
“No; we’ll fix him out with bedding. We’ve some extra quilts at the
house, Mr. Majors. I’ll get them on our way out.”
“Can you go out with him, Billy, and tell him what to do? Number two
herd is out six miles. You can find it. Stop at the fort and tell Mr.
Russell to furnish him a mule.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. You take him and post him.” Mr. Majors extended his hand
to Davy, who shook with him. “Do your duty, and a little more whenever
you have the chance; don’t curse, don’t learn to drink, keep Sunday as
much as you can, read the Bible, and look people in the face. Don’t do
anything your mother wouldn’t want you to do. I hope to hear a good
report of you. We need the right kind of men in the west, and the boy
like you will make the man of to-morrow.”
“Yes, sir,” said Davy. “I’ll try.”
He followed Billy out; and they remounted their ponies.
“Good,” remarked Billy, as they rode away up the thronged street.
“Mr. Majors is a queer sort, but he’s the right stuff. He’s a crank
on swearing and drinking. We all have to sign that pledge, and if he
hears a man swearing he goes straight to him and makes him quit. But
everybody likes Mr. Majors, and they all try to keep the pledge. Mr.
Russell isn’t so strict, though he backs up Mr. Majors. That’s a new
wrinkle to the plains――that pledge business.”
Davy nodded.
“There’s no sense in swearing, anyhow,” mused Billy. “Jiminy, but my
mother hated to have me start out bull whacking. It’s a tough life,
and some of the teamsters, too, are about as tough as you make ’em.
Ma saw Mr. Russell and Mr. Majors and they talked with her and said
they’d look out for me: and she read the pledge, and so she let me go.
Lew Simpson is a hard looker, you know. She didn’t like him until she
found out from Mr. Russell that he wasn’t half as bad as he seemed. I’m
mighty glad I’m here to post you on that herding business. It’s no easy
job herding a thousand cattle. But you’ll make good. All you have to do
is to tend to your job. Mother’ll fix you up with bedding, and if you
need any clothes that we haven’t got, you can get them on the company
account and they’ll take it out of your pay. See?”
So, Billy chatting and Davy listening, they trotted along on the road
up to the fort.
Mr. Russell was still at the quartermaster’s building busy loading a
bull train and checking it up. Billy reported to him, and he nodded.
“All right,” he said. “On your way out you tell Buck Bomer to give you
a mule from his outfit.”
They found Buck in the wagon camp outside the fort. He turned over to
them a little mouse-colored mule, with a rawhide bridle and an old
stock saddle. The bridle had rope lines and the saddle was worn and
ragged, and the saddle-blanket was a piece of sacking. Altogether the
equipment looked rather sorry, but Davy said not a word. He made up his
mind that he would be better than his outfit.
“You don’t care,” consoled Billy. “It’s good enough as a starter. If
you need better you’ll get it after a while. We’ll stop at the house,
and get the other stuff. Then we’ll go on. I know where the herd is.”
VI
DAVY HAS AN ADVENTURE
At least a thousand cattle were spread out, grazing in the grassy
bottom. Much of the grass was still green, some patches had been cured
by the sun; and the broad expanse, under the blue sky, with the shadows
of the cattle now clearly cast by the setting sun, made a pleasant
picture. On the edges of the grazing herd were the herders, sitting
their horses or mules. The canvas top of the mess wagon shone white
beyond the herd. Down the hill into the valley, and up the opposite
hill, out of the valley, were toiling slowly two emigrant trains of
wagons and people, following the Overland Trail into the farther west.
“We’ll go over to the mess wagon and I’ll introduce you; then I’ll skip
back,” said Billy. “Stand in with the cook, do what the boss tells you,
mind your own business, and you’ll get along fine. Don’t be fresh,
that’s all.”
Davy resolved that he would remember. He wanted to be a success.
On their mounts they galloped across the turfy bottom, and rounding
the herd arrived at the mess wagon. Smoke was already rising from the
cook’s fire; and the cook himself was moving about, from wagon to
fire, and fussing with his row of black kettles, set beside the fire or
atop the coals. The fire had been made in a long shallow trench. The
pots had covers on them. Their steam smelled good.
The cook merely glanced up as the two boys approached. Halting and
dismounting nimbly, Billy hailed him.
“Hello, Sam.”
The cook now paused and gazed. He was a short, pudgy man, with a big
bristly moustache and a broken nose. He wore a wide brimmed hat and a
floursack apron, and boots. Odd enough he looked, cooking at the fire.
“Hello, Billy. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing much. Sam, this is Dave Scott, a friend of mine. He’s going on
herd. Dave, shake hands with Sam Bean, the best cook on the plains.”
Davy advanced and shook hands with Sam.
“Shucks,” mused Sam, surveying Dave. “Another kid, is it? Who sent him
out; the old man?”
“Yes; Mr. Majors. Mr. Russell, too.”
“Well,” said Sam, proceeding with his cooking, “I hope he’s a better
kid than that other one we’ve had. That lad was no good. All he thought
of was eatin’ an’ sleepin’.”
“Davy’ll make good, all right,” assured Billy, loyally. “I’ll back him
up on that. He came in with us in Lew Simpson’s train.”
“He’s the kid who left his shirt to the buffalo?” queried Sam.
“You bet,” answered Billy.
“Huh!” grunted Sam, now surveying Davy with new interest and a little
respect.
“Where’s the boss?” asked Billy.
“Comin’,” said Sam, with jerk of his head.
A horseman was galloping in from the herd; but part way he whirled, and
went back again.
“That’s Hank Bassett, isn’t it?” asked Billy, keen eyed. “He’s a good
one, Dave. He’ll treat you right if you don’t get fresh. Well, I reckon
I’ll light out. I’ll leave you with Sam. See you later.”
He shook hands with Dave and climbed on his pony.
“Where you bound, Billy?” queried Sam.
“Going out again Thursday with Buck Bomer to Laramie.”
“Good luck.”
“Same to you,” replied Billy, and rode away. Looking back once, he
waved his hand; Sam and Dave waved answer.
“Might as well unpack your mule an’ lay out your beddin’,” advised Sam,
gruffly, to Dave. “Wouldn’t unsaddle yet, though. Wait till the boss
comes in. Tie your mule to a wagon wheel.”
Davy promptly set about it; he unpacked his bedding, and tied his mule.