THE CARAVAN

At last came the day, and the dawn of it showed a cloudless sky, a sleeping town and a little caravan winding, with rattle of chains and squeak of harness, past the silent, straggling houses, bound westward for the "prairie ocean." Despite the mud and the slowness of the going high spirits ruled the little train. Youth was about to do and dare, eager for the gamble with fate; and age looked forward to the lure of the well-known trail even as it looked backward in memory for faces and experiences of the years gone by. The occasion was auspicious, for the start was prompt to the minute and earlier than any they would make later. They were on the luxuriant and better wooded eastern rim of the great plains, and would be on it for several days.

Joe Cooper, driving the small wagon with Patience seated at his side, led the way, eager and exultant. Following him closely came his two great Pittsburg wagons with their still spotless new sheets, each loaded with nearly three tons of selected merchandise, their immense wheels grumbling a little as they slid a fraction of an inch along their well-greased axles, their broad, new tires squashing out twin canyons in the mud. Next came two emigrant wagons, their proprietors fearing that they would not reach the Oregon-bound train at its rendezvous in time to leave with it. Under their stained and patched canvases two women slept as though in a steady bed, their children at their sides. Weeks of this traveling had given to them the boon of being able to fall asleep almost at will. Then came Enoch Birdsall and Alonzo Webb, sober and gay, abusing each other humorously, each in his own wagon, handling their strung-out teams with nonchalant ease. Close to the rear of the last wagon came the eight mules of Tom Boyd and Hank Marshall, four to a string, followed by their horse-mounted owners; and behind them were Jim Ogden and Zeb Houghton, each driving two mules before them.

The road was in execrable condition, its deep ruts masked by a mud as miry as it appeared to be bottomless, and several times the great wagons were mired so hard and fast that it took the great ox teams of Alonzo and Enoch, hooked on in addition to the original mule teams, to pull them out; and the emigrant wagons, drawn by over-worked oxen, gave nearly as much trouble. The story of their progress to Council Grove would be tiring, since it would be but little more than a recital of the same things over and over again—the problems presented by the roads.

At Round Grove they said good-bye to the emigrants, who joined the rear guard of their own caravan at this point. Along the so-called Narrows, the little ridge forming the watershed between the Kansas and Osage rivers, for a stretch extending quite some distance westward from Round Grove, the roads were hardly more than a series of mudholes filmed over and masked by apparently firm ground. In some of these treacherous traps the wagons often sank to the hubs, and on two occasions the bottom of the wagon-box rested on the mud. It was hopeless to try to pull them out with the animals so deep in mud, and only by finding more firm ground along the side of the trail, the use of long chains and the aid of every draft animal in the train were the huge wagons dragged out. The men themselves waded into the traps, buried at times almost to the waist, and put their shoulders to wheels and wagon-boxes and pushed and heaved and floundered; and they kept their spirits high despite the penetrating cold of the mire. Under these conditions stops were frequent to rest both teams and men, the "noonings" were prolonged, camp made earlier in the evening than was usual and left later in the morning. The tally of miles was disheartening, and to make matters worse a heavy downpour of chilling rain fell half a day before they reached 110 Mile Creek which, besides making everyone miserable and spoiling the cooking, swelled the stream so much that it was crossed only with the greatest difficulty.

One of the few things they were grateful for was the fact that they did not have to keep regular guard watches at night, for while the Kaws and Osages might steal an animal or two in hope of receiving a little whiskey, powder, or tobacco for its return, there was no danger of wholesale stampeding, and a man or two was sufficient to watch the camp.

One pleasant incident occurred when they pulled in sight of Switzler's Creek, where they found another section of the caravan in camp. The augmented train now numbered about twenty-six wagons and formed a rear guard worthy of the name. The weather had cleared again and the sun shone brightly all the way to Council Grove. To offset the pleasant effect of joining the other train, it was at Switzler's Creek that a hard-pushed mule train overtook them. With it came the little Mexican and half a dozen of his compatriots, and several of Ephriam Schoolcraft's chosen bullies. At their appearance Hank Marshall found a new interest in life, and there was very little occurring in the new mule train that he missed. His habits now became a little similar to those of the cat tribe, for he resorted to his old trick of dozing while riding, catching naps at the noonings, before dark and after dawn. With him awake at night and Tom awake during the day, and with Jim Ogden's and Zeb Houghton's nocturnal prowlings thrown in the balance, it looked as though Hank's remark about "nobody ketchin' these beavers asleep" would be fully justified.

Council Grove was reached one noon, and they learned that they would have plenty of time to do the many little things neglected on the way, for they would stay here two days. This was welcome news, as it gave them an opportunity to let the draft animals rest and feed well in preparation for the long prairie haul ahead.

Council Grove of the caravan days is worthy of notice. It was the meeting place as well as the council place for those who were to cross the prairies together. To it ran the feeding roads, gradually growing as strands feed a rope, the loose and frayed ends starting from the Missouri River points and converging as they neared the grove. Named from a council and a treaty which took place there between a government commission sent out to survey a wagon road to the Arkansas River, and a tribe of Osages, in which safety for the traders was obtained from these savages, it was doubly well named because of the yearly councils which were held between the traders themselves to perfect the organization of the caravan.

The grove itself, of oak, ash, hickory, elm, and many other kinds of trees, was about half a mile wide and extended along the sides of the little valley of Council Grove Creek, a large tributary of the Neosho River. With its dense timber, its rich bottom pastures, and fine, high prairies it made an ideal spot for a rendezvous; and it was about the last of the really fine and productive country seen from Independence. Here were hard woods in plenty, the last to be found on the long trip, from which to obtain replacements for broken axles and other wagon parts. This also was the farthest point reached by the trains without real organization, for from here on every important movement was officially ordered.

Scattered about the beautiful, green little valley were wagons great and small, and piles of mule packs, each camp somewhat by itself. There was much calling and getting acquainted, fun and frolic, much hewing of trees, mending of gear, and, in general, busy preparation for the journey over the land of the short buffalo grass. Tenderfeet wasted their time and ammunition at target practice or in hunting for small game, and loafed to their hearts' content; but the experienced traveler put off his loafing and play until he knew that he had done everything there was to be done. There were horse races and mule races and even ox-team races; tugs of war, running, jumping, and, in fact, everything anyone could think of to help pass the time.

After a good night's sleep the Cooper party found there was little to do except to get timber for "spares," and notwithstanding that a spare axle was slung from under each of the huge freighters, Uncle Joe insisted that each wagon carry another, and he personally superintended the cutting. They had been obtained and slung in place beside the others when a bugle was heard and criers passed among the little camps calling everyone for roll call. Nearly two hundred persons answered, all but one of them being men, and then the electioneering began for the choice of captain. To be a success a caravan must have one head, and the more experienced he was the better it would be for the caravan.

Now came the real excitement of the day, for party spirit was strong and insistent, and the electioneering was carried on with such gusto that several fights grew out of it. There were four parties at first, among which was Mike Wardell's, comprising the rougher, more lawless frontier element. He was a close friend of Ephriam Schoolcraft and he had his admirers outside of his own class, for a group of tenderfeet which was impressed by his swaggering, devil-may-care manners backed him in a body; and another group which was solidly behind him was composed of the poorer Mexican traders. The second of the larger parties with a candidate in the field, who had been nominated by a series of caucuses, was made up of the more experienced and more responsible traders, veterans of the trail who put safety and order above all other considerations. This party nominated Zachary Woodson, who had more wagons in the caravan than any other one man, therefore having more at stake, and who had not missed his round trip over the route for a dozen years. His nomination split the Mexicans, for half of them had wagons and valuable freights, and were in favor of the best leadership.

At first Woodson flatly refused to run, sneeringly reminding his friends of the lack of cooperation he could expect from the very men who needed law and order and leadership most. He knew by bitter experience that the captain of a Santa Fe caravan had no real authority and that his orders were looked upon as mere requests, to be obeyed or not, as the mood suited. He was obdurate in his refusal until a split occurred in the other strong party and resulted in a disgraceful fight among its members, which was kept from having disastrous results only by the determined interposition of the more resolute members of his own party. This caused the two smaller factions to abandon their own candidates and throw themselves against Wardell, and resulted in the overwhelming election of the man best suited for the position.

His first act after grudgingly accepting the thankless leadership was to ask for a list of the men, wagons, and pack animals, and he so engineered the division of them that each section had as its lieutenant a man whom he could trust and who did not lack in physical courage so much needed to get some kind of order and to keep it. The great train was divided into four divisions, at the present to join so as to march in two columns; but later to spread out and travel in divisional order of four straight columns abreast, far enough apart so that the width of the whole front roughly would equal the length of a column.

Next came the arrangement of the watches, the most cordially hated of all caravan duties. In this train of nearly ninety wagons there were nearly one hundred and eighty men physically able to stand a guard, and no one who was able to stand his trick was let off. The captain preferred the regular and generally accepted system of two watches, each of four squads, which put one squad on duty for three hours each alternate night; but there were so many men for this disagreeable task that he allowed himself to be over-ruled and consented to a three watch system, six squads to the watch, which put one watch of nine men and a corporal on duty for two hours every third night. Almost any concession was worth making if it would arouse a little interest and a sense of duty in this very important matter of guarding the camp. The corporal of each squad arranged to shift up one tour each time their squad went on, which would give no one squad the same hours for its successive tours of duty. Nothing could have been fairer than this, but there were objectors in plenty. Each one of the kickers had his own, perfect plan. Some wanted smaller squads with the same number of watches so that each tour of duty would be less; some wanted two watches and smaller squads, to the same end, both of which would have caused endless changing of the guard, endless awakenings all night long, with practically continuous noise and confusion. Captain Woodson, having abandoned the regular and tried system so as to let the men feel a sense of cooperation, flatly refused to allow any further changes, and in consequence earned the smoldering grudges of no small number, which would persist until the end of the trail and provide an undercurrent of dissatisfaction quick to seize on any pretext to make trouble.

For the division officers he chose the four men he had in mind, after over-ruling a demand for a vote on them. As long as he was responsible for the safety of the caravan he declared that it was his right to appoint lieutenants whom he knew and could trust. The bickering had fresh fuel and continued strong all day, and it would last out the journey.

Arranging the divisions so far as possible to put friends together, with the exception of some of the tenderfoot parties, they were numbered, from left to right, as they would travel, and he was careful to put the more experienced plainsmen on the two outside ranks and, where possible, the better drivers in the two inner columns. These latter had a little more complex course to follow in case of sudden need to corral the caravan. For corralling while traveling in two columns, he instructed the drivers to follow the wagon ahead and to stop when his own wagon tongue came even with the rim of the rear wheel of the wagon he was following. In case of corralling in face of danger, they were to swing their teams to the inside of the leading wagon, so as to have all the animals on the inside of the corral; in ordinary camping they were to swing their teams in the other direction, so the animals would be ready to graze outside of the corralled wagons. They were to pay no attention to direction or to sudden inspirations, but were blindly to follow the wagon in front of them and to close up the gaps. The leading driver of each column would set the curving track which would bring the wagons into a great ellipse or a circle while moving in the two column formation.

The first and fourth columns were commanded by Jim Ogden and Tom Boyd, while the two inner columns were under a trader named Haviland and a sullen, mean-tempered trader of Independence and a warm friend of Schoolcraft. His name was Franklin, and while his personal attributes were unpleasant and he was a leader of the Schoolcraft element, he was a first class caravan man and had proved his coolness and resourcefulness in many a tight place. His appointment also served in a measure to placate the rebellious element, which nursed the thought that it could do about as it pleased in its own column. Whether they were right or wrong in this remained to be seen. While the two column formation was in use the first and second divisions made up one of them; the third and fourth, the other. To Tom's delight he found that the Cooper wagons had been assigned to his own division; but as an offset to this two wagons belonging to gallivanting tenderfeet had been placed directly behind them. It was not pleasant to think of these dandified city sports being so close to Patience Cooper all the way to Santa Fe. Like many men in love, he was prone to discount the intelligence and affections of the loved one and to let his fears threaten his common sense.

The first great watch went on duty at seven o'clock that night, more for the purpose of breaking the men in to their work than for any need of defense, for no Indian troubles, despite the rumors afloat in Independence, were to be looked for so far east. There was a great deal of joking and needless challenging that night and very little attempt to follow instructions. An Indian likes nothing better than a noisy, standing sentry; but this savage preference hardly would be shown in the vicinity of Council Grove. Woodson knew that discipline could not be obtained and that every man would do as he pleased until the encampment received a good scare, but his own sense of responsibility impelled him to make an effort to get it.

The next day was passed in resting, in placing the wagons in their order of march, and in drilling the drivers in caravan tactics; and that night the guard was as noisy as it had been the night before. The squad which went on duty at one o'clock contained two tenderfeet and between them they succeeded in shattering the monotony.

A quarter of an hour after the guard had been changed tenderfoot Number One thought he heard a sound and saw a movement. He promptly challenged and fired in the same instant. His weapon was a double-barreled fowling piece charged with buckshot, and there was no doubt about the deadly efficiency of such a combination when the corporal found the carcass of a mule with a hole in it nearly as big as a hat. The camp was thrown into an uproar, guns flashed from the wagons to the imminent peril of the rest of the sentries, and only the timely and rough interference of a cool-headed trapper kept the two four-pounders from being fired. They were loaded with musket balls and pebbles and trained on three wagons not fifty yards from them. Orders, counter orders, suggestions, shouts for balls, powder, flints, caps, patches, ramrods, and for about everything human minds could think of kept the encampment in a pandemonium until sense was driven into the panicky men and the camp allowed to resume its silence.

Tenderfoot Number Two heard and saw an Indian approaching him and fired his pistol at the savage. This took place near the end of the same guard tour. Only his fright and the poor light which made his wobbling aim all the more uncertain saved the life of his best friend who, restless and lonely, was going out to share the remainder of the watch with him. Again pandemonium reigned and weapons exploded, but this time the cattle stampeded in the darkness, doing the best they could with their handicap of hobbles.

At dawn the caravan was astir, the blast from the bugle not needed this time, for almost every man had animals to hunt for and drive in, and as a result of this breakfasts were late and the whole day's operations were thrown out of step. Finally after all the stampeded animals had been rounded up and the morning meal was out of the way, and things done at the last minute which should have been done the day before, preparations were started to get under way. Mules and horses broke loose and had to be chased and brought back; animals balked and kicked and helped to turn the camp into a scene of noisy confusion. Several parties found that they had neglected to cut spare axles and forthwith sallied off to get them. Others frantically looked for articles they had misplaced or loaned, one wagon being entirely unpacked to find a coffee pot and a frying pan which someone else later discovered at the edge of the creek where they had been dropped after they had been washed, their owner having left them to get a shot at a squirrel he thought he saw. The forehanded and wiser members of the caravan took advantage of the delay and turmoil to cut an extra supply of firewood against a future need, add to their store of picket stakes and also to fill their water casks to keep them swelled tight beyond question, against the time when the much dreaded dry stretch should be reached.

At last from the captain's camp the well-known summons of "Catch up!" was heard, and passed on from group to group along the creek. Those who had not yet hitched up their teams, almost at every case old hands at the game who were wise enough to let their animals graze until the last minute, now exultantly drove in their teams and filled the little valley with the rattle of chains, the clicking of yokes, the braying of indignant mules, and their own vociferations. Soon a teamster yelled "All's set!" and answering shouts rolled up and down the divisions. At the shouted command of "Stretch out!" whips cracked, harness creaked, chains rattled and wagons squeaked as the shouting drivers straightened out their teams. "Fall in!" came next, and the teams were urged into the agreed-upon order, the noses of the leaders of one team close to the tailboard of the wagon ahead. The second and third divisions, falling in behind the first and fourth, made two strings rolling up the long western slope of the valley toward the high prairie at its crest.

Songs, jokes, exultant shouts ran along the trains as the valley was left behind, for now the caravan truly was embarked on the journey, and every mile covered put civilization that much farther in the rear. Straight ahead lay the trail, beaten into a plain, broad track leading toward the sunset, a mark which could not be mistaken and which rendered the many compasses valueless so far as the trail itself was concerned.

The first day's travel was a comparatively short one, and during the drive the officers rode back along the lines and again explained the formation which would be used at the next stopping place. This point was so near that the caravan kept on past the noon hour and did not stop until it reached Diamond Spring, a large, crystal spring emptying into a small brook close to a very good camping ground. The former camp no sooner had been left than the tenderfeet began to show their predilection to do as they pleased and to ride madly over the prairie in search of game which was not there, finally gravitating to a common body a mile or more ahead of the wagons, a place to which they stuck with a determination worthy of better things.

At Diamond Spring came the first clash against authority, for the captain had told each lieutenant to get his division across all streams before stopping. The word had been passed along the twin lines and seemed to have been tacitly accepted, yet when the wagons reached the brook many of the last two divisions, thinking the farther bank too crowded and ignoring the formation of the night encampment, pulled up and stopped on the near side. After some argument most of them crossed over and took up their proper places in the corral, but there were some who expressed themselves as being entirely satisfied to remain where they were, since there was no danger from Indians at this point. The animals were turned loose to graze, restrained only by hobbles until nightfall, the oxen in most cases yoked together to save trouble with the stubborn beasts until they should become trained and more docile. They were the most senseless of the draft animals, often stampeding for no apparent cause; the sudden rattle of a chain or a yoke often being all that was needed to turn them into a fleshy avalanche; and while the Indians did not want oxen, they seemed to be aware of the excitable natures of the beasts and made use of their knowledge to start stampedes among the other animals with them, much the same as fulminate of mercury is used to detonate a charge of a more stable explosive.

The first two watches of the night were pleasant, but when Tom Boyd's squad went on duty an hour before midnight there was a change in the weather, and before half an hour had passed the rain fell in sheets and sent some of the guards to seek shelter in the wagons. Two of them were tenderfeet, one of Schoolcraft's friends and a trader. Tom was the so-called corporal of this watch and he was standing his trick as vigilantly as if they were in the heart of the Kiowa or Comanche country. He carefully had instructed his men and had posted them in the best places, and he knew where each of them should be found. After half an hour of the downpour he made the rounds, called the roll and then slipped back into the encampment in search of the missing men. Not knowing them well enough at this time he did not know the wagons to which they belonged, and he had to wait until later to hunt them out.

Dawn found a wet and dispirited camp as the last guard returned to the wagons an hour before they should have left their posts. Not a fire would burn properly and not a breakfast was thoroughly cooked. Everyone seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, and the animals were mean and rebellious when driven in for the hobbles to be removed and picket ropes substituted to hold them. Breakfast at last over, the caravan was about to start when Tom went along his own division and called four men together.

"Last night you fellers quit yer posts an' slunk back ter yer wagons," he said, ominously. "Two of ye air tenderfeet, an' green ter this life; one is a trader an' th' other is an old hand on th' trail. You all ought ter know better. I'm lettin' ye off easy this time, but th' next man that breaks guard is goin' ter git a cussed fine lickin'. If it's necessary I'll make an invalid out o' any man in my squad that sneaks off his post. Git back ter yer wagons, an' don't fergit what I've said."

The tenderfeet were pugnacious, but doubtful of their ground; the trader was abashed by the keen knowledge of his guilt and the enormity of his offense. He was a just man and had no retort to make. The teamster, a bully and a rough, with a reputation to maintain, scowled around the closely packed circle, looking for sympathy, and found plenty of it because the crowd was anxious to see the corporal, as personifying authority, soundly thrashed. They felt that no one had any right to expect a man to stand guard in such a rain out in the cheerless dark for two hours, especially when it was admitted that there was no danger to be feared. Finding encouragement to justify his attitude, and eager to wipe out the sting of the lecture, the bully grinned nastily and took a step forward.

"Reg'lar pit-cock, ain't ye?" he sneered. "High an' mighty with yer mouth, ain't ye? Goin' ter boss things right up ter th' hilt, you air! Wall, ye—I'm wettin' yer primin', hyar an'——"

Tom stopped the words with a left on the mouth, and while the fight lasted it was fast and furious; but clumsy brute strength, misdirected by a blind rage, could not cope with a greater strength, trained, agile, and cool; neither could a liquor soaked carcass for long take the heavy punishment that Tom methodically was giving it and come back for more. As the bullwhacker went down in the mud for the fifth time, there was a finality about the fall that caused his conqueror to wheel abruptly from him and face the ring of eager and disappointed faces.

"I warn't too busy ter hear some o' th' remarks," he snarled. "Now's th' time ter back 'em up! If ye don't it makes a double liar out o' ye! Come on—step out, an' git it over quick!" He glanced at the two pugnacious tenderfeet. "You two make about one man, th' way we rate 'em out hyar; come on, both o' ye!"

While they hesitated, Captain Woodson pushed through the crowd into the ring, closely followed by Tom's grim and silent friends, and a slender Mexican, the latter obviously solicitous about Tom's welfare. In a few moments the excitement died down and the crowd dispersed to its various wagons and pack animals. As Tom went toward his mules he saw Franklin, the tough officer of the third division, facing a small group of his own friends, and suddenly placing his hand against the face of one of them, pushed the man off his balance.

"I'll cut yer spurs," Franklin declared. "Fust man sneaks off guard in my gang will wish ter G-d he didn't!" He turned away and met Tom face to face. "We'll larn 'em, Boyd," he growled. "I'm aimin' ter bust th' back o' th' first kiyote of my gang that leaves his post unwatched. If one o' them gits laid up fer th' rest o' th' trip th' others'll stand ter it, rain or no rain. Ye should 'a' kicked in his ribs while ye had 'im down!"

After a confused and dilatory start the two trains strung out over the prairie and went on again; but the rebellious wagon-owners on the east side of the creek were not with the caravan. They were learning their lesson.

The heavy rain had swollen the waters of the stream, stirred up its soft bed and turned its banks into treacherous inclines slippery with mud. When the mean-spirited teams had been hooked to the wagons and sullenly obeyed the commands to move, they balked in mid-stream and would not cross it in their "cold collars;" and there they remained, halfway over. In vain the drivers shouted and swore and whipped; in vain they pleaded and in vain they called for help. The main part of the caravan, for once united in spirit, perhaps because it was a mean one, went on without them, knowing that the recalcitrant rear guard was in no danger; the sullen spirit of meanness in every heart rejoicing in the lesson being learned by their stubborn fellow travelers. The captain would have held up the whole train to give necessary assistance to any unfortunate wagoner; but there was no necessary assistance required here, for they could extricate themselves if they went about it right; and there was a much-needed lesson to be assimilated. Their predicament secretly pleased every member of the main body, which was somewhat humorous, when it is considered that the great majority of the men in the main body had no scruples against disobeying any order that did not suit their mood.

Finally, enraged by being left behind, the stubborn wagoners remembered one of the reasons advanced by the captain the day before when he had urged them to cross over and complete the corral. He had spoken of the difficulty of getting the animals to attempt a hard pull in "cold collars," when they would do the work without pausing while they were "warmed up." So after considerable eloquence and persistent urging had availed them naught, the disgruntled wagoners jumped into the cold water, waded to the head of the teams and, turning them around, got them back onto the bank they had left after vainly trying to lead them across. Once out of the creek, the teams were driven over a circle a mile in circumference to get their "collars warm." Approaching the creek at a good pace, the teams crossed it without pausing and slipped and floundered up the muddy bank at the imminent risk of overturning the wagons. Reaching the top, they started after the plodding caravan and in due time overtook it and found their allotted places in the lines, to some little sarcastic laughter. Never after that did those wagoners refuse to cross any stream at camp time, while their teams were warmed up and willing to pull; but instead of giving the captain any credit for his urging and his arguments, wasted the day before, they blamed him for going on without them, and nursed a grudge against him and his officers that showed itself at times until the end of the long journey. They would not let themselves believe that he would have refused really to desert them.

The caravan made only fifteen miles and camped on a rise of the open prairie, where practice was obtained in forming a circular corral, with the two cannons on the crest of the rise. The evolution was performed with snap and precision, the sun having appeared in mid-forenoon and restored the sullen spirits to natural buoyancy. The first squad of the watch went on duty with military promptness, much to the surprise of the more experienced travelers. Here for the first time was adopted a system of grazing which was a hobby with the captain, who believed that hobbled animals wasted too much time in picking and choosing the best grass and in wandering around. He maintained that picketed animals would eat more in the same time, and so each wagoner was given a stretch of prairie as wide as the space occupied by his wagon and reaching out about one hundred yards, fan-wise, from the corral. Picket ropes of from twenty to thirty feet in length let each animal of his team graze over a circle of that radius, the center being a stake of hardwood two inches thick and about two feet long. Some of the pickets were pointed with iron and had a band of the same metal shrunk around the upper and near the top to keep them from splitting under repeated axe blows. Many of the others had their points hardened by fire, and a pointed hickory or ash picket so treated will stand a lot of abuse. Before dark the pickets were shifted to new places and the animals left to graze all night, for Indian visits still were a matter of the future.

After they had finished their supper and washed and put away the few utensils, Tom as usual drifted off to spend an hour or two with Uncle Joe and Patience. He had not been gone long before Hank got up to loosen a pack to get a fresh plug of smoking tobacco, and caught sight of Pedro, the Mexican, sauntering toward him. The visitor grinned cheerfully and sat down by the dying fire, acting as though he had every reason to be accorded a cordial welcome.

"Hah!" exclaimed the self-invited guest in rare good humor. "Eet ess good to get out on thee gr-reat pr-rairie; but eet would haf been better eef we had went weeth thee fir-rst tr-rain. Weeth that tr-rain was thee tr-roops. We would be better pr-rotect."

Hank was undecided whether he should turn his back on the visitor and walk away, or grab him by the collar and the slack of his trousers and throw him from the fire, when habitual cunning made him grunt his endorsement of the other's remarks. He never was above acquiring what information he could get, no matter how trivial it might be.

"Yeah," he replied, passing the plug to his guest. "Fill yer pipe, or make a cigarette," he invited. "Them danged settlements air all right fer a change, but this hyar is a hull lot better; an' th' mountings air better'n this. As fer th' dragoons with th' fust train, it's plumb welcome to 'em. Thar more trouble than thar worth; an' they allus will be till they larn ter fight Injuns in th' Injun way. Th' idear o' usin' th' right hand fer a sword an' th' left fer a pistol! I'd ruther be with a passel o' mounting boys, fur's fightin' Injuns air consarned. Anyhow, jest when they git whar they're needed most, down on th' edge o' th' Kiowa an' Comanche country, th' danged dragoons has ter stop."

"But seÑor; they must not tr-read on Mexican soil," protested Pedro.

Hank grinned and choked down the retort he was about to make, nodding his head instead. "Shore; that's th' trouble. Now, if that danged Governor o' yourn would meet th' train at Cimarron Crossin' an' go th' rest o' th' way with it, thar'd be some sense ter troop escorts. Thar ain't a sojer along th' worst stretch o' th' whole trail. I'll bet ye we won't see hide ner hair o' 'em this side o' Cold Spring, when th' danger from raidin' Injuns is 'most over."

Pedro spread his hands helplessly. "That ees but too tr-rue, seÑor. Theese time we weel not see thee br-rave tr-roops of Mexico befor-re we r-reach thee Wagon Mound."

"Thar!" triumphantly exclaimed Hank. "What did I tell ye? They used ter git as fur as Cold Spring, anyhow; but now thar waitin' at th' Wagon Mound. Next thing we know they'll be waitin' at San Miguel fer ter see us safe th' last fifty miles through th' settlements!"

"Eet ees thee Apaches that ar-re to blame theese time," explained Pedro with oily smoothness. "They ar-re ver' bad theese year along thee Rio Gr-rande del Norte. Ver' bad!"

"Yeah," grunted Hank, puffing reflectively on his pipe. "Mexico an' Texas both claim all that country east o' th' Grande, but th' Apaches shore own it, an' run it ter suit theirselves. Bad Injuns, they air."

"Thee customs they ar-re ver' str-rict theese year," commented Pedro, closely watching his companion. "They ar-re ver' har-rd on my poor countrymen. They keep thee pr-rices so high on all theese goods."

"Tarnation bother," grunted Hank, beginning to get the reason for the Mexican's interest in him. "Too bad we don't know somebody that kin git us past 'em," he suggested, hopefully.

Pedro rubbed his hands complacently and helped to maintain a prolonged silence; which at last was broken by small talk concerning the caravan and its various members. After half an hour of this aimless conversation he arose to leave.

"Thee customs, as you haf so tr-ruly said, ar-re ver' gr-reat bother, SeÑor Hank. I know thees ver' much, for I haf a br-rother in thee custom house. We ar-re ver' close, my br-rother an' me. I weel see you again, seÑor. Eet ees good that we get acquaint, weeth so ver' many milla yet to tr-ravel together. Buenos noches, seÑor."

"Good night," replied Hank, carefully pulling the unburned wood out of the fire to serve for the cooking of the breakfast. He glanced after the dapper Mexican and grinned, re-roped the pack, and wandered off to join his trapper friends at their fire.

"Grease is slippery; an' so is greasers," he chuckled. "Wall, thar's plenty o' time to figger jest what he's arter. Might be cheatin' th' customs, an' then ag'in it might not."