For the bull train there were two halts each day: at noon and at evening, when the wagons were corralled, usually by the right and left wing, the oxen unyoked, and camp made for rest and meals. Then, about one o’clock and about six in the morning, the march was resumed. The men walked beside their wheel cattle and by stepping out a little and “throwing” the whip to the full extent of lash, stock and arm, they could flick the backs of their lead cattle. However, they rarely needed to use the whip as a punishment. The whole train maintained the pace set by Joel’s lead team and followed that. Each team kept close behind the wagon in front of them, so that the lead yoke’s noses almost touched the rear end. It was a close formation, preserved by the bulls themselves without urging. The teamsters really had little to do while on the level trail. But when the trail was very soft, or creeks or gullies had to be crossed, then there was work for all. Sometimes the teams were doubled, until ten or twelve yoke of bulls were stretched as one team, hauling the heavy wagons across in turn. It was a great sight――the long line of panting, puffing oxen, with nostrils wide and eyes bulging and muscles of neck and back knotted, tugging all together, while the whips cracked and the men shouted, and slowly the huge white-topped wagon, swaying and creaking, and weighing, with its load, five tons or more, rolled onward out of difficulty. At such times Davy felt like giving the sweaty bulls a cheer. In the morning early, before the sun blazed and the dust and wind gathered, the plains were wonderfully peaceful, and in the clear air the flowers seemed many and the antelope and rabbits and prairie dogs more lively. In the evening the men joked and told stories and sang songs around their camp-fire ashes. The favorite songs appeared to be one called “Days of Forty-nine,” another called “Betsy From Pike,” and another called “Joe Bowers.” This was a very long song, especially when the men made up verses to fit it. Charley said that anybody could begin it at Leavenworth and end it at the mountains. But the song that Davy liked the best was sung by “Sailor Bill,” one of the bull whackers. It was “The Bay of Biscay, O!” and in a deep bass voice Bill sang it finely, because he had been a sailor: Loud roared the dreadful thunder, The rain a deluge show’rs; The clouds were rent asunder By lightning’s vivid pow’rs. The night both drear and dark Our poor devoted bark, Till next day There she lay, In the Bay of Biscay O! It was a strange song to sing out here in the midst of the dry plains; but with Bill booming and his comrades joining in the chorus it sounded particularly good.