“Yes, sir. Ten days to Salt Lake is the schedule――an average of one hundred and twenty miles a day. At Salt Lake the express and passengers are transferred to the George Chorpening line to Placerville, California, and from Placerville they’re sent on to Sacramento and San Francisco. I understand the time from the Missouri River to San Francisco will be about eighteen days.” “You haven’t heard what’s to be the name of the new company, have you, Bob?” “Yes, sir. ‘Central Overland, California & Pike’s Peak Express’ is to be the name; the ‘C. O. C. & P. P.’” Stables and express station and a relay of horses had been established adjacent to the post. The old stage company, Hockaday & Liggett, had worked on a loose, go-as-you-please system which was very different from the way that Russell, Majors & Waddell went at it. Now, with things in readiness along the line, clear to Salt Lake City, Tuesday dawned on a post eagerly hoping that Bob Scott’s calculation would prove true. About eleven o’clock a murmur and hustle in the post announced that the stage was in sight. It came with a rush and a cheer――its four mules at a gallop, up the trail, the big coach swaying behind them, the driver firm on his box. Stain of dust and mud and rain and snow coated the fresh coach body, for all the way from the Missouri River, 600 miles, had it come, through all kinds of weather, and had been travelling night and day for six days. At top and bottom of the frame around the stiffened canvas ran the legend: “Central Overland California & Pike’s Peak Express Co.” “Wild Bill” Hickok himself it was who, coolly tossing his lines to the hostler, waiting to take them and lead the horses to the stable, drawing off his gloves bade, for the benefit of his passengers: “Gentlemen, you have forty minutes here for dinner.” At the same moment the station keeper’s wife began to beat a sheet-iron gong as dinner signal. XX FAST TIME TO CALIFORNIA Dave was heartily glad to see Wild Bill again――and Wild Bill seemed glad to see Davy. “I heard you were out in this region,” said Wild Bill, after they had shaken hands. “Billy Cody told me.” “When did you see him, Bill?” “Last time was when I was out to his house about a month ago. He was planning on a trapping and hunting trip with a man named Harrington up in the Republican country north of Junction City. But he’ll be on the trail again in the spring; you mark my word.” “So you’re driving stage, are you, Bill?” “Yes; I’m running between Horse Creek and Laramie, forty-two miles. It’s a great outfit, the C. O. C. & P. P.――the finest coaches and mules I’ve ever seen, and plenty of stations and feed. Now it’s up to the drivers to make the schedule.” And Wild Bill sauntered off, nodding to acquaintances, to wash and eat.