“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.”