“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.