Anyway, Hank Bassett and Sam the cook and the other men in the camp congratulated Davy on his spunk, until he wished that Billy Cody was there to know. But Billy was out with the bull train, and nobody might say when he would turn up again at this end of the trail. “I guess I’ll send you in with a part of the herd to-morrow, Red,” quoth Hank, as if that were a reward for Davy’s pluck. “How’d you like to see Leavenworth again?” “First-rate, Mr. Bassett,” answered Davy. “You and the Reverend can drive a bunch in as soon as we cut ’em out in the morning. Then you’d better report at the office. I don’t think we’ll need you out here till spring.” That was good word――at least, the Leavenworth trip was. Davy felt as though he would be glad to see people and buildings again and mingle with the world. Besides, he would be paid off at last, and would have a pocket full of money well earned. “All right, Davy,” spoke Mr. Baxter, with a grin. “We’ll take in the sights and buy a suit of clothes to boot, won’t we!” Davy nodded happily. The herd had drifted near to the great trail again, so he and Mr. Baxter drove their bunch along that route for the fort where they were to be delivered to the company. Riding behind in the dust on one flank while Mr. Baxter rode on the other, Davy felt like a veteran. The fort was eight miles distant, about three hours drive if they did not hurry. The best of the steers had been cut out from the main herd, so that without difficulty or pushing the trip might easily be made in less than three hours. The trail was still lively, with bull trains and overlanders making their best speed westward, to cross to their destination before the fall storms set in. One outfit, drawing aside to give the cattle room, hailed Davy with a question. It was an emigrant outfit, of a farm wagon covered with dingy cotton-cloth hood, hauled by a yoke of oxen. A woman holding a baby peered from the seat; a boy and girl about Davy’s age trudged alongside, a sallow, whiskered man, walking, drove with an ox-goad, and a younger man rode a mule. “How much further to the Cherry Creek gold diggin’s, young feller?” queried the whiskered man. “About seven hundred miles,” answered Davy. “When can we see the mountings?” quavered the woman, anxiously. “Oh, goodness!” laughed Davy. “Not for a long time. You’ve got to cross the plains yet.” “I didn’t think it was so fur,” she sighed. “Do you hear they’re findin’ lots of gold there?” “You didn’t come from out thar, did you?” asked the younger man. “No,” said Davy. “We’ve been herding in the valley here.” “Keep going and you’ll arrive sometime,” called Mr. Baxter. And he and Davy passed on.