“That’s pretty tough, Dave,” he spoke across as they proceeded in the one direction while the wagon proceeded in the other. “Those people haven’t any more idea where the Cherry Creek country is than these cattle have; but there they go, woman and baby and all. They’ll find what seven hundred miles of ox travel means before they get through. And then they’re liable to be disappointed.” “Don’t you think there’s any gold out there?” asked Davy. “Oh, folks have been panning out a little gold for half a dozen years, but it hasn’t amounted to shucks. I’d rather take my chances herding cattle. Expect we’ll know more about it soon now. A gang are out there from Georgia, who know how to mine; and the governor sent out another gang from Lawrence last summer, you know, to locate a town and report back.” That was so. Davy was familiar with the name “Cherry Creek,” which seemed to be a new gold region lying out at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, near Pike’s Peak. But, like Mr. Baxter, the majority of the herders and teamsters seemed to put little stock in it. They were waiting to “see color,” as some of them who had been to Salt Lake and to California put it. Behind, a little party of travellers eastward bound along the trail were overtaking the herd. There were three of them mule-back, driving a couple of pack mules. As they passed on Mr. Baxter’s side they cheered and waved good-naturedly. “Hurrah for Cherry Creek!” they hallooed. “You’re heading the wrong way, pardner.” “Why?” “Turn around and make your fortune. That’s why.” “Already made it,” retorted Mr. Baxter. “How, stranger?” “Herding cattle at twenty-five a month and grub. Have you made yours?” “Mighty near. We’ve seen gold. The Georgia crowd’s been finding it. We’re just back from the Cherry Creek diggin’s. Thar’s plenty color thar, we tell you.” “Show me some.” “Hain’t got it, stranger. But it’s thar. We’re goin’ back in the spring. Better join us. Go out an’ buy lots in St. Charles City.” “No, sir. Buy ’em in Auraria, across the creek,” shouted another. “Auraria’s booming; St. Charles won’t last.” “Thanks,” laughed Mr. Baxter. “I’ll think about it. Just now twenty-five dollars in the pocket seems better than nothing in a hole in the ground.” “Wall, you’ll miss out,” warned one of the men as the little party pressed on in a great hurry. Mr. Baxter laughed and bantered all the way in to Leavenworth. “We want to see some of that gold before we pack up and go on a wild goose chase, don’t we, Davy?” he called. “And I’d rather have a yoke of steers on the hoof than a city lot on paper.” This sounded like wisdom; but Davy imagined what an effect the report of those returned Cherry Creekers would have on that emigrant wagon! The men and the woman would be looking for the mountains more eagerly than ever.