But the greatest procession went out over the new route from Leavenworth southwest to the Kansas River; thence on to Fort Riley at the forks, and either northwest up the Republican branch or west up the Smoky Hill River branch. Still other people travelled by the Santa Fe Trail――the southernmost trail of all――up the Arkansas River to the mountains, and then north along the base of the mountains past Pike’s Peak itself to Cherry Creek and Denver. Mr. Russell, of Russell, Majors & Waddell, and Mr. John S. Jones put in a stage line to Denver by the Smoky Hill route. It was called the “Leavenworth & Pike’s Peak Express Company,” Jones & Russell, Proprietors. Two stages, travelling together for protection against the Indians, each drawn by four fine Kentucky mules and carrying six passengers, left Leavenworth every morning for Denver, and covered the 700 rolling miles in ten days. Soon the return stages would be arriving, and everybody was expecting great news. It was calculated that already 25,000 people had started for the diggings. The trails were said to be white with the wagons and the camps. The streets and the levee of Leavenworth were so full of fascinating sights that Davy took every moment he could spare from chores and school to go in with Billy and look and listen. The best place was in front of the Planters’ House Hotel, across the street from the office of Russell, Majors & Waddell. Here the stages started, and here people gathered to bid one another goodby. The conversation was most interesting, as people on the ground called up to passengers in the stages. “Send us back a sack of gold, John.” “Hold tight to your scalps, boys.” “Let us know how things are. Be sure and write.” “Kill a buffalo for me, Frank. I want a good big hide, remember.” “Leave a message for me on the top of Pike’s Peak.” “Look out for the ‘Rapahoes.’” “Goodby, goodby, old fellow.” “Don’t forget to give Robinson that package from his wife.” “Most of these people don’t know where they’re going or why,” remarked a man near Davy, to another man. “There’ll be much suffering from this mad rush.” He was a tall, slender, erect man of about thirty-five, with long bronzed, florid face, sandy complexion and crisp, sandy beard. “That’s Lieutenant William T. Sherman, formerly of the Army. He’s practising law here now with Judge Ewing,” said another man, aside, to a companion. In a few more years he would be the famous “General Sherman.” Billy Cody, too, was of the opinion that the green-horns on the trail would meet with trouble; and in Davy’s opinion Billy ought to know. Already reports were to the effect that the route up the Smoky Hill and the Republican were short of grass and exposed to the Indians, and that the emigrants were being compelled to throw away much of their baggage.