And two stages they proved to be, as, skirting the procession of “pilgrims,” they dashed along, bound for Leavenworth. The first bore a lot of bright bunting and streamers, and on its sides a banner that said: “Greetings from the Gold Mountains of Kansas.” By its dusty appearance and the appearance of its driver and passengers, this coach evidently had come clear from Pike’s Peak. The second coach, close following, was its escort from Fort Riley in to Leavenworth. Speedily the word travelled through the column of Pike’s Peakers that the first coach actually was the first return coach from the gold mines, and that it carried to Leavenworth $3500 in gold dust. Leavenworth, as was afterwards reported, had a big celebration. Of course, the sight of the travel-stained coach, and the rumors as to what it contained and what news it bore, excited the emigrants. Some of them began to throw away stuff in order to lighten their loads; so that from here on to Fort Riley the trail was strewn with what Billy called “useless plunder.” But the Hee-Haw party were experienced enough to start out only with what they needed, and they had nothing to throw away yet. The last of the settlements was Junction City, just beyond Fort Riley. While the rest of the party were making camp along with the other “pilgrims,” outside the little town, Billy and Dave rode the mules in to see if there were any provisions worth buying. Mr. Baxter, the cook, said that if they could find any dried apples he would make a pie! But there were no dried apples or any other such delicacies in rude little Junction City, here at the edge of the Indian country. Every store seemed to be a saloon; and the streets were thronged with rough emigrants and soldiers from the fort. Only whom did the boys meet but Wild Bill Hickok! He was standing on the edge of the plank sidewalk of the one business street, with several other men, apparently expecting something. “Why, hello, Bill!” “Hello, Billy. How are you, Dave? Where’d you come from, if I may ask?” “Salt Creek,” answered Billy Cody. “Going to Pike’s Peak,” announced Davy. “Good enough,” approved Wild Bill. “People are taking a little gold out o’ thar, that’s sure. But I don’t believe all I hear.” “What are you doing here, Bill?” “I? Well, I may go to the diggin’s myself, and I may drive stage. To-day’s stage westbound is due now. That’s what we’re looking for.” “She’s a comin’,” remarked one of the other men, with a nod. Sure enough, up the trail from the east, along the north bank of the Smoky Hill Fork, in the dusk and the dust came at a gallop the Leavenworth stage for the Pike’s Peak country, drawn by its four fine mules. It halted before the Junction House Hotel, and the passengers clambered stiffly out from under the canvas top that arched over the wagon box.