“Now they’ll keep forever,” declared Hi, striding along after a brief inspection. “You can chaw ’em as they are, or fry ’em; and you’ll find ’em the sweetest meat you ever stuck between your jaws. Thar’s nothing better than buffalo jerky.” That afternoon they passed another stalled Pike’s Peak outfit――a whole family, this time, with their wagon mired down to the hubs in a boggy place that sometimes was a creek. The canvas top proclaimed: “Root Hog or Die! We’re from Ohio. Bound for the Gold Fields.” “Started rooting a leetle early, haven’t you?” queried Hi, as the Hee-Haw Express halted to survey. A thin, sallow woman was sitting on the ground holding a baby. Three children were playing about. A cookstove stood out, with dishes scattered around. A yoke of scrawny lame oxen grazed near. At Hi’s good-natured hail the woman gave a weak, tired answer. “Howdy, strangers. Yes, ’pears like we’re stuck. We’ve been here since yesterday. Can’t seem to get out.” “Are you alone?” asked Mr. Baxter. “No, sir. But my man he’s thar in the wagon, sick. Reckon he’s got the janders, and he isn’t any good.” But a boy younger than Davy walked forward from the other children. He was a ragged, sharp-faced youngster, and now full of business. “I’m boss of this outfit,” he asserted. “Say, can’t you hitch on your mules an’ give us a lift. Those oxen of ours can’t pull grass up by the roots, they’re so plumb wore out. It’s a hard trail, strangers.” “Sure we can,” replied Hi, promptly. “Unhitch, boys. Let’s snake ’em out o’ thar.” “Want our oxen, too?” keenly queried the boy. “Nope, sonny. We can haul the wagon, but we can’t haul the bulls at the same time.” At shout and crack of lash the Hee-Haw mules sturdily put their shoulders to their collars and with heave and groan the wagon rolled out to the firm ground. “Much obliged,” said the boy. “What do we owe you?” “Nothing,” answered Hi. “Strangers,” spoke a quavering voice, and the man himself poked his face out from under the hood, “how’ll you trade some of that meat for a sack of flour. I’ve a powerful hankering for fresh meat.” He was as yellow as a sunflower, and looked pretty miserable. “Take ten feet of it and welcome,” proffered Mr. Baxter at once. “We don’t want your flour.” “No; we’ve got plenty flour,” added Hi. “Thank you,” said the woman, “but we don’t travel on charity. My man’s got a turrible hankering for meat, and if you’ll trade we’ll be right glad to dicker with you. I reckon you can use the flour, can’t you?” “Just as you say, then, ma’am,” responded Hi. “But you’re welcome to the meat.” Billy was already slashing at a string of the jerky; down it came. Seeing this, the Ohio boy dived into the wagon and lustily dragged forth a sack of flour. He shouldered it and staggered with it toward the Hee-Haw wagon. Billy sprang to take it, but the boy shook his head stubbornly. “I’m man enough to tote this,” he panted.