“Horace Greeley, the New York editor, wrote back east that the Pike’s Peak country is O. K.,” said Hank to Davy. “That’s what’s set the tide flowin’ in earnest. People were waitin’ to get his opinion. He inspected the diggin’s, and he says the gold is thar――although most people would do better to take up land in Kansas and go to farmin’. If you call this trail a busy one you ought to see the Salt Lake Overland Trail up the Platte. I hear three hundred wagons a day pass Fort Kearney. This booms the freightin’ business. The old man (Hank meant Mr. Majors) and his pards are puttin’ on every team they can lay hands to for haulin’ goods an’ provisions. Why, this hyar stage line is usin’ a thousand mules and fifty coaches. You’re thinkin’ of bull whackin’, are you?” “Mr. Majors offered me a job,” answered Davy. Hank spat over the lines. “It’s a good firm to work for,” he said. “And a man’s job. After you’ve bull whacked a while you’ll be drivin’ stage like I am.” That sounded attractive. To handle four mules at a gallop, dragging a coach across the plains in spite of Indians and weather, appeared quite a feat. Driving stage meant taking care of people as well as of animals. However, holding up one’s end with a freight outfit was not to be despised, these days. On arriving at Leavenworth Davy lost no time in reporting at the Russell, Majors & Waddell office. Mr. Majors was not here. He had removed his family up to Nebraska City, on the Missouri above Leavenworth, where a branch office had been established in order to relieve the crowded state of the Leavenworth shipping yards. However, if Mr. Majors was gone, here was Mr. Russell, as snappy and alert as ever, taking care of whatever came his way. “All right, my boy,” he greeted promptly. “If you want a job you’re just in time. When did you get in?” “This noon, Mr. Russell.” “I suppose you’re ready to start back again for the mountains?” “Yes, sir.” “Good. We’ve got a train made up to leave in about an hour. Charley Martin’s wagon master. You’ll find him a fine fellow. He comes from a wealthy family in my home town, Lexington, Missouri. You’ll be an ‘extra’ at forty dollars a month, and have a mule to ride. I expect you to do as well as Billy Cody’s done. You know what your duties are, do you? You’ll act as the wagon master’s orderly, or messenger, to carry word along the line; and if necessary you’ll fill the place of any hand who’s sick. Let’s see――you signed the pledge once, didn’t you?” “Yes, Mr. Russell.” “Well, we changed that pledge a little to make it stronger. Mr. Majors has drawn up a new one. Read it before you sign,” and Mr. Russell reached out his tanned, freckled hand for a pad of printed forms.