“Good for you. Well, if you’ve travelled with Billy Cody, and Mr. Russell recommends you, too, you’ll do.” And Charley called to his assistant: “Here’s our ‘extra,’ Yank.” Charley was small and compact, tanned and gray-eyed, and so quick and cheery that anybody felt like calling him by his first name at once. “Yank,” the assistant wagon boss, was high-shouldered, long-legged, slouchy, and very different from Charley. His sullen face was bristly with carroty stubble, his eyes were small and close together, and his lips were thin and hard-set, leaking tobacco-juice. Him, Davy did not fancy at all; and by his glance and contemptuous grunt he evidently did not fancy Davy. Further exchange of conversation was interrupted by the incisive voice of Mr. Russell reproving a teamster who had a perverse ox in hand. “My man, don’t you understand there’s to be no cursing while you’re working for this company?” “I’m not cursing,” retorted the man, with a dreadful oath. “But you’re cursing right this minute!” asserted Mr. Russell, sharply. “I’m not, either,” answered the man, with another oath. “Why, you curse every time you open your mouth,” asserted Mr. Russell, red with anger. “I don’t,” insisted the man, as before. That was too much for Mr. Russell. As if not knowing quite what to do with such an ignoramus as this he walked off, scratching his head, and left the puzzled teamster scratching his. “Well, Red, get busy if you’re to travel with this outfit,” bade Charley to Davy; and proceeded to give orders right and left. The train was made up and almost ready to start. The last covers were being drawn taut, and the last wagon, which had been delayed to load in town, was approaching. “All set?” shouted Charley to the teamster who, standing beside the rear pair of his team, seemed to have been appointed as the leader. The teamster nodded. “All set.” “String out,” ordered Charley, and the word was carried along: “String out, boys! Fall in!” The lead teamster flung his lash; it flipped forward and cracked like a pistol-shot over the backs of his twelve oxen. “Spot! Dandy! Yip! Yip with you!” The twelve oxen lunged all together as a well-trained team; and creaking, the huge wagon rolled ahead. “Haw! Whoa――haw! Hep! Hep!” To the shouts, and the volley of whip-snappers, the grunts of the oxen, creakings of the wagons and yokes, and rattle of the ox-chains, the train uncoiled from the mass that it had formed and lengthened out into a long line. Led by that first teamster whose “bulls,” sleek-coated, evidently were his pride, the white-topped bull train stretched out for the farther West.