“Yes, siree; there’s a lot of money wrapped up in a bull outfit,” quoth Wagon Boss Charley. “Take this train here. The most of those wagons are ‘Murphies’ (by which he meant wagons manufactured by J. Murphy, of St. Louis), or else the Conestoga pattern built down at Westport (and by Westport was meant Kansas City). Only the best of stuff goes into those wagons. Hickory, generally――though osage orange is said to be better, for it won’t warp. But second growth hickory and sound white oak answer the purpose if they’re so well seasoned that they won’t shrink or warp. This dry air out on these plains plays the dickens with wheels; it saps them dry and makes them so they want to fall to pieces. Well, I reckon you all know this better than I do. But as I was going to say, one of these wagons figures easily three hundred dollars, including bows and canvas. Then, bulls have been seventy-five dollars a yoke, but they’re rising to double that. Taking the six yoke at five hundred dollars, and adding the yokes and bows and chains and other gear, you’ll have nigh to a thousand dollars in each wagon outfit. With twenty-five and twenty-six wagons making a train there’s twenty-five thousand dollars in outfit alone. And Russell, Majors & Waddell have bull trains like this every five or six miles clear across from the Missouri River to Salt Lake!” “Not to speak of the wages of the men and the cost of the supplies,” added Joel Badger. “Yes, sir; not to mention the thirty or more men with every train at a dollar a day up; and the beans and flour and sowbelly and coffee they use.” “Just the same,” observed Joel, “I hear that in Fifty-six, before Waddell joined, Majors & Russell cleaned up about seventy thousand dollars with three hundred wagons at work.” Charley nodded. “You can sum up for yourself. We’re hauling flour at nine cents a pound, meat at fifteen cents, furniture at thirty cents, hardware at ten cents; and my waybill shows we’re loaded with one hundred and sixty-three thousand pounds of freight, averaging, I reckon, at least fifteen cents.” “Which totals up between twenty-five and twenty-six thousand dollars, as I make it,” proffered Joel. “Of course, the outfits don’t earn that both ways,” reminded Henry Renick, scouring a skillet. “They travel back empty.” “Well, twenty-five thousand dollars for the round trip to the mountains isn’t so bad,” said Charley. “No,” grunted Yank, the assistant wagon boss. “Russell, Majors & Waddell are makin’ their profits, all right. They can sit at home an’ take things easy. But the trail’s a hard life for the rest of us.” “Don’t you believe they take it easy,” retorted Charley. “Did you ever hear of Alex Majors taking it easy? And look at Billy Russell, with all the Leavenworth freighting on his shoulders. Besides, they know that one big blizzard or one Indian war would wipe them out in spite of their hustle. No; they’ve got the worry; we’ve got the picnic.”