“Line out, men! Hep!” called Wagon Boss Charley. Joel launched his whip with a tremendous crack above the backs of his team. “Haw, Buck! Muley! Spot! Yip! Yip!” “Haw! Whoa――gee! Yip! Yip! Hep!” The air was full of dust and shouts and cracking of whips; and one after another out for the trail rolled the huge wagons, until the circle of the corral had straightened into the day’s line. The teamsters walked at the left side of their teams until, when the wind began to blow the dust into their faces, they changed about to the clear side. They sang, they joked, occasionally they cracked their long whips, and now and then one perched sideways on the wagon-pole behind the wheel yoke, and swinging his legs rode a short distance. But nobody entered a wagon; the men either walked or sat on the pole for a brief rest. Charley, the wagon boss, kept position near the head of the column; Yank, the assistant wagon boss, usually was found at the rear. Davy sometimes was sent back with word from Charley; and once he was dispatched five miles ahead to take a message to another wagon train. He enjoyed these gallops over the prairie on official business, and he enjoyed riding with Charley. “I suppose you know the make-up of a team,” proffered Charley, who seemed disposed to teach Dave as much as he could. “The first yoke next to the wagon are the wheel yoke; sometimes we call them the pole yoke. The other yokes are the swing yokes, until you come to the leaders, and these are the lead yoke. In a mule team the middle or swing spans are the pointers. Fact is, a four-span mule team is divided into wheelers, swing team, pointers and lead team. You didn’t time us this morning, did you?” “No, sir,” confessed Davy. “I hear Mr. Majors timed his outfit once, when it was in good trim; and it was sixteen minutes from the moment the men grabbed their yokes until the teams were hitched and the train was ready to start. That’s pretty fair for six yoke of bulls. I don’t believe we can beat it, but we’re going to try after a bit.” “This noon I’ll show you how to pop a whip,” called Joel to Dave. The men used their whips chiefly for the noise they made. They drove with the whips; the long lash flew out over the backs of the six yoke and seemed to crack wherever the wielder wished it to crack. Sometimes it barely flicked the back of some ox who required a little urging, but it never landed hard. Those bull whips were like living things, and in the hands of Joel and his rivals were as accurate as a rifle. The most of the men carried their whips with the lash trailing over their shoulder ready to be jerked forward like a cowboy’s rope. Dave felt a burning ambition to “pop” a whip. It must be quite an art.