The trail continued to be lined with emigrants, all pushing west, the vast majority for the “Pike’s Peak diggin’s,” but a few for California by way of the Overland Trail to Fort Laramie, and on over the South Pass to Salt Lake and the farthest West. The road was littered with cast-off stuff――so much of it that nobody seemed to think it worth picking up again. “Great times for the Indians,” quoth Charley. “But they don’t savvy stoves and furniture yet. What they like most is the hoop iron off of the baled hay that the Government sends out to the posts. That hoop iron is fine for arrow points; many a poor fellow crossing the plains is killed with Government hoop-iron.” “Will we meet many Indians, do you think?” asked Davy. Charley shook his head. “We may meet a few gangs of beggars; but the trail is too thick just now for much trouble. The Indians haven’t got roused yet and started in on the war-path. But they will, later. I reckon if you get off the trail a ways you’ll meet with plenty trouble, though. On the trail there are so many outfits that they can help each other, you see. The Indians are learning to shy off from bull outfits. We’re ready for them any time, and it costs them too many scalps. But when these plains begin to be settled with ranches then look out for the Indians.” That noon the train halted on the far side of a creek. According to Joel, trains always tried to cross a creek before camping, in case a sudden storm might come and hold the train back by swelling the ford. They corralled, this noon, by a new evolution. One-half the train, in regular order, formed a half of the circle; the other half then formed the second half of the circle. This was called corralling with the right and left wings. While dinner was being cooked and the bulls were herded off to water and graze, the men lounged in the shade of their wagons. Dinner was the same as supper and breakfast: fat salt pork or “sowbelly,” which came to the plate in slabs six or eight inches thick; hot bread baked in the kettle-like Dutch ovens; beans from the supply baked in the ashes the night before; and black coffee with sugar. That was the regulation until the buffalo and antelope country was reached. The last of the sugar was used, too; after this camp, all the way to Denver the coffee would be sugarless. But that was only ordinary. Nobody objected to the menu; appetites were splendid. “Here,” spoke Joel, after dinner, rising, to Dave. “I said I’d show you how to pop a whip, didn’t I?” “Joel can do it, all right,” approved Charley; and several other men nodded, agreeing with him.