"They sculped a whole passel o' surveyors, month ago," he persisted. "Yu'll sing a different tyune arter yu've been corralled with nothin' to drink." He viciously snapped his whip, the while inspecting me as if seeking for other joints in my armor. "Yu aim to stay long in Zion?" "I haven't planned anything about that." "Reckon yu're wise, Mister. We don't think much o' Gentiles, yonder. We don't want 'em, nohaow. They'd all better git aout. The Saints settled that country an' it's ourn." "If you're a sample, you're welcome to live there," I retorted. "I think I'd prefer some place else." "Haow?" he bleated. "Thar ain't no place as good. All the rest the world has sold itself to the devil." "How much of the world have you seen?" I asked. "I've seen a heap. I've been as fur east as Cheyenne--I've teamed acrost twice, so I know. An' I know what the elders say; they come from the East an' some of 'em have been as fur as England. Yu can't fool me none with yore Gentile lies." As I did not attempt, we remained in silence for a moment while he waited, provocative. "Say, Mister," he blurted suddenly. "Kin yu shoot?" "I presume I could if I had to. Why?" "Becuz I'm the dangest best shot with a Colt's in this hyar train, an' I'll shoot ye for--I'll shoot ye for (he lowered his voice and glanced about furtively)--I'll shoot ye for two bits when my paw ain't 'raound." "I've no cartridges to waste at present," I informed. "And I don't claim to be a crack shot." "Damn ye, I bet yu think yu are," he accused. "Yu set thar like it. All right, Mister; any time yu want to try a little poppin' yu let me know." And with this, which struck me as a veiled threat, he lurched on, snapping that infernal whip. He left me with the uneasy impression that he and I were due to measure strength in one way or another. Wagon Boss Adams returned at noon. The word was given out that the train should start during the afternoon, for a short march in order to break in the new animals before tackling the real westward trail. After a deal of bustle, of lashing loads and tautening covers and geeing, hawing and whoaing, about three o'clock we formed line in obedience to the commands "Stretch out, stretch out!"; and with every cask and barrel dripping, whips cracking, voices urging, children racing, the Captain Adams wagon in the lead (two pink sunbonnets upon the seat), the valorous Daniel's next, and Mormons and Gentiles ranging on down, we toiled creaking and swaying up the Benton road, amidst the eddies of hot, scalding dust. It was a mixed train, of Gentile mules and the more numerous Mormon oxen; therefore not strictly a "bull" train, but by pace designated as such. And in the vernacular I was a "mule-whacker" or even "mule-skinner" rather than a "bull-whacker," if there is any appreciable difference in role. There is none, I think, to the animals.