For quarter of a mile they had the side road to themselves. But then they turned into the main road and soon became one of a long procession of turnouts of various kinds and sizes, from the monstrous prairie "houses" with four horses, to the little pushcarts which some individuals were pushing soberly and diligently. It was calculated that already four to five thousand people were on the trail between Independence and Laramie!
"Gracious, this looks as if a whole town was moving out!" exclaimed Mark, as he gazed ahead and then behind. As far as eye could reach he could see an endless procession of wagons and cattle moving slowly across the prairies. The movement was all in one direction—westward—to the Land of Gold!
"Not much chance of getting lost here," said Bob. "Too many lighthouses," and he pointed to the white covers of the wagons, which shone brightly in the sunlight.
"We don't want to get lost," came from Si. "We don't want to lose any time that way, or all the best claims will be taken before we get to California."
"Oh, California is so large it will take years to fill it with people," declared Mark. "Just the same, I want to get there as quickly as anybody," he hastened to add.
At noon they shifted to one side of the trail, and stopped for dinner and to feed the mule. Darling had done well and Bob patted him affectionately.
"We're friends, aren't we, Darling?" said the sailor boy, and rubbed his face along the mule's head. The animal looked wise, shifted his ears, and gave a low heehaw of pleasure.
"Bob's courting the mule," laughed Mark.
"He's all right, Mark."
"I know he is."