“Davy,” he uttered, “that’s no boy. That’s a girl. Great Scott! What a place for a girl!”
And later they found out that Mr. Baxter had spoken the truth. They were glad to learn that the pretended boy took the next stage back to Leavenworth and reached there safely.
“Let’s try our luck at the post-office,” proposed Mr. Baxter. “I’d like to get a letter, myself.”
They threaded their way in the direction of the office. The mail had recently come in, for from the post-office window a line of men, single file, extended over a block. However, before they two took their places Billy Cody stopped them.
“I asked for your mail,” he announced. “There wasn’t any. I got a letter from ma. All she said was: ‘Dear Will. Let us know how you are. We are well. Mother.’ And I had to pay fifty cents for it down from Laramie. The new stage line carries letters for twenty-five cents. Wish ma had written more for the money. She might just as well.”
“What’s the news, Billy? What are you and the rest of the outfit going to do?”
“Hi and Jim and I are going on up to the diggin’s right away. See that line of travel?” And Billy pointed to the constant procession of wagons and of people afoot, extending from the settlement as far as the eye could reach, westward into the hills fifteen miles distant. They’re all going. Left-over’s quit and joined another outfit. He couldn’t wait. Jim and Hi are buying supplies. Did you notice the prices? Eggs are two dollars and a half a dozen. Milk fifty cents a quart. Flour ten dollars for a fifty-pound sack. Reckon beans and sowbelly will do for us. They say even game is scarce around the diggin’s.
“If you fellows don’t mind I believe I’ll stay around here for a while till people cool down a little,” said the Reverend Mr. Baxter.
“Cool down!” exclaimed Billy. “Huh! The stage driver says he passed ten thousand emigrants all heading this way!”