“Well, twenty-five thousand dollars for the round trip to the mountains isn’t so bad,” said Charley.
“No,” grunted Yank, the assistant wagon boss. “Russell, Majors & Waddell are makin’ their profits, all right. They can sit at home an’ take things easy. But the trail’s a hard life for the rest of us.”
“Don’t you believe they take it easy,” retorted Charley. “Did you ever hear of Alex Majors taking it easy? And look at Billy Russell, with all the Leavenworth freighting on his shoulders. Besides, they know that one big blizzard or one Indian war would wipe them out in spite of their hustle. No; they’ve got the worry; we’ve got the picnic.”
“’Twould serve ’em right if they did get wiped out once in a while,” growled Yank, who evidently was as narrow-minded as his eyes indicated. “That psalm-singin’ old whiskers has too many notions. No swearin’, no drinkin’ no bull skinnin’, no fightin’, every man read the Bible an’ lay up on Sunday! An outfit can’t do freightin’ on these plains an’ follow any such rules as those.”
“See here,” bade Charley, sternly. He was a gritty little chap. “You’re new amongst us, my man, and I’ll warn you that when you speak to us of Mr. Majors or Mr. Russell or Mr. Waddell either, you want to do it civilly. They may have their peculiar notions of how to run a bull outfit, but I notice they’ve made good already with about twenty million pounds of Government freight, and that’s a pretty big contract. They’re a firm whose word is equal to a United States banknote; and there’s not a man who ever worked for them that won’t stick up for Russell, Majors & Waddell. A kinder man than Mr. Majors never lived; and if he tries to spread a little Christianity along the trail all the more credit to him, and all the better for the rest of us. We need some of that out here. The fact is a Russell, Majors & Waddell bull train is the best on the trail, besides being decent.”
“Well,” rapped Yank, “as long as I do the work I’m hired to do I’ll allow no man to tell me how to act. When I signed that pledge for the whiskers outfit I didn’t mean to keep it an’ I sha’n’t if I don’t choose.”
He stalked off; they gazed after—Charley with a keen glint in his gray eyes.
“There’s a man” spoke Henry the mess cook, “who’ll take it out on animals when he gets mad. He’s just mean enough.”
“He’ll not take it out on my team,” remarked Joel, quietly. “I don’t whip my bulls.”