“You hear what I say,” spoke up Charley loud enough for everybody else to hear, too. “Any more of this and you’re discharged without pay. Those are company orders and you knew it when you signed the roll.”
“The company that discharges me without pay I’ve earned will wish it hadn’t,” snarled Yank.
“I’ll take the responsibility,” retorted Charley, angrily. “If you don’t obey company rules you’re discharged; see? And if I can’t enforce those rules I’ll discharge myself.”
Yank said “Bah!” and swaggered off; but he stayed away from Dobytown.
Fort Kearney seemed to mark a dividing point of the country as well as of the great trail. The country from Leavenworth up through Kansas had been prairie-like, with many wooded streams and considerable green meadows. But here at the Platte the greenness dwindled, and the trail wound along amidst sand and clay which grew chiefly sage brush and buffalo grass.
The Platte was a shallow, shifty stream, full of quicksands, so that drivers must be very careful in crossing. Charley told of a time when he saw a whole freight wagon, load and all, sink and disappear in what looked to be hard sand under only two inches of water! The trees in sight were for the most part on the islands in the river, for all timber within easy reach along the trail had long ago been cut and burned by the emigrants. Even buffalo chips were very scarce, so that Charley took pains to camp on the sites of previous camps, where cattle had left fuel similar to buffalo chips, although not so good.
The buffalo chips burned slowly and held the fire a long time, making splendid coals. The men seemed to think that this was because they had been lying out for years, maybe, and were well baked; whereas the cow chips and the bull chips were newer.
The Platte was frequently bordered by high clay bluffs; and where the road climbed or descended the scene at night was very pretty, with all the camp-fires of the emigrants and other bull trains sparkling high and low. The bluffs also were good coverts for Indians; and Charley ordered that each mess have a man on guard all night. Fort Kearney was considered the jumping-off place for the Indian country and the buffalo country. Beyond, the country was, as Charley said, “wide open.”
“To-morrow we’ll cross Plum Creek,” quoth Joel to Davy on the second day out from Kearney. “We ought to see buffalo at Plum Creek; ’most always do.”
Plum Creek was 330 miles from Leavenworth and thirty-six out of Fort Kearney. As they approached it, Charley and others uttered a glad cry, for buffalo were in sight by the hundreds. They were grazing on the hills and flats north of the river. Some emigrants already were among them, chasing them hither and thither; so Captain Charley ordered Andy Johnson and another teamster called “Kentuck” (because he was from Kentucky) to take Davy’s and Yank’s mules and go with him after meat.