The Overland Trail followed up the south side of the Platte, the same way by which Dave had come down with the Lew Simpson train a year before, after the fight in the mule fort. Where the North Platte and the South Platte joined current it continued on up the South Platte—and now to the north a short distance was the place where the mule fort had been located so hastily by Billy Cody and Lew and George Woods.
Soon the main trail for Salt Lake and California forded the South Platte to cross the narrow point of land for Ash Hollow at the North Platte and for Laramie and Salt Lake City. But the Denver branch proceeded on into the west by the newer trail to the mountains and Denver.
This branch of the Overland Trail down to Denver was only six months old, but already it was a well-worn trail, scored deep by the stages and by the thousands of emigrants and the constant freight outfits. The travel eastward, toward the States, was almost as great now as that westbound, for fall had come and everybody who was intending to return to the States had started so as to get there before winter. A winter journey by wagon across these plains was no fun.
After the parting of the trail, the next station on the route was Jules’ Ranch. Jules was an old French-Indian trapper and trader, whose full name (as he claimed) was Jules Beni. His mother was a Cheyenne Indian, and Jules had built a trading post here, a mile beyond Lodgepole Creek, for trade with the Cheyennes. Now Jules had turned his attention to the new business that had opened, and he was selling flour to the Pike’s Peak “pilgrims” at a dollar a pound. He had been smart enough to break a new trail that would bring the travel between the North and the South Platte past his place—for the regular crossing was east of him. He was smart, was Old Jules, and now he had just been made stage agent.
“I want all you fellows to keep clear of Old Jules,” cautioned Charley, as the train approached what some of the men jokingly called “Julesburg.” “I’ve never seen him when he wasn’t drunk and he’s a corker for losing his temper and picking fights. Then he wants to kill somebody. When he’s in liquor he’s plumb crazy. He’s shot two men and carries their ears in his pocket. I’m not afraid of him, and neither are you; but to-morrow’s Sunday and we’ll tie up near his place, and I don’t want trouble.”
“Why don’t you pull right through, Charley?” asked Andy Johnson, as a spokesman. “We’re agreeable. ‘Dirty Jules’ is no great attraction.”
“Well,” said Charley, “we usually do ease off on Sunday, and it’s company orders and I don’t propose to change the programme at this stage of the game.”