“No. They thought you were left behind and were trying to catch up. So they waited to starve you out. That’s what fooled ’em.”
“It sure did,” nodded Billy, gravely. “Say, there’s another fine man with this outfit. He’s the one who dressed Woods’ shoulder. His name’s Jim Hickok, but everybody calls him ‘Wild Bill.’ Isn’t he a good-looker?”
“That’s right,” agreed Davy.
“Well, he isn’t just looks, either,” asserted Billy. “He’s all there. He’s been a mighty good friend of mine. Because I was a boy some of the men thought they could impose on me. A big fellow slapped me off a bull-yoke, when I was sitting and didn’t jump the instant he bade me. I was so mad I threw a pot of hot coffee in his face; and I reckon he’d have killed me if Wild Bill hadn’t knocked him cold. When he came to he wanted to fight; but Wild Bill told him if he or anybody else ever bullied ‘little Billy’ (that’s what they call me) they’d get such a pounding that they wouldn’t be well for a month of Sundays. Nobody wants trouble with Wild Bill. He can handle any man in the outfit; but he doesn’t fight unless he has to. He’s quiet, and means to mind his own business.”
With the wagons creaking and groaning, and the oxen puffing and wheezing, and the teamsters cracking their long whips, the bull train slowly toiled on, across the rolling prairie. The trail taken occasionally approached the banks of the North Platte River, and soon there would be reached the place where the North Platte and the South Platte joined, to make the main Platte, flowing southeastward for the Missouri, 400 miles distant. Beyond the Missouri were the States, lined up against this “Indian country” where all the freighting and emigrating was going on.
The train made a halt at noon, and again at evening. Nothing especial had occurred since the rescue of the three in the mule fort. Davy was very glad, at night, to lie down with Billy Cody under a blanket, among friends, instead of shivering in an Indian camp.
Start was made again at sunrise. To-day the main travelled Platte Trail would be reached, and the going would be easier. Just as the trails joined in mid-morning, a sudden cry sped down the long line of wagons.
“Buffalo! Buffalo!”
All was excitement. Davy peered.