Buffalo Bill and the Overland Trail / Being the story of how boy and man worked hard and played hard to blaze the white trail, by wagon train, stage coach and pony express, across the great plains and the mountains beyond, that the American republic might expand and flourish

by Edwin L. Sabin

That was so. Davy was familiar with the name “Cherry Creek,” which seemed to be a new gold region lying out at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, near Pike’s Peak. But, like Mr. Baxter, the majority of the herders and teamsters seemed to put little stock in it. They were waiting to “see color,” as some of them who had been to Salt Lake and to California put it.

Behind, a little party of travellers eastward bound along the trail were overtaking the herd. There were three of them mule-back, driving a couple of pack mules. As they passed on Mr. Baxter’s side they cheered and waved good-naturedly.

“Hurrah for Cherry Creek!” they hallooed. “You’re heading the wrong way, pardner.”

“Why?”

“Turn around and make your fortune. That’s why.”

“Already made it,” retorted Mr. Baxter.

“How, stranger?”

“Herding cattle at twenty-five a month and grub. Have you made yours?”

“Mighty near. We’ve seen gold. The Georgia crowd’s been finding it. We’re just back from the Cherry Creek diggin’s. Thar’s plenty color thar, we tell you.”