"It may do for him," answered Harry. "But the more haste the less speed, for some of the rest of us. I believe we'd better take Sol's advice, and break our trail across to the Republican until the stages catch up with us."
CHAPTER IV
THE TRAIL GROWS LONESOME
Fort Riley was fifteen miles west. Progress was slow, on the crowded road, and at six o'clock the "Pike's Peak Limited" was glad to draw aside out of the dust and camp for the night near to a wagon labeled "Litening Express." The owner was a heavy, round-faced German, with a family of buxom wife, and of six girls ranging from big to little. He had a chicken coop, a large cook stove set up for the evening meal, a feather mattress, and an enormous bale of gunny-sacks that formed a seat for him while he watched the supper-getting.
Harry and Terry called easy greeting, and pretty soon he strolled over.
"Iss dat a wild boof'lo?" he queried.
"He was wild once, but he's tame now."
"You are de boys who made dot man loose his whiskey, mebbe."
"I guess we are," laughed Harry. It was astonishing, the speed with which news traveled among the overlanders.