For the next week and more the Pike's Peak Limited kept hearing, from station to station, of Thunder Horse and his sore foot. His foot had swollen, his leg had swollen to the knee, it had swollen above the knee, it was still swelling—and he was very surly, and evidently in much pain, and drunk whenever he could obtain any liquor.
The hunters' wagon disappeared, between stations, as if on a short-cut to the Republican; and soon thereafter the Chief Little Raven squad, including the then much distressed Thunder Horse (whose leg, said the last agent, ought to be cut off), disappeared also.
The Pike's Peak Limited plodded along. At some time every day a stage or two stages from Leavenworth on the Missouri River passed, usually full, but occasionally half empty. The Valley of the Republican was close before, and behind was pressing nearer the van of that great procession.
"They're beginning to raise a dust," remarked Harry, gazing back.
"Yes; but you can see a dust ahead, too," said Terry. "Hope we get there first."
That night the camp-fires of the leading outfits on the trail behind were plainly visible, winking through the darkness; and down in the broad Republican Valley scattered other camp-fires were winking.
"An early start for us in the morning, remember," enjoined Harry.
It was almost noon when, just beating a faster-stepping team trying to overtake, the Pike's Peak Limited, first pilgrim outfit through by the new stage route, filed into the well-trodden, dusty trail made now by stage and gold-seekers combined up the wide valley of the Republican.
"Hee-haw!" exulted Jenny; but Duke the half-buffalo only flirted his little tail at sight of the new company.