CHAPTER VIII
THE TRAIL GROWS LIVELY
Yes, plenty of company now. The procession had penetrated a short distance before, but stretched a farther distance behind or eastward: white-topped wagons of all descriptions, their canvases torn by hail, stained by rain and dingy with dust, drawn by ox-teams, mule-teams and even cow-teams, and accompanied by men, women and children afoot, a few ahorse, every individual and every animal striving to reach the Pike's Peak country and the Cherry Creek diggin's there.
The pilgrimage was about to "noon"; and with Duke and Jenny pulling bravely, making their best showing, the Limited skirted the line, while good-naturedly replying to the various welcomes.
Pretty soon the road ahead was blocked, as the overlanders spread right and left to cook and eat dinner.
"Let's drive off to the side, yonder, Terry," bade Harry. "That looks like a good spot near to that 'Root Hog or Die' outfit."
"How are you, boys?" greeted the proprietor of the "Root Hog or Die" wagon. "We're most of us from Ohio. Where are you from?"
"From the Big Blue Valley, Kansas Territory, farther east," answered Harry.
"We came by the stage trail," added Terry.
"I see. Well, we took a vote and decided on the Republican Valley, and a hard time we've had, but here we are. What do you say to cooking our dinner on the one fire, and we'll swap notes?"