There was a good deal of travel on the trail for that time of the year. Every day they passed long lines of heavily loaded freight wagons, and they, in turn, were passed by the coaches of the Overland Stage and Mail Company, which, drawn by four fleet horses and escorted by cavalrymen—who galloped along on each side of them—whisked by at the rate of ten miles an hour.
They also saw trains going the other way—empty freight-wagons, which a few weeks before had gone out loaded with government stores, and others driven by disgusted gold-hunters and emigrants, who were making all haste to reach the States.
The hunter always made it a point to travel rapidly whenever he and his companions met any of these returning wagons.
He took particular pains, also, when they began to think of stopping for the night, to ride so far beyond any camp they might find on the trail that the boys could not go back to visit it.
He did not intend to allow his young companions an opportunity to converse with any of the emigrants, for fear that they might hear something discouraging; but, in spite of all his precautions, they learned something along the route which Eben himself had learned at a station near which they made their camp a few nights before, but which he studiously kept from the boys.
One afternoon, when they were about twenty miles from Julesburg, and 430 on their way toward Fort Laramie, one of the mail-coaches overtook them, accompanied, as usual, by four cavalrymen.
As the coach dashed by the sergeant who commanded the escort drew up his horse with a jerk, exclaiming:
"Where bound, pilgrims?"
"Fort Laramie," replied Leon, who was the first to speak.
"Laramie!" echoed the sergeant. "You will never see it this year. You'll do well if you get to Julesburg. You want to keep up with us if you can, because the reds have been jumping down on some of the coaches."