VIIDAVY CHANGES JOBS
The Reverend Mr. Baxter came on herd soon; and Davy told him about the Indians.
“You might have let them go, Davy,” said Mr. Baxter, “and nobody would have blamed you.”
“Yes, sir; but I couldn’t,” answered Davy.
“Well,” mused Mr. Baxter, gazing at him with a rueful smile, “I don’t believe I could either. But lots of fellows would. Six armed Indians are rather many for one unarmed boy to tackle. But right makes might, Davy.”
“Yes,” agreed Davy. “I guess it does.”
Anyway, Hank Bassett and Sam the cook and the other men in the camp congratulated Davy on his spunk, until he wished that Billy Cody was there to know. But Billy was out with the bull train, and nobody might say when he would turn up again at this end of the trail.
“I guess I’ll send you in with a part of the herd to-morrow, Red,” quoth Hank, as if that were a reward for Davy’s pluck. “How’d you like to see Leavenworth again?”
“First-rate, Mr. Bassett,” answered Davy.
“You and the Reverend can drive a bunch in as soon as we cut ’em out in the morning. Then you’d better report at the office. I don’t think we’ll need you out here till spring.”
That was good word—at least, the Leavenworth trip was. Davy felt as though he would be glad to see people and buildings again and mingle with the world. Besides, he would be paid off at last, and would have a pocket full of money well earned.
“All right, Davy,” spoke Mr. Baxter, with a grin. “We’ll take in the sights and buy a suit of clothes to boot, won’t we!”
Davy nodded happily.
The herd had drifted near to the great trail again, so he and Mr. Baxter drove their bunch along that route for the fort where they were to be delivered to the company. Riding behind in the dust on one flank while Mr. Baxter rode on the other, Davy felt like a veteran.
The fort was eight miles distant, about three hours drive if they did not hurry. The best of the steers had been cut out from the main herd, so that without difficulty or pushing the trip might easily be made in less than three hours. The trail was still lively, with bull trains and overlanders making their best speed westward, to cross to their destination before the fall storms set in.
One outfit, drawing aside to give the cattle room, hailed Davy with a question. It was an emigrant outfit,of a farm wagon covered with dingy cotton-cloth hood, hauled by a yoke of oxen. A woman holding a baby peered from the seat; a boy and girl about Davy’s age trudged alongside, a sallow, whiskered man, walking, drove with an ox-goad, and a younger man rode a mule.
“How much further to the Cherry Creek gold diggin’s, young feller?” queried the whiskered man.
“About seven hundred miles,” answered Davy.
“When can we see the mountings?” quavered the woman, anxiously.
“Oh, goodness!” laughed Davy. “Not for a long time. You’ve got to cross the plains yet.”
“I didn’t think it was so fur,” she sighed. “Do you hear they’re findin’ lots of gold there?”
“You didn’t come from out thar, did you?” asked the younger man.
“No,” said Davy. “We’ve been herding in the valley here.”
“Keep going and you’ll arrive sometime,” called Mr. Baxter. And he and Davy passed on.
“That’s pretty tough, Dave,” he spoke across as they proceeded in the one direction while the wagon proceeded in the other. “Those people haven’t any more idea where the Cherry Creek country is than these cattle have; but there they go, woman and baby and all. They’ll find what seven hundred miles of ox travel means before they get through. And then they’re liable to be disappointed.”
“Don’t you think there’s any gold out there?” asked Davy.
“Oh, folks have been panning out a little gold for half a dozen years, but it hasn’t amounted to shucks. I’d rather take my chances herding cattle. Expect we’ll know more about it soon now. A gang are out there from Georgia, who know how to mine; and the governor sent out another gang from Lawrence last summer, you know, to locate a town and report back.”
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.”
“Show me some.”
“Hain’t got it, stranger. But it’s thar. We’re goin’ back in the spring. Better join us. Go out an’ buy lots in St. Charles City.”
“No, sir. Buy ’em in Auraria, across the creek,” shouted another. “Auraria’s booming; St. Charles won’t last.”
“Thanks,” laughed Mr. Baxter. “I’ll think about it. Just now twenty-five dollars in the pocket seems better than nothing in a hole in the ground.”
“Wall, you’ll miss out,” warned one of the men as the little party pressed on in a great hurry.
Mr. Baxter laughed and bantered all the way in to Leavenworth.
“We want to see some of that gold before we pack up and go on a wild goose chase, don’t we, Davy?” he called. “And I’d rather have a yoke of steers on the hoof than a city lot on paper.”
This sounded like wisdom; but Davy imagined what an effect the report of those returned Cherry Creekers would have on that emigrant wagon! The men and the woman would be looking for the mountains more eagerly than ever.
He and Mr. Baxter turned the bunch of cattle over to the Russell, Majors & Waddell’s foreman at the fort, where another bull train was being made up, loaded high with government supplies for the west. Buck Bomer, Billy Cody’s wagon-master, had not come in yet from the Laramie trip, and there was no news from Billy himself. He was still out. Report said that he had gone on from Laramie to another fort, so nobody could tell when he would be back.
From the post Davy and Mr. Baxter rode on down to Leavenworth City. Leavenworth never had seemed so busy. New buildings had gone up, the streets were crowded with people and teams, and the levee was lined with steamboats bound north and south. But the people all were bound west. They had gathered from every quarter of the States. The twang of the Yankee, the drawl of the backwoodsman, and soft slur of the Southerner mingled in a regular hubbub.
Mr. Majors was in his office; Mr. Russell was out somewhere on the trail; Mr. Waddell was down home at Lexington, Missouri, visiting his family. And who should be sitting in a chair in the office but Wild Bill Hickok—as handsome and as gentlemanly as ever.
“Hello, there,” hailed Wild Bill. “How goes it?”
Mr. Baxter nodded cheerily at him.
“Fine,” answered Davy, feeling rather awkward in his worn-out old clothes and his long hair, but not ashamed of what he had been doing.
“I hear you’re making good, boy,” asserted Wild Bill. “I reckon you can hold your own as well as Billy.”
“He certainly can,” claimed Mr. Baxter. “He’s the hero of the camp.”
“Bassett sent you in, did he?” queried Mr. Majors. “How are things at the camp?”
“Same as usual, Mr. Majors,” answered Mr. Baxter. “Davy’s a hero now, I suppose you’ve heard.”
Mr. Majors nodded with his long beard.
“So they say,” he replied simply. “Well, we’re reducing our force out in the cattle camps now, so you two needn’t go back this fall. The cashier’ll pay you off. And—Dick,” he continued to the cashier, “give Davy an order for a suit of clothes with the company’s compliments. Make it clothes, shoes and hat complete.”
Davy blushed hotly, and didn’t know quite what to do. That the word of his adventure with the Indians had reached the office so quickly was very embarrassing. But he was glad to get some clothes, and Mr. Majors had spoken in earnest, so it would have been bad taste in him to make much ado about what he had or hadn’t done. Mr. Majors wasn’t a man to say what he didn’t mean, or to offer more than anybody deserved. So Davy stammered “Thank you, Mr. Majors,” and, clapped heartily on the back by Mr. Baxter, went forward to the cashier.
“Here you are,” said the cashier, shoving out themoney and the order. “What’s the news out yonder? Anybody booming Cherry Creek?”
“Yes. A bunch of men who claimed they were from there passed us coming in,” answered Mr. Baxter. “They had a big story about plenty of gold, but we noticed they didn’t show any!”
“Color talks,” remarked Wild Bill. “When I see color I’m going out thar but not before.”
“Yes, we’ll all wait a bit,” commented Mr. Majors.
“Those new towns out there will make more freight business, Mr. Majors,” said Mr. Baxter.
“Shouldn’t wonder. We’re hauling down from Laramie for them now, and up from Bent’s Fort on the Santa Fe trail. There’ll have to be a new trail straight across, eventually. But we’ve got about all the business we can handle. The government work alone takes thirty-five hundred wagons, four thousand men and over forty thousand oxen. We’ve hauled over sixteen million pounds of government freight, most of it clear through to Utah.”
Nearly four thousand wagons, four thousand men, forty thousand bulls! Davy gasped. It certainly was a big company, and he was proud to be working for Russell, Majors & Waddell, even if he was only one in the four thousand.
“Well,” said Mr. Majors, “I want to thank you twomenfor your faithful service and if there’s anything more I can do for you let me know. Baxter, Isuppose you can take care of yourself for a while. What are you going to do, my boy?”
“I don’t know,” said Davy, in doubt. “Get another job, I guess.”
“Save your money. Don’t spend it foolishly. If you want to put it on deposit with us we’ll give you a receipt for it; then you’ll be sure of having it as you need it.”
Davy fingered the gold pieces, making his pocket warm and heavy. There were seven ten-dollar pieces and one five-dollar piece. He would have liked to carry them all around for a time until he could show them to Billy Cody or Billy’s mother. But Mr. Majors’ offer sounded sensible, so he fished out the ten-dollar pieces and passed them over to the cashier.
“I’ll keep five dollars,” he said.
“What are you and the Reverend going to do?” queried Wild Bill. “That is, if it’s any of my business.”
“Oh, Davy can range around with me for a while till he’s settled,” answered Mr. Baxter. “First thing, we’ll get a hair cut. I’m going down to St. Louis later, where I’ve got some folks.”
“Lookee here, Davy,” pursued Wild Bill; “if you haven’t any pressing engagement come on out to the Cody ranch with me. I’m going to ride over thar and the Reverend can do as he pleases. The Codys will sure be glad to see you. Mebbe you can get a job foryour schooling this winter. Thar’s a fine school opened again near the Codys, I hear.”
“That’s right. Go to school while you can. You’ll never regret it,” put in Mr. Majors. “Then when all this country’s settled up and you’re among people who can read and write and figure, you won’t be ashamed. Besides, you’ll command more wages. The school house and the church are of more value to this country than the ox teams. The people with schools and churches are here to stay and grow.”
Davy wanted to see the Cody family again, but it seemed rather tame to be going to school when he might be riding the plains. He hesitated a moment until Mr. Baxter said:
“Billy Cody goes to school when he’s home. He’s found out that a little education helps a fellow along. I shouldn’t wonder if his mother turned him into school again this winter when he gets back.”
Since Billy Cody the “Boy Scout” went to school there must be something in it worth while. Davy began to feel that maybe he, too, who was a kind of hero, could afford to take a little time off from making himself famous and attend to making himself more of an all-round man.
“All right,” he said to Wild Bill. “I’ll go and see, anyway.” He shook hands with Mr. Baxter, who promised to keep track of him, and left with Wild Bill.
Mrs. Cody and the girls and Turk the dog were glad indeed to see them. Davy must answer all theirquestions as to what he had done since he had been there last. He did not mean to say anything about his adventure with the Indians, but Wild Bill told it and praised him, and then there was more ado.
“Billy’ll be pleased to hear that,” declared Mrs. Cody. And she sighed. “I wish he were home.”
“Have you heard from him, Mother Cody?” inquired Wild Bill.
“He sent us word from Fort Laramie that he was going on with a train for another post.”
“He sent us some money, too,” cried Helen, proudly.
“Billy’s a good boy, all right,” nodded Wild Bill.
“I wish he were home, though,” insisted Mrs. Cody, quietly. “He ought to have more schooling. These girls will be far ahead of him. Lack of education will be a great handicap to him after he gets out among cultured people.”
“That’s what we’ve been telling Davy here,” quoth Wild Bill. “The winter’s no time for him to be on the plains, anyway. He’d better be going to school till things open up in the spring. Do you reckon he could get a place hereabouts where he could work for his keep while he went to school? ’Tisn’t a right place for a boy in Leavenworth.”
“Why,” mused Mrs. Cody, flushing, “we’ve always got room for Davy or any friend of Billy’s or yours, Mr. Hickok. Of course, there isn’t much work for an extra hand. You see, when Billy left he hireda man to tend to the farm. But if Davy’ll stay he’s welcome.”
“Oh, Davy’ll stay!” cried the girls, dancing gaily; and Turk barked. “You will stay, won’t you, Davy? We’ll have lots of fun.”
But Davy promptly shook his head.
“I think you’ve got enough,” he said. Mrs. Cody did not look at all strong, and the girls were little. “I guess I’d rather find a place where I can work enough to pay for my keep.”
“Well,” resumed Mrs. Cody, “maybe you would feel more independent, Davy, although you’re welcome to stay right here as long as you like. But there’s a new family on a claim about a mile and a half over yonder. The man’s sick and his wife’s doing too much work. I expect they’d be glad of somebody to tend to the chores. You might go over and see.”
“Come ahead, Davy,” bade Bill.
“You’ll be back and have supper with us and stay all night, won’t you?” invited Mrs. Cody, quickly.
“We’ll get Dave settled first, thank you, Mother Cody,” called back Bill. “Then we’ll be mighty glad to stop off if we come this way.”
“Goodby, Dave,” called the girls. “There’s a splendid school started. We’re all going.”
With Bill, Dave rode to the settler’s house spoken of by Mrs. Cody. That was tremendously kind of Wild Bill, to go to so much trouble for just a boy; but Davyfound out that this Mr. Hickok was the kind of a man who would do anything for anybody deserving it.
The new family’s name was Shields. They were from Massachusetts. Mr. Shields had taken up a homestead of 160 acres, and now he was miserable with fever and ague, so that he was unable to work steadily. He and Mrs. Shields and the baby had come by railroad to St. Louis and by steamboat from St. Louis to Leavenworth. There they had loaded their goods into a wagon drawn by a yoke of oxen and had settled on this claim where they had found a cabin already standing.
It wasn’t much of a cabin, being only twelve by eighteen feet square, and built of logs. The floor was of rough boards with wide cracks between them; torn muslin was stretched as a ceiling to keep the dirt of the sod roof from sifting down. Over the walls Mrs. Shields had pasted newspapers, right side up, so she could read them sometimes as she worked. A muslin curtain, hung on a wire, divided the room; behind the curtain was a bed, of poles laid on notched posts and a mattress stuffed with hay. Clothes were hung on wooden pegs. On the other side of the curtain was a cook stove, and a table of rough-sawed slabs, and a couple of stools.
No, it wasn’t much of a place for people like Mr. and Mrs. Shields, who were used to a comfortable house in Massachusetts; but it was home.
All this Davy found out in due time, while heworked for his board and lodging. At night he slept on the floor by the stove; and he must rise at daylight to milk the cow and feed the cow and the oxen and the few chickens, and split the wood and bring the water from the well, and make an early start for school, which was four miles away. After school and on Saturdays he had other chores waiting, and drove the oxen while Mr. Shields held the plough to break the sod for the spring sowing.