e eternal female now--"then, which one really whipped?"

"Will Banion did, ain't I told you? You insulted him, and he's gone.
Having come in here where you wasn't no ways wanted, I reckon the best
thing you can do is to go back to your own wagon and stay there. What
with riding horses you hadn't ought, and seeing fights when you don't
know a damned thing about nothing, I reckon you've made trouble about
enough. Come on!"

"Price," said Bill Jackson to the grave and silent man who walked with
him toward the wagon train beyond the duelling ground, "this settles
hit. Us Missoury wagons won't go on under no sech man as Sam Woodhull.
We didn't no ways eleck him--he was app'inted. Mostly, elected is
better'n app'inted. An' I seen afore now, no man can hold his place on
the trail unless'n he's fatten. We'll eleck Will Banion our cap'n, an'
you fellers kin go to hell. What us fellers started out to do was to go
to Oregon."

"But that'll mean the train's split!"

"Shore hit will! Hit is split right now. But thar's enough o' the
Liberty wagons to go through without no help. We kin whup all the rest
o' this train, give we need ter, let alone a few Injuns now an' then.

"To-night," he concluded, "we'll head up the river, an' leave you
fellers the boat an' all o' Papin's Ferry to git acrost the way you
want. Thar hain't no manner o' man, outfit, river er redskin that Ole
Missoury kain't lick, take 'em as they come, them to name the holts an'
the rules. We done showed you-all that. We're goin' to show you some
more. So good-by." He held out his hand. "Ye helped see far, an' ye're a
far man, an' we'll miss ye. Ef ye git in need o' help come to us. Ole
Missoury won't need no help."

"Well, Woodhull's one of you Missourians," remarked Price.

"Yes, but he ain't bred true. Major Banion is. Hit was me that made him
fight knuckle an' skull an' not with weapons. He didn't want to, but I
had a reason. I'm content an' soothe jest the way she lies. Ef Will
never sees the gal agin she ain't wuth the seem'.

"Ye'll find Col. William Banion at the head o' his own train. He's
fitten, an' he's fout an' proved hit"

CHAPTER XI

WHEN ALL THE WORLD WAS YOUNG

Molly Wingate kneeled by her cooking fire the following morning, her
husband meantime awaiting the morning meal impatiently. All along the
medley of crowded wagons rose confused sounds of activity at a hundred
similar firesides.

"Where's Little Molly?" demanded Wingate. "W