why; _I'll git you_. If I miss,
Hank won't; an' we both got good friends. Come on, Hank, it stinks in
here."

Tom turned and stalked out, but not so Hank. He backed out behind his
newfangled weapon, pleasantly thinking of its six ready shots, slid
along the outside of the shack and then waited with great hope for a
head to pop out of the door. Having had no chance to try out the Colt he
was curious regarding its accuracy. No head popped, however, and after
a moment he sighed, slipped along the corral wall and crossed the street
when far enough away to be covered by the darkness. Hank had no faith in
hostile humans and did not believe in showing off. The thieving,
treacherous Crows agreed that the brave who took Hank Marshall's scalp
would be entitled to high honors; with the mournful reflection that by
the time it was taken, if ever, the tribe would have paid a very high
price for it.

CHAPTER IX

THE CARAVAN

At last came the day, and the dawn of it showed a cloudless sky, a
sleeping town and a little caravan winding, with rattle of chains and
squeak of harness, past the silent, straggling houses, bound westward
for the "prairie ocean." Despite the mud and the slowness of the going
high spirits ruled the little train. Youth was about to do and dare,
eager for the gamble with fate; and age looked forward to the lure of
the well-known trail even as it looked backward in memory for faces and
experiences of the years gone by. The occasion was auspicious, for the
start was prompt to the minute and earlier than any they would make
later. They were on the luxuriant and better wooded eastern rim of the
great plains, and would be on it for several days.

Joe Cooper, driving the small wagon with Patience seated at his side,
led the way, eager and exultant. Following him closely came his two
great Pittsburg wagons with their still spotless new sheets, each loaded
with nearly three tons of selected merchandise, their immense wheels
grumbling a little as they slid a fraction of an inch along their
well-greased axles, their broad, new tires squashing out twin canyons in
the mud. Next came two emigrant wagons, their proprietors fearing that
they would not reach the Oregon-bound train at its rendezvous in time to
leave with it. Under their stained and patched canvases two women slept
as though in a steady bed, their children at their sides. Weeks of this
traveling had given to them the boon of being able to fall asleep