the
containers back into their original wrappings the shapes of the packs
did not change. The pigs of lead, a keg of powder and bundles of stones
were wrapped in pieces of old skins to give weight to the packs to keep
them from flopping at every step of the mules. They did not start to
work until Zeb Houghton and Jim Ogden returned from their tour of guard
duty and took up another kind of guard duty near the wagons; and long
before daylight awakened the encampment the work was done and no one the
wiser. Alonzo Webb and Enoch Birdsall had taken care of the packs
belonging to Ogden and Houghton and everything was in shape for quick
action.

On the march again after an early breakfast the caravan plodded along
the trail to reach Willow Bar in good time for the next night camp. As
the wagons rolled along the road following the course of the Cimarron,
Uncle Joe and Patience dropped back to the rear guard, where Hank
Marshall scowled at Jim Ogden, but refrained from open hostilities.
Hank was glad to see them and entertained them mile after mile with
accounts of his life and experiences in the great West. At times his
imagination set a hard pace for his vocabulary, but the latter managed
to keep up. The men exchanged tobacco off and on and no one gave a
second thought to what they were doing. When Uncle Joe and Patience rode
forward again as the train drew near to the noon camping place, Uncle
Joe was poorer and lighter by the loss of a goodly sum in minted gold,
while Hank was richer and heavier. The balance was obtainable in Santa
Fe in the warehouse of a mutual friend.

The wagons hardly had left the noon camp when a heavy rain storm burst
upon them, with a blast of cold air that quickly turned the rain into
driving sheets of hail. These storms were common along the Cimarron and
at times raged for two or three days. The animals became frantic with
fear and pain, and the train was a scene of great confusion from one end
to the other. Alternate downpours of rain, sleet, and heavy hailstones
continued all the rest of the day and the encampment at Willow Bar was
one of sullenness and discontent. The wind rose during the early part of
the night and sent the rain driving into the wagons through every crack
and crevice, and the flapping and slapping and booming of wagon covers,
added to the fury of the wind and the swish of the downpour, filled the
night with a tumult of noise. The guards around the camp either crawled
under s