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All day Jondo rode wide of the trail, sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other, watching for signs of an enemy. And the bluff, jovial crowd of bull-whackers laughed together at his holding on to his opinion out of sheer stubbornness.
But Jondo had not slept, and his face was sterner than ever as the duties of the day began. Before sunrise I began to be missed. "Where's Gail?" Bill Banney was the first to ask. "That's Clarenden's job, not mine," another of the bull-whackers resented a command of Jondo's. "Gail! Gail! Anybody on earth seen Gail Clarenden this morning?" came from a far corner of the camp.
"We need Indian fighters, Billy," he told me, and giving me a mule to ride assigned me to a job as cavayard driver. Our long train, twenty-five wagons in a line, each with its six yoke of oxen, rolled slowly out of Leavenworth over the western trail. Wagon-master assistants, bull-whackers thirty men in all not to mention the cavayard driver it was an imposing sight.
It must be far in the afternoon now, and they might encamp here. But they seemed to be hurrying. I could not see for pain, but I knew they were near the headland now. I could hear the rattle of the wagon-chains and the tramp of feet and shouts of the bull-whackers. I tugged masterfully at my bonds. It was a useless effort. I tried to shout, but only low moans came forth from my parched lips.
I did my best to live up to its provisions, but I am afraid that the profanity clause at least was occasionally violated by some of the bull-whackers.
The wagon-master, in the language of the plains, was called the "bull-wagon boss"; the teamsters were known as "bull-whackers"; and the whole train was denominated a "bull-outfit." Everything at that time was called an "outfit."
And Beverly Clarenden and I, with the whole battalion of plainsmen "bull-whackers," in the common parlance of the Santa Fé Trail who drove those caravans to and fro, may also have been State-builders, as Uncle Esmond had declared we would be. Yet we hardly looked like makers of empire in those summer days when we followed the great wagon-trains along the prairies and over the mountain passes.
"Give me a year of this and I'll open a joint in Frisco! I cleaned out a brace of bull-whackers in the Plaza last night their first pay. Afterward I stung a couple of cattlemen for a hundred each. Look at her hum!" Notwithstanding that it was midday, Manti was teeming with life and action.
"Ambrosier. Honey-doo." "Mrs. Slaghammer seems to have a large gathering," said Barker. "Good boys, good boys!" The judge blew importantly, and waved his arm. "Bull-whackers, cow-punchers, mule-skinners, tin-horns. All spending generous. Governor, once more! Ambrosier. Honey-doo." He settled himself deep in a chair, and closed his eyes. McLean rose abruptly. "Good-night," said he.
The wagon-master, in the language of the plains, was called the "bull-wagon boss"; the teamsters were known as "bull-whackers"; and the whole train was denominated a "bull-outfit." Everything at that time was called an "outfit."
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