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“All ready?” he shouted. “Go ahead.”

The long lash of the leading teamster shot out with a resounding crack.

“Gee-up!” he cried. “You Buck! Spot!” And again his whip cracked smartly. His six yoke of oxen leaned to their work; the wagon creaked as it moved. All down the line other whips were cracking, and other teamsters were shouting, and the wagons creaked and groaned. One after another they started, until the whole train was in motion.

Mr. Simpson and two or three companions led, keeping to the advance. The other riders were scattered in bunches back on either side of the train; the teamsters walked beside their wagons; and in the rear of the train ambled a large bunch of loose cattle and mules, driven by a herder.

Billy Cody and Dave rode together, well up toward the front.

“Did you ever freight any?” queried Billy. “What was that train you were with? Just emigrants?”

“Yes,” answered Davy. “We were going to Salt Lake.”

“Mormons?” demanded Billy, quickly.

“No. After we’d got to Salt Lake maybe we’d have gone on to California.”