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With the wagons creaking and groaning, and the oxen puffing and wheezing, and the teamsters cracking their long whips, the bull train slowly toiled on, across the rolling prairie. The trail taken occasionally approached the banks of the North Platte River, and soon there would be reached the place where the North Platte and the South Platte joined, to make the main Platte, flowing southeastward for the Missouri, 400 miles distant. Beyond the Missouri were the States, lined up against this “Indian country” where all the freighting and emigrating was going on.

The train made a halt at noon, and again at evening. Nothing especial had occurred since the rescue of the three in the mule fort. Davy was very glad, at night, to lie down with Billy Cody under a blanket, among friends, instead of shivering in an Indian camp.

Start was made again at sunrise. To-day the main travelled Platte Trail would be reached, and the going would be easier. Just as the trails joined in mid-morning, a sudden cry sped down the long line of wagons.