Читать книгу Buffalo Bill and the Overland Trail - Edwin L. Sabin - Страница 12

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“Red,” said Billy, after three weeks had passed, “what do you want to do? I’m going out again.”

“Where, Billy?” asked Dave.

“Out across the plains. Got another job with a bull train. I can’t stand this loafing. You can stay here, I reckon. My mother’ll be glad to have you. Or I’ll get you a job with the company.”

Of course, Davy had no notion of staying on at the Cody home, where means were scant and where Mrs. Cody, helped by Billy, had all she could do to take care of her own children. No; he wanted to earn his way in the world.

“I think I’d rather go to work,” he answered. “When will you start, Billy?”

“Next week. Come on into town. We’ll see Mr. Russell. He’ll fix you out.”

“Maybe I’m too small.”

“No, you aren’t. Size isn’t what counts, out here. It’s what a fellow does, not how he looks. See?”

This sounded encouraging, for Billy seemed to know. Hadn’t he gone to work himself herding cattle for the Russell, Majors & Waddell Freighting Company, when he was aged only ten? And now at thirteen he was almost the same as a man! Davy determined to show his own pluck, and do his best, and make himself a place as a worker in those busy days when the great West was being settled.

That noon Billy borrowed a couple of ponies from a neighbor, and he and Dave rode in to Leavenworth City.

“That Mr. Russell is the finest man you ever met,” declared Billy. “Mr. Majors is a good one, too, but Mr. Russell is the one who’s taken special care of me. He was a mighty close friend of my father’s; when dad was selling hay to Fort Leavenworth Mr. Russell let me ride about the country with him and I learned a lot about the freighting business. Times looked kind of hard and somebody stole my pony, and he told me to keep a stiff upper lip and come to Leavenworth and he’d give me a job herding at twenty-five a month. That was four years ago. I’ve been working for the company ever since, except when I had to go to school. When I started in, it was just Russell & Majors—William H. Russell and Alexander Majors; last spring Mr. William Waddell joined them, and now the company is Russell, Majors & Waddell. Mr. Majors has been freighting ever since eighteen forty-eight, on the Santa Fe Trail down into New Mexico. Now the company hauls all the government stuff from Fort Leavenworth across the plains to Fort Laramie and over to Salt Lake. That train I went out with last summer carried nearly two hundred thousand pounds of freight. They’re running about three thousand wagons now, and use four thousand men. They’re a big company, but they treat their men right; and whatever Mr. Russell or Mr. Majors offers you, you take. If we don’t find either of them at the fort they’ll be in town, I reckon.”

Fort Leavenworth was located on the high land, overlooking the Missouri River, two miles above Leavenworth City. It was an important, solid fort, with stone buildings grouped about a large parade ground, and the flag floating in the breeze. Soldiers of the infantry, cavalry, and dragoons were moving hither-thither, drilling or attending to other duties, and on the outskirts of the post were parked a great number of freight wagons, attended by their teamsters.

As he and Davy rode through the wagons, on either side of the trail, Billy called out to one of the men.

“Hello, Buck.”

“Hello, Billy.”

“Is Mr. Russell around here?”

“Yes. He’s over at the quartermaster’s office.”

“When do you pull out, Buck?”

“Thursday the tenth, Billy.”

“All right. I’ll be on hand.”

“That’s Buck Bomer,” explained Billy, as he and Davy rode on. “He’s the wagon boss I’m going out with. Now we’ll find Mr. Russell.”

They had no difficulty in passing the guard stationed beside the road where it entered the edge of the post. Billy seemed to be a familiar figure here. He led the way to a large building that looked like a warehouse, where several freight wagons were standing and where soldiers and civilians were trudging about, as if loading freight.

At the end of the platform Billy slipped off his horse, and tied him; Dave did likewise.

“Come on,” bade Billy. “There’s Mr. Russell now. That sandy little man talking with the officer. We’ll hail him when we get the chance.”

They lingered a few minutes, while Billy edged closer, waiting to be recognized. Davy followed him about anxiously. Presently Mr. Russell caught sight of Billy, and smiled and nodded. The officer turned away, and Billy sprang forward to seize the opportunity.

“How are you, Billy,” greeted Mr. Russell. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve brought my friend Dave Scott over, Mr. Russell,” informed Billy. “He’s the boy I spoke about. He’d like a job, if you can give it to him.”

Mr. Russell eyed Dave up and down. A small man was Mr. Russell. He had a freckled complexion, a rather dried-up appearance, and an abrupt manner; and he was as keen as tacks. He did not seem to be a man who could handle rough teamsters; but evidently he could. Davy tried to stand his gaze, and not to be embarrassed.

“What can you do?”

“He’ll tackle anything.”

“He’s the boy who left his shirt to the buffalo, is he?”

“Yes, sir. We all liked him with the wagons.”

“Well, I can’t send him out this time. We don’t need him with a train.” Mr. Russell spoke directly to Davy. “Did you ever herd?”

“Not much, sir. But I think I could.”

“Well, you go on down to Leavenworth and see Mr. Majors. He’s hiring the herding end of the business. If he wants to take you on, all right.” And Mr. Russell turned away. He was a man of short speech.

“Much obliged, Mr. Russell,” answered the two boys.

“Come on, Dave,” bade Billy, making for the two ponies.

They mounted, to go on to Leavenworth City. This was in plain sight from the high land where the fort was located. It was nestled prettily in a wooded basin beside the river two miles southeast. Fort Leavenworth was on the trail between it and Salt Creek Valley, and the trail continued to the Missouri at the town itself.

A lively place Leavenworth proved to be. It contained about five thousand people, living there, and a lot more who were simply pausing until they had outfitted for the trail westward. The streets were crowded with teams and wagons and people; and the river was dotted with rowboats, barges and several steamboats.

Billy Cody hustled right along, without giving Dave much time to look about. Evidently he was bound for the company office. In fact, suddenly he said so.

“There’s the Planters’ Hotel, Red,” he spoke, pointing. “It’s the biggest. The company’s office is right across the street, kittycorner. See it?”

Kittycorner from the Planters’ Hotel (which was a large three-story building, with a wide porch and a verandah, too, running around its face) Dave saw a sign reading, in big letters, “Russell, Majors & Waddell,” on a brick building. The streets hereabouts were more crowded than at any other point, and the two boys had difficulty in threading their way, dodging people and horses and oxen and wagons.

“Better tie up here,” spoke Billy abruptly, his quick eye sighting a vacant hitching spot at the sidewalk. “This place is getting too populous for me; can’t hardly breathe.”

They wedged in, tied their horses, and Billy led the way to the Russell, Majors & Waddell office—headquarters of the great overland freighting firm.

“That’s Mr. Majors at the desk,” he informed, undertone, to Dave, on the threshold. And—“How do you do, Mr. Waddell?” he said respectfully, as another man was brushing past them.

“How-do-do, Billy,” responded the man. “Back again, are you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, take care of yourself, my boy,” and Mr. Waddell hastened away, as if on matters important.

“He’s the third partner,” whispered Billy. “But you don’t see him very often. Mr. Majors and Mr. Russell seem to run the plains part of the business.”

Mr. Waddell had been a stoutly-built man, with florid complexion and full, heavy face inclining to jaw. Mr. Majors was almost his opposite, being a rather tall man, although strongly built, with a kindly, sober face and a long brown beard. As Billy and Dave approached his desk he glanced up.

“How do you do, Mr. Majors?” said Billy, hat in hand.

“How are you, Billy?”

“This is my friend Dave Scott, Mr. Majors. He’s looking for a job. He’s been staying at my house since we came in last month with Lew Simpson’s train from Laramie. I’m going out again in a day or so, and he wants to get to work. We saw Mr. Russell up at the fort, and he said for us to come down here to see you.”

“When did you see him?” queried Mr. Majors crisply.

“We just come from him. He thought there might be a job of herding open.”

“That boy’s pretty young.”

“He’s not any younger than I was when I started in, Mr. Majors.” Billy spoke like a man, and Mr. Majors appeared to regard him as a man.

“Where are your parents?” asked Mr. Majors of Davy.

Dave gulped.

“I haven’t any. I was with my uncle.”

“Where’s he?”

Davy shook his head and gulped again. Billy helped him out.

“The Injuns struck their wagon on the trail and wiped them out, Mr. Majors. The Cut Nose band had Dave, and he came into our train after that mule fort fight. He made good with us; Lew Simpson and Wild Bill and George Woods and everybody will say that; and he’ll make good anywhere you put him, I believe.”

“Well,” said Mr. Majors, “if he has no folks that’s a different matter. I don’t want to encourage any boy to leave his home when he ought to be going to school, and getting the right bringing up generally. It’s a rough life for a boy or man either out on the plains. Do you swear?” he demanded, suddenly.

Dave stammered.

“I don’t mean to. I don’t think I do.”

“That’s right,” asserted Mr. Majors. “I won’t have anybody around or working for our company who blasphemes or lies. I won’t have it at all. There’s no sense in swearing. All right then. I can put you at herding, if you really want to work. We’ll pay you twenty-five dollars a month, the same as we pay all herders. Got a horse?”

“No, sir,” said Davy.

“That doesn’t matter. We’ll furnish you a mount, of course. You can have the one that other herder’s using. I hope you’ll make a better herder than most of the others. Herding is a business just like any other business, my boy. Whatever you do, do well. If you make a good herder, we’ll give you a chance at something more. Nearly everybody has to start in at herding. Billy here did. Now he’s drawing full pay with the wagon trains. He’ll tell you what to do. You can sign the pay roll and start in this afternoon. Mr. Meyers,” and Mr. Majors addressed his book-keeper, “have this boy sign the pay roll and the pledge. He’s going on herd, with the cattle out west of town.”

“Yes, Mr. Majors,” answered the book-keeper, opening a large book. “Come over here, boy.”

Davy thought this rather sudden, but made no comment. He walked boldly over to the book-keeper.

“Sign here,” bade Mr. Meyers, indicating with his finger. And Davy wrote, in his best manner: “David Scott.”

“Here’s something else,” bade the book-keeper. “Better read it. We all have to sign it, if we work for the company.”

Davy read the slip. It said:

“While I am in the employ of Russell, Majors & Waddell, I agree not to use profane language, not to get drunk, not to gamble, not to treat animals cruelly, and not to do anything else that is incompatible with the conduct of a gentleman. And I agree, if I violate any of the above conditions, to accept my discharge without any pay for my services.”

Mr. Majors had strolled over, to inspect, as Davy signed. He nodded.

“I’m glad to see you can write, my boy,” he said. “That’s more than some of the men can do. Billy here had to make his mark the first time he signed with us.”

“He can write now, though,” informed Davy, loyally, remembering the scribbling on the wagon. “I’ve seen him.”

“Yes, Billy’s found out that he’s no worse off for having put in some time at school. He’ll be glad enough of all the school that he can get before he’s gone much farther. Have you got bedding, my boy?”

“N-no, I haven’t,” faltered Davy. “Maybe I can find some though.”

“We can rake up a quilt or two for you,” offered Mr. Majors. But Billy spoke quickly.

“No; we’ll fix him out with bedding. We’ve some extra quilts at the house, Mr. Majors. I’ll get them on our way out.”

“Can you go out with him, Billy, and tell him what to do? Number two herd is out six miles. You can find it. Stop at the fort and tell Mr. Russell to furnish him a mule.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. You take him and post him.” Mr. Majors extended his hand to Davy, who shook with him. “Do your duty, and a little more whenever you have the chance; don’t curse, don’t learn to drink, keep Sunday as much as you can, read the Bible, and look people in the face. Don’t do anything your mother wouldn’t want you to do. I hope to hear a good report of you. We need the right kind of men in the west, and the boy like you will make the man of to-morrow.”

“Yes, sir,” said Davy. “I’ll try.”

He followed Billy out; and they remounted their ponies.

“Good,” remarked Billy, as they rode away up the thronged street. “Mr. Majors is a queer sort, but he’s the right stuff. He’s a crank on swearing and drinking. We all have to sign that pledge, and if he hears a man swearing he goes straight to him and makes him quit. But everybody likes Mr. Majors, and they all try to keep the pledge. Mr. Russell isn’t so strict, though he backs up Mr. Majors. That’s a new wrinkle to the plains—that pledge business.”

Davy nodded.

“There’s no sense in swearing, anyhow,” mused Billy. “Jiminy, but my mother hated to have me start out bull whacking. It’s a tough life, and some of the teamsters, too, are about as tough as you make ’em. Ma saw Mr. Russell and Mr. Majors and they talked with her and said they’d look out for me: and she read the pledge, and so she let me go. Lew Simpson is a hard looker, you know. She didn’t like him until she found out from Mr. Russell that he wasn’t half as bad as he seemed. I’m mighty glad I’m here to post you on that herding business. It’s no easy job herding a thousand cattle. But you’ll make good. All you have to do is to tend to your job. Mother’ll fix you up with bedding, and if you need any clothes that we haven’t got, you can get them on the company account and they’ll take it out of your pay. See?”

So, Billy chatting and Davy listening, they trotted along on the road up to the fort.

Mr. Russell was still at the quartermaster’s building busy loading a bull train and checking it up. Billy reported to him, and he nodded.

“All right,” he said. “On your way out you tell Buck Bomer to give you a mule from his outfit.”

They found Buck in the wagon camp outside the fort. He turned over to them a little mouse-colored mule, with a rawhide bridle and an old stock saddle. The bridle had rope lines and the saddle was worn and ragged, and the saddle-blanket was a piece of sacking. Altogether the equipment looked rather sorry, but Davy said not a word. He made up his mind that he would be better than his outfit.

“You don’t care,” consoled Billy. “It’s good enough as a starter. If you need better you’ll get it after a while. We’ll stop at the house, and get the other stuff. Then we’ll go on. I know where the herd is.”