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■ Use arithmetic operators.
■ Learn the precedence of
arithmetic operators.
■ Write decision-making
statements.
■ Use relational and equality
operators.
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 2 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

Self-Review Exercises 2

Self-Review Exercises
2.1 Fill in the blanks in each of the following statements:
a) A(n) begins the body of every method, and a(n) ends the body of
every method.
ANS: left brace ({), right brace (} ).
b) You can use the statement to make decisions.
ANS: if.
c) begins an end-of-line comment.
ANS: //.
d) , and are called white space.
ANS: Space characters, newlines and tabs.
e) are reserved for use by Java.
ANS: Keywords.
f) Java applications begin execution at method .
ANS: main.
g) Methods , and display information in a command win-
dow.
ANS: System.out.print, System.out.println and System.out.printf.
2.2 State whether each of the following is true or false. If false, explain why.
a) Comments cause the computer to print the text after the // on the screen when the pro-
gram executes.
ANS: False. Comments do not cause any action to be performed when the program exe-
cutes. They’re used to document programs and improve their readability.
b) All variables must be given a type when they’re declared.
ANS: True.
c) Java considers the variables number and NuMbEr to be identical.
ANS: False. Java is case sensitive, so these variables are distinct.
d) The remainder operator (%) can be used only with integer operands.
ANS: False. The remainder operator can also be used with noninteger operands in Java.
e) The arithmetic operators *, /, %, + and - all have the same level of precedence.
ANS: False. The operators *, / and % are higher precedence than operators + and -.
2.3 Write statements to accomplish each of the following tasks:
a) Declare variables c, thisIsAVariable, q76354 and number to be of type int.
ANS: int c, thisIsAVariable, q76354, number;
or
int c;
int thisIsAVariable;
int q76354;
int number;
b) Prompt the user to enter an integer.
ANS: System.out.print("Enter an integer: ");
c) Input an integer and assign the result to int variable value. Assume Scanner variable
input can be used to read a value from the keyboard.
ANS: value = input.nextInt();
d) Print "This is a Java program" on one line in the command window. Use method
System.out.println.
ANS: System.out.println("This is a Java program");
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 3 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

3 Chapter 2 Introduction to Java Applications; Input/Output and Operators

e) Print "This is a Java program" on two lines in the command window. The first line
should end with Java. Use method System.out.printf and two %s format specifiers.
ANS: System.out.printf("%s%n%s%n", "This is a Java", "program");
f) If the variable number is not equal to 7, display "The variable number is not equal to 7".
ANS: if (number != 7)
System.out.println("The variable number is not equal to 7");

2.4 Identify and correct the errors in each of the following statements:
a) if (c < 7);
System.out.println("c is less than 7");
ANS: Error: Semicolon after the right parenthesis of the condition (c < 7) in the if.
Correction: Remove the semicolon after the right parenthesis. [Note: As a result, the
output statement will execute regardless of whether the condition in the if is true.]
b) if (c => 7)
System.out.println("c is equal to or greater than 7");
ANS: Error: The relational operator => is incorrect. Correction: Change => to >=.
2.5 Write declarations, statements or comments that accomplish each of the following tasks:
a) State that a program will calculate the product of three integers.
ANS: // Calculate the product of three integers
b) Create a Scanner called input that reads values from the standard input.
ANS: Scanner input = new Scanner(System.in);
c) Declare the variables x, y, z and result to be of type int.
ANS: int x, y, z, result;
or
int x;
int y;
int z;
int result;
d) Prompt the user to enter the first integer.
ANS: System.out.print("Enter first integer: ");
e) Read the first integer from the user and store it in the variable x.
ANS: x = input.nextInt();
f) Prompt the user to enter the second integer.
ANS: System.out.print("Enter second integer: ");
g) Read the second integer from the user and store it in the variable y.
ANS: y = input.nextInt();
h) Prompt the user to enter the third integer.
ANS: System.out.print("Enter third integer: ");
i) Read the third integer from the user and store it in the variable z.
ANS: z = input.nextInt();
j) Compute the product of the three integers contained in variables x, y and z, and assign
the result to the variable result.
ANS: result = x * y * z;
k) Use System.out.printf to display the message "Product is" followed by the value of
the variable result.
ANS: System.out.printf("Product is %d%n", result);
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 4 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

Exercises 4

2.6 Using the statements you wrote in Exercise 2.5, write a complete program that calculates
and prints the product of three integers.
ANS:

1 // Ex. 2.6: Product.java

2 // Calculate the product of three integers.
3 import java.util.Scanner; // program uses Scanner
4
5 public class Product
6 {
7 public static void main(String[] args)
8 {
9 // create Scanner to obtain input from command window
10 Scanner input = new Scanner(System.in);
11
12 int x; // first number input by user
13 int y; // second number input by user
14 int z; // third number input by user
15 int result; // product of numbers
16
17 System.out.print("Enter first integer: "); // prompt for input
18 x = input.nextInt(); // read first integer
19
20 System.out.print("Enter second integer: "); // prompt for input
21 y = input.nextInt(); // read second integer
22
23 System.out.print("Enter third integer: "); // prompt for input
24 z = input.nextInt(); // read third integer
25
26 result = x * y * z; // calculate product of numbers
27
28 System.out.printf("Product is %d%n", result);
29 } // end method main
30 } // end class Product

Enter first integer: 10

Enter second integer: 20
Enter third integer: 30
Product is 6000

Exercises
NOTE: Solutions to the programming exercises are located in the ch02solutions folder.
Each exercise has its own folder named ex02_## where ## is a two-digit number represent-
ing the exercise number. For example, exercise 2.14’s solution is located in the folder
ex02_14.
2.7 Fill in the blanks in each of the following statements:
a) are used to document a program and improve its readability.
ANS: Comments.
b) A decision can be made in a Java program with a(n) .
ANS: if statement.
c) Calculations are normally performed by statements.
ANS: assignment statements.
d) The arithmetic operators with the same precedence as multiplication are and
.
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 5 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

5 Chapter 2 Introduction to Java Applications; Input/Output and Operators

ANS: division (/), remainder (%)

e) When parentheses in an arithmetic expression are nested, the set of paren-
theses is evaluated first.
ANS: innermost.
f) A location in the computer’s memory that may contain different values at various times
throughout the execution of a program is called a(n) .
ANS: variable.
2.8 Write Java statements that accomplish each of the following tasks:
a) Display the message "Enter an integer: ", leaving the cursor on the same line.
ANS: System.out.print( "Enter an integer: " );
b) Assign the product of variables b and c to variable a.
ANS: a = b * c;
c) Use a comment to state that a program performs a sample payroll calculation.
ANS: // This program performs a simple payroll calculation.
2.9 State whether each of the following is true or false. If false, explain why.
a) Java operators are evaluated from left to right.
ANS: False. Some operators (e.g., assignment, =) evaluate from right to left.
b) The following are all valid variable names: _under_bar_, m928134, t5, j7, her_sales$,
his_$account_total, a, b$, c, z and z2.
ANS: True.
c) A valid Java arithmetic expression with no parentheses is evaluated from left to right.
ANS: False. The expression is evaluated according to operator precedence.
d) The following are all invalid variable names: 3g, 87, 67h2, h22 and 2h.
ANS: False. Identifier h22 is a valid variable name.
2.10 Assuming that x = 2 and y = 3, what does each of the following statements display?
a) System.out.printf("x = %d%n", x);
ANS: x = 2
b) System.out.printf("Value of %d + %d is %d%n", x, x, (x + x));
ANS: Value of 2 + 2 is 4
c) System.out.printf("x =");
ANS: x =
d) System.out.printf("%d = %d%n", (x + y), (y + x));
ANS: 5 = 5
2.11 Which of the following Java statements contain variables whose values are modified?
a) p = i + j + k + 7;
b) System.out.println("variables whose values are modified");
c) System.out.println("a = 5");
d) value = input.nextInt();
ANS: (a), (d).
2.12 Given that y = ax3 + 7, which of the following are correct Java statements for this equation?
a) y = a * x * x * x + 7;
b) y = a * x * x * (x + 7);
c) y = (a * x) * x * (x + 7);
d) y = (a * x) * x * x + 7;
e) y = a * (x * x * x) + 7;
f) y = a * x * (x * x + 7);
ANS: (a), (d), (e)
2.13 State the order of evaluation of the operators in each of the following Java statements, and
show the value of x after each statement is performed:
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 6 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

Exercises 6

a) x = 7 + 3 * 6 / 2 - 1;
ANS: *, /, +, -; Value of x is 15.
b) x = 2 % 2 + 2 * 2 - 2 / 2;
ANS: %, *, /, +, -; Value of x is 3.
c) x = (3 * 9 * (3 + (9 * 3 / (3))));
ANS: x = ( 3 * 9 * ( 3 + ( 9 * 3 / ( 3 ) ) ) );
4 5 3 1 2
Value of x is 324.
2.19 What does the following code print?
System.out.printf("*%n**%n***%n****%n*****%n");

ANS:

*
**
***
****
*****

2.20 What does the following code print?

System.out.println("*");
System.out.println("***");
System.out.println("*****");
System.out.println("****");
System.out.println("**");

ANS:

*
***
*****
****
**

2.21 What does the following code print?

System.out.print("*");
System.out.print("***");
System.out.print("*****");
System.out.print("****");
System.out.println("**");

ANS:

***************

2.22 What does the following code print?

System.out.print("*");
System.out.println("***");
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 7 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM
jhtp_02_IntroToApplications.FM Page 8 Sunday, May 18, 2014 9:41 PM

7 Chapter 2 Introduction to Java Applications; Input/Output and Operators

System.out.println("*****");
System.out.print("****");
System.out.println("**");

ANS:

****
*****
******

2.23 What does the following code print?

System.out.printf("%s%n%s%n%s%n", "*", "***", "*****");

ANS:

*
***
*****
Random documents with unrelated
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 Minding these instructions of Captain Hi, the Hee-Haw outfit
proceeded as if intent on their own business. Left-over whimpered
and showed a strong disposition to climb into the rear of the wagon,
but Billy said sternly:
“None of that! You stay outside. Thought you were an Injun-
fighter.”
“I am,” piped Left-over. “I was going to protect the wagon.”
“Huh!” grunted Billy.
Up on the seat, in plain sight, driving the mules, Davy felt rather
alone and exposed; but he drove steadily. The mules were pricking
their long ears and showing uneasiness.
“Watch your animals, Dave,” cautioned Jim. “A mules hates Injuns
wuss ’n a rattlesnake.”
And Davy hung tight.
The Indians bore down at full gallop, as if to cut the wagon off.
But at sight of the guns in the hands of Hi and Jim and Billy, when
within a hundred yards they reined in sharply and the leader threw
up his hand, palm outward. Hi answered with similar sign. He rode
forward halfway, so did the Indian; they met.
“’Rapahoes,” exclaimed both Billy and Jim.
“Regular beggars,” commented the Reverend, easily. “Hi’ll fix
them.”
Hi and the Arapaho leader came riding toward the wagon, and the
others in the band slowly edged closer. They were armed mainly
with bows and spears, and did not look very formidable.
“Just a lot of rascals out on a thieving expedition, picking up what
they can from the emigrants,” announced Hi. “But of course they
claim to be ‘good.’ The chief here’ll show you his recommendations.”
The chief (who was a villainous appearing old fellow, cross-eyed
and marked by small-pox and wearing a dirty ragged blanket)
passed from one to another of the Hee-Haw company, saying “How,
how?” and shaking hands and extending a bit of dingy paper.
When the paper reached Davy he read:

“This Indian is Old Smoke. He’ll steal the tail off a mule. Watch
him and pass him along.
“Pike’s Peaker.”

The chief grinned and grunted, evidently well pleased with himself
and the impression that he thought he was making.
“Soog!” he said eagerly. “Soog!”
“No sugar,” answered Hi. “Drive on, Dave. Needn’t stop.”
But the old Indian kept pace.
“Tobac’. Give tobac’?”
“Nope,” answered Hi, shaking his head. “Puckachee! Be off!
Vamose!”
“Look out for those other Injuns!” suddenly warned Billy, the alert.
“They’re coming right in!”
“Don’t let ’em!” begged Left-over, excited. “Give him some sugar,
so he’ll go away. I’ll give him some.”
“No, you won’t,” retorted Hi, quickly. “Then he’ll want something
else. Here, you—” and he spoke in earnest to the chief. “Puckachee!”
And Hi waved his hand and patted his yager meaningly. “Get! All of
you! No soog, no tobac’, nothing. Keep close to the wagon, boys,” he
warned to his party, “and show ’em we mean business. Drive the
mules right along, Dave.” He shouted to the advanced Indians: “No!
No!” And facing about shifted his gun as for action.
The chief had paused, uncertain; and now his followers paused.
The Hee-Haw wagon, flanked by its body-guard, with the mules
snorting and straining but controlled by Davy, pressed on. In a
moment the chief rode back to his band, and all went cantering
away.
 “Lucky for them they didn’t try to make us trouble,” boasted Left-
over, changing his tune but still suspiciously pale. “We’d have shown
’em!”
“Lucky for us, you mean,” growled Hi. “If once those fellows had
got in amongst us and started to crowding us thar’s no knowing
what mightn’t have happened. That’s the mistake lots of these
emigrants make. They try to parley and give presents, thinking
they’re buying the Injuns off; and fust thing they know they’re
overrun and helpless and lose their whole outfit.”
“Were you scared up there, Dave?” called Billy.
“No. Were you down there?” retorted Dave.
“Not so anybody noticed it, I hope,” answered Billy.
“Well, one thing’s certain,” said Jim. “We’ve got wuss ahead of us
than Injuns, I reckon. Water’s petered out.”
Before their eyes the shallow head-waters of the Smoky Hill Fork
disappeared abruptly, as if soaking down through the sand of its
bed. Davy checked his mules while Hi and the others surveyed
before. Not a token of water showed beyond or as far as they could
see.
Billy Cody had promptly trudged on in the advance; and now he
shouted and waved.
“Trail forks,” he reported. “One fork keeps on, other turns off to
the right.”
“We’ll follow that right fork as far as we can before dark,” quoth
Hi. “How’s the water bar’l? Fill her up.”
The Reverend Mr. Baxter sprang to the river bed and with the
camp spade dug vigorously. The others took pails and pans and
kettles and carried water, as fast as the hole supplied it, to the big
cask that, slung fast at the rear of the wagon, formed part of the
trail kit.
 It was slow work filling this cask through the bung-hole, but Hi
kept them at it until the cask was well-nigh running over. By this
time dusk was settling, and with a shrewd glance about at the
landscape Captain Hi said:
“Unspan, boys. We might as well camp right hyar. But it’s mighty
poor grazing for the mules, I tell you!”
 XII
PERILS FOR THE HEE-HAWS

Many emigrants had camped here, evidently. The grass had been
eaten off for several acres around, and Davy roamed in a circle of a
quarter of a mile before he had gleaned enough buffalo chips for the
supper fire.
“Better get enough for breakfast, too, Dave,” warned Mr. Baxter,
the cook, with a weather-wise eye cocked at the horizon. “Hear the
thunder? We’re liable to be soaked and so will the chips.”
Buffalo chips when dry were fine, quick, hot fuel; but when wet
they were hopeless, like soggy paste-board. Mr. Baxter’s warning
had been well founded, for the air was heavy and warmish, and
from some distant point echoed the rumble of a storm.
Up to this time the journey from Leavenworth had been very
comfortable as to weather, with sunny days and occasional little
rains. But, according to Billy and all, some of these plains storms
were regular “tail twisters” and “stem winders,” drowning even the
prairie-dogs out of their holes!
“Left-over’s first on guard to-night,” directed Captain Hi. “We must
keep eye and ear open for those Injuns. They may sneak up and run
off our mules.”
“They’d better not try it when I’m on guard,” blustered Left-over,
in his funny squeak. “You’ll lemme have your gun, won’t you, Jim?”
“Not much!” rapped Jim. “I may want that gun myself. Take one of
Billy’s. Let him have your yager, Billy. What have you got in it?”
“A bullet and three buckshot. I loaded her for Injuns.”
 “That’s right. Left-over can do a toler’ble lot of shooting with that
load.”
Pleased, Left-over took the gun and posted himself just outside
the firelight, where he could oversee camp and mules (now tethered
near) and any prowling figures approaching. The night settled black
and thick, with the stars faintly twinkling through a haze; but
wrapped in his blanket beside Billy, Dave soon fell asleep.
He was awakened by a loud bang, and a louder howl from Left-
over, who seemed to be stepping on everybody at once.
“Injuns! I’m killed! Help! Murder! Wake up! Why don’t you wake?
Help! Murder! Injuns! Injuns!”
Before Davy had collected his own wits and was out from the
blanket Billy had sprung up like a deer; with the one motion he was
on his feet, free of the blanket, revolver in hand, ready to obey
Captain Hi’s sharp voice.
“Shut up! (to Left-over, who was cavorting around like whale in a
flurry). Lie low, boys! Over here, together, away from the fire. Where
are they, Left-over? What’s the matter? What’d you see?”
“I’m killed,” wailed Left-over. “The whole country’s full of Injuns
—’Rapahoes. I shot into ’em when they were sneaking up, and then
they shot me through the head. It all happened at once. But I saved
the mules. I gave my life for ’em, and you-all.” And Left-over
groaned vigorously.
Half deafened by the wails of Left-over, Davy had been listening
hard for Indian whoop or rustle, and peering for shadowy forms. But
he heard only the breathing of his companions and the grunty sighs
of the aroused mules. Not a figure, except those of the shadowy
mules, just visible against the sky-line, could be descried.
“Aw, shucks!” grumbled Billy, suddenly, breaking the suspense.
And standing boldly, he strode to the smouldering camp-fire and
thrust a bit of paper into the live ashes. He made a plain target, but
he did not seem to care, and waited for the paper to flare.
 In the flare they all stared around; the mules were the first things
noted—but Mr. Baxter exclaimed:
“Look at Left-over! By jiminy, he is wounded! Start that fire more
or make a torch so we can see. Wait a minute, Left-over.”
Left-over certainly presented an alarming sight. His face was
welling blood, which streamed down upon his chest. His eyes rolled
and he groaned dismally.
As Billy made another flare, Jim, nearest to Left-over, hastily
examined, with eyes and deft fingers, Left-over groaning now
terribly.
“Don’t find anything—there ain’t any new hole; mostly mouth,” Jim
reported. “Can’t you hold your yawp, Left-over, long enough to tell
us what happened to you?”
“I saw the Injuns sneaking up and we all shot at the same time,
and I killed them and they killed me,” sobbed Left-over. “If you don’t
believe me go out and look.”
“I know,” quoth Billy Cody. “That gun kicked him in the face and
plumb broke his nose! She was loaded to do business.”
“Huh!” grunted Left-over, venturing to sit up and feel of his face.
“If you fellows’ll watch I’ll scout around a bit and see what’s what
outside,” proffered Billy. “I keep seeing something lying out yonder.
Shouldn’t wonder if Left-over did kill an Injun.”
The lightning was fitful but incessant; its pallid flashes played over
the landscape—momentarily revealing the drooping mules, the spots
of sage, the wagon, the faces on Davy’s right and left, and (as
seemed to Davy) exposing, for a brief instance, a dark mass lying
farther out on the prairie.
“Well——” began Captain Hi; but he was interrupted. As if borne
on the wings of a sudden cool gust from the west there came fresh
blare of thunder and glare of lightning. Peal succeeded peal, flash
succeeded flash, with scarce an interval. Hi’s voice rang sternly.
 “Billy, you and Dave see to those mules, quick, or they’ll
stampede. The rest of you pitch what stuff you can into the wagon
and stretch guy-ropes to hold her down. This is an old rip-snorter of
a storm, and it’s coming with its head down and tail up!”
Nobody paused to question or debate. The storm seemed right
upon them. Following Billy, Dave leaped for the mules.
“Tie ’em to the wagon wheels,” yelled Billy, in the pale glare
tugging at a picket pin.
He and Davy hauled the mules along to the wagon, where Hi and
Jim, Mr. Baxter and even the gory Left-over were hustling frantically
to put things under cover and make the wagon fast with guy-ropes
stretched taut over the top.
But the storm scarcely waited. The bellow of the thunder and the
fierce play of the lightning increased. There was a pause, a patter, a
swift gust; and rushing out of the inky night charged the rain.
Rain? Sheets of it! Blinding, drenching sheets of it, driven by gust
after gust, and riven by peal after peal, glare after glare.
“Hang to the wagon, everybody!” shouted Captain Hi; and Davy,
hanging hard, could see, amidst the cataract of water, his partners
also hanging hard to guy-ropes and wagon-sheet corners. The mules
stood drooped and huddled, their ears flat and their tails turned to
the storm.
Never had there been such lightning, never such thunder, never
such rain! All in a moment, as it seemed to Davy, he was soaked
through and through, and the ground under him was running with
water an inch deep. The wagon top bellied and slapped and jerked,
and every instant was threatening to tear loose and sail away, or
else lift the wagon and all with it.
“Hurrah!” yelled Billy gaily, braced and panting, as he tried to
anchor his corner. Nothing daunted Billy Cody. “Now we’ve got water
a-plenty!”
 As suddenly as it had arrived the bulk of the storm departed,
leaving only a drizzle, and a very wet world. The Hee-Haw party
might release their grip on the wagon, and take stock. The rain had
driven through the canvas top into the bedding and other stuff, and
the rest of the night bid fair to be rather uncomfortable.
“What are we going to do now?” whined Left-over.
“Do the best we can,” answered Captain Hi. “Stand up or lie down,
whichever you please, till morning.”
“Aren’t you going out to look at my Injun?”
“He’ll keep. We’ve got enough to tend to right hyar.”
Mr. Baxter lighted the lantern, and they overhauled the bedding.
“Come on, Davy,” quoth Billy. “I’m going to sleep. Crawl in and
we’ll shiver ourselves warm.”
Billy’s buffalo robe was spread down on a spot where the rain
already had soaked into the sandy soil, and snuggled beside him,
under a blanket, dressed just as he was, Dave soon found himself
growing warm.
“’Twon’t hurt us any,” murmured Billy. “I’ve been wet this way
many a time before. If we don’t change our clothes we won’t catch
cold.”
That was fortunate, for they had no clothes to change to!
When Dave awakened, the sun was almost up; he was nearly dry,
and had not been uncomfortable, after all. The Reverend Mr. Baxter
was trying to start a fire with bits of wood from some of the boxes in
the wagon, and to dry out a few buffalo chips. Left-over was snoring
lustily, but the rest of the camp was turning out. Billy, who was
sitting up, gazing about, whooped joyously.
“Look at Left-over’s Injun!” he cried, pointing. Out he sprang and
hustled across the plain. The camp began to laugh—all but Davy,
who stared, blinking, and Left-over, who stirred, half aroused.
 At the dark spot, which was Left-over’s Indian, Billy stopped; he
waved his hand and cheered, and came back, dragging the thing. As
he drew near, Davy saw what the others had seen. The Indian was a
big calf!
“Shot it plumb through the head!” yelped Billy. “’Rah for Left-
over!”
“What is it? What’s the matter?” stammered Left-over, struggling
to sit up, while he blinked, red-eyed.
“Better take his tail for your scalp, Left-over,” bade Jim. “It’s a pity
we don’t need meat, but you can butcher him if you want to.”
Not for some weeks did the Hee-Haw outfit get done teasing Left-
over about his “Injuns.”
“Anyway,” soothed Mr. Baxter, “you made a good shot. Nobody can
deny you that.”
“Huh!” agreed Left-over, swelling importantly. “I knew it was
something, and I drew bead and whaled away.”
“Purty good to draw bead in the dark,” remarked Captain Hi. “Left-
over must have eyes like a cat!”
They ate a rather scant breakfast, mostly cold; and leaving the
luckless calf (which must have wandered from some emigrant party)
minus a few steaks, they turned northwest on the cut-off to the next
water. The stage route went straight on, over a bare plateau; but a
number of emigrants evidently had been turning off here on a trail
of their own.
So sandy was the soil and so hot the sun that very soon the
ground was as dry as before, and Billy’s boast of “plenty water”
failed to make good.
About the middle of the morning they passed an emigrant train of
a large party still recovering from the storm. Wagons had been
capsized, tents torn up bodily, and equipage scattered far and wide.
One wagon had been carried away completely.
 “How far to the mountains, strangers?” queried one of the
emigrants. It was the same old question. All the Pike’s Peak
travellers appeared to have the one thing in mind—the mountains.
“Follow us and you’ll get thar,” replied Captain Hi. “What do you
know about this cut-off?”
“Nothing at all, stranger. There looked as if somebody had gone
up this way, so we came too.”
“It’s a terrible dry road, though,” sighed a woman. “Maybe if we’d
have kept on west we’d have done better.”
“Well, by jiminy!” said Hi, as the Hee-Haws toiled on. “I sort of
think so, myself. This trail doesn’t look good to me; not a little bit.”
“Shall we turn back?” proposed Mr. Baxter.
“I hate to turn back,” spoke Billy promptly. “I like to keep a-going.”
“Oh, we might as well go on,” added Jim. “I hate to back track,
too. But there aren’t many emigrants on this trail, that’s certain.”
“The trouble is they’ll follow like sheep,” asserted the Reverend. “If
this cut-off is no good somebody ought to put a sign on it.”
Hotter and hotter grew the day. The trail, which was not so large
after the emigrant party had been passed, wound among blistering
sand-hills, and soon the mules were plodding doggedly, with tongues
out, hides lathering. They guided themselves, for the Reverend,
whose turn it was to drive, had mercy on them and walked. That
night at camp he uttered a sudden exclamation.
“Water’s more than half gone, boys,” he announced. “Either this
keg leaks or the air drinks faster than we do.”
“We’ll have to be easy on water, then,” ordered Captain Hi. And
they all went to bed thirsty.
Davy had a miserable night, and probably the rest did, too,
although nobody except Left-over said anything. The mules started
out stiffly. But Mr. Baxter suddenly shouted, in a queer wheeze,
pointing:
“Cheer up, fellows! There’s either a cloud or a mountain—see?”
They peered. Away in the west, just touched by the first rays of
the sun, peeped over the rolling desert, at the horizon edge, a vague
outline that did look like the tip of a cloud.
“There’s another!” cried Billy, pointing further to the north. “If
those are mountains I reckon this one is Long’s Peak; maybe that
other is Pike’s Peak.”
Davy gazed constantly at the two vague, cloudlike breaks in the
line of horizon and sky. As the sun rose higher they seemed to grow
whiter; but they did not move. They must be mountains, then; and
oh, so far away! Occasionally, as the wagon labored over a swell in
the desert, Davy thought that he could descry other mountains in an
irregular ridge connecting the tip in the north with the tip at the
south. However, as the sun shone fiercer the whole sandy plain
quivered with the heat rays and the horizon blurred. Nobody seemed
to care about the mountains now; the main thought was getting
through to water.
The trail was almost drifted over by sand; the Hee-Haw party
appeared to be the only party travelling it. That was discouraging.
The mules scarcely moved. At noon they were given a little drink out
of Hi’s hat, for the wooden bucket had warped and leaked like a
sieve. Davy never had been so thirsty in all his life, and Left-over
had to be forced back by main strength from the nearly empty cask.
That night, camped in a dry watercourse, where they dug and dug
without finding any moisture, they used the last of their water for
coffee.
“It’s make or break, to-morrow, boys,” said Captain Hi. “We’ll start
as early as we can see, and push right through. Ought to strike
water soon. The nearer we get to the mountains the better the
chance for water from them.”
 Sunrise of the third day caught them plodding ahead, the poor
mules groaning and wheezing, the wagon rolling sluggishly, and
Davy, like the rest, with mouth open and tongue bone dry, in the
wake. The cloud things in the horizon had remained stationary;
some of them were whitish, some purplish; and mountains they
certainly were!
About ten o’clock Billy cried out thickly.
“Water, fellows! Look at those mules’ ears! They smell it!”
“’Pears like a creek yonder, sure,” mumbled Captain Hi. “Don’t be
disappointed, though, if it’s another mirage.” For they had been
fooled several times by the heat waves picturing water.
“Those mules smell water, just the same, I bet you,” insisted Billy.
Far in the distance shimmered now a thin fringe of green. The
mules actually increased their pace; they broke into a labored trot;
and shambling heavily behind the outfit pressed on. Left-over
groaned and dropped, to lie and moan dismally.
“I’m dying,” he wheezed. “I can’t move a step. Are you fellows
going on and leave me?”
There was no holding the mules. As they forged along Billy
exclaimed quickly:
“Wait here, Left-over. Go ahead, fellows. I’ll fetch him back a
drink.”
And seizing the coffee-pot he sturdily ran and stumbled to the
fore. All hastened after him, rivalling the frantic mules, but he beat.
Water it was! When they approached it did not vanish as a mirage
would; and they met Billy returning with coffee-pot actually dripping
as its precious contents slopped over.
Davy felt a strong impulse to halt Billy, wrest the pot from him,
and drink long and deep. But of course this was only a thought.
Puffing, Billy passed.
 “There’s plenty water waiting you,” he announced. “I’ll bring Left-
over on after he’s had his drink.”
Yes, water it was—a real stream flowing crooked and shallow in a
deep bed bordered by brush and willows. The trail led to a ford.
Wagon and all, the mules fairly plunged in, and burying their noses
to their eyes gulped and gulped. First Jim, then in quick succession
Davy and Captain Hi and Mr. Baxter (who was the last of all)
imitated the mules. Whew, but that drink was a good long one! It
seemed to Davy, as he sucked again and again, that he simply could
not swallow fast enough.
“Some head stream or other, I reckon,” finally spoke Captain Hi.
“Shouldn’t wonder if we had water now all the way in. We’re getting
where the drainage from the mountains begins to cut some figger.”
Billy arrived with Left-over. They spent the rest of the day beside
the welcome stream; and by morning they left about as strong as
ever.
The trail that they were following now crossed at least one stream
a day, so that the water cask was kept filled. The buffalo jerky had
been eaten or was not eatable; but antelope and black-tail deer
were abundant. So the trail proved pleasant. Captain Hi called
attention to the fact that the water was growing colder to the taste;
and he said that the snow mountains must therefore be nearer.
Indeed, the mountains were nearer; they lined the whole western
horizon, and made a humpy, dark ridge extending from straight
ahead far up into the north. A haze like to a fog veiled them much of
the time, and the Hee-Haw party were always expecting a better
view.
Anyway, there were the Rocky Mountains in sight; and little by
little the trail was approaching them. Yet it was a long, long trail, and
who would have imagined that the plains were so broad from
Leavenworth to the digging!
However, one morning a surprise occurred. The trail had been
threading a little divide which evidently separated one stream from
another. A few pines were growing on it. They smelled good. When
the mules had tugged the wagon over the last rise and were
descending a splendid spectacle unfolded to the eyes of the Hee-
Haws. Involuntarily they cheered—hooray! and again hooray! For
right before them was the main trail once more, with the wagons of
emigrants whitening it and with a stage dashing along.
Down hastened the Hee-Haws, even the mules being glad of
company.
“Hooray for Cherry Creek and the diggin’s, strangers!” was the
greeting, as the Hee-Haw party entered at a break in the toiling
procession.
“How much further, lads?” asked Captain Hi.
“Whar?”
“To the mountains?”
“Seventy miles to the diggin’s, we hear tell. This is the head o’
Cherry Creek, hyar; and as soon as the fog lifts you’ll see what
you’re looking for, I reckon.”
The fog, which had cloaked the horizon since sunrise, already was
thinning; and staring, the Hee-Haws waited the result.
“I see them!” cried Jim, waving his battered hat.
“Where, Jim?”
“Yonder, straight in front.”
“So do I!” yelped Billy. “There’s Long’s Peak—that big peak up at
the north end. I’ve seen him from the Overland Trail. Look at the
snow, will you!”
“Isn’t it wonderful!” breathed the Reverend Mr. Baxter, in awed
tone.
And it was. Almost halting, spell-bound, they gazed. As the fog
broke and melted away it exposed a mighty barrier, extending in a
vast sweep from the right to the left—two hundred miles of
mountains, the front range soft and purplish, the back range
dazzling white with snow. The rugged plains, brushy and somewhat
timbered, and lighter green where meandered Cherry Creek,
reached to their very base.
“Where’s Pike’s Peak?” demanded Left-over.
“That lone peak at our end, stranger,” informed an emigrant.
Round and bulky and snow covered, standing out by himself, like
an exclamation-point completing the range, Pike’s Peak seemed the
biggest peak of all.
“That’s not far. ’Tisn’t more than ten miles!” declared Left-over.
“Come on! Let’s go and climb it. Get out your picks, fellows! Don’t
you see a kind of yellow patch? That’s gold, I bet you.”
“Keep cool, young man,” warned the emigrant. “You try to walk it
before night and you’ll find out how far that peak is. More than fifty
miles, I reckon.”
“It looks powerful cold up yon,” quavered a woman. “They do say
the snow never melts off.”
The trail was now much more interesting. Some of the emigrants
had come out, like the Hee-Haws, over the Smoky Hill Fork Trail, and
the others were from the Santa Fe Trail up the Arkansas River, to the
south. A trail along the base of the mountains connected this with
Smoky Hill Trail. Soon the trail by way of Republican River joined in.
The triple travel on Cherry Creek Trail was now so thick that Davy
again wondered where all the people were coming from.
The marvellous panorama of the Rockies remained ever in sight
before. Nobody tired of gazing at it, wondering which of the peaks,
besides Pike’s Peak, were inlaid with gold and if a fellow could live
on top of Pike’s Peak or back yonder among those other peaks while
getting out his fortune. Some of the emigrants (Left-over included)
asserted loudly that they could see the gold shining!
However, the first sight of the Pike’s Peak settlements—Denver
and Auraria—began to be watched for the most eagerly. The
mountains gradually drew nearer, Pike’s Peak gradually fell behind
until on the afternoon of the third day, down the winding, white-
topped procession swept a glad cry. Whips were flourished, sun-
bonnets were waved, hats were swung; men and women cheered,
children shouted, dogs barked.
“The Cherry Creek diggin’s! There they are! There are the gold
fields and the pound a day!”
People seemed to forget the bad reports spread by the disgruntled
emigrants bound back to the States. Hopes were again high for
success and fortune at the end of the long, long trail.
Sure enough, several miles before, in a basin set out from the
mountains a short distance, were a collection of wagons and tents
and other canvases, and a number of cabins, also, jumbled together
on both sides of the creek, apparently, and bounded before by a
wooded river. At the edges was a fringe of little camps like those of
emigrants stopping by the way.
Evening was nigh; the sun was low over the snowy range; smoke
was curling from camp-fire and chimney.
“We won’t make it to-day, fellows,” spoke Captain Hi. “But we’ll
pull in the first thing in the morning.”
“Goodness! Look at the people pouring in by the northern trail,
too!” exclaimed Mr. Baxter.
For glinting in the last rays of the sun a long wagon train of
emigrants, resembling crawling white beads, was heading in from
the opposite direction.
“That’s the cut-off down from the Salt Lake Overland Trail up the
Platte,” quoth Billy, promptly. “The bull trains travel that trail.”
 XIII
THE CHERRY CREEK DIGGIN’S

With so many people making for Cherry Creek over several trails it
seemed a pity to waste a night by camping. But when darkness
settled the trail was ablaze with the camp-fires of the emigrants
who, like the Hee-Haw outfit, had halted until dawn. Afar blinked the
lights of the “Pike’s Peak settlements”; and miles distant, north
across the plain, were the bright dots betokening the camps of those
emigrants entering by the Salt Lake Overland Trail.
The whole procession was early astir with the dawn; even Left-
over was up as soon as anybody, eager to be digging out his pound
of gold a day.
The trail down Cherry Creek was six inches deep with dust,
ground to powder by the constant wheels and hoofs. In a great
cloud it rose as the wagons and animals and persons ploughed
through it; to the north lifted other dust lines, where the rival travel
likewise pressed forward to the goal. It was an inspiring scene,
almost as good as a race; but Left-over grumbled:
“I don’t call this Pike’s Peak,” he said. “And where’s Denver City? I
don’t see any city.”
“City or not,” remarked the Reverend Mr. Baxter, “it’s a wonderful
thing, Davy—all these people, from all over the United States,
setting out overland, breaking new trails, and founding a town away
out here, six hundred miles across the desert, at the foot of those
snowy mountains! It’s taken a lot of pluck and a lot of trust in
Providence.”
 “Where do you calculate on stopping, boys?” queried a black-eyed,
sharp-nosed man who was riding down along the column.
“I don’t know,” drawled Captain Hi. “What’s the difference?”
“All the difference in the world. Throw in with Auraria. She’s on the
mountain side of the Creek, and she’s bound to be the biggest city
west of Omaha. We’ve got the buildings, the people, and the ferry
across the Platte River. Remember that. Don’t let these Denver
boomers fool you. Stop at Auraria and we’ll treat you right.”
And he rode on down the line talking about “Auraria.”
But he was close followed by another man—a fatty, red-faced
man.
“Keep right on down the east side of the creek to Denver City,” he
proclaimed. “The travelled side, the side next to the States. Buy a
town lot in Denver; it’ll be a nest-egg for you while you’re at the
diggin’s. Denver, Denver, Denver! Remember the east side of the
creek.”
And he, also, proceeded on, chanting the praises of “Denver City.”
The Reverend Mr. Baxter laughed.
Before they reached the settlement district the trail forked. A large
sign, pointing to the left-hand fork, said: “AURARIA. Direct Route to
the Gold Fields.” Another sign, pointing before, said: “Straight Ahead
for DENVER CITY. Nearest and Best.”
“Which will it be, boys?” queried Captain Hi.
“Let’s try Denver. It’s on this side of the creek and it’s named for
the governor of Kansas,” spoke Mr. Baxter.
So they continued on down to Denver City. Denver and Auraria
were separated by only the almost dry channels of Cherry Creek,
and both extended along it nearly to the Platte River below, into
which Cherry Creek emptied. As soon as the Hee-Haw party had
pitched their camp on the outskirts of Denver, they hastened about
their business. Davy and Mr. Baxter paired off to wander about. Billy
and Hi and Jim undertook some errands. Left-over was wild to grab
shovel and pick and pan and start right in digging and washing.
Many persons, in plain sight all up and down the creek bed, were
working hard panning for gold. Some of the emigrants had begun
almost before they had unharnessed their teams. And yonder,
northwest, glimpses of the Platte River, flowing past both Denver
and Auraria, gave glimpses also of other miners delving away.
Billy walked straight to the nearest group in the creek bed.
“How are you making it, pardner?” he asked.
“Have you fellows come for your pound a day, too?” asked the
man. Even his wife was wielding a dish-pan while he shovelled.
“You bet,” assured Billy.
The woman paused, and the man laughed wearily and wiped his
forehead.
“You’ll be lucky if you make fifty cents,” he said.
“Yes,” quavered the woman. “It’s awful poor picking along this
creek. I expect we’re all going to starve, provisions are getting so
high.”
“Where are the diggin’s, then?”
“Yonder, up in the mountains, stranger. We hear tell they’ve made
a big strike there. We’re going on as soon as we can travel. But our
oxen are about petered out.”
“How far’s Pike’s Peak?” demanded Left-over. “Where’s the Pike’s
Peak country? Why don’t you go to Pike’s Peak?”
“That’s Pike’s Peak down south, seventy-five miles,” answered the
man. “They call this the Pike’s Peak country, but it’s only a name. I
reckon you’ve heard of them sliding down Pike’s Peak and scraping
up the gold as they slide. Don’t you believe it, mister. The peak’s
above snow line and the ground is frozen solid. See that line of
wagons? They’re all heading to the new Gregory diggin’s, west in the
mountains about forty miles. That’s the big strike.”
“Oh, shucks!” exclaimed Billy.
Davy felt his heart sink; this, then, was not the end of the gold-
seekers’ trail, and the snowy mountains, topping the barrier of the
tumbled foot-hills, looked like a hard country.
“Come, Davy,” said the Reverend Mr. Baxter. “We’ll see the sights
first, anyway.”
So they left Left-over, hauling out his pick and spade and gold-pan
to join the squads working along the creek; and Hi and Jim and Billy,
who set forth on errands; and trudged away “to see the sights.”
“This gold craze is all right as a means of attracting the people
here,” remarked the Reverend Mr. Baxter, thoughtfully. “But the most
wonderful part to me is the settlement itself. There must be fifteen
hundred population already in scarce a year, and emigrants are
pouring in at the rate of a thousand a day, I hear. There are fifty
thousand on the way, Dave. I don’t give a snap for the mines; but
look, what has happened! This gold excitement is going to settle the
plains. The United States has jumped at a leap from the Missouri
River six or seven hundred miles to the mountains. With a city here,
and cities at the other end, there’ll soon be cities in between. A
whole lot of waste country is due to be made useful.”
“I don’t call this much of a city yet,” commented Davy,
considerably disappointed over the end of his trip.
“Well,” said Mr. Baxter, “it’s the starter for one if the people don’t
starve to death. The weak hearts will go back; the strong ones will
stick; it’s only a question of holding out for a while until the land is
cultivated.”
Truly, Denver was a strange collection of tents and shacks, with a
few good buildings. The houses were of hewn logs, sod roofs and
dirt floors, and the furniture was made mostly from slabs and planks.
There were few windows; and these were filled with sacking
stretched across or else had wooden shutters. As far as Davy could
see, the whole town did not have a pane of glass.
However, the streets (and particularly the two main streets named
Blake and Larimer) were thronged with people as thick as the
crowds at the other end of the route, Leavenworth. Indians,
Mexicans and whites fairly jostled elbows, and conversation in every
variety of speech was heard. The whites wore costumes ranging
from the broadcloth frock coat and flowing trousers of the St. Louis
and New York merchant to the flannel shirt, jeans trousers and
heavy boots of the regular plainsman and miner. The Mexicans wore
their broad, high-peaked hats and their serapes or gay Mexican
blankets, draped from their shoulders. The Indians stalked about
bare-headed, and enveloped in their blankets also. There were few
women.
Several stores handling general merchandise had been opened,
but according to the signs goods were expensive. One sign said:
“Antelope Meat, 4 cents a lb.” Picks and spades were the cheapest;
they could be bought for fifteen cents apiece, and nobody seemed to
be buying at that! This was a bad sign; it showed how disgusted
many of the overlanders had become when they found that they
could not dig gold out by the pound where they stopped!
Right in the centre of Denver was a large village of Indians,
camped in their tipis. By the hundreds they were lounging about,
men, women and children, the men unclothed except for a girdle
about the waist, and the children wearing nothing at all.
“Arapahoes,” pronounced Mr. Baxter. “Come on, Davy. There’s the
stage. Let’s go over to the hotel.”
A large cloth sign before a long one-story log building said:
“Denver House.” It was next to the Arapahoe village. People were
hurrying across to this hotel, for a stage-coach, with crack of whip
and cheer from passengers and driver, had halted short in front of it.
The coach, drawn by its four mules, dusty and lathered, bore the
lettering: “Leavenworth & Pike’s Peak Express Co.” So this, then, was
the daily Leavenworth stage. Already the street before the hotel was
crowded with onlookers who had gathered to receive the coach.
When Davy and Mr. Baxter arrived the travel-worn passengers were
clambering out. The first was Mr. Majors himself! Davy recognized
the long beard and he and Mr. Baxter pressed forward to welcome
their friend.
“Why, hello, boys,” quoth Mr. Majors. “Where’d you drop from?”
“Just got in,” answered Mr. Baxter, shaking hands, as did Davy.
“We came by mule and wagon with Billy Cody and two or three
others.”
“How?”
“Up the Smoky.”
“Joined the gold rush, did you?”
“Yes, sir. But I’ve about decided I’d rather plant potatoes.”
“How about you, Dave?” queried Mr. Majors.
“I’d like to eat one,” asserted Davy ruefully.
“You’ve got the right idea, I guess,” approved Mr. Majors. “But I
understand Horace Greeley has told the people here they ought to
plant potatoes, and they laughed at him. Potatoes are a better crop
than gold, in my opinion; but this country certainly doesn’t look very
promising for them. How people are going to live I don’t know. It
will be good for the freighting business, though. We’ll be hauling
stuff in here with every team we can muster. Did you know we’ve
taken over the stage line, too?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, we have. It’s run by Russell, Majors & Waddell now. Call in
on me before I leave, and I’ll give you a pass to Leavenworth in case
you want to go back.”
“All right. Thank you, Mr. Majors.”
 “If I were you, my lad, I wouldn’t stay around here long,”
continued Mr. Majors to Davy. “This place is going to be a good
place, and I haven’t any doubt that lots of gold will come out of
these mountains as soon as the people are experienced in finding it.
But looking for gold haphazard is a poor job for a boy. I think you’ll
do much better on the plains. A bird in the hand is worth two in the
bush, you know; and there’s a big work to be done in helping these
people live. If the freight outfits aren’t kept moving the diggings will
starve. If you’ll come in to Leavenworth we’ll put you to work with
the bull trains.”
“You’d better do it, Davy,” advised Mr. Baxter. And Davy soberly
nodded.
“I guess I will, then.”
“I’m up at our Nebraska City office most of the time now,” said Mr.
Majors. “But you’ll find Mr. Russell at Leavenworth and I’ll tell him to
fix you out.” And Mr. Majors shouldered his way into the hotel.
“Whar’s the post-office, stranger?” asked a voice; and turning they
faced an emigrant evidently newly arrived.
“I don’t know. We’re lost around here, ourselves,” explained Mr.
Baxter.
“Pardon. I tella the way,” spoke somebody else. He was a tall,
swarthy-visaged man, with heavy black moustache and black bushy
eyebrows, a large meerschaum pipe in his mouth. However, he was
neatly dressed, even to natty shoes. He looked like a foreigner, and
his accent sounded foreign. He continued rapidly: “That beeg house
w’ere you see-a the line of men.”
“Thank ’ee,” acknowledged the emigrant, after a hearty stare. And
he strode off.
“And you, signors? Canna I direct you zomeplace?” inquired the
foreign man, with a bow.
“We’re just looking around, is all,” informed Mr. Baxter.
 “Then later. Perhappa for the hair or the whiskers; perhappa for
the wash. Permitta me.” And with another bow he handed to Mr.
Baxter and to Davy his card.
It read: “H. Murat. Tonsorial Artist. Shaves, Trims and Cuts.
Laundry Done.”
“Do you know who he is?” piped another voice at Davy’s side, as
the dark foreigner disappeared in the crowd. “He’s a count, a real
Italian count.”
The speaker was a slender, fair-haired little fellow, not much older
than Dave himself.
“He’s Count Murat. His father was a big man in Italy. But out here
the count’s a barber and his wife takes in washing.”
“I declare!” ejaculated Mr. Baxter. “And where did you come from,
son?”
“From the States. I’ve been up in the diggin’s, but I froze my feet
and I’m going home.”
“Are your folks here?”
“No, sir. I ran away. But I’ve got enough and when I reach home
I’m going to stay there.”
“Well, you’d better,” approved Mr. Baxter. “You’re too young to be
out here alone.”
“I guess I am,” admitted the little fellow. “Life out here is fierce
unless you’re used to it.”
“How are the diggin’s?” queried Davy, eagerly.
“Forty miles into the mountains—and then always a little farther,”
asserted the young fellow. “If you can stick it out and don’t freeze to
death or starve to death you may make a few hundred dollars—and
you may not. Did you ever mine?”
“No,” said Davy, and Mr. Baxter shook his head, smiling.
 “Then you’re tenderfeet like I am. That’s the trouble in there. Half
the people don’t know how to find gold and the other half don’t
know it when they do find it. It’s fierce, I tell you. I’m bound home,
busted. I had to walk in, fifty miles; but I’ve earned just enough to
take me through to the Missouri.”
“How?” asked Davy.
“Sweeping out for one of the gambling houses,” and with a
gesture of disgust the slender youngster turned away.
Mr. Baxter watched him a moment.
“Davy,” he uttered, “that’s no boy. That’s a girl. Great Scott! What
a place for a girl!”
And later they found out that Mr. Baxter had spoken the truth.
They were glad to learn that the pretended boy took the next stage
back to Leavenworth and reached there safely.
“Let’s try our luck at the post-office,” proposed Mr. Baxter. “I’d like
to get a letter, myself.”
They threaded their way in the direction of the office. The mail
had recently come in, for from the post-office window a line of men,
single file, extended over a block. However, before they two took
their places Billy Cody stopped them.
“I asked for your mail,” he announced. “There wasn’t any. I got a
letter from ma. All she said was: ‘Dear Will. Let us know how you
are. We are well. Mother.’ And I had to pay fifty cents for it down
from Laramie. The new stage line carries letters for twenty-five
cents. Wish ma had written more for the money. She might just as
well.”
“What’s the news, Billy? What are you and the rest of the outfit
going to do?”
“Hi and Jim and I are going on up to the diggin’s right away. See
that line of travel?” And Billy pointed to the constant procession of
wagons and of people afoot, extending from the settlement as far as
the eye could reach, westward into the hills fifteen miles distant.
They’re all going. Left-over’s quit and joined another outfit. He
couldn’t wait. Jim and Hi are buying supplies. Did you notice the
prices? Eggs are two dollars and a half a dozen. Milk fifty cents a
quart. Flour ten dollars for a fifty-pound sack. Reckon beans and
sowbelly will do for us. They say even game is scarce around the
diggin’s.
“If you fellows don’t mind I believe I’ll stay around here for a
while till people cool down a little,” said the Reverend Mr. Baxter.
“Cool down!” exclaimed Billy. “Huh! The stage driver says he
passed ten thousand emigrants all heading this way!”
“Then I guess I won’t be missed,” laughed Mr. Baxter.
“How about you, Dave?” asked Billy.
Davy hesitated. What the “boy” (who was a girl) had told them
rather weighed on his mind. And the same old story of “beans and
sowbelly” did not sound inviting any longer.
“We saw Mr. Majors. He offered Dave a job freighting and a pass
to Leavenworth,” put in Mr. Baxter.
“Take it if you want to, Dave,” said Billy, quickly. “Life in the
diggin’s will be mighty tough, but I’ve got started and I’m going in.
You do as you please.”
“Well,” faltered Dave, “I reckon maybe I’ll stay out a while.”
“All right,” quoth Billy. “We’ll see you before we leave. We want to
pull right out, though.”
Nothing could stop Hi and Jim and Billy; and sure enough that
afternoon they did pull out for the diggings forty and more miles
west, among the mountains. They settled with Mr. Baxter and Dave
for the two shares in the Hee-Haw outfit, and left with a cheer.
Davy felt a momentary twinge of regret that he was not going,
too; but when he remembered what Mr. Majors had said about
“haphazard looking” and a “bird in the hand” he decided that, after
all, he had done what was best. The work of bridging the plains was
a great work and very necessary if these settlements at the
mountains were to live.
“Let’s go over to Auraria and see that, Dave,” invited Mr. Baxter.
“Then we can find a place to stop in over night. I’m tired of bedding
out on the ground.”
Cherry Creek was almost dry. Camps and cabins had been located
right in the middle of it, so they easily walked across. Auraria was
larger than Denver, but the buildings were not so good. They were
of rough cottonwood logs, whereas the Denver logs were smoothed
and many were of pine brought down from the timber in the hills.
Auraria had the newspaper, the Rocky Mountain News, whose press
and type and so forth had been hauled overland by the editor, Mr. W.
N. Byers. Like Denver City, Auraria was bustling with all kinds of
people.
“How are you, strangers? Don’t you want to buy a city lot and
make your fortune?” invited an alert man of the two Hee-Haws.
“What’s the price?” asked Mr. Baxter.
“What’ll you give? Cash or trade? The best lots in the city. Can’t be
beat.”
“Will you take a sack of flour?” demanded Mr. Baxter.
“Done!” snapped the man. “Flour’s better than money, friend.
Where’s your flour?”
“Where are your lots?”
“Right yonder. I’ll show you.”
The man promptly led them on. The lots proved to be somewhere
in the midst of bare, sandy ground half a mile out from the business
street. They looked forlorn and lonely, and Davy did not think much
of them. Neither, evidently, did Mr. Baxter. One rude cabin stood
there.
“Cabin too?” queried Mr. Baxter.
 “Sure.”
“How many lots?”
“Five, my friend. Five of the finest lots in this bustling metropolis
for your sack of flour. And remember this is Auraria; ’tain’t measley
Denver. I reckon you could buy half of Denver for your flour and
then you’d be cheated.”
“All right. We’ll take you, won’t we, Davy?” responded Mr. Baxter,
off-hand. “And we’ll move right in.”
“Show me your flour and we’ll go to the land office and close the
deal.”
So they delivered to him the flour. At the land office the clerk
asked their names.
“This is the Jones’ flour, Dave,” reminded Mr. Baxter, eyeing Davy.
“We’ll have that deed made out to Jasper Jones; he’s on the way.
Meanwhile we’ll occupy the cabin.”
That was certainly a good scheme—besides, as occurred to Dave,
being very honest. Only it seemed rather a high price to pay for just
five lots away from everywhere. The next time that Davy saw those
lots they were quoted at a thousand dollars apiece!
 XIV
DAVY SIGNS AS “EXTRA”

One more day in Denver and Auraria satisfied Dave. He had seen
about all there was to see, and had loafed long enough. He wanted
to go to work. However, many other people wanted to go to work,
too. But work was scarce and money scarcer, and provisions were
tremendously high. Travellers were constantly coming back from the
mountains with tales of woe and with empty pockets and sore feet.
The great editor, Horace Greeley, had advised people to plant crops;
then he had continued on west, for California. But the people were
bent on getting rich all at once by mining instead of waiting for
crops. This made the situation bad, especially for a boy.
“You’d better take the stage back to-morrow, Dave,” counselled
Mr. Baxter. “I’ll see you later.”
“Guess I will, then,” said Dave. “What will you do, though?” For he
did not like to desert his partner.
“Oh,” laughed Mr. Baxter, “there’s a good living in hauling timber in
from the foothills. Another fellow has offered to furnish the team and
do the hauling if I’ll do the chopping. But that’s no life for a boy,
Dave. You’ll learn more, freighting out of Leavenworth; and then you
can go to school in the winter. See?”
That sounded sensible. Thus the Hee-Haw outfit had divided: Billy
Cody and Hi and Jim and Left-over mining; Mr. Baxter cutting timber,
and Davy freighting across the plains. Such was life in the busy
West.
Davy engaged passage in the next morning’s Leavenworth & Pike’s
Peak stage, east bound to the States. It had taken the Hee-Haw
outfit forty days to come out; now Davy was going back in six. This
was luxury. The coach held six passengers, with one on the seat.
There was a school-teacher from Vermont, a merchant from Ohio, a
banker from Chicago, an army officer from Fort Leavenworth, a man
and wife from Boston, and Davy. All, except Davy, had been to the
“diggin’s”—and the Ohio merchant let slip the fact that he had
located a good claim there where he and his partner were washing
out two hundred dollars a day! So he was returning for his family.
Yes, it was an interesting company; but as best of all, the driver
was Hank Bassett!
“Why, hello!” greeted Hank of Dave. “Bully for you. Get up here on
the seat. I’ll take you through in style.”
“I engaged that seat,” objected the school-teacher.
“Not much,” retorted Hank. “It’ll make you seasick. I can have
what I want in this seat; and the boy rides there. I can depend on
him if I need a hand, and that’s very important, mister.”
“You know him, do you?”
“You’re right I know him. We’ve worked together before, haven’t
we, Dave?”
Davy blushed, somewhat embarrassed by Hank’s hearty manner;
but Hank had ordered, and Hank was boss, and Dave climbed to the
seat beside him.
With crack of whip and cheer from the crowd gathered to watch,
at a gallop out surged the four mules for the nigh seven hundred
miles to the Missouri River and the States. Davy thoroughly enjoyed
that trip. Hank sent his mules forward at a rattling pace; for, as he
explained, he changed teams at every station, eighteen or twenty
miles apart. Night and day the stage travelled, making its one
hundred miles each twenty-four hours, halting only to change teams
and for meals.
And night and day the Pike’s Peak pilgrims were in sight. The
westward travel was even more pronounced than earlier in the year,
when the Hee-Haws had joined in it. There were new signs, too, on
the wagons. “Bound for the Land of Gold.” “Family Express; Milk for
Sale!” “Mind Your Own Business.” “We Are Off for the Peak. Are
You?” “Hooray for the Diggin’s!” These and other announcements
Davy read on the prairie schooners as the hurrying stage passed.
“Horace Greeley, the New York editor, wrote back east that the
Pike’s Peak country is O. K.,” said Hank to Davy. “That’s what’s set
the tide flowin’ in earnest. People were waitin’ to get his opinion. He
inspected the diggin’s, and he says the gold is thar—although most
people would do better to take up land in Kansas and go to farmin’.
If you call this trail a busy one you ought to see the Salt Lake
Overland Trail up the Platte. I hear three hundred wagons a day
pass Fort Kearney. This booms the freightin’ business. The old man
(Hank meant Mr. Majors) and his pards are puttin’ on every team
they can lay hands to for haulin’ goods an’ provisions. Why, this hyar
stage line is usin’ a thousand mules and fifty coaches. You’re thinkin’
of bull whackin’, are you?”
“Mr. Majors offered me a job,” answered Davy.
Hank spat over the lines.
“It’s a good firm to work for,” he said. “And a man’s job. After
you’ve bull whacked a while you’ll be drivin’ stage like I am.”
That sounded attractive. To handle four mules at a gallop,
dragging a coach across the plains in spite of Indians and weather,
appeared quite a feat. Driving stage meant taking care of people as
well as of animals.
However, holding up one’s end with a freight outfit was not to be
despised, these days. On arriving at Leavenworth Davy lost no time
in reporting at the Russell, Majors & Waddell office. Mr. Majors was
not here. He had removed his family up to Nebraska City, on the
Missouri above Leavenworth, where a branch office had been
established in order to relieve the crowded state of the Leavenworth
shipping yards. However, if Mr. Majors was gone, here was Mr.
Russell, as snappy and alert as ever, taking care of whatever came
his way.
“All right, my boy,” he greeted promptly. “If you want a job you’re
just in time. When did you get in?”
“This noon, Mr. Russell.”
“I suppose you’re ready to start back again for the mountains?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. We’ve got a train made up to leave in about an hour.
Charley Martin’s wagon master. You’ll find him a fine fellow. He
comes from a wealthy family in my home town, Lexington, Missouri.
You’ll be an ‘extra’ at forty dollars a month, and have a mule to ride.
I expect you to do as well as Billy Cody’s done. You know what your
duties are, do you? You’ll act as the wagon master’s orderly, or
messenger, to carry word along the line; and if necessary you’ll fill
the place of any hand who’s sick. Let’s see—you signed the pledge
once, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. Russell.”
“Well, we changed that pledge a little to make it stronger. Mr.
Majors has drawn up a new one. Read it before you sign,” and Mr.
Russell reached out his tanned, freckled hand for a pad of printed
forms.
Davy read: “I, ——, do hereby swear, before the Great and Living
God, that during my engagement and while I am in the employ of
Russell, Majors & Waddell, I will, under no circumstances, use
profane language; that I will drink no intoxicating liquors; that I will
not quarrel or fight with any other employe of the firm, and that in
every respect I will conduct myself honestly, be faithful to my duties,
and so direct all my acts as to win the confidence and esteem of my
employers. So help me God.”
This was an impressive promise, but it sounded just like the strict
and Christian Mr. Majors. Dave had no hesitation in signing it.
 “All right,” crisply approved Mr. Russell. “If you keep that pledge
you’ll never be far wrong. Here’s your Bible. To every man employed
in our trains we give a Bible. There’s no time or place when the Bible
isn’t a help and a comfort. The more of them we get on the plains
the better. Now I’m going out to the camp. You come along and I’ll
start you off.”
Davy tucked the compact little leather-bound Bible into his pocket,
and followed Mr. Russell’s wiry active figure out of the door. Russell,
Majors & Waddell certainly organized their business on somewhat
unusual lines; Davy had heard the pledge and the Bible both
laughed at by outsiders as being foolishness for running bull trains.
But nobody was enabled to point out the harm done, and few denied
that considerable good might result. At any rate, no better bull
outfits crossed the plains than those of Russell, Majors & Waddell.
They did what no other outfits could do; nothing stopped them.
The streets of Leavenworth were busier than ever, with emigrants,
teamsters, rivermen, soldiers, and Indians—Kickapoos, Osages and
Pottawattamies; with wagons, oxen, mules and horses. The
company’s freight trains were started from a large camp on the
outskirts of town. Hither Mr. Russell, with Davy in tow, hastened.
Charley Martin was speedily found working hard—together with
the assistant wagon master, who was nicknamed “Yank.”
“Here’s your ‘extra,’ Charley,” announced Mr. Russell.
Charley paused and wiped his forehead. He gazed, rather puzzled.
“What name does he go by, Mr. Russell?”
“Davy Scott.”
“Sometimes they call me ‘Red,’ too,” volunteered Davy.
Charley Martin smiled; and when he smiled, Davy instantly liked
him.
“Oho! This must be Billy Cody’s pard on the trail and at the Cody
home, I reckon. I’ve heard about him, but I never had the pleasure
of meeting him. You must have been growing some, haven’t you,
Red? I thought you were a runt.” And Davy fidgeted, embarrassed.
During his sturdy life in the open air he had indeed been growing;
he had shot up and broadened out, and had acquired a steady eye
and a manner of self-reliance. “Where’ve you been keeping yourself
lately?” continued Charley.
“I’ve just got back from Pike’s Peak.”
“Good for you. Well, if you’ve travelled with Billy Cody, and Mr.
Russell recommends you, too, you’ll do.” And Charley called to his
assistant: “Here’s our ‘extra,’ Yank.”
Charley was small and compact, tanned and gray-eyed, and so
quick and cheery that anybody felt like calling him by his first name
at once. “Yank,” the assistant wagon boss, was high-shouldered,
long-legged, slouchy, and very different from Charley. His sullen face
was bristly with carroty stubble, his eyes were small and close
together, and his lips were thin and hard-set, leaking tobacco-juice.
Him, Davy did not fancy at all; and by his glance and contemptuous
grunt he evidently did not fancy Davy.
Further exchange of conversation was interrupted by the incisive
voice of Mr. Russell reproving a teamster who had a perverse ox in
hand.
“My man, don’t you understand there’s to be no cursing while
you’re working for this company?”
“I’m not cursing,” retorted the man, with a dreadful oath.
“But you’re cursing right this minute!” asserted Mr. Russell,
sharply.
“I’m not, either,” answered the man, with another oath.
“Why, you curse every time you open your mouth,” asserted Mr.
Russell, red with anger.
“I don’t,” insisted the man, as before.
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