The pilgrimage was about to "noon"; and with Duke and Jenny pulling bravely, making their best showing, the Limited skirted the line, while good-naturedly replying to the various welcomes.
Pretty soon the road ahead was blocked, as the overlanders spread right and left to cook and eat dinner.
"Let's drive off to the side, yonder, Terry," bade . "That looks like a good spot near to that 'Root or Die' ."
"How are you, boys?" greeted the of the "Root Hog or Die" . "We're most of us from Ohio. Where are you from?"
"From the Big Blue Valley, Kansas Territory, farther east," answered Harry.
"We came by the stage trail," added Terry.
"I see. Well, we took a vote and on the Republican Valley, and a hard time we've had, but here we are. What do you say to cooking our dinner on the one fire, and we'll notes?"
He seemed to be an well-spoken man, notwithstanding his untrimmed beard and rough . Was a college professor, as happened, in Ohio; and was going to the mountains for his health as well as to make a fortune. So here he was, with his wife and little girl, accompanying a lot of other Ohio people.
Leaving Duke and Jenny to graze a little while longer, after dinner the "boys from the Big Blue" strolled about, to inspect other and exchange information. The noon camp was rather quiet, with the men and women and children resting or finishing their dishes; but back down the trail there appeared to be a commotion—as of people around a wagon from which a man was making a speech.
"Come on. We might as well see all the sights on the way," bade Harry.
The speech-maker's back was toward them. Terry figured that if he talked as rapidly as he flourished his arms, his speech would soon be ended for lack of words. However, the words were still flowing strong. Something in the loud tone, and the gestures, and the long unkempt black hair, and the high thick shoulders in the shirt, and the slouch hat, struck Terry as familiar.
"Pine Knot Ike!" he exclaimed.
"The very man—our valued acquaintance and fellow citizen, Ike Chubbers, 'half wild hoss and half b'ar,'" Harry. "We'll stand off and listen to his ."
They halted on the edge of the little , from where they could view Ike's hairy profile as, beating the air with his fists, above the up-turned faces, he delivered his .
"I air the only man who ever roped an' rid an in its native swamps," he was proclaiming, and already he was quite . "I air the only man who fit off five hunderd of the wust Injuns that roam these hyar plains, an' killed nigh every one of 'em. Gentlemen an' feller citizens: Look at this hyar bar'l. Count the bullet-holes." And by main force Ike held aloft his whiskey barrel. It certainly was well peppered with holes. "When the savage Injuns come down on me I war alone, travelin' my peaceful way to help the diggin's, but I war too tough to kill. Injuns make a mistake when they attack a man o' my nater, gentlemen, for I air slow to , but I air a powerful fighter when anybody, red or white, goes to twist my tail. I air a ring-tail twister myself, gentlemen. So I tells my bulls to charge them Injuns, an' I forts myself behind this bar'l an' opens up with my pill-slingers. We fit for a runnin' mile, until this bar'l war as you see it now, gents, an' what Injuns warn't dead had fired all their shots an' skeedaddled. Then I gets out an' cuts off the head of the chief of 'em all, an' puts it in the bar'l, an' hyar it is on exhibition. The head complete of a real, native wild Injun, ladies an' gents—the actual head of old Roarin' Buffler, big chief o' the combined Sioux, Kiowa, Cheyenne an' 'Rapaho nations, most o' who air still layin' out thar on the plains, sculped by my own hands. Old Roarin' Buffler hisself put seven holes in this bar'l ' his head went in. The head air nicely pickled an' natteral, ladies an' gents; an' for the privilege o' seein' it I ax only a small collection. Will you cirkilate my hat, an' be keerful not to take out more'n you drop in."
Whereupon, having handed down his slouch hat, Ike paused, wiped his face with a dirty , and seated himself upon his scarred barrel.
"He put every hole in that with his own revolver, I bet you!" whispered Terry. "The old fraud!"
"A convenient way of drinking the whiskey," murmured Harry. "If the barrel wasn't his, he can claim the Indians did it, you know."
"Well, we can tell him about the first hole, all right," scolded the indignant Terry. "And so can other people."
"Now for the head," invited Harry.
The hat had been returned to Ike, who eyed the contents doubtfully, shook them over, and stowed them in his pocket with a .
"Six bits air a measley sum to pay for the privilege an' eddication o' seein' the actual head o' the biggest, fiercest Injun who ever terrerized the West till he tuk arter the wrong pusson, but I'll show him to you, jest the same."
So saying, Ike reached into the barrel, and extracting his prize, held it up. Harry nudged Terry; staring, Terry saw, recognized, .
"Thunder Horse! Aw——"
"Do you know, I kind of expected that," Harry. "I kind of felt it was coming."
The face of the head was assuredly the face of Thunder Horse, the drunken Kiowa; and the hair was the Kiowa's hair.
"Thunder Horse died because of his leg, and Ike found him and cut off his head!" Terry. "I'm going straight to the wagon and show the whole thing up. We'll make Ike look sick—that old blow and his barrel and his 'big-chief' head!"
"No," opposed Harry. "Wait. There's no use in showing Ike up now. We'll save our ."
"Well, I'm mighty glad old Thunder Horse is gone, anyhow," observed Terry, as they went back to the cart. "He was bad medicine."
The Ohio party were starting on. So the boys from the Big Blue put Duke and Jenny to work again and fell in with the procession wending broad way up the shallow valley of the Republican.
Once every day the procession opened to give passage to the stages bound on the trail; and at last stages eastward bound, returning to Leavenworth, were met. They were with all kinds of questions, but they brought little news of importance, and little gold.
Many people eastward bound, ahorse or afoot, also were met.
"Turn back, every one of you," they advised. "Folks are going out faster'n they're coming in. Some of 'em don't even stop to unhitch their teams. Picks and spades are offered at fifteen cents apiece, and no takers, and the man who makes fifty cents a day is lucky."
"Auraria's burned and we've hanged the boomers," proclaimed another .
And another squad, along, warned earnestly:
"Look out for the man with buckskin patches on his breeches. He's the leader of the gang who's robbing the pilgrims. Remember the buckskin patches. There's no elephant—only jackasses."
Not few in the procession did turn back, especially when the water and fuel began to fail, as wider and more bare and sandy the valley became. Soon there were several marches without water at all, for the river had sunk into the sand. The choking dust floated high, the sun was burning hot. The majority of the animals were sore-footed, from the and and brush. Duke, who had been behaving nobly, seemed to have strained his shoulder and was limping. Jenny was gaunter than ever.
The trail had to the southwest—to strike, it was reported, some
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CHAPTER IX NOW WHERE IS THE "ELEPHANT"?
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