“No, ’twasn’t that, Jesse,” said his wife.  “That ain’t what put you in for train captain.  It was your blamed impatience.  Some of them lower Ioway men, them that first nominated you in the train meeting—­town meeting—­what you call it, they seen where you’d been plowing along here just to keep your hand in.  One of them says to me, ’Plowing, hey?  Can’t wait?  Well, that’s what we’re going out for, ain’t it—­to plow?’ says he.  ‘That’s the clean quill,’ says he.  So they ’lected you, Jesse.  And the Lord ha’ mercy on your soul!”

Now the arrival of so large a new contingent as this of the Liberty train under young Banion made some sort of post-election ratification necessary, so that Wingate felt it incumbent to call the head men of the late comers into consultation if for no better than reasons of courtesy.  He dispatched his son Jed to the Banion park to ask the attendance of Banion, Woodhull and such of his associates as he liked to bring, at any suiting hour.  Word came back that the Liberty men would join the Wingate conference around eleven of that morning, at which time the hour of the jump-off could be set.

CHAPTER III

THE RENDEZVOUS

As to the start of the great wagon train, little time, indeed, remained.  For days, in some instances for weeks, the units of the train had lain here on the border, and the men were growing restless.  Some had come a thousand miles and now were keen to start out for more than two thousand miles additional.  The grass was up.  The men from Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Iowa, Missouri, Kentucky, Arkansas fretted on the leash.

All along the crooked river front, on both sides from Independence to the river landing at Westport, the great spring caravan lay encamped, or housed in town.  Now, on the last days of the rendezvous, a sort of hysteria seized the multitude.  The sound of rifle fire was like that of a battle—­every man was sighting-in his rifle.  Singing and shouting went on everywhere.  Someone fresh from the Mexican War had brought a drum, another a bugle.  Without instructions, these began to sound their summons and continued all day long, at such times as the performers could spare from drink.

The Indians of the friendly tribes—­Otos, Kaws, Osages—­come in to trade, looked on in wonder at the revelings of the whites.  The straggling street of each of the near-by river towns was full of massed wagons.  The treble line of white tops, end to end, lay like a vast serpent, curving, ahead to the West.  Rivalry for the head of the column began.  The sounds of the bugle set a thousand uncooerdinated wheels spasmodically in motion.  Organization, system were as yet unknown in this rude and dominant democracy.  Need was therefore for this final meeting in the interest of law, order and authority.  Already some wagons had broken camp and moved on out into the main traveled road, which lay plain enough on westward, among the groves and glades of the valley of the Kaw.  Each man wanted to be first to Oregon, no man wished to take the dust of his neighbor’s wagon.