“What Cap’n Wingate has said sounds all right to me,” said he.  “He’s a new friend of mine—­I never saw him till two-three hours ago—­but I know about him.  What he says about the Santa Fe fashion I know for true.  As some of you know, I was out that way, up the Arkansas, with Doniphan, for the Stars and Stripes.  Talk about wagon travel—­you got to have a regular system or you have everything in a mess.  This here, now, is a lot like so many volunteers enlisting for war.  There’s always a sort of preliminary election of officers; sort of shaking down and shaping up.  I wasn’t here when Cap’n Wingate was elected—­our wagons were some late—­but speaking for our men, I’d move to ratify his choosing, and that means to ratify his regulations.  I’m wondering if I don’t get a second for that?”

Some of the bewhiskered men who sat about him stirred, but cast their eyes toward their own captain, young Banion, whose function as their spokesman had thus been usurped by his defeated rival, Woodhull.  Perhaps few of them suspected the argumentum ad hominem—­or rather ad feminam—­in Woodhull’s speech.

Banion alone knew this favor-currying when he saw it, and knew well enough the real reason.  It was Molly!  Rivals indeed they were, these two, and in more ways than one.  But Banion held his peace until one quiet father of a family spoke up.

“I reckon our own train captain, that we elected in case we didn’t throw in with the big train, had ought to say what he thinks about it all.”

Will Banion now rose composedly and bowed to the leader.

“I’m glad to second Mr. Woodhull’s motion to throw our vote and our train for Captain Wingate and the big train,” said he.  “We’ll ratify his captaincy, won’t we?”

The nods of his associates now showed assent, and Wingate needed no more confirmation.

“In general, too, I would ratify Captain Wingate’s scheme.  But might I make a few suggestions?”

“Surely—­go on.”  Wingate half rose.

“Well then, I’d like to point out that we’ve got twice as far to go as the Santa Fe traders, and over a very different country—­more dangerous, less known, harder to travel.  We’ve many times more wagons than any Santa Fe train ever had, and we’ve hundreds of loose cattle along.  That means a sweeping off of the grass at every stop, and grass we’ve got to have or the train stops.

“Besides our own call on grass, I know there’ll be five thousand Mormons at least on the trail ahead of us this spring—­they’ve crossed the river from here to the Bluffs, and they’re out on the Platte right now.  We take what grass they leave us.

“What I’m trying to get at, captain, is this:  We might have to break into smaller detachments now and again.  We could not possibly always keep alignment in four columns.”

“And then we’d be open to any Indian attack,” interrupted Woodhull.

“We might have to fight some of the time, yes,” rejoined Banion; “but we’ll have to travel all the time, and we’ll have to graze our stock all the time.  On that one basic condition our safety rests—­grass and plenty of it.  We’re on a long journey.