The compass finger of the trail, leading out from the timber groves, pointed into a sea of green along the valley of the Kaw.  The grass, not yet tall enough fully to ripple as it would a half month later, stood waving over the black-burned ground which the semicivilized Indians had left the fall before.  Flowers dotted it, sometimes white like bits of old ivory on the vast rug of spindrift—­the pink verbena, the wild indigo, the larkspur and the wild geranium—­all woven into a wondrous spangled carpet.  At times also appeared the shy buds of the sweet wild rose, loveliest flower of the prairie.  Tall rosinweeds began to thrust up rankly, banks of sunflowers prepared to fling their yellow banners miles wide.  The opulent, inviting land lay in a ceaseless succession of easy undulations, stretching away illimitably to far horizons, “in such exchanging pictures of grace and charm as raised the admiration of even these simple folk to a pitch bordering upon exaltation.”

Here lay the West, barbaric, abounding, beautiful.  Surely it could mean no harm to any man.

The men lacked experience in column travel, the animals were unruly.  The train formation—­clumsily trying to conform to the orders of Wingate to travel in four parallel columns—­soon lost order.  At times the wagons halted to re-form.  The leaders galloped back and forth, exhorting, adjuring and restoring little by little a certain system.  But they dealt with independent men.  On ahead the landscape seemed so wholly free of danger that to most of these the road to the Far West offered no more than a pleasure jaunt.  Wingate and his immediate aids were well worn when at mid afternoon they halted, fifteen miles out from Westport.

“What in hell you pulling up so soon for?” demanded Sam Woodhull surlily, riding up from his own column, far at the rear, and accosting the train leader.  “We can go five miles further, anyhow, and maybe ten.  We’ll never get across in this way.”

“This is the very way we will get across,” rejoined Wingate.  “While I’m captain I’ll say when to start and stop.  But I’ve been counting on you, Woodhull, to throw in with me and help me get things shook down.”

“Well, hit looks to me ye’re purty brash as usual,” commented another voice.  Bill Jackson came and stood at the captain’s side.  He had not been far from Woodhull all day long.  “Ye’re a nacherl damned fool, Sam Woodhull,” said he.  “Who ‘lected ye fer train captain, an’ when was it did?  If ye don’t like the way this train’s run go on ahead an’ make a train o’ yer own, ef that’s way ye feel.  Pull on out to-night.  What ye say, Cap?”

“I can’t really keep any man from going back or going ahead,” replied Wingate.  “But I’ve counted on Woodhull to hold those Liberty wagons together.  Any plainsman knows that a little party takes big risks.”

“Since when did you come a plainsman?” scoffed the malcontent, for once forgetting his policy of favor-currying with Wingate in his own surly discontent.  He had not been able to speak to Molly all day.