I was to be an extra hand--which meant that by turns I was to be a bull-whacker, driver and general-utility man.
I remember that our start was a big event.

Men, women and children watched our chosen animals amble out of Salt Creek.

The "mule skinners," busy with preparations for their own departure, stopped work to jeer us.
"We'll ketch you in a couple of days or so!" yelled Tom Stewart, boss of the mule outfit.
But Simpson only grinned.

Jeers couldn't shake his confidence either in himself or his long-horned motive power.
We made the first hundred and fifty miles easily.

I was glad to be a plainsman once more, and took a lively interest in everything that went forward.