It all seemed ridiculously simple and ridiculously cheerful.
Toward evening a great jangling of bells and shouting of young captains announced the coming of a great band of the stampeded livestock--cattle, mules and horses mixed.

Afar came the voice of Jed Wingate singing, "Oh, then Susannah," and urging Susannah to have no concern.
But Banion, aloof and morose, made his bed that night apart even from his own train.

He had not seen Wingate--did not see him till the next day, noon, when he rode up and saluted the former leader, who sat on his own wagon seat and not in saddle.
"My people are all across, Mr.Wingate," he said, and the last of your wagons will be over by dark and straightened out.

I'm parked a mile ahead." "You are parked?
I thought you were elected--by my late friends--to lead this whole train." He spoke bitterly and with a certain contempt that made Banion color.
"No.

We can travel apart, though close.