Jesse Cook looped the reins over the side post and swung down from his seat to walk alongside the covered wagon, leaving his wife to keep an eye on the plodding mules.  Through the swirling dust from the line of wagons ahead of them, he could barely see the high mountains ahead of them, but he knew that once they had crossed them, their journey would be almost completed.

Tales had filtered back East about the rich opportunities to be had, land for the taking, thousands of miles of fertile land, just waiting for the touch of the plough.  A growing population in need of food.  Gold miners with plenty of money to pay for it, ranch hands and townsfolk, desperate for potatoes and greens to supplement their monotonous diet of beef.  Yes, if he didn't mind hard work a man could make good out there.

His friend Elijah Benson from the following wagon hurried his steps to catch up with Jesse, and they chatted companionably, while attempting to keep their eyes free from the dust and flies.  The wagon train stretched out for half a mile before them, providing the rear wagons with a constant diet of dust, flies and the stench of the droppings from the many animals ahead of them.  The wagons were pulled by an assortment of horses, oxen and mules, while the younger travellers herded goats, sheep and cows alongside the wagons, all fertilising the plains as they passed.

Shaking something smelly off his boot, Jesse said, 'You know, I can't get used to the funny names of the places out West.'

'What, you mean Harry's Holler?', asked Benson, brushing aside yet another fly bent on drinking his sweat.

'Well, yes, but I was thinking of the more earthy ones, like Johnson's Hole, Bonk 'n' Brag, and Carey's Knob.'

'And what about Big Dick?' suggested the voice of Joshua Binks, the wagon master who, unnoticed, had ridden up behind them.  'Or Hell's Whorehouse?'

'Hi J.B.  Wonder why they didn't give these places proper decent names?' asked Jesse.

'Why, I can answer that easy', drawled Binks.  'You see, cultured folks don't make the trek out West.  No balls.  It's only the common folks, farmers and men right down on their luck that have the guts to come out here.  They just give places names that tickle their fancy, so they're bound to be a bit down to earth.'

'So I suppose Johnson's Hole was named after the man who found the local water hole?'

'Nope. That was named after the local whore Jude Johnson, who set up a cathouse before they even had the roof on the church!'  He waited for the hoots of laughter to die down then continued.