CHAPTER VIII
It was astonishing how quickly the three boys got to liking one another. Inside of two days Bob and Mark felt as if they had known Si for a long time. Si was a real worker, they could easily see that, and given to look at the hard, practical side of things. He went over their list with care, and so did Mr. and Mrs. Williams, and some things were added and others dropped out. The shotgun was cleaned up, and they went to the store for the rifle, and for the balance of the provisions and the ammunition. They likewise purchased a small box filled with necessary medicines.
It was decided that the start should be made on the following Monday morning, and the three boys spent all of Saturday in completing their arrangements. Bob and Mark had purchased some extra underwear, and Mrs. Williams mended the garments belonging to her son. Sunday was a day of complete rest.
The route to be taken for the first stage of the journey was from Independence to Fort Leavenworth, and then along the Platte River westward to Fort Laramie. When the latter place was gained they were to decide how to proceed further.
"You must take good care of yourselves," said Mr. Williams, when it came time to leave. "Don't run into unnecessary danger."
"We will be careful," answered Mark.
"Si, I'd rather have you come home without gold than be killed," put in Mrs. Williams, looking with motherly fondness at her son.
The children gathered around and tears stood in Bess's eyes, for she thought a great deal of her brother. Then the mule was started up and off they went, with Bob on the seat of the wagon, and Mark trudging on foot on one side and Si on the other.
The three young adventurers were off for the gold fields at last!
For quarter of a mile they had the side road to themselves. But then they turned into the main road and soon became one of a long procession of turnouts of various kinds and sizes, from the monstrous prairie "houses" with four horses, to the little pushcarts which some individuals were pushing soberly and diligently. It was calculated that already four to five thousand people were on the trail between Independence and Laramie!
"Gracious, this looks as if a whole town was moving out!" exclaimed Mark, as he gazed ahead and then behind. As far as eye could reach he could see an endless procession of wagons and cattle moving slowly across the prairies. The movement was all in one direction—westward—to the Land of Gold!
"Not much chance of getting lost here," said Bob. "Too many lighthouses," and he pointed to the white covers of the wagons, which shone brightly in the sunlight.
"We don't want to get lost," came from Si. "We don't want to lose any time that way, or all the best claims will be taken before we get to California."
"Oh, California is so large it will take years to fill it with people," declared Mark. "Just the same, I want to get there as quickly as anybody," he hastened to add.
At noon they shifted to one side of the trail, and stopped for dinner and to feed the mule. Darling had done well and Bob patted him affectionately.
"We're friends, aren't we, Darling?" said the sailor boy, and rubbed his face along the mule's head. The animal looked wise, shifted his ears, and gave a low heehaw of pleasure.
"Bob's courting the mule," laughed Mark.
"He's all right, Mark."
"I know he is."
Si was gathering dry grass and wood for the fire and soon had a blaze started. The meal was a short one, but they enjoyed it thoroughly. They were finishing up when a well-built man, bronzed by exposure to the elements, sauntered up.
"Boys, kin ye spare an old hunter a cup o' coffee?" he asked. "I had some, but the canister got busted an' the coffee is layin' all the way from Ten-Mile Stake to here!"
"Yes, there is just one cup left," said Mark. "Here you are," and he poured it into a tin dipper the old hunter carried. The man sat down, opened a haversack and brought forth some bread and meat, and began his meal.
"My name's Dixon," he said. "Hank Dixon, although most o' the boys call me Maybe Dixon, although I don't know why, exceptin' maybe it pleases 'em to call me so. I see you three lads are travelin' alone. I'm travelin' alone, too. I hope to git to the Land o' Gold some day, but maybe I won't make it."
"The name Maybe hits him true enough," whispered Mark.
"Maybe you won't mind havin' me travel along with you," went on the man. "It's more sociable-like than travelin' alone."
"Why, yes, come along," said Bob.
"All right then—jest as soon as I've covered this hunk o' bread an' meat an' washed 'em down with that coffee. It's good coffee, I kin smell it—none o' your third-rate Rio!" And he took a gulp and smacked his lips.
"Where are you from, Mr. Dixon?" asked Si.
"Whoop! Don't call me mister, onless you want me to have a fit. Call me plain Dixon, or Maybe Dixon if thet suits better. I'm from 'most any old place. I war born in Vermont, raised in Pennsylvania, emigrated to Ohio at the age o' twelve or thirteen, went down South when I was eighteen, got married in Georgia, settled down in North Carolina, moved over to Kentucky, lost my wife in Iowa, an' now I'm here an' bound fer Californy."
"Gracious! You need a geography to find yourself!" cried Mark, and began to laugh. "I suppose when you get to California you'll be moving over to China."
"No, these ere United States is good enough fer me to roam around in. I want to see the hull o' my own country, afore I trot along to fureign parts."
"Haven't you any outfit?" asked Si.
"Such as it is, a big bundle an' a stick. It's behind yonder rise o' ground," answered Maybe Dixon. "Whar be you from, as they ask down to Vermont?" And when they told him he nodded several times. "A good mixture—and it's mixtures what I like. Maybe we can make the journey right through together, eh?"
"We'll see," answered Bob, briefly, and started up the wagon. The other boys followed, and presently Maybe Dixon joined them, carrying over his shoulder a big bundle done up in an old red and white tablecloth.
"This here tablecloth was a weddin' present to my late departed wife," said he. "I keep it in memory o' the best woman thet ever breathed the breath o' life. Maybe it ain't so bright an' beautiful as it once was, but thet can't be helped. Besides, it was the only thing I had to wrap my load in when I started out."
That day saw them twenty-five miles on their journey, and when night came they were glad to rest themselves. They put up the tent close to the wagon and slept under the shelter of both, and Dixon laid himself down near by.
"Jest as soon sleep in the open, if it ain't rainin'," he said. "The fresh air is fine."
"I suppose I'll get used to it after a while," answered Mark. "But for the present I'm going to use the tent."
Maybe Dixon departed early in the morning, but came back before breakfast with a small bag of coffee under his arm.
"Struck luck," he explained. "Met a feller as had more coffee nor he wanted. Sez he, 'Got any terbacker to spare?' Sez I, 'Got any coffee ter spare?' An' then we made a dicker. It's putty good coffee, too, by the smell," and it was good, as they soon afterwards learned.
Four days of traveling found the boys and Maybe Dixon well on their way. The rolling prairies were ahead and behind them, and not far away the river glistened brightly in the sunshine. They had come up to Josiah Socket and his family and that individual was glad to see them.
"Might as well travel along with them as knows you," said Socket, and kept on directly behind the boys. Mrs. Socket was also glad to see them and it was all they could do to steer clear of the everlasting clatter of her tongue.
"She means well, but her tongue would be the death of me," said Bob. "Puts me in mind of a windmill that never stops." Yet as the days went by and they got further and further west the woman quieted down greatly, much to the satisfaction of all around her.
On Saturday night the boys went into camp close to the Platte, at a pleasant spot where there was an inlet and a grove of trees. Here in a convenient shelter they took a bath and rested.
"We'll feel as fresh as ever by Monday morning," said Mark. "And Darling will feel rested too."
"Monday mornin'?" queried Maybe Dixon. "Don't ye calkerlate to move on Sunday?"
"No, we are not going to travel on Sunday," answered Bob. He had settled this point with Si and Mark the day previous.
"Well! Thar ain't many a-restin'."
"We shall," put in Mark. "You can go ahead if you wish. Don't let us keep you."
"No, sirree! I ain't much on religion, I ain't, but if Sunday's goin' to be a day o' rest, so be it," answered Maybe Dixon. "Maybe 'twill do us a heap o' good anyway."
Before the boys and Dixon retired for the night a man, dressed in a suit of black and carrying a bundle of tracts, came to them.
"There will be preaching on the Lord's Day at the tent with the blue and white flag," said he. "All are invited. Preaching at ten o'clock and at three."
"Let us go," said Si, and the others agreed. Sunday dawned bright and fair, and when they arrived at the "gospel tent" they found quite a crowd assembled. Seats had been placed for the women and children, while the men stood up in the rear. The sermon was short but to the point, and half a dozen familiar hymns were sung. The hat was passed around, and everybody gave something.
"That's real home-like," said Bob. "It shows that folks have the right feelings, even if they are hundreds of miles from home."
"It was splendid," returned Mark. The singing especially had pleased him.
"I'm going every Sunday, if I get the chance," put in Si. "I ain't going to be a heathen, even if I am on the trail."