Will Bertram studied his mother’s face searchingly as he sat down to
breakfast that morning. The sad, patient features gave no indication of
the decision arrived at regarding the proposed expedition, however, and
Will was compelled to wait until the morning meal was over before the
subject was referred to.
“Well, my son, your mother and I have talked over the matter of your
going away,” said Mr. Bertram.
Will looked suspenseful.
“We have decided, since your heart seems so set upon it, to let you do
as you please.”
“Oh, father, I am so glad!” cried Will, rapturously. “Of course
I long for the adventurous life the expedition offers--what boy
wouldn’t?--but, honestly, I want to help you, and in a business point
of view it’s the best thing open to me.”
He promised his mother to indulge in no reckless or dangerous exploits,
and to evade companionship with any evil persons he might meet.
Then, while his mother was making up a package of his clothes, Will
went to the hotel.
Mr. Hunter expressed a keen satisfaction at his decision. He drew a
sort of contract between them, and, as he had promised, advanced the
two months’ wages, and bade Will return by ten o’clock to leave home
for good.
Will paid the money over to his mother, and took occasion to relate his
adventures of the night previous. She trembled at the stirring recital.
He listened attentively to her parting words of advice. Mrs. Bertram
was not the woman to show her anxiety and grief at his departure, but
kissed him good-by with cheering words and hopeful smiles.
Little did either dream of the long, weary months destined to intervene
ere they again clasped hands.
Will’s step was quick and elastic, and his heart thrilled with pleasure
as he again reached the hotel, his bundle of clothing strapped over his
shoulder.
Youth does not cherish sadness, and his exuberant spirits regarded
the parting with his parents tenderly rather than with forebodings of
distress.
“Well, my boy, all ready?” asked Mr. Hunter, as he welcomed Will.
“Yes, sir.”
“If we ride to the meeting place where the expedition is we will have
to wait for a stage. It’s barely ten miles. What do you say to a walk?”
Will expressed himself eminently satisfied with this arrangement, and
the two set out at a brisk gait.
Watertown was soon left behind them. The morning was clear and frosty,
and as they trudged along Mr. Hunter entered into numerous details
regarding the expedition.
Will found him one of the most entertaining talkers he had ever met. He
told of all the practical operations of museum, menagerie and circus
life, and revealed to his companion the fact that under the artificial
glitter and tinsel of circus experience existed hard realities, of
which securing the collection of animals was one.
The caravan bound for the expedition was reached shortly after noon.
Mr. Hunter pointed it out to Will as they reached the edge of the town
where he was to meet it.
Will Bertram was amazed to find that there were nearly twenty wagons
and as many men.
Mr. Hunter noticed his surprise.
“Are you going to use all those wagons?” inquired Will.
“Yes, and possibly we will have to secure more before the expedition is
ended. When we reach the northern limit of settlements half the wagons
will remain there. The others will go on and again divide. When we
come down to actual operations we will have only two wagons with us,
one with cages for the animals we capture, and one for our own use.
As soon as the former is filled we send it back to the last station,
and the train moves forward the entire line, one station. Thus we will
have a progressive and return caravan, the wagon with the animals going
back to the nearest railroad town, shipping its cages, and coming back
again.”
For over an hour Will studied the caravan in all its appointments. He
found the men composing it rough, good natured people, who answered his
numerous questions cheerfully.
They showed him the four living vehicles, as they were called, stout,
boarded wagons, with heavy wheels and a stove and bunks inside, as
also the supply or provision cart and the cage wagons. These latter
were provided with barred cages, and in some of them were animals that
had already been purchased from people along the route, consisting of a
tame fox, a pet bear, and quite a number of birds.
The wounded osprey Will had rescued the night previous, and which Mr.
Hunter had sent on early that morning, was being fed and nursed by a
member of the caravan.
Up to this stage of the journey the party had remained at a hotel when
they reached a town, but as villages grew less frequent it was designed
to cook, eat and sleep in the living wagons.
This nomadic life pleased Will from its very novelty, and he longed for
the journey to begin, anticipating rare sport when they reached the
wilderness, and marveling at the immense wagon load of traps and snares
carried by the caravan.
Mr. Hunter ordered an immediate start. There were several extra horses,
and he and Will rode two of them ahead of the train.
At dusk they halted in a little stretch of timber, no near town being
visible. Huge torches were planted in the ground, the wagons drawn in
a circle, the horses tethered, and an immense camp-fire built for the
night.
It was a novel and busy sight for the interested Will, and he watched
the preparations for supper with a keen appetite and rare enjoyment of
the scene.
Suddenly, at one of the wagons, where a man was taking some feed for
the horses, there was a quick commotion.
“Hello! Mr. Hunter,” he cried, “here’s a discovery.”
“What is it?” inquired Mr. Hunter, coming to the wagon, Will pressing
close to his side.
Amid a mass of straw was a form, which kicked vigorously as the man
endeavored to drag it from the wagon.
“A stowaway!” cried the man.
“True enough,” replied Mr. Hunter. “Pull him out, and let us have a
look at him.”
“Let me go! Let me go! I tell you I haven’t done anything wrong!” cried
a voice that fell familiarly on Will’s startled ear.
The man drew its possessor out of the wagon, and wheeled him around to
the camp-fire.
Mr. Hunter stared amusedly at the form thus revealed.
An amazed ejaculation swept Will Bertram’s lips as he recognized him.
“Why, its Tom Dalton!” he cried, breathlessly.