ST. JOE.
St. Joe was at that time the fitting-out point for overland parties
bound for California. As a matter of course it presented a busy,
bustling appearance, and seemed full of life and movement. There was a
large transient population, of a very miscellaneous character. It
included the thrifty, industrious emigrant, prepared to work hard and
live poorly, till the hoped-for competence was attained; but there was
also the shiftless adventurer, whose chief object was to live without
work, and the unscrupulous swindler, who was ready, if opportunity
offered, to appropriate the hard earnings of others.
"It's a lively place, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom.
"It is, indeed, my young friend," said the cautious Scot; "but it is a
place, to my thinking, where it behooves a man to look well to his
purse."
"No doubt you are right, Mr. Ferguson. I have learned to be cautious
since my adventure with Graham and Vincent."
"There's many like them in the world, Tom. They are like lions, going
about seeking whom they may devour."
St. Joseph could not at that time boast any first-class hotels. Inns and
lodging-houses it had in plenty. At one of these--a two-story building,
dignified by the title of "The Pacific Hotel"--our hero and his Scotch
friend found accommodations. They were charged two dollars and a half
per day--the same price they charged at first-class hotels in New York
and Boston, while their rooms and fare were very far from luxurious. The
landlord was a stout, jolly host, with a round, good-natured face.
"You and your son will room together, I suppose," he said.
"He isn't my son, but a young friend of mine," said Mr. Ferguson.
"I thought he didn't look much like you," said the landlord.
"I am hard and weather-beaten, while he is young and fresh."
"Well, gentlemen, I wish you both good luck. What will you take? I have
a superior article of whisky that I can recommend."
"Thank you, but I beg you will excuse me, sir," said Ferguson. "I never
drink."
"Nor I," said Tom; "but I am much obliged to you all the same."
"Well, that beats me," said the landlord. "Why, you don't know what's
good. You ain't a minister, are you?" turning to Ferguson.
"I have not that high distinction, my friend. I am an unworthy member of
the church of Scotland."
"I don't think your countrymen generally refuse whisky."
"So much the worse for them. They are only too fond of it. My own
brother died a miserable death, brought on by his love of liquor."
"Then I won't press you; but I say, strangers, you won't find many of
your way of thinking in the country you're going to."
"I don't doubt he's right, Tom," said Ferguson to Tom, as they entered
the chamber assigned to them. "We may not be together always. I hope you
won't be led away by them that offer you strong drink. It would be the
ruin of you, boy."
"Don't fear for me, Mr. Ferguson. I have no taste for it."
"Sometimes it's hard to refuse."
"It won't be hard for me."
"I am glad to hear you say that, my lad. You are young, strong, and
industrious. You'll succeed, I'll warrant, if you steer clear of that
quicksand."
Later in the day the two friends began to make inquiries about overland
travel. They had no wish to remain long at St. Joe. Both were impatient
to reach the land of gold, and neither cared to incur the expense of
living at the hotel any longer than was absolutely necessary. Luckily
this probably would not be long, for nearly every day a caravan set out
on the long journey, and doubtless they would be able to join on
agreeing to pay their share of the expenses. It was a great undertaking,
for the distance to be traversed was over two thousand miles, through an
unsettled country, some of it a desert, with the chances of an attack by
hostile Indians, and the certainty of weeks, and perhaps months, of
privation and fatigue. Mr. Donald Ferguson looked forward to it with
some apprehension; for, with characteristic Scotch caution, he counted
the cost of whatever he undertook, and did not fail to set before his
mind all the contingencies and dangers attending it.
"It's a long journey we're going on, my lad," he said, "and we may not
reach the end of it in safety."
"It isn't best to worry about that, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom cheerfully.
"You are right, my lad. It's not for the best to worry, but it is well
to make provision for what may happen. Now, if anything happens to me, I
am minded to make you my executor."
"But don't you think I am too young, Mr. Ferguson?"
"You are o'er young, I grant, but you are a lad of good parts,
temperate, steady, and honest. I have no other friend I feel like
trusting."
"I hope, Mr. Ferguson, there will be no occasion to render you any such
service, but whatever I can I will do."
"It will be very simple. You will take my money, and see that it is sent
to my mother, in Glasgow. I will give you her address now, and then, if
any sudden fate overtakes me, there will be no trouble. You will know
just what to do."
Tom was flattered by this mark of confidence. It was evident that the
cautious Scotchman had formed a very favorable opinion of him, or he
would not have selected so young a boy for so important a trust.
"Will you do the same for me, Mr. Ferguson?" he asked, with the sudden
reflection that, young as he was, there was no absolute certainty of his
living to reach California.
"Surely I will, my lad."
"If I should die I should want any money I might have left sent to my
father."
"Give me his address, my lad, and it shall be done. It is a good
precaution, and we shan't either of us die the sooner for doing our
duty, to the best of our ability, by those who would mourn our loss."
Tom and his friend instituted inquiries, and ascertained that two days
later a caravan was to start on its way across the continent. They
ascertained, also, that the leader of the expedition was a pioneer named
Fletcher, who was making his home at the California Hotel. They made
their way thither, and were fortunate enough to find Mr. Fletcher at
home. He was a stout, broad-shouldered man, a practical farmer, who was
emigrating from Illinois. Unlike the majority of emigrants, he had his
family with him, namely, a wife, and four children, the oldest a boy of
twelve.
"My friend," said Ferguson, "I hear that you are soon leaving here with
a party for California."
"I leave day after to-morrow," answered Fletcher.
"Is your party wholly made up?"
"We are about full; but we might receive one or two more."
"My young friend and I wish to join some good party, as we cannot afford
to remain here, and we are anxious to get to work as soon as possible."
Some care needed to be exercised in the choice of a party, as there were
some who would only give trouble and annoyance, or perhaps fail to pay
their proper share of the expenses. But Ferguson's appearance was
sufficient guarantee of his reliability, and no one was likely to object
to Tom.
"Of course," added Ferguson, "we are ready to bear our share of the
expense."
"Then you can come," said Fletcher. "You will both need revolvers, for
we may be attacked by Indians, and must be able to defend ourselves."
"Certainly, we will do our part, if need be."
This was an expense which Tom had not foreseen; but he at once saw the
importance of being armed when crossing such a country as lay before
them, and went with Ferguson to make the needful purchase. His Scotch
friend instructed him in the method of using his new weapon, and Tom
felt a boy's natural pride in his new acquisition. He felt years older
then he did on the morning when he left his country home. He had gained
some knowledge of the world, and felt a greater confidence in himself on
that account. He looked forward to the remainder of his journey with
pleasurable excitement, and lost no time in making the necessary
preparations.