"No fear for me, Mr. Ferguson. I feel as you do on the subject."

The journey continued till one day, about noon, they reached the town of
St, Joseph, popularly called St. Joe.

CHAPTER XX.

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 unwort