They are more
than human or less than human, not Americans at all, if they do
business in that way." In the end they found that Mr. Howell was
entirely right.

All was settled at last, and that, too, in some haste, for the season
was rapidly advancing when planting must be attended to, if they were
to plant that year for the fall harvest. From the West they heard
reports of hosts of people pouring into the new Territory, of land
being in great demand, and of the best claims near the Missouri being
taken by early emigrants. They must be in a hurry if they were to get
a fair chance with the rest and a fair start on their farm,--a farm
yet existing only in their imagination.

Their wagon, well stored with clothing and provisions, a few books,
Oscar's violin, a medicine chest, powder, shot, and rifle-balls, and
an assortment of odds and ends,--the wagon, so long a magical
repository of hopes and the most delightful anticipations, was ready
at last. It stood at the side gate of Mr. Bryant's home, with a "spike
team" (two horses at the pole, and one horse for a leader) harnessed.
It was a serious, almost solemn, moment. Now that the final parting
had come, the wrench with which the two families were to be broken up
seemed harder than any of the members had expected. The two mothers,
bravely keeping up smiling faces, went about the final touches of
preparations for the lads' departure and the long journey of their
husbands.

Mr. Howell mounted the wagon with Sandy by his side; Mr. Bryant took
his seat with the other two boys in an open buggy, which they were to
drive to "the river" and there trade for a part of their outfit. Fond
and tearful kisses had been exchanged and farewells spoken. They drove
off into the West. The two women stood at the gate, gazing after them
with tear-dimmed eyes as long as they were in sight; and when the
little train disappeared behind the first swale of the prairie, they
burst into tears and went into the house which was now left unto them
desolate.

It was a quiet party that drove over the prairie that bright and
beautiful morning. The two boys in the buggy spoke occasionally in
far-off-sounding voices about indifferent things that attracted their
attention as they drove along. Mr. Howell held the reins, with a
certain stern sense of duty on his dark and handsome face. Sandy sat
silently by his side, the big tears coursing down his freckled
cheeks.

CHAPTER III.

ON THE DISPUTED T