It being the first trip of the season some of the pack-ponies were
a little frisky and would try to lie down when the packs were put
on them. So it became my business to look after them and keep them
on their feet until all were packed.
Everything being in readiness, I shook hands, good-bye, with my
much-esteemed friend, Henry Becket, who had been helping me with
the pack-horses, and who also coveted my crop-eared pony, very
naturally for a boy. Then we were off for a country unknown to me,
except for what Uncle Kit had told me of it.
My happiness seemed to increase, if that were possible. I was
unspeakably glad to get away from St. Louis before Mr. Drake had
learned of my whereabouts, and up to the time of this writing I
have never been back to St. Louis, or Tennessee, nor have I heard
anything of Mr. Drake or my ancient enemy, the angel of Erebus.
From St. Louis we struck out westward, heading for Ft. Scott,
which place is now a thriving little city in southeastern Kansas,
but then the extreme out-edge of settlement.
The first day out we traveled until about 2 o'clock in the
afternoon, when we came to a fine camping place with abundance of
grass, wood and water.
Uncle Kit, thinking we had traveled far enough for the first day,
said:
"I reckon the lad is gittin' tired, Hughes, 's well as the horses,
an' I think we'd better pull up for the day.
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