m I never had had much chance to learn, but I had a good gun,
and had got some game with it almost every day so far.

"What kind of a gun?" he asked.

I told him it was a double-barreled shotgun, and he looked rather
disappointed. Then he asked me if I had ever thought of going to Kansas.
No, I told him, I thought I should rather locate in Iowa.

"We are going to Kansas," he said. "There's work for real men in
Kansas--men who believe in freedom. You had better go along with Amos
Thatcher and me."

I said I didn't believe I could--I had planned to locate in Iowa. He
dropped the subject by saying that I would overtake him and Thatcher on
the road, and we could talk it over again. When did I think of getting
under way? I answered that I thought I should stay hauled up to rest my
horses for a half-day anyhow, so perhaps we might camp that
night together.

"A good idea," said Thatcher, smilingly, as they drove off. "Join us; we
get lonesome."

I laid by that forenoon because one of my mares had limped a little the
day before, and I was worrying for fear she might not be perfectly
sound. I hitched up after noon and drove on, anxiously watching her to
see whether I had not been sucked in on horse-flesh, as well as in the
general settlement of my mother's estate. She seemed to be all right,
however, and we were making good headway as night drew on, and I was
halted by Amos Thatcher who said he was on the lookout for me.

"We have a station off the road a mile or so," said he, "and you'll have
a hearty welcome if you come with me--stable for your horses, and a bed
to sleep in, and good victuals."

I couldn't think what he meant by a station; but it was about time to
make camp anyhow, and so I took him into the wagon with me, and we drove
across country by a plain trail, through a beautiful piece of oak
openings, to a big log house in a fine grove of burr oaks, with a log
barn back of it--as nice a farmstead as I had seen. There were fifteen
or twenty cattle in the yards, and some sheep and hogs, and many fat
hens. If this was a station, I thought, I envied the man who owned it.
As we drove up I saw a little negro boy peeping at us from the back of
the house, and as we halted a black woman ran out and seized the
pickaninny by the ear, and dragged him back out of sight. I heard a
whimper from the little boy, which seemed suddenly smothered by
something like a hand clapped over his mouth. Mr. Dunlap's wagon was not
in sig