“What’s the matter, daddie?” asked Jean. “Are you sick?”
“I’m face to face with an awful difficulty, daughter. Our ox-drivers have caught the gold fever. They are all going to leave us in this wilderness but Scotty; and he’d go too, no doubt, if he weren’t crippled and helpless.”
“Don’t let the desertion of your teamsters worry you,” exclaimed Sally O’Dowd. “I can drive one of the teams myself.”
“What! You?”
“Yes! Didn’t I tell you that you’d never be sorry if you’d let me travel in your train to Oregon?”
“We can all drive oxen,” cried his three daughters, in a breath.
“But who will drive for Mrs. Benson and the Little Doctor? Their teamsters have joined the stampede, and they can’t drive oxen.”
“Just try us and see if we can’t,” laughed the Little Doctor.
“But you have two teams, and your mother cannot drive one of them.”