"I don't care how long the trip is."
"Say, if you are acquainted around here, maybe you could put us on the track of buying a cheap but good wagon," said Mark.
"A wagon? Why, we've got a wagon father may let you have—if it's good enough. We don't use it any more."
"Will you show it to us?"
"Certainly. Come on."
The boy led the way, and as they walked on he introduced himself. His name was Silas Williams, although he said everybody called him plain Si. He was the oldest of eight children, and his parents had emigrated from New Jersey to Missouri six years before.
The Williams farm proved to be in fairly good condition, although the lack of money to do with was plainly evident. They found Mr. Williams sitting by the kitchen door, nursing a leg that was rheumatic. Two boys were at work over a chopping block, and a girl was weeding a garden patch.
"These boys want to see the red wagon," said Si. "Perhaps they'll buy it. They want a wagon for the trip to California."
"All right," answered Mr. Williams. "They can have it for forty dollars and not a cent less. But why didn't their men folks come over?"
"They haven't any men folks, father; they are going it alone."