Among the crowds swarming in St. Joe were three persons of whom I shall have considerable to tell you. Alden Payne was a lusty, bright-witted youth, seventeen years old, whose home was on a small farm, two or three miles from the town. His father owned the place, and he and his wife were industrious and thrifty. The couple, however, caught the gold fever, though the discovery of the precious metal in California was more than ten years old and the excitement had largely died out. They decided to sell the property and go overland to the Pacific slope. Their two children were Alden and “Vixey,” a sweet girl, eight years younger than her brother. In addition, Mr. Payne had a colored youth who had been turned over to him when an infant by his widowed mother, she having consented to become the wife of a big, lazy darky, with no love for other folks’ children.
Jethro Mix, although a year younger than Alden, was half a head taller, several inches bigger around, and more than twenty pounds heavier. It cannot be said he was bright, but he was strong, fond of every member of the family, indolent, and a good servant when forced to work.
Mr. Payne sold his property to Otis Martin, his brother-in-law. While making preparations to join an emigrant train soon to start across the plains, an unexpected obstacle appeared. Mr. Martin refused to pay over the purchase money, unless Payne kept charge and took care of the place until the following spring. At first, the owner believed he would have to put off his western journey until the time named, but a compromise was reached. Naturally because the delay impended, the couple were more anxious than before to start on the long, dangerous journey. They decided to do so, taking Vixey with them, but leaving Alden and the colored youth, Jethro, to look after the property until the middle of the following April, when they would turn it over to Mr. Martin, and follow the family across the plains.
It was the keenest of disappointments to the two youths, who, if possible, were more eager to start on the two-thousand-mile journey than were the adults; but this disappointment was greatly softened by the knowledge that the delay was only for a few months. The assurance that it was much better to set out in the spring than in the autumn had not a feather’s weight with them: they would have been glad to head westward in the midst of a December snowstorm.
It should be added regarding Alden and Jethro that, having spent their lives on what might be called the frontier, they had used every privilege which came within their reach. Both were fine horsemen, and Alden had no superior among the young men in the neighborhood as a hunter and marksman. The two spent every hour they could command in roaming through the forests, some of which were miles distant. While the colored youth did well when all the circumstances are remembered, he was by no means the equal of his young master in courage or in skill with the rifle.
Alden, accompanied by Jethro, walked into St. Joe and joined the spectators who were waiting to see Carlyle start on his ride of a hundred and thirty miles westward. They had known of his intention for several days. The enterprise bore so close a relation to their own plans that they felt peculiar interest in it.
“Gorry! ain’t it queer, Al?” asked his companion, after the gaily bedecked rider had dashed by on his way to the ferry.
“Isn’t what queer?” inquired his companion, in turn.
“Why, dat Alec Carlyle am gwine ober de same road dat we’re gwine to go ober in a day or two.”