“I reckon you are, sonny,” grinned Hi. “But you’ll lemme help you toss it into the wagon, won’t you? You’re so strong and sassy you’re liable to bust a hole through the box!”
“How far to Pike’s Peak, strangers?” asked the woman, anxiously.
“A few hundred miles, ma’am.”
“It seems a powerful long road,” she sighed. “We’ve come clear from Ohio; drove the whole way. We started last fall, an’ wintered in Missouri. That’s where this baby was born.”
“We’ll get there, ma,” encouraged the boy. “Pap’ll feel better now, an’ we’ll go a-whoopin’.”
“I hope so,” she faltered. “But they do say there isn’t any gold, anyhow.”
Davy felt sorry for her. Evidently so did the Reverend Mr. Baxter.
“What is your name, if you please?” he asked.
“Jones. Mrs. Jasper Jones. My man’s a blacksmith.”
“Well, Mrs. Jones, we understand there’s quite a town going up out at the mountains; and if we get there before you do we’ll trade this flour in for a corner lot and your husband can start in blacksmithing.”