Genevieve laughed merrily.
"I wish Fred could see these 'boats,'" she said.
"Well, I don't know; I feel as if they were boats," declared Alma, stoutly. "I'm sure I don't think anybody on the ocean could be any more glad to see a sail than I should be to see one of these, if I were a lonely traveler on this sea of grass!"
"But where are they going?" questioned Elsie.
"I don't know—nor do they, probably," rejoined Genevieve, with a quizzical smile. "They're presumably emigrants hunting up cheap land for a new home. There used to be lots of them, Father says; but there aren't so many now. See—they're going to cross our way just ahead of us. We'll get a splendid view of them."
Nearer and nearer came the curiously clumsy, yet curiously airy-looking wagons. Sallow-faced women looked out mournfully, and tow-headed children peeped from every vantage point. Brawny, but weary-looking men stalked beside their teams.
"Look at the men—walking!" cried Elsie.
"They're 'bull-whackers,'" nodded Genevieve, mischievously.
"Bull-whackers!"
"Yes, because their teams happen to be oxen; if they were mules, now, they'd be 'mule-skinners.'"