CHAPTER VIII
THE BUCKING BRONCO
"How long do you think it will take us to get to the gold fields?" asked Jed, of the old miner, as they jogged forward.
"It's hard to say," was the answer. "You mustn't be in too much of a hurry. It's a good rule, in this business, to make haste slowly. You can't make a fortune gold-hunting in one day, and you've got to save your own strength, and that of your horse. A horse is a man's best friend in this country."
The route to the West had been carefully laid out by Mr. Harrison, who knew the land well. He had selected a line of march that, while it was not the shortest, would bring them to the Montana gold fields in good shape to start in at once with their prospecting.
For a week the travelers made fair time, stopping at night in various small towns, where living would be cheaper than in large cities, for their capital was limited. Nothing of note occurred, the weather was good, and Jed and Will began to think that gold hunting, or at least the preliminary part of it, was very much easier than farming.
"Say, I'd hate to go back now, cultivating corn in that hot field, wouldn't you?" Jed asked his brother one afternoon, as they were jogging slowly along.
"I certainly would, but I wouldn't mind now, if I had a drink of nice, cold switchel."
"Me either. You don't see any signs of a spring along the road anywhere, do you, Mr. Harrison?"
"No, and I wish I did, for the horses are pretty thirsty. But we ought to strike one soon."