"I wish I could see that western country before I go there to live," said Leon. "I don't know anything about it."
"Well, how are you going to find out anything about it until you go there?" asked Frank. "And how are you going to get there unless you pack up and start off on your own hook? My father will not take you, or me either. How much money have you got in the bank?"
"Six hundred dollars," replied Leon.
"Whew!" whistled Frank, opening his eyes in great amazement. "That will take us to Independence with flying colors. After we get there we'll buy a couple of saddle-horses and a pack-mule, and then we'll be all right; we'll not ask favors of anybody."
"But how will we know which way to go?" asked Leon.
"Oh, we'll look for a wagon-train; that's the way the most of the emigrants do. If we can't find one, we'll start off by ourselves. We can't get lost, for the trails are as plain as the road in front of the house."
"But the Indians might find us," suggested Leon.
"What's the matter with you, anyhow?" demanded Frank sharply. "If you don't want to go, say so at once, and I'll start off by myself. The Indians won't bother us until we get where they are, will they? There are none along these trails of which I speak. Why, as early as 1856, travelling there was perfectly safe. Have you never heard of the two thousand Mormons who walked and pushed hand-carts all the way from Iowa City to Salt Lake? They were often attacked by wolves—we shouldn't mind the wolves, you know; a few fights with them would relieve the monotony of our journey—but the history of that expedition doesn't say that they ever saw an Indian."
When Leon heard this, he straightened up and began to take some interest in what his cousin was saying; but it is probable that his interest would have died away again very speedily if he had been told something of the history of those hand-cart expeditions.