“Get out of the way there with your billy-goat!”
And he hustled the boy roughly out of the way to make room for the other emigrants, who were thronging up to the platform.
“Well, then,” said Big Hans, “since they don’t want us on the train, Little Hans, we shall have to walk to Minnesota. And as this railroad is going that way, I suppose we shall get there if we follow the track.”
Little Hans seemed to think that this was a good plan; for, as soon as the train had steamed off, he started at a brisk rate along the track, so that his master had great difficulty in keeping up with him. For several hours they trudged along cheerfully, and both were in excellent spirits. Minnesota, Big Hans supposed, might, perhaps, be a day’s journey off, and if he walked fast he thought he would probably be there at nightfall. When once he was there, he did not doubt but that everybody would know his Uncle Peter. He was somewhat puzzled, however, when he came to a place where no less than three railroad tracks branched off in different directions; and, as there was no one to ask, he sat down patiently in the shade of a tree and determined to wait. Presently a man came along with a red flag.
“Perhaps you would kindly tell me if this is the way to Minnesota,” said Big Hans, taking off his cap and bowing politely to the man.
The man shook his head sullenly, but did not answer; he did not understand the boy’s language.
“And you don’t happen to know my uncle, Peter Volden?” essayed the boy, less confidently, making another respectful bow to the flagman.
“You are a queer loon of a chap,” grumbled the man; “but if you don’t jump off the track with your goat, the train will run over both of you.”
He had hardly spoken, when the train was seen rounding the curve, and the boy had just time to pull Little Hans over into the ditch when the locomotive came thundering along, sending out volumes of black smoke, which scattered slowly in the warm air, making the sunlight for awhile seem gray and dingy. Big Hans was almost stunned, but picked himself up, with a little fainter heart than before, perhaps; but whispering a snatch of a prayer which his mother had taught him, he seized Little Hans by the halter, and started once more upon his weary way after the train.
“Minnesota must be a great way off, I am afraid,” he said, addressing himself, as was his wont, to his companion; “but if we keep on walking, it seems to me we must, in the end, get there; or, what do you think, Little Hans?”