They left the house together and Joe felt strangely light, almost giddy, as he walked across the familiar yard. It was impossible to go to Oregon, but they were going. Joe grinned. There had been a great decision and a small one; they were going to Oregon and he must pick up a mule bridle.
"When we startin', Pa?" Tad breathed.
"Soon's we can get ready."
"Can Mike go too?"
"He can if he wants to walk all the way."
Tad breathed, "I'm goin' to walk, too! Can I shoot a buffalo, Pa? Can I?"
Joe said good humoredly, "For pete's sake, we're not out of Missouri yet—we haven't even started—and you talk of buffalo! Can't you wait until we see some?"
"Do you think we'll have Indian fights, Pa?" Tad asked breathlessly.
"We won't if I can help it." Joe was suddenly sober. "Tad, you and I have to be the men on this trip. You know that?"
"I know it, Pa! I know it and I'll do everything I can to help! Honest! Can I go tell Buster Trevelyan?"