“Nor I, but I feel safer with this Yankee addition to our party.”
About ten o’clock the next morning the little party got off. It is needless to say that Obed Stackpole contributed his full share of expense, and more too, for he furnished the yoke of oxen that were to draw the cart which conveyed their provisions and other outfit.
“I don’t want to push in where I ain’t wanted,” he said, “but I’m used to oxen, and if you want me to, I’ll drive these critters, and you three can foller along as you please.”
“That’ll suit me,” said Fletcher, with unusual graciousness. “I’ve no doubt you understand the business better than I do.”
“I ought to understand it,” said Stackpole. “I was raised on a farm in New Hampshire, and used to drive oxen when I wasn’t tall enough to see over their backs. I never thought then that I’d be drivin’ a team in Australy.”
“What led you to come out here, Mr. Stackpole?” asked Harry.
“Well, a kinder rovin’ disposition, I guess. A year ago I was in Californy, but things didn’t pan out very well, so when I read accounts of the goldfields out here, I jist dropped my pick and started, and here I am.”
“Didn’t you find any gold-dust in California?” asked Fletcher, with sudden interest.
“Well, I found some,” answered the Yankee, with drawling deliberation, “but not enough to satisfy me. You see,” he added, “I’ve got two to make money for.”
“And who are those two?” inquired Fletcher.