“Now, I like that way of talking,” said he. “Had you asked for something in the humble manner many would have done, perhaps you would not have got it. People don’t like to carry victuals five hundred miles, to give away for nothing; but when you say you must have something to eat, then, of course, I can do nothing but give it to you. Sally!” he continued, calling out to a young woman who stood by one of the waggons, “get this stranger something to eat.”
Looking around me, I saw a number of people—men, women, and children of every age. There appeared to be three families forming the “caravan” no doubt emigrating together, for the purpose of mutual protection and assistance. There were five or six young men—who appeared to be the sons of the elder ones—and a like number of young women, who were evidently the daughters of three others of middle age, while a large flock of miscellaneous children, a small flock of sheep, a smaller number of cattle, several horses, and half-a-dozen half-famished dogs completed the live-stock of the train.
“I guess you’re a deserter?” said the man, to whom I had first addressed myself, after he had finished his survey of myself and horse.
“No,” I answered. “I’m on my route to Fort Wool. I have lost my way, and gone without eating for two days.”
“Now, I like that way of talking,” responded the emigrant, who appeared to be the head man of the party. “When a man tells me a story, I like it to be a good one, and well told—whether I believe it, or not.”
“What reason have you to disbelieve me?” I asked, pretending to be offended at having my word doubted.
“Because I think, from your looks, that you are not a damned fool,” answered the man, “and no other but a fool would think of staying in a military fort, in this part of the world, any longer than he had a chance to get away from it.”
I immediately formed the opinion, that the person speaking to me was the most sensible man I had ever met—myself not excepted: for it was not necessary for him to have seen Lenore, to know that I had done well in deserting.
After my hunger had been appeased, I moved on with the emigrant train, which I found to consist of three Missouri farmers and their families, on their way to the “Land of Promise.” The man with whom I had conversed, was named Johnson, or “old Johnson,” as some of his juniors called him. He was a sharp, brisk sort of an old fellow; and I could perceive, at a glance there was no chance of his being humbugged by any made-up story. I, therefore, changed my tactics; and frankly acknowledged myself to be a deserter from the United States’ troops, occupying the last fort he had passed. It was scarce necessary to add, that my destination was California. I finished by proposing: that he would have my services in whatever capacity he might require them, in consideration of furnishing me with food upon the journey.
“Now, I like that way of talking,” said old Johnson, when I had concluded, “we just chance to need your help, and that of your horse, too; and we’ll try to do the best we can for you. You must expect to see some hard times, before we get through—plenty of work and no great feeding—but do your share of the work, and you shall fare like the rest of us.”