“Tom, here’s something about us. Listen. ‘The police of Philadelphia have been requested by the Chief-Constable of Southampton, England, to look out for two runaway boys. The names of the boys are Per’—there’s a piece torn out here, but lower down it goes on—‘has many relatives in Philadelphia, and it is expected they will probably make for that city.’”
This was a dreadful shock to us. Here was our line of retreat cut off, so to say. The mention of the Chief-Constable of Southampton fully convinced us that the paragraph emanated from Sir Anthony, whose resentment at having his pheasants shot and his keepers entrapped we pictured to ourselves in lively colours. Doubtless, we thought, the police of Philadelphia were all on the lookout, and should we venture within the limits of that city we should instantly be pounced upon by them and sent back across the water to be delivered into the clutches of the vengeful Sir Anthony. What were we to do?
We ate our dinner in silence and perturbation of spirit, and, still undecided as to our future course, we were about to rise and go out, when Percy, with a thump upon the table, suddenly exclaimed:
“I know what we’ll do, Tom.”
“What?” I asked.
“Instead of going east, we’ll go west. We’ll go to Ogden in Utah.”
“Where’s Ogdenenutah?” said I, thinking it was all one word.
“In the Rocky Mountains.”
“Is it? That will suit me. I’ve always wanted to see the Rocky Mountains. But why should we go to that place with the long name in particular?”
“Because I have an uncle and a cousin living in a mining town called Golconda, not far from there. I have not seen them since I was a little bit of a boy, but I have heard my father talk of them, and I am sure they will be just the ones to tell us what we ought to do.”