St. Joe was at that time the fitting-out point for overland parties bound for California. As a matter of course it presented a busy, bustling appearance, and seemed full of life and movement. There was a large transient population, of a very miscellaneous character. It included the thrifty, industrious emigrant, prepared to work hard and live poorly, till the hoped-for competence was attained; but there was also the shiftless adventurer, whose chief object was to live without work, and the unscrupulous swindler, who was ready, if opportunity offered, to appropriate the hard earnings of others.

"It's a lively place, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom.

"It is, indeed, my young friend," said the cautious Scot; "but it is a place, to my thinking, where it behooves a man to look well to his purse."

"No doubt you are right, Mr. Ferguson. I have learned to be cautious since my adventure with Graham and Vincent."

"There's many like them in the world, Tom. They are like lions, going about seeking whom they may devour."

St. Joseph could not at that time boast any first-class hotels. Inns and lodging-houses it had in plenty. At one of these—a two-story building, dignified by the title of "The Pacific Hotel"—our hero and his Scotch friend found accommodations. They were charged two dollars and a half per day—the same price they charged at first-class hotels in New York and Boston, while their rooms and fare were very far from luxurious. The landlord was a stout, jolly host, with a round, good-natured face.

"You and your son will room together, I suppose," he said.

"He isn't my son, but a young friend of mine," said Mr. Ferguson.

"I thought he didn't look much like you," said the landlord.

"I am hard and weather-beaten, while he is young and fresh."

"Well, gentlemen, I wish you both good luck. What will you take? I have a superior article of whisky that I can recommend."

"Thank you, but I beg you will excuse me, sir," said Ferguson. "I never drink."

"Nor I," said Tom; "but I am much obliged to you all the same."

"Well, that beats me," said the landlord. "Why, you don't know what's good. You ain't a minister, are you?" turning to Ferguson.

"I have not that high distinction, my friend. I am an unworthy member of the church of Scotland."

"I don't think your countrymen generally refuse whisky."

"So much the worse for them. They are only too fond of it. My own brother died a miserable death, brought on by his love of liquor."

"Then I won't press you; but I say, strangers, you won't find many of your way of thinking in the country you're going to."

"I don't doubt he's right, Tom," said Ferguson to Tom, as they entered the chamber assigned to them. "We may not be together always. I hope you won't be led away by them that offer you strong drink. It would be the ruin of you, boy."

"Don't fear for me, Mr. Ferguson. I have no taste for it."

"Sometimes it's hard to refuse."

"It won't be hard for me."

"I am glad to hear you say that, my lad. You are young, strong, and industrious. You'll succeed, I'll warrant, if you steer clear of that quicksand."

Later in the day the two friends began to make inquiries about overland travel. They had no wish to remain long at St. Joe. Both were impatient to reach the land of gold, and neither cared to incur the expense of living at the hotel any longer than was absolutely necessary. Luckily this probably would not be long, for nearly every day a caravan set out on the long journey, and doubtless they would be able to join on agreeing to pay their share of the expenses. It was a great undertaking, for the distance to be traversed was over two thousand miles, through an unsettled country, some of it a desert, with the chances of an attack by hostile Indians, and the certainty of weeks, and perhaps months, of privation and fatigue. Mr. Donald Ferguson looked forward to it with some apprehension; for, with characteristic Scotch caution, he counted the cost of whatever he undertook, and did not fail to set before his mind all the contingencies and dangers attending it.

"It's a long journey we're going on, my lad," he said, "and we may not reach the end of it in safety."

"It isn't best to worry about that, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom cheerfully.

"You are right, my lad. It's not for the best to worry, but it is well to make provision for what may happen. Now, if anything happens to me, I am minded to make you my executor."

"But don't you think I am too young, Mr. Ferguson?"

"You are o'er young, I grant, but you are a lad of good parts, temperate, steady, and honest. I have no other friend I feel like trusting."

"I hope, Mr. Ferguson, there will be no occasion to render you any such service, but whatever I can I will do."

"It will be very simple. You will take my money, and see that it is sent to my mother, in Glasgow. I will give you her address now, and then, if any sudden fate overtakes me, there will be no trouble. You will know just what to do."

Tom was flattered by this mark of confidence. It was evident that the cautious Scotchman had formed a very favorable opinion of him, or he would not have selected so young a boy for so important a trust.

"Will you do the same for me, Mr. Ferguson?" he asked, with the sudden reflection that, young as he was, there was no absolute certainty of his living to reach California.

"Surely I will, my lad."

"If I should die I should want any money I might have left sent to my father."

"Give me his address, my lad, and it shall be done. It is a good precaution, and we shan't either of us die the sooner for doing our duty, to the best of our ability, by those who would mourn our loss."

Tom and his friend instituted inquiries, and ascertained that two days later a caravan was to start on its way across the continent. They ascertained, also, that the leader of the expedition was a pioneer named Fletcher, who was making his home at the California Hotel. They made their way thither, and were fortunate enough to find Mr. Fletcher at home. He was a stout, broad-shouldered man, a practical farmer, who was emigrating from Illinois. Unlike the majority of emigrants, he had his family with him, namely, a wife, and four children, the oldest a boy of twelve.

"My friend," said Ferguson, "I hear that you are soon leaving here with a party for California."

"I leave day after to-morrow," answered Fletcher.

"Is your party wholly made up?"

"We are about full; but we might receive one or two more."

"My young friend and I wish to join some good party, as we cannot afford to remain here, and we are anxious to get to work as soon as possible."

Some care needed to be exercised in the choice of a party, as there were some who would only give trouble and annoyance, or perhaps fail to pay their proper share of the expenses. But Ferguson's appearance was sufficient guarantee of his reliability, and no one was likely to object to Tom.

"Of course," added Ferguson, "we are ready to bear our share of the expense."

"Then you can come," said Fletcher. "You will both need revolvers, for we may be attacked by Indians, and must be able to defend ourselves."

"Certainly, we will do our part, if need be."

This was an expense which Tom had not foreseen; but he at once saw the importance of being armed when crossing such a country as lay before them, and went with Ferguson to make the needful purchase. His Scotch friend instructed him in the method of using his new weapon, and Tom felt a boy's natural pride in his new acquisition. He felt years older then he did on the morning when he left his country home. He had gained some knowledge of the world, and felt a greater confidence in himself on that account. He looked forward to the remainder of his journey with pleasurable excitement, and lost no time in making the necessary preparations.