“Let me tell you something,” said she.  “If you want that Iowa farm, pa—­”

“Who?” said I.

“Rucker,” said she, brazening it out with me.  “He’ll give you the land, and your outfit.  Don’t let them fool you out of the team and wagon.”

“Thank you for telling me,” said I; “but I guess I’ll have to have more.”

“If you go into court he’ll beat you,” said she, “and I’m telling you that as a friend, even if you don’t believe me.”

“I’m much obliged,” I said; and I believed then, and believe now, that she was sincere.

“And when you start,” said she, “if you want some one to cook and take care of you, let me know.  I like traveling.”

I turned red at this; and halted and mumbled, until she tripped away, laughing, but looking back at me; but I remembered what she had said, and within a week I had consented that Jackway be appointed guardian ad litem for me in the court proceedings; and in a short time I received a good team of mares, a bay named Fanny and a sorrel named Flora, good, twelve hundred pound chunks, but thin in flesh—­I would not take geldings—­a wagon, nearly new, a set of wagon bows, enough heavy drilling to make a cover, some bedding, a stove, an old double-barreled shotgun, two pounds of powder and a lot of shot, harness for the team, horse-feed, and as complete an outfit as I could think of, even to the box of axle-grease swinging under the wagon-box.  Rucker groaned at every addition; and finally balked when I asked him for a hundred dollars in cash.  The court entered up the proper decree, I put my deeds in my pocket, and after making a feed-box for the horses to hang on the back of the wagon-box, I pulled out for Iowa three weeks too soon—­for the roads were not yet settled.

5

The night before I started, I sat in the warm barroom, half pleased and half frightened at the new world into which I was about to enter, thinking of my new wagon and the complete equipage of emigration now shown to be mine by the bills of sale and deeds in my pocket, and occasionally putting my fingers to my nose to catch the good smell of the horse which soap and water had not quite removed.  This scent I had acquired by currying and combing my mares for hours, clipping their manes and fetlocks, and handling them all over to see if they were free from blemishes.  The lawyer, Jackway, my guardian ad litem, came into the tavern in a high and mighty and popular way, saying “How de do, ward?” in a way I didn’t like, went to the bar and throwing down a big piece of money began drinking one glass after another.

As he drank he grew boastful.  He bragged to the men about him of his ability.  Nobody ever hired Jackway to care for his interests, said he, without having his interests taken care of.

“You can go out,” said he to a peaceful-looking man who stood watching him, “into the street there, and stab the first man you meet, and Jackway’ll get you clear.  I’m a living whirlwind!  And,” looking at me as I sat in the chair by the wall, “you can steal a woman’s estate and I’ll get it away from her heirs for you.”