OFF FOR THE BOUNDLESS WEST "This is certainly the boundless West!" It was Dave who spoke, and he addressed the others, who were on the rear of the observation car with him.

As far as the eye could reach were the prairies, dotted here and there with hillocks and clumps of low-growing bushes.

Behind were the glistening rails and the wooden ties, stretching out until lost in the distance.
A night and the larger part of the next day had been spent on the train.
They had crossed the Mississippi and made several stops of more or less importance, including those at St.Paul and Minneapolis, and now they were rushing westward through North Dakota to Montana.
It was a warm, sunshiny day, and the young folk and Mr.Porter enjoyed the trip to the utmost.

Dave's uncle had traveled through that section of the country several times, and he pointed out various objects of interest.
"I haven't seen any Indians yet," said Jessie, with a pout.

"I thought we'd see some by this time." "We'll see them a little further west," answered Dunston Porter.
"They'll come down to the railroad stations, to sell trinkets," and his words proved true.