Burns uttered the only doubtful word when he said: "I don't know about this running away from things here.

I'd be inclined to stay here and fight it out." "But it isn't running away, Dad," said Jack.

"Harry has always wanted to go West and now is the first time he has really had the chance." "That's so," admitted the father.

"Still, I'm sorry to see him look like he was running away." Mrs.Burns was determined to feed Harry into complete torpor.

She put up enough food in a basket to last him to San Francisco at the shortest.
Even when the boys had entered the buggy she ordered them to wait while she brought out some sweet melon pickles in a jar to add to the collection.
"Well, now, good-by," said Harold, reaching down his hand to Mrs.
Burns, who seized it in both hers.
"You poor thing, don't let the Indians scalp ye." "No danger o' that," he called back.
"Be good to yourself," shouted Burns, and the buggy rolled through the gate into the west as the red sun was setting and the prairie cocks were crowing.
The boys talked their plans all over again while the strong young horse spattered through the mud.