4

Iowa did not look much like a prairie country from where I stood. The
Iowa shore towered above the town of Dubuque, clothed with woods to the
top, and looking more like York State than anything I had seen since I
had taken the schooner at Buffalo to come up the Lakes. I lay that
night, unable to sleep. For one thing, I needed to be wakeful, lest some
of the motley crowd of movers might take a fancy to my cattle. I was
learning by experience how to take care of myself and mine; besides, I
wanted to be awake early so as to take passage by ferry-boat "before
soon" as the Hoosiers say, in the morning.

That April morning was still only a gray dawn when I drove down to the
ferry, without stopping for my breakfast. A few others of those who
looked forward to a rush for the boat had got there ahead of me, and we
waited in line. I saw that I should have to go on the second trip rather
than the first, but movers can not be impatient, and the driving of
cattle cures a person of being in a hurry; so I was in no great taking
because of this little delay. As I sat there in my wagon, a
black-bearded, scholarly-looking man stepped up and spoke to me.

"Going across?" he asked.

"As soon as the boat will take me," I said.

"Heavy loaded?" he asked. "Have you room for a passenger?"

"I guess I can accommodate you," I answered. "Climb in."