As we drove up from the landing, through the rutted streets of the old
mining and Indian-trading town, the black-bearded man came to me as we
stopped, held back by a jam of covered wagons--a wonderful sight, even
to me--and as if talking to me, said to the woman, "You'd better ride on
through town;" and then to me, "Are you going on through?"

"I've got to buy some supplies," said I; "but I've nothing to stop me
but that."

"Tell me what you want," he said hurriedly, and looking about as if
expecting some danger, "and I'll buy it for you and bring it on. Which
way are you going?"

"West into Iowa," I answered.

"Go on," said he, "and I'll make it right with you. Camp somewhere west
of town. I'll come along to-night or to-morrow. I'll make it right
with you."

"I don't see through this," I said, with my usual indecision as to doing
something I did not understand. "I thought I'd look around Dubuque
a little."

"For God's sake," said the woman from the bed, "take me on--take me on!"

Her tones were so pleading, she seemed in such an agony of terror, that
I suddenly made up my mind in her favor. Surely there would be no harm
in carrying her on as she wished.

"All right," I said to her, but looking at him, "I'll take you on! You