"Well," I answered, "I'm tired of printing a poor newspaper."

"Let's sell out and go somewhere," continued Jack.

"All right," I said. "Let's."

So we did.

Of course the Rattletrap wasn't a boat which sailed on the
water, though I don't know as I thought to mention this before.
In fact, a water boat wouldn't have been of any use to us in
getting out of Prairie Flower, because there wasn't any water
there, except a very small stream called the Big Sioux River,
which wandered along the prairie, sometimes running in one
direction and sometimes in the other, and at other times standing
still and wondering if it was worth while to run at all. The port
of Prairie Flower was in Dakota. This was when Dakota was still a
Territory, three or four years, perhaps, before it was cut into
halves and made into two States. So, there being no water, we of
course had to provide ourselves with a craft that could navigate
dry land; which is precisely what the Rattletrap was-namely, a
"prairie schooner."

"I've got a team of horses and a wagon," went on Jack, that
rainy night when we were talking. "You've got a pony and a
saddle. We've both got guns. When we drive out of town some stray
dog will follow us. What more 'll we want?"

"Nothing," I said, as I clapped my stick down in the
space-box. "We can put a canvas cover on the wagon and sleep in