He had his bundle slung over his back and his eighty dollars pinned
tightly in an inside pocket. Underneath it his heart beat fast and
high; he was young and he was free--the open road stretched out before
him, and perpetual adventure beckoned to him. Every pilgrimage that he
had ever read of helped to make up the thrill that stirred him, as he
stood on the ridge and gazed at the old farmhouse, and waved his hand,
and turned and began his journey.

The horse was needed for the plowing, and so Samuel walked the six
miles to the village, and from there the mail stage took him out to
the solitary railroad station. He had three hours to wait here for the
train, and so he decided that he would save fifteen cents by walking
on to the next station. Distance was nothing to Samuel just then.

Halfway to his destination there was a fire in a little clearing by
the track, and a young man sat toasting some bread on a stick.

"Hello!" he said. "You're hittin' her lively."

"Yes," said Samuel. The stranger was not much older than he, but his
clothing was dirty and he had a dissipated, leering face.

"You're new at this game, aren't you?" said he.

"What game?" asked Samuel.

The other laughed. "Where ye goin'?"

"To New York."