"She means well, but her tongue would be the death of me," said Bob. "Puts me in mind of a windmill that never stops." Yet as the days went by and they got further and further west the woman quieted down greatly, much to the satisfaction of all around her. On Saturday night the boys went into camp close to the Platte, at a pleasant spot where there was an inlet and a grove of trees. Here in a convenient shelter they took a bath and rested. "We'll feel as fresh as ever by Monday morning," said Mark. "And Darling will feel rested too." "Monday mornin'?" queried Maybe Dixon. "Don't ye calkerlate to move on Sunday?" "No, we are not going to travel on Sunday," answered Bob. He had settled this point with Si and Mark the day previous. "Well! Thar ain't many a-restin'." "We shall," put in Mark. "You can go ahead if you wish. Don't let us keep you." "No, sirree! I ain't much on religion, I ain't, but if Sunday's goin' to be a day o' rest, so be it," answered Maybe Dixon. "Maybe 'twill do us a heap o' good anyway." Before the boys and Dixon retired for the night a man, dressed in a suit of black and carrying a bundle of tracts, came to them. "There will be preaching on the Lord's Day at the tent with the blue and white flag," said he. "All are invited. Preaching at ten o'clock and at three." "Let us go," said Si, and the others agreed. Sunday dawned bright and fair, and when they arrived at the "gospel tent" they found quite a crowd assembled. Seats had been placed for the women and children, while the men stood up in the rear. The sermon was short but to the point, and half a dozen familiar hymns were sung. The hat was passed around, and everybody gave something. "That's real home-like," said Bob. "It shows that folks have the right feelings, even if they are hundreds of miles from home." "It was splendid," returned Mark. The singing especially had pleased him. "I'm going every Sunday, if I get the chance," put in Si. "I ain't going to be a heathen, even if I am on the trail." CHAPTER IX A STORM AND A WASHOUT A week passed and the young gold hunters found themselves well on the trail to Fort Laramie, which was to be their next regular stopping place. The route was along the northern bank of the Platte River, which they had crossed at a spot where the stream was broad but shallow. The wagon had been taken over on a flatboat, at a cost of two dollars. Darling had been made to swim over to the other side, much against his wishes. In going down into the river the mule had done a tremendous lot of splashing, wetting Bob, who was riding him, from head to foot. "That mule is a cantankerous critter," observed Maybe Dixon, who chanced to be near at the time. "One thing is certain, he ain't no Baptist!"