When we last checked in with Mr. Johnson, he was just getting himself out of a muddy fix that broke the tugs on Fanny’s harness.
Later that morning, he made his way into Wells, where he met and shared his story with some men outside the post office. At their insistence, he enjoyed a large lunch with several of them at the hotel. After lunch, he milked Bessie, offering to give all the milk to the hotel proprietor. Everyone it town, it seems, had heard about Mr. Johnson before he’d arrived in Wells, and they wanted to help him in his journey. So the hotel proprietor accepted some of the milk and encouraged Mr. Johnson to take the remainder to the train station and, with the conductor’s permission, to sell it to the passengers on the train. This he did, making two dollars and sixty-five cents. …
“At this time the gong sounded for dinner and the landlord bade me go in, I saying that the lunch had taken away my appetite. He said, ‘I am glad of that; you will not eat as much.’
“After dinner I inquired for a harness shop, and was told there was one down the street, two doors this side of the barn. I went to the shop taking my harness with me and said that I wanted my harness repaired; yesterday my horse broke these tugs in two. ‘You must have been in a tight place to break such good tugs,’ said the proprietor. ‘Sir, I will tell you a part of the story. It is lengthy.’ I then told him of my mishap and said, ‘How much are you going to charge me to splice them?’ ‘I will splice them for one dollar, as it is you; if it were any of my customers I should charge them one dollar and fifty cents, but under the circumstances I will charge you but one dollar.’ ‘Can you do them this afternoon, as I wish to leave early tomorrow morning?’ He agreed to do so, and late in the afternoon I called for the tugs, asking, ‘Have you spliced those tugs?’ ‘I have. They are much stronger than before.’ ‘If I mistake not, your charge is one dollar?’ ‘That was the price, but I have concluded to do better than that, I will not charge you anything. You have come a long distance and have a much longer one before you. I do not think you can accomplish the undertaking.’ ‘Friend, I thank you for this favor, I appreciate it. My funds are almost exhausted and I can have no more until reaching Ogden.’
“My cow is doing finely; her milk helps me much. I sell it when I can for money and when I cannot I exchange it for something to eat. When I left Sacramento, she was fresh in milk; she is milked twice a day. I would use what I can and carry the remainder, but it would go sour and I should have to throw it away. I have done this many times, so I have changed my milking time. For instance, if I were at some ranch or station and could part with it, I milked; when away from a ranch or station I did not milk, but let the cow carry it, as it does not sour it in the bag. I have taken milk from the cow as many as five times a day and have met tramps who have asked me if I had anything to eat. ‘Yes, my bread is crackers, you can have some.’ I would then take out from my wagon the lunch basket and hand out the crackers. ‘Have you any meat?’ ‘No, not a bit.’ If the tramp was a fair sort of fellow, I would milk the cow and give it him with the crackers. This I have done many times. Some have offered money, but as yet I have never taken a cent.”
The Slower Road 