ON THE WAY TO THE BLACK HILLS
Just before Luke started for the Black Hills, he received the
following letter from his faithful friend Linton. It was sent to
New York to the care of Mr. Reed, and forwarded, it not being
considered prudent to have it known at Groveton where he was.
"Dear Luke," the letter commenced, "it seems a long time since
I have seen you, and I can truly say that I miss you more than
I would any other boy in Groveton. I wonder where you are--your
mother does not seem to know. She only knows you are traveling
for Mr. Reed.
"There is not much news. Groveton, you know, is a quiet place. I
see Randolph every day. He seems very curious to know where you are.
I think he is disturbed because you have found employment elsewhere.
He professes to think that you are selling newspapers in New York,
or tending a peanut stand, adding kindly that it is all you are
fit for. I have heard a rumor that he was often to be seen playing
billiards at Tony Denton's, but I don't know whether it is true. I
sometimes think it would do him good to become a poor boy and have
to work for a living.
"We are going to Orchard Beach next summer, as usual, and in the
fall mamma may take me to Europe to stay a year to learn the French
language. Won't that be fine? I wish you could go with me, but I am
afraid you can't sell papers or peanuts enough--which is it?--to pay
expenses. How long are you going to be away? I shall be glad to see
you back, and so will Florence Grant, and all your other friends,
of whom you have many in Groveton. Write soon to your affectionate
friend,
"LINTON."
This letter quite cheered up Luke, who, in his first absence from
home, naturally felt a little lonely at times.
"Linny is a true friend," he said. "He is just as well off as
Randolph, but never puts on airs. He is as popular as Randolph
is unpopular. I wish I could go to Europe with him."
Upon the earlier portions of Luke's journey to the Black Hills we
need not dwell. The last hundred or hundred and fifty miles had
to be traversed in a stage, and this form of traveling Luke found
wearisome, yet not without interest. There was a spice of danger,
too, which added excitement, if not pleasure, to the trip. The Black
Hills stage had on more than one occasion been stopped by highwaymen
and the passengers robbed.
The thought that this might happen proved a source of nervous alarm
to some, of excitement to others.
Luke's fellow passengers included a large, portly man, a merchant
from some Western city; a clergyman with a white necktie, who was
sent out by some missionary society to start a church at the Black
Hills; two or three laboring men, of farmerlike appearance, who were
probably intending to work in the mines; one or two others, who
could not be classified, and a genuine dude, as far as appearance
went, a slender-waisted, soft-voiced young man, dressed in the
latest style, who spoke with a slight lisp. He hailed from the city
of New York, and called himself Mortimer Plantagenet Sprague. As
next to himself, Luke was the youngest passenger aboard the stage,
and sat beside him, the two became quite intimate. In spite of his
affected manners and somewhat feminine deportment, Luke got the
idea that Mr. Sprague was not wholly destitute of manly traits, if
occasion should call for their display.
One day, as they were making three miles an hour over a poor road,
the conversation fell upon stage robbers.
"What would you do, Colonel Braddon," one passenger asked of the
Western merchant, "if the stage were stopped by a gang of ruffians?"
"Shoot 'em down like dogs, sir," was the prompt reply. "If
passengers were not so cowardly, stages would seldom be robbed."
All the passengers regarded the valiant colonel with admiring
respect, and congratulated themselves that they had with them
so doughty a champion in case of need.
"For my part," said the missionary, "I am a man of peace, and I must
perforce submit to these men of violence, if they took from me the
modest allowance furnished by the society for traveling expenses."
"No doubt, sir," said Colonel Braddon. "You are a minister, and men
of your profession are not expected to fight. As for my friend Mr.
Sprague," and he directed the attention of the company derisively
to the New York dude, "he would, no doubt, engage the robbers
single-handed."
"I don't know," drawled Mortimer Sprague. "I am afraid I couldn't
tackle more than two, don't you know."
There was a roar of laughter, which did not seem to disturb Mr.
Sprague. He did not seem to be at all aware that his companions
were laughing at him.
"Perhaps, with the help of my friend, Mr. Larkin," he added,
"I might be a match for three."
There was another burst of laughter, in which Luke could not
help joining.
"I am afraid I could not help you much, Mr. Sprague," he said.
"I think, Mr. Sprague," said Colonel Braddon, "that you and I will
have to do the fighting if any attack is made. If our friend the
minister had one of his sermons with him, perhaps that would scare
away the highwaymen."
"It would not be the first time they have had an effect on godless
men," answered the missionary, mildly, and there was another laugh,
this time at the colonel's expense.
"What takes you to the Black Hills, my young friend?" asked Colonel
Braddon, addressing Luke.
Other passengers awaited Luke's reply with interest. It was
unusual to find a boy of sixteen traveling alone in that region.
"I hope to make some money," answered Luke, smiling. "I suppose
that is what we are all after."
He didn't think it wise to explain his errand fully.
"Are you going to dig for gold, Mr. Larkin?" asked Mortimer Sprague.
"It's awfully dirty, don't you know, and must be dreadfully hard on
the back."
"Probably I am more used to hard work than you, Mr. Sprague,"
answered Luke.
"I never worked in my life," admitted the dude. "I really don't know
a shovel from a hoe."
"Then, if I may be permitted to ask," said Colonel Braddon, "what
leads you to the Black Hills, Mr. Sprague?"
"I thought I'd better see something of the country, you know.
Besides, I had a bet with another feller about whether the hills
were weally black, or not. I bet him a dozen bottles of champagne
that they were not black, after all."
This statement was received with a round of laughter, which
seemed to surprise Mr. Sprague, who gazed with mild wonder at his
companions, saying: "Weally, I can't see what you fellers are
laughing at. I thought I'd better come myself, because the other
feller might be color-blind, don't you know."
Here Mr. Sprague rubbed his hands and looked about him to see if
his joke was appreciated.
"It seems to me that the expense of your journey will foot up
considerably more than a dozen bottles of champagne," said one
of the passengers.
"Weally, I didn't think of that. You've got a great head,
old fellow. After all, a feller's got to be somewhere, and,
by Jove!-- What's that?"
This ejaculation was produced by the sudden sinking of the two
left wheels in the mire in such a manner that the ponderous
Colonel Braddon was thrown into Mr. Sprague's lap.
"You see, I had to go somewhere," said Braddon, humorously.
"Weally, I hope we sha'n't get mixed," gasped Sprague. "If it's
all the same to you, I'd rather sit in your lap."
"Just a little incident of travel, my dear sir," said Braddon,
laughing, as he resumed his proper seat.
"I should call it rather a large incident," said Mr. Sprague,
recovering his breath.
"I suppose," said Braddon, who seemed rather disposed to chaff
his slender traveling companion, "if you like the Black Hills;
you may buy one of them."
"I may," answered Mr. Sprague, letting his glance rest calmly
on his big companion. "Suppose we buy one together."
Colonel Braddon laughed, but felt that his joke had not been
successful.
The conversation languished after awhile. It was such hard work
riding in a lumbering coach, over the most detestable roads, that
the passengers found it hard to be sociable. But a surprise was
in store. The coach made a sudden stop. Two horsemen appeared at
the window, and a stern voice said: "We'll trouble you to get out,
gentlemen. We'll take charge of what money and valuables you have
about you."