CHAPTER XXVIII — COLEMAN'S LITTLE PLAN
Though Coleman went to bed late, he awoke early. He had the power of awaking at almost any hour that he might fix. He was still quite fatigued, but having an object in view, overcame his tendency to lie longer, and swiftly dressing himself, went downstairs. Luke was still sleeping, and did not awaken while his companion was dressing.
Coleman went downstairs and strolled up to the clerk's desk,
"You're up early," said that official.
"Yes, it's a great nuisance, but I have a little business to attend to with a man who leaves Chicago by an early train. I tried to find him last night, but he had probably gone to some theater. That is what has forced me to get up so early this morning."
"I am always up early," said the clerk.
"Then you are used to it, and don't mind it. It is different with me."
Coleman bought a cigar, and while he was lighting it, remarked, as if incidentally:
"By the way, did my young friend leave my money with you last evening?"
"He left a package of money with me, but he didn't mention it was yours."
"Forgot to, I suppose. I told him to leave it here, as I was going out to the theater, and was afraid I might have my pocket picked. Smart fellows, those pickpockets. I claim to be rather smart myself, but there are some of them smart enough to get ahead of me.
"I was relieved of my pocketbook containing over two hundred dollars in money once. By Jove! I was mad enough to knock the fellow's head off, if I had caught him."
"It is rather provoking."
"I think I'll trouble you to hand me the money the boy left with you, as I have to use some this morning."
Mr. Coleman spoke in an easy, off-hand way, that might have taken in some persons, but hotel clerks are made smart by their positions.
"I am sorry, Mr. Coleman," said the clerk, "but I can only give it back to the boy."
"I commend your caution, my friend," said Coleman, "but I can assure you that it's all right. I sent it back by Luke when I was going to the theater, and I meant, of course, to have him give my name with it. However, he is not used to business, and so forgot it."
"When did you hand it to him?" asked the clerk, with newborn suspicion.
"About eight o'clock. No doubt he handed it in as soon as he came back to the hotel."
"How much was there?"
This question posed Mr. Coleman, as he had no idea how much money Luke had with him.
"I can't say exactly," he answered. "I didn't count it. There might have been seventy-five dollars, though perhaps the sum fell a little short of that."
"I can't give you the money, Mr. Coleman," said the clerk, briefly. "I have no evidence that it is yours."
"Really, that's ludicrous," said Coleman, with a forced laugh. "You don't mean to doubt me, I hope," and Madison Coleman drew himself up haughtily.
"That has nothing to do with it. The rule of this office is to return money only to the person who deposited it with us. If we adopted any other rule, we should get into no end of trouble."
"But, my friend," said Coleman, frowning, "you are putting me to great inconvenience. I must meet my friend in twenty minutes and pay him a part of this money."
"I have nothing to do with that," said the clerk.
"You absolutely refuse, then?"
"I do," answered the clerk, firmly. "However, you can easily overcome the difficulty by bringing the boy down here to authorize me to hand you the money."
"It seems to me that you have plenty of red tape here," said Coleman, shrugging his shoulders. "However, I must do as you require."
Coleman had a bright thought, which he proceeded to carry into execution.
He left the office and went upstairs. He was absent long enough to visit the chamber which he and Luke had occupied together. Then he reported to the office again.
"The boy is not dressed," he said, cheerfully. "However, he has given me an order for the money, which, of course, will do as well."
He handed a paper, the loose leaf of a memorandum book, on which were written in pencil these words:
"Give my guardian, Mr. Coleman, the money I left on deposit at the office. LUKE LARKIN."
"That makes it all right, doesn't it?" asked Coleman, jauntily. "Now, if you'll be kind enough to hand me my money at once, I'll be off."
"It won't do, Mr. Coleman," said the clerk. "How am I to know that the boy wrote this?"
"Don't you see his signature?"
The clerk turned to the hotel register, where Luke had enrolled his name.
"The handwriting is not the same," he said, coldly.
"Oh, confound it!" exclaimed Coleman, testily. "Can't you understand that writing with a pencil makes a difference?"
"I understand," said the clerk, "that you are trying to get money that does not belong to you. The money was deposited a couple of hours sooner than the time you claim to have handed it to the boy—just after you and the boy arrived."
"You're right," said Coleman, unabashed. "I made a mistake."
"You cannot have the money."
"You have no right to keep it from me," said Coleman, wrathfully.
"Bring the boy to the office and it shall be delivered to him; then, if he chooses to give it to you, I have nothing to say."
"But I tell you he is not dressed."
"He seems to be," said the clerk, quietly, with a glance at the door, through which Luke was just entering.
Coleman's countenance changed. He was now puzzled for a moment. Then a bold plan suggested itself. He would charge Luke with having stolen the money from him.
CHAPTER XXIX — MR. COLEMAN IS FOILED IN HIS ATTEMPT
Luke looked from Coleman to the clerk in some surprise. He saw from their looks that they were discussing some matter which concerned him.
"You left some money in my charge yesterday, Mr. Larkin," said the clerk.
"Yes."
"Your friend here claims it. Am I to give it to him?"
Luke's eyes lighted up indignantly.
"What does this mean, Mr. Coleman?" he demanded, sternly.
"It means," answered Coleman, throwing off the mask, "that the money is mine, and that you have no right to it."
If Luke had not witnessed Coleman's search of his pockets during the night, he would have been very much astonished at this brazen statement. As it was, he had already come to the conclusion that his railroad acquaintance was a sharper.
"I will trouble you to prove your claim to it," said Luke, not at all disturbed by Coleman's impudent assertion.
"I gave it to you yesterday to place in the safe. I did not expect you would put it in in your own name," continued Coleman, with brazen hardihood.
"When did you hand it to me?" asked Luke, calmly.
"When we first went up into the room."
This change in his original charge Coleman made in consequence of learning the time of the deposit.
"This is an utter falsehood!" exclaimed Luke, indignantly.
"Take care, young fellow!" blustered Coleman. "Your reputation for honesty isn't of the best. I don't like to expose you, but a boy who has served a three months' term in the penitentiary had better be careful how he acts."
Luke's breath was quite taken away by this unexpected attack. The clerk began to eye him with suspicion, so confident was Coleman's tone.
"Mr. Lawrence," said Luke, for he had learned the clerk's name, "will you allow me a word in private?"
"I object to this," said Coleman, in a blustering tone. "Whatever you have to say you can say before me."
"Yes," answered the clerk, who did not like Coleman's bullying tone, "I will hear what you have to say."
He led the way into an adjoining room, and assumed an air of attention.
"This man is a stranger to me," Luke commenced. "I saw him yesterday afternoon for the first time in my life."
"But he says he is your guardian."
"He is no more my guardian than you are. Indeed, I would much sooner select you."
"How did you get acquainted?"
"He introduced himself to me as a traveler for H. B. Claflin, of New York. I did not doubt his statement at the time, but now I do, especially after what happened in the night."
"What was that?" asked the clerk, pricking up his ears.
Luke went on to describe Coleman's search of his pockets.
"Did you say anything?"
"No. I wished to see what he was after. As I had left nearly all my money with you, I was not afraid of being robbed."
"I presume your story is correct. In fact, I detected him in a misstatement as to the time of giving you the money. But I don't want to get into trouble."
"Ask him how much money I deposited with you," suggested Luke. "He has no idea, and will have to guess."
"I have asked him the question once, but will do so again."
The clerk returned to the office with Luke. Coleman eyed them uneasily, as if he suspected them of having been engaged in a conspiracy against him.
"Well," he said, "are you going to give me my money?"
"State the amount," said the clerk, in a businesslike manner.
"I have already told you that I can't state exactly. I handed the money to Luke without counting it."
"You must have some idea, at any rate," said the clerk.
"Of course I have. There was somewhere around seventy-five dollars."
This he said with a confidence which he did not feel, for it was, of course, a mere guess.
"You are quite out in your estimate, Mr. Coleman. It is evident to me that you have made a false claim. You will oblige me by settling your bill and leaving the hotel."
"Do you think I will submit to such treatment?" demanded Coleman, furiously.
"I think you'll have to," returned the clerk, quietly. "You can go in to breakfast, if you like, but you must afterward leave the hotel. John," this to a bellboy, "go up to number forty-seven and bring down this gentleman's luggage."
"You and the boy are in a conspiracy against me!" exclaimed Coleman, angrily. "I have a great mind to have you both arrested!"
"I advise you not to attempt it. You may get into trouble."
Coleman apparently did think better of it. Half an hour later he left the hotel, and Luke found himself alone. He decided that he must be more circumspect hereafter.
CHAPTER XXX — A DISCOVERY
Luke was in Chicago, but what to do next he did not know. He might have advertised in one or more of the Chicago papers for James Harding, formerly in the employ of John Armstrong, of New York, but if this should come to the knowledge of the party who had appropriated the bonds, it might be a revelation of the weakness of the case against them. Again, he might apply to a private detective, but if he did so, the case would pass out of his hands.
Luke had this piece of information to start upon. He had been informed that Harding left Mr. Armstrong's employment June 17, 1879, and, as was supposed, at once proceeded West. If he could get hold of a file of some Chicago daily paper for the week succeeding, he might look over the last arrivals, and ascertain at what hotel Harding had stopped. This would be something.
"Where can I examine a file of some Chicago daily paper for 1879, Mr. Lawrence?" he asked of the clerk.
"Right here," answered the clerk. "Mr. Goth, the landlord, has a file of the Times for the last ten years."
"Would he let me examine the volume for 1879?" asked Luke, eagerly.
"Certainly. I am busy just now, but this afternoon I will have the papers brought down to the reading-room."
He was as good as his word, and at three o'clock in the afternoon Luke sat down before a formidable pile of papers, and began his task of examination.
He began with the paper bearing date June 19, and examined that and the succeeding papers with great care. At length his search was rewarded. In the paper for June 23 Luke discovered the name of James Harding, and, what was a little singular, he was registered at the Ottawa House.
Luke felt quite exultant at this discovery. It might not lead to anything, to be sure, but still it was an encouragement, and seemed to augur well for his ultimate success.
He went with his discovery to his friend the clerk.
"Were you here in June, 1879, Mr. Lawrence?" he asked.
"Yes. I came here in April of that year."
"Of course, you could hardly be expected to remember a casual guest?"
"I am afraid not. What is his name?"
"James Harding."
"James Harding! Yes, I do remember him, and for a very good reason. He took a very severe cold on the way from New York, and he lay here in the hotel sick for two weeks. He was an elderly man, about fifty-five, I should suppose."
"That answers to the description given me. Do you know where he went to from here?"
"There you have me. I can't give you any information on that point."
Luke began to think that his discovery would lead to nothing.
"Stay, though," said the clerk, after a moment's thought. "I remember picking up a small diary in Mr. Harding's room after he left us. I didn't think it of sufficient value to forward to him, nor indeed did I know exactly where to send."
"Can you show me the diary?" asked Luke, hopefully.
"Yes. I have it upstairs in my chamber. Wait five minutes and I will get it for you."
A little later a small, black-covered diary was put in Luke's hand. He opened it eagerly, and began to examine the items jotted down. It appeared partly to note down daily expenses, but on alternate pages there were occasional memorandums. About the fifteenth of May appeared this sentence: "I have reason to think that my sister, Mrs. Ellen Ransom, is now living in Franklin, Minnesota. She is probably in poor circumstances, her husband having died in poverty a year since. We two are all that is left of a once large family, and now that I am shortly to retire from business with a modest competence, I feel it will be alike my duty and my pleasure to join her, and do what I can to make her comfortable. She has a boy who must now be about twelve years old."
"Come," said Luke, triumphantly, "I am making progress decidedly. My first step will be to go to Franklin, Minnesota, and look up Mr. Harding and his sister. After all, I ought to be grateful to Mr. Coleman, notwithstanding his attempt to rob me. But for him I should never have come to the Ottawa House, and thus I should have lost an important clue."
Luke sat down immediately and wrote to Mr. Armstrong, detailing the discovery he had made—a letter which pleased his employer, and led him to conclude that he had made a good choice in selecting Luke for this confidential mission.
The next day Luke left Chicago and journeyed by the most direct route to Franklin, Minnesota. He ascertained that it was forty miles distant from St. Paul, a few miles off the railroad. The last part of the journey was performed in a stage, and was somewhat wearisome. He breathed a sigh of relief when the stage stopped before the door of a two-story inn with a swinging sign, bearing the name Franklin House.
Luke entered his name on the register and secured a room. He decided to postpone questions till he had enjoyed a good supper and felt refreshed. Then he went out to the desk and opened a conversation with the landlord, or rather submitted first to answering a series of questions propounded by that gentleman.
"You're rather young to be travelin' alone, my young friend," said the innkeeper.
"Yes, sir."
"Where might you be from?"
"From New York."
"Then you're a long way from home. Travelin' for your health?"
"No," answered Luke, with a smile. "I have no trouble with my health."
"You do look pretty rugged, that's a fact. Goin' to settle down in our State?"
"I think not."
"I reckon you're not travelin' on business? You're too young for a drummer."
"The fact is, I am in search of a family that I have been told lives, or used to live, in Franklin."
"What's the name?"
"The lady is a Mrs. Ransom. I wish to see her brother-in-law, Mr. James Harding."
"Sho! You'll have to go farther to find them."
"Don't they live here now?" asked Luke, disappointed.
"No; they moved away six months ago."
"Do you know where they went?" asked Luke, eagerly.
"Not exactly. You see, there was a great stir about gold being plenty in the Black Hills, and Mr. Harding, though he seemed to be pretty well fixed, thought he wouldn't mind pickin' up a little. He induced his sister to go with him—that is, her boy wanted to go, and so she, not wantin' to be left alone, concluded to go, too."
"So they went to the Black Hills. Do you think it would be hard to find them?"
"No; James Harding is a man that's likely to be known wherever he is. Just go to where the miners are thickest, and I allow you'll find him."
Luke made inquiries, and ascertaining the best way of reaching the Black Hills, started the next day.
"If I don't find James Harding, it's because I can't," he said to himself resolutely.
CHAPTER XXXI — TONY DENTON'S CALL
Leaving Luke on his way to the Black Hills, we will go back to Groveton, to see how matters are moving on there.
Tony Denton had now the excuse he sought for calling upon Prince Duncan. Ostensibly, his errand related to the debt which Randolph had incurred at his saloon, but really he had something more important to speak of. It may be remarked that Squire Duncan, who had a high idea of his own personal importance, looked upon Denton as a low and insignificant person, and never noticed him when they met casually in the street. It is difficult to play the part of an aristocrat in a country village, but that is the role which Prince Duncan assumed. Had he been a prince in reality, as he was by name, he could not have borne himself more loftily when he came face to face with those whom he considered his inferiors.
When, in answer to the bell, the servant at Squire Duncan's found Tony Denton standing on the doorstep, she looked at him in surprise.
"Is the squire at home?" asked the saloon keeper.
"I believe so," said the girl, doubtfully.
"I would like to see him. Say Mr. Denton wishes to see him on important business."
The message was delivered.
"Mr. Denton!" repeated the squire, in surprise. "Is it Tony Denton?"
"Yes, sir."
"What can he wish to see me about?"
"He says it's business of importance, sir."
"Well, bring him in."
Prince Duncan assumed his most important attitude and bearing when his visitor entered his presence.
"Mr.—ahem!—Denton, I believe?" he said, as if he found difficulty in recognizing Tony.
"The same."
"I am—ahem!—surprised to hear that you have any business with me."
"Yet so it is, Squire Duncan," said Tony, not perceptibly overawed by the squire's grand manner.
"Elucidate it!" said Prince Duncan, stiffly.
"You may not be aware, Squire Duncan, that your son Randolph has for some time frequented my billiard saloon and has run up a sum of twenty-seven dollars."
"I was certainly not aware of it. Had I been, I should have forbidden his going there. It is no proper place for my son to frequent."
"Well, I don't know about that. It's respectable enough, I guess. At any rate, he seemed to like it, and at his request, for he was not always provided with money, I trusted him till his bill comes to twenty-seven dollars—"
"You surely don't expect me to pay it!" said the squire, coldly. "He is a minor, as you very well know, and when you trusted him you knew you couldn't legally collect your claim."
"Well, squire, I thought I'd take my chances," said Tony, carelessly. "I didn't think you'd be willing to have him owing bills around the village. You're a gentleman, and I was sure you'd settle the debt."
"Then, sir, you made a very great mistake. Such bills as that I do not feel called upon to pay. Was it all incurred for billiards?"
"No; a part of it was for drinks."
"Worse and worse! How can you have the face to come here, Mr. Denton, and tell me that?"
"I don't think it needs any face, squire. It's an honest debt."
"You deliberately entrapped my son, and lured him into your saloon, where he met low companions, and squandered his money and time in drinking and low amusements."
"Come, squire, you're a little too fast. Billiards ain't low. Did you ever see Schaefer and Vignaux play?"
"No, sir; I take no interest in the game. In coming here you have simply wasted your time. You will get no money from me."
"Then you won't pay your son's debt?" asked Tony Denton.
"No."
Instead of rising to go, Tony Denton kept his seat. He regarded Squire Duncan attentively.
"I am sorry, sir," said Prince Duncan, impatiently. "I shall have to cut short this interview."
"I will detain you only five minutes, sir. Have you ascertained who robbed the bank?"
"I have no time for gossip. No, sir."
"I suppose you would welcome any information on the subject?"
Duncan looked at his visitor now with sharp attention.
"Do you know anything about it?" he asked.
"Well, perhaps I do."
"Were you implicated in it?" was the next question.
Tony Denton smiled a peculiar smile.
"No, I wasn't," he answered. "If I had been, I don't think I should have called upon you about the matter. But—I think I know who robbed the bank."
"Who, then?" demanded the squire, with an uneasy look.
Tony Denton rose from his chair, advanced to the door, which was a little ajar, and closed it. Then he resumed.
"One night late—it was after midnight—I was taking a walk, having just closed my saloon, when it happened that my steps led by the bank. It was dark—not a soul probably in the village was awake save myself, when I saw the door of the bank open and a muffled figure came out with a tin box under his arm. I came closer, yet unobserved, and peered at the person. I recognized him."
"You recognized him?" repeated the squire, mechanically, his face pale and drawn.
"Yes; do you want to know who it was?"
Prince Duncan stared at him, but did not utter a word.
"It was you, the president of the bank!" continued Denton.
"Nonsense, man!" said Duncan, trying to regain his self-control.
"It is not nonsense. I can swear to it."
"I mean that it is nonsense about the robbery. I visited the bank to withdraw a box of my own."
"Of course you can make that statement before the court?" said Tony Denton, coolly.
"But—but—you won't think of mentioning this circumstance?" muttered the squire.
"Will you pay Randolph's bill?"
"Yes—yes; I'll draw a check at once."
"So far, so good; but it isn't far enough. I want more."
"You want more?" ejaculated the squire.
"Yes; I want a thousand-dollar government bond. It's cheap enough for such a secret."
"But I haven't any bonds."
"You can find me one," said Tony, emphatically, "or I'll tell what I know to the directors. You see, I know more than that."
"What do you know?" asked Duncan, terrified.
"I know that you disposed of a part of the bonds on Wall Street, to Sharp & Ketchum. I stood outside when you were up in their office."
Great beads of perspiration gathered upon the banker's brow. This blow was wholly unexpected, and he was wholly unprepared for it. He made a feeble resistance, but in the end, when Tony Denton left the house he had a thousand-dollar bond carefully stowed away in an inside pocket, and Squire Duncan was in such a state of mental collapse that he left his supper untasted.
Randolph was very much surprised when he learned that his father had paid his bill at the billiard saloon, and still more surprised that the squire made very little fuss about it.
CHAPTER XXXII — 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."