"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.
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