Struggling Upward, or Luke Larkin's Luck, Jr. Horatio Alger [spiritual books to read txt] 📗

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."