After he had washed and changed his clothing, he sat down to a substantial meal, which he enjoyed with the hearty appetite of youth. Then Mr. Scott invited him to take a walk about the town.
"I say, youngster, have you got a father and mother?"
"My father is dead, but I have a mother and sister living."
"And what did your mother say to your comin' out here?"
"She was willing, knowing that I had my own way to make."
"I haven't chick or child myself. I had a wife once, but she died twenty years ago. Now I've got money, but sometimes I feel lonely."
"It isn't too late for you to marry again, Mr. Scott."
"Maybe you're right, but there ain't many women would hitch on to me except for my money, and I'm better without such. I say, youngster, do you mind my keepin' company with you while you stay in these parts?"
"Certainly not, Jim. I shall feel fortunate in having one with me who knows so much more about the country than I."
"That's all right, then. When do you want to start for Custer City?"
"Two hundred and fifty miles, and pretty long miles, some of 'em."
"Yes. One has been put on lately. When I went first, I traveled by wagon, and was a week on the road, maybe ten days. Now, if you travel at night, we can reach Custer City in forty-eight hours or thereabouts."
"You may say that. As far as Fort Laramie it is pretty well settled. There is a ranch about every twelve miles."
"Well," said Jim, "we call it so out here."
"I shouldn't think people would feel crowded, living at such distances."
The next morning Paul and his new friend started for Custer City, and in due time arrived at the Black Hills metropolis without any adventures that need recording.
We must now leave our hero for a time and return to Chicago, to look after some of the other characters whom we have introduced in our story.
Major Ashton, after a late breakfast, sat in a handsome apartment, with several letters before him. These he had examined without much apparent satisfaction. Finally he threw down the last with a gesture of impatience.
"They all sing the same tune," he said, irritably. "They are all poor trades-people, who want money. Here's my tailor, who ventures to hope I will call round and settle his little bill--two hundred and seventeen dollars!--as he is in great want of money. What business has the rascal to want money? I dare say he has a plentiful bank account, made by fleecing customers like myself. Then there's Jones, the boot-maker, wants me to pay up his bill of sixty-five dollars for boots and shoes. I can't remember having all the things he charges for. I dare say the rogue has charged for what I never had. Then here's my landlady has left on my table a bill for the last two months' board, at the rate of thirty-five dollars a week. Really, it looks as if all my creditors had combined to annoy me on this particular evening.