This time the Leslies sprang quite to their feet.

"By the Great Horn Spoon, man!" cried Jim. "Alone! No chaperon! Good
Lord!"

"Yes," said Bennington, "I've always wanted to go West. I want to
write, and I'm sure, in that great, free country, I'll get a chance for
development. I had to work hard to induce father and mother to consent,
but it's done now, and I leave next week. Father procured me a position
out there in one of the camps. I'm to be local treasurer, or something
like that; I'm not quite sure, you see, for I haven't talked with
Bishop yet. I go to his office for directions to-morrow."

At the mention of Bishop the Leslies glanced at each other behind the
young man's back.

"Bishop?" repeated Jim. "Where's your job located?"

"In the Black Hills of South Dakota, somewhere near a little place
called Spanish Gulch."

This time the Leslies winked at each other.

"It's a nice country," commented Bert vaguely; "I've been there."

"Oh, have you?" cried the young man. "What's it like?"

"Hills, pines, log houses, good hunting--oh, it's Western enough."

A clock struck in a church tower outside. In spite of himself,