“Where do we come in?” Tom wanted to know.
“Now jest a minnit. Let me git organized.”
He opened his shirt at the throat, reached in his pocket, pulled out a big bandanna handkerchief, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It was a scorching-hot June day, warmest of the summer thus far.
“The four of us start nor’west fer the lead diggin’s tomorrer mornin’,” he then stated, his tone very sober and his face very serious.
“Northwest to the lead diggings!” remonstrated Tom. “Why, I thought Black Hawk was heading northeast for the Koshkonong Swamps?”
“Yah,” gloomed Ben, “we want to be in on the big chase.”
“You will be,” Bill Brown reassured them.
“Don’t look much like it,” said Tom grumpily.
“Now don’t git in a lather. Here’s what the White Beaver has in mind. He’s sendin’ us into the Wisconsin country to hunt up Colonel Dodge.”
“Colonel Dodge!” blurted Ben. “Never heard of him.”