"I was there once, long ago, but I drifted on to California, and lived there up among the mountains for seven or eight years. Somehow I didn't get rich. But, one day, I heard of the Black Hills, and dusted for 'em."
"I hope good luck came to you there," said Paul, politely.
"You bet it did. Why, youngster, rough as I look, I consider myself worth to-day from fifty to a hundred thousand dollars."
Paul looked at his new acquaintance with respect as a successful man.
"That is a good deal of money," he said.
"So it is. Sometimes I wake up and forget that I'm rich. Seems to me I'm the same shiftless vagabond that lived for years among the California mountains, but there's a heap of satisfaction in findin' I'm mistaken."
"So I should think."
"And what's more, I don't mean to gamble away my pile, as most miners do. I'm gettin' on in life, and I can't afford it."
"That is where you are sensible," said Paul.
"And now, youngster, if I may be so bold, what's your name?"