“Gates,” said the shorter of the two whom Tom suspected, “here’s something that will suit you.”
“I don’t know but you are right, Morton,” was the response.
“So his name is Morton,” thought Tom, with momentary disappointment. “But of course he would change his name,” he immediately reflected. “He must be Samuel Lincoln. The description tallies in every particular.”
“Are you going to the mines?” he asked, feeling that the inquiry would create no suspicion.
“Yes,” said Gates. “We are going to make our fortunes.”
“Then you’d better take me along,” said Tom. “That’s exactly what I am after.”
Gates laughed.
“Do you want to go as private secretary?” he asked jestingly. “I don’t think my friend will want one, and I am sure I don’t.”
“I can think of another position I would like,” said Tom.
“What is that?”