"'Tis a tale that is truer and older Than any the sagas tell. I loved you in life too little— I love you in death too well."

The sound of happy laughter from the shore fell upon his ears. He started and looked down toward the shore. He could dimly see the two standing near the water close to each other, and intuitively he knew its meaning. They had forgotten him and everything else. They were sufficient to each other, and all cares for the time had vanished. Weston knew that the old, old tale was being repeated by the shore of that inland lake, and that two young hearts were responding to the sweet, luring charm of that divine influence, which banishes all grief and care, and transfigures life with the halo of romance.



CHAPTER XXVI

THROUGH THE STORM

Next morning Reynolds started with Sconda for Big Draw. As he mounted his horse in front of the cabin, Glen stood nearby, and he thought that he had never seen her look so pretty. If any man had ever been tempted to express all that was in his mind he had been the previous evening as they stood by the shore of the lake. He believed that Glen loved him, and he up-braided himself for not speaking and telling her of the deep feeling of his heart. But he would return, and then he would not let such another opportunity pass.

Glen stroked the horse's proudly-arching neck as he champed impatiently at his bit.

"Take care of your master, Pedro," she ordered, "and bring him safely back to Glen West."

"Then you wish me to return, eh?" Reynolds queried.

"Why shouldn't you?" and the girl blushed. "You have to arrange about that gold, you know."

"So I have. I am glad you reminded me." They both laughed, and Reynolds looked longingly into Glen's eyes. "You must promise, though, that the Indians will not drive me beyond the pass, and that your father will not subject me to the Ordeal."

"I think I can answer for them," was the low reply. "You are one of us now, and that makes a great difference. But here comes daddy; he will scold me for delaying you."

"I wish I did not have to go," Reynolds declared. "I would much rather go with you to Glen West. But I shall hurry back."

"And be careful of yourself at Big Draw," the girl warned. "Curly is there, and he hasn't any love for you."

"Oh, I guess I shall be able to match that villain, so do not worry. Good-by; I must be off, for Sconda is getting impatient."

Reynolds rode rapidly down the trail, turning once to wave his hand to Glen, who was watching him before the cabin door. He was very happy, for he believed that he had won the heart of the purest, sweetest, and most beautiful girl in the whole world. He sang snatches of songs as he rode along, and at times laughed aloud in boyish glee, much to Sconda's astonishment. Life was bright and rosy to him on this fine summer morning, and the future looked most promising. He could hardly believe that he was the same person who had entered the country but a few weeks before, and who had travelled over that same trail with Frontier Samson. He was hoping to find the old prospector at Big Draw; who would be anxious to hear of his adventures.

About an hour later Glen bade her father good-by. She was all ready to start for home.

"Don't stay here long, daddy," she pleaded. "Come as soon as you can, for I shall be lonely without you."

"And will you really miss me?" Weston asked.

"Certainly I shall miss you. Life is not worth living when you are not at home."

"Not even when Reynolds is present?"

Glen blushed furiously, and her father smiled, a sad smile, which Glen was quick to notice. Throwing her arms impulsively about his neck, she kissed his bronzed cheek.

"I love you dearly, daddy," she murmured. "But because I love him does not lessen my love for you."

"I know it, dear, I know it," and Weston's voice was husky as he held his daughter close. "I am glad to know that you are happy, and I have every reason to believe that Reynolds is worthy of your love. Your confidence means very much to me. But, there, now, you had better be off. Natsu will look well after you. I was forced to send Sconda with Reynolds, as Natsu is not to be trusted at Big Draw. There are some unscrupulous fellows at the mining camp who might fill him with bad whiskey, and when he is half drunk he is liable to talk too much."

Glen enjoyed the ride over the long crooked trail, and her spirits, which had been somewhat depressed at the parting from her father and Reynolds, revived. There was nothing which thrilled and stimulated her so much as riding on Midnight through the great wilderness. Her lithe, supple body swayed in a rhythmical motion as the horse sped on his way. Riding was one of the few attractions which made the northland tolerable, and she wondered what she would do outside to replace it.

"I shall take you with me, old boy," she confided, as she affectionately patted Midnight's neck. "It would not do to leave you behind. My, what a great time we shall have upon the level roads!"

Then she fell to thinking about the joy of visiting different lands, and seeing strange sights. But she always associated her travels with Reynolds. She pictured him by her side as they went from place to place, eager and delighted at everything they beheld. It was certainly a pleasant dreamland in which she was living on this beautiful morning. Not a shadow dimmed her vision. All was rosy and fair, and like another speeding on his way to Big Draw, she was surrounded by the halo of romance.

It was supper time when Glen at length reached home, where she at once handed Midnight over to Natsu, and entered the house. Nannie was greatly surprised to see her back so soon, accompanied only by the Indian. But a little later, as they sat down to supper, Glen related the tale of experiences in the hills, omitting only her adventure with Curly.

"And just think, Nannie!" she enthusiastically exclaimed in conclusion, "daddy is seriously thinking about leaving the north and going outside. Isn't it great?"

"Is he, indeed?" and the elderly woman looked her surprise.

"Oh, yes. When I spoke to him about it he said that he wished to think it over, and might let me know in a few days. Oh, I hope that he will decide to go, don't you?"

Nannie made no reply for a few minutes, but went on with her supper.

"And what will become of me?" she at length asked.

"Why, you must go with us, of course. You will not mind going, will you?"

"Not now," was the quiet reply. "I have been quite happy here because I had you to think about and love. But you will be leaving soon, I feel sure, and how could I endure this place without you? You have little idea how much I missed you when you were away at school."

"Why do you think I shall be leaving soon?" Glen asked.

"I am not altogether blind, dear," and Nannie smiled. "You know the story of the Sleeping Beauty. Only the man who was bold enough could win her, and when he did venture into the enchanted place, a marvellous change ensued. So it has happened here."

"But I am not a sleeping beauty, Nannie," and Glen blushed, for she well understood the meaning of her companion's words.

"A very active beauty, I should say," and the woman looked with admiration upon the fair face before her. "But the principle is the same. The Prince has come, he has won your heart, and a great change has been wrought in this place, which has affected even your father. Now, isn't that true?"

Glen rose suddenly to her feet, and threw her arms lovingly about Nannie's neck. There were tears in her eyes, but they were tears of joy.

"You dear, dear old Nannie!" she cried. "How in the world did you learn the secret of my heart?"

"How could I help it?" was the laughing reply. "Your face alone would have betrayed the secret, even if I had not guessed it. And the Prince really loves you, Glen. But, there, I suppose he has told you all this."

"Indeed he has not. He never said a word to me," was the emphatic denial. "I don't believe he ever thought of doing so."

Nannie merely smiled at the girl's charming candour and unaffected simplicity. It pleased her to know that Glen was not ashamed of her love, and it was good to watch her bubbling over with the happiness of her new-found joy.

Glen spent much of the next morning upon the water in her canoe. She visited the places where she and Reynolds had gone that first day they had been together. She lived over again that happy time, marred only by the shot from the Golden Crest. She had almost forgotten it now, and her former anxiety had nearly vanished. She had a slight feeling of fear as to what Curly might attempt to do to Reynolds at Big Draw, but when she thought of her lover's strength she smiled confidently to herself.

About the middle of the afternoon she decided to go down to see Klota. Telling Nannie that she would not be long, she donned her hat, and had just stepped out upon the verandah when she saw Sconda riding furiously toward the house. His horse was white with foam and panting heavily. For an instant Glen's heart almost stopped beating, as she was certain that the Indian bore some bad news. He had gone with Reynolds, and what would bring him back so soon and in such a manner unless something was seriously wrong? All this flashed through her mind as she hurried down the steps just as Sconda drew rein in front of the house.

"What is the matter, Sconda?" she demanded. "Tell me, quick."

"White stranger in trouble," was the brief reply.

"Where?" Glen asked, while her face turned pale.

"At white man's camp. Curly catch him. Curly make big trouble."

"Are you sure? Did Mr. Reynolds send you here for help?"

"White stranger did not send Sconda. Titsla tell Sconda at foot of Crooked Trail."

"Oh, I see," Glen mused. "Titsla was at Big Draw with meat for the miners, and he found out that Curly was planning to harm Mr. Reynolds, eh?"

"Ah, ah, Titsla come quick. Titsla tell Sconda."

"And you rode fast to tell me?"

"Sconda come like the wind. Look," and he motioned to his weary horse.

Glen was thoroughly aroused now. She was no longer the happy, free-from-care girl who had emerged from the house a few minutes before, but a woman stirred to a high pitch of anger, the same as when she faced Curly in front of the cabin by the lake. Her father's spirit possessed her now, and when Glen Weston's eyes flashed as they did when she was aware of her lover's danger, those best acquainted with her knew that she was capable of almost any deed of heroism. Of a gentle, loving disposition, and true as steel to those who were true to her, there was hidden within her something of the primitive life of the wild, which, when stirred resembled the rushing tempests of her familiar mountains.

Turning to Sconda she gave a few terse orders, and when the Indian had received them, he wheeled his horse and headed him for the village. Glen at once hurried back into the house, went to her own room, and in a short time reappeared, clad in her riding-suit. She met Nannie at the foot of the stairs, and briefly explained the object of her mission.

"But surely you are not going to Big Draw!" the woman exclaimed in dismay. "What will your father say?"

"Yes, I am going," was the decided reply. "What would daddy say if I shirked my duty?"

"But you are not going alone!"

"No. I have given Sconda orders to get twenty of the best men in the village to accompany me. We shall go by way of Crooked Trail, and should reach Big Draw by night. God grant we may be in time!"

"But it isn't safe, Glen," Nannie urged. "I can trust you with the Indians, all right, but suppose something should happen to you down there?"

"Don't you worry, dear," the girl soothed, as she gave the woman a parting kiss. "I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

"But where will you sleep to-night, or get anything to eat?" The question showed Nannie's thoughtful, motherly concern.

"Oh, I haven't thought about such things. Anyway, I do not care whether I eat or sleep. Most likely the Indians will take some food with them, and they will share with me. There, now, I must be off. So, good-by, Nannie, dear, and do not worry about me."

"You must take your riding-cloak, though," Nannie insisted. "It may be cold to-night, and should it rain you will feel the good of it. There, that's better," she added, as she placed the garment over the girl's shoulders. "I am afraid that your father will blame me for letting you go."

Glen smiled at the woman's fears as she again kissed her, and picking up her riding-gloves, she hurried out of the house and down to the village. Here she found the twenty men awaiting her arrival, and Sconda holding Midnight. She smiled as she saw them, and her heart warmed as never before to these faithful natives. They were proud, too, of their young mistress, and were ready and willing to follow her anywhere, and to obey her slightest wish. They were anxious, as well, for a tilt with the miners at Big Draw, for whom they had no great love.

In a few minutes Glen, mounted upon Midnight, was leading her little band out of Glen West on their ride over Crooked Trail. The entire population of the place was on hand to watch their departure, for word had speedily spread about the trouble at Big Draw. Men, women and children were clustered about the store, who gazed with the keenest interest as the column of relief pulled out of the village. Glen's eyes kindled with pride and animation as she turned and waved them a cheery good-by. Then she touched Midnight lightly with her whip, at which the noble animal leaped forward, up the trail, through the woods, across the wild meadow, and into the pass. The Indians found it difficult to keep pace with their young mistress, for Midnight was the fleetest horse that ever trod a northern trail.

As they advanced, however, it was necessary to travel slower, for the way was steep and rough, and it was only with considerable care that the horses could pick their steps. Glen became impatient at this delay, for the sun was swinging low beyond the far-off mountain peaks, and she realised that if night overtook them in the hills it would greatly retard their progress, and perhaps make them too late in reaching Big Draw.

As they were moving slowly down Crooked Trail, the sky suddenly became overcast, and then black. Great, threatening clouds were massed together far up in the hills, and the wind began to draw down the ravine. It steadily increased in strength, and in a short time a gale was upon them. Then followed the rain, which struck them just as they reached the valley. It was one of those sudden mountain storms, the dread of the most hardened trails-man, and the utter consternation of the chechahco. Fortunately the wind was in the backs of the travellers, and the trail was smoother now. Never for a moment did Glen hesitate, and Midnight responded splendidly to the occasion, inspiring with courage the horses following. The roar of the wind was terrific, and the trees bowed like reeds beneath its onslaught. Never had Glen experienced such a storm on the trail, and most thankful was she for the riding-cloak which Nannie had placed upon her shoulders. Her hat had been torn from her head, and her hair was tossed in the wildest confusion about her face and half blinded her. It was certainly a strange and weird sight as that slight girl led her determined band down that valley right through the heart of the storm.

It was difficult now to see far ahead, and Glen had to trust entirely to Midnight. Not once did the faithful animal stumble or exhibit the least sign of hesitation. He seemed to realise that much was at stake, and that everything depended upon his efforts. With ears pointed straight forward, and with head lowered, as if to guard his steps, he surged onward, every nerve keenly alert, and his entire body quivering with excitement.

For about an hour the storm beat upon them in all its fury, and notwithstanding the riding-cloak, Glen became thoroughly soaked. But she never once thought of herself, for her mind was ever upon Reynolds. Would they be in time to help him? she asked herself over and over again. She wondered what was the nature of the plot Curly had concocted, and whether all the miners were involved. Any danger to herself never once entered her mind, for she was so sure of the loyalty of her dusky followers. To reach the man she loved was the one great object which upheld her as she rode through that howling tempest.

At length they came to a place where the draw swerved sharply to the left. Here the trail left the valley and circled up a small hill behind the mining camp. The storm, following the draw as if it were a funnel, rushed roaring on its way, while the riders gaining the higher ground were somewhat beyond its reach, and, turning, saw it sweeping below like a torrent in full spate.

With a great sigh of relief, Glen paused for a moment on the summit, viewed the magnificent sight, and waited for her followers as they struggled, one by one, from the grasp of the mighty monster of the mountains. Then she spoke to Midnight and moved onward.

It was quite dark now, and the opposite slope which they soon began to descend was wrapped in the shadows of the hills. But Sconda knew every step of the way, and for the first time since leaving Glen West he took the lead and guided the band. Not a word was spoken as they defiled down that steep, narrow trail, and to anyone watching, they would have appeared like spectres coming from the unseen world.

Glen was nerved now to the highest pitch of excitement, for she felt that the critical moment, whatever it might be, was not far off. Anxiously and eagerly she peered forward, and just as they had almost reached the foot of the trail, a bright light suddenly pierced the darkness. Instantly every rider drew rein, and the horses stopped almost as one. All eyes were fixed, upon a blazing fire ahead, around which they could see a number of men moving. Then Glen gave a slight cry of dismay, touched Midnight sharply with her whip, and bounded forward, straight for that burning pile.



CHAPTER XXVII

IN THE TOILS

Curly reached Big Draw only a couple of hours ahead of Reynolds and Sconda. He had travelled fast, impelled by a burning rage, eager to impart to others as vile as himself the story he had concocted in his venomous mind. He was seated in the roadhouse, surrounded by his favorite gang, as Reynolds and his guide rode into camp. He reminded his hearers how the former had gone with Frontier Samson in quest of gold, and that the old prospector had mysteriously disappeared. He informed them that he had met Reynolds at Glen West with Jim Weston's daughter, and that they had both sneered at him.

"I was walking along the street," the liar continued, "when I saw the two standing together, an' very chummy. When Reynolds saw me he tried to hurry away into an Indian's shack. But I stopped him, an' asked him what he had done with Frontier Samson. This made him mad, an' he told me it was none of my business, an' if I didn't leave Glen West at once he'd set the Indians upon me."

"What did you do?" one of the listeners eagerly asked, as Curly paused and lighted a cigarette.

"Oh, I just laughed an' told him that I didn't care a rip for him or the Indians, an' that I would leave when I got ready. Then he an' the girl made fun of me, told me I was a queer looking guy, an' if I was anxious about the old prospector I had better go an' hunt for him myself. I left them at that, an' strolled about the place for a while. But that night didn't the Indians come upon me. They took me down into the woods, tied me to a tree, an' were all ready to burn me alive. Say, it was hell fer a while, an' I thought sure I was a goner. But just as a big devil stooped to light the dry wood at my feet, Jim Weston arrived, beat them off, an' set me free. An' all the time I was tied to that tree, didn't Reynolds stand by an' make fun of me. He said he would shut my mouth once an' for all about Frontier Samson. When I told him I was certain he had killed the old man, he flew into a rage an' cursed like a pirate. That's what he did, the cuss. Hand me over a drink, Tom; I'm thirsty."

While Curly and his gang were talking and drinking, across the street Reynolds was recording three double claims, for Jim Weston, Glen Weston, and himself, as discoverers. He produced a specimen of the gold which he carried in his pocket, and explained the exact position where the claims were situated. This work completed, he went at once to the roadhouse, and asked for his mail. He saw Curly and his companions, but paid no heed to them. He was more interested in the letters awaiting him, for there were two, and from his friend the editor, at that.

"You've been a long time away," Shorty remarked, as he looked curiously at the young man.

"Yes, I suppose I have," was the absent-minded reply, for Reynolds was looking at his letters.

"Strike anything?"

"I believe so. But, say, is Frontier Samson here? Have you seen him lately?"

"W-why, no," Shorty stammered. He had overheard Curly's remarks, so this unexpected question somewhat embarrassed him. "He went with you, didn't he?"

"He certainly did, but I got lost out in the hills, and haven't seen the old man since. I hope nothing has happened to him."

Not a word of this escaped the men at the table, and when Reynolds had left the building they stared at one another for a few seconds.

"Did ye hear what he said about the gold?" Curly eagerly asked. "I believe he's struck it rich, an' most likely he has put Samson out of the way."

"But he asked about him, though," one of the men replied.

"Oh, that was just a ruse, an' nothing more. He wanted to find out if we suspect anything. I say, Shorty, bring us something," he ordered. "This is my treat."

When the liquor had been brought, the men drank and talked in low voices. What they said Shorty could not hear, although he strained his ears in an effort to catch the drift of the conversation. After a while other men entered the room, and these were soon acquainted with Reynolds' return, the gold he had discovered, and the mysterious disappearance of Frontier Samson. A few agreed with Curly that it was strange that the old prospector had not been seen for some time, and that his partner had returned alone. Where was the discovery made? they wanted to know.

"Near the Tasan," a man replied. "I've just been to the Recording Office, and found that three double claims have been entered there in the names of Jim Weston, Glen Weston, and Thomas Reynolds. But I don't put any stock in that. Why, I've cruised all over that region, and so have others. There's not enough gold there to fill the eye-tooth of a mouse. I've been on too many fool stampedes of late, and I'm sick of them. What does that chechahco know about gold?"

"But Jim Weston is in with him," Curly reminded. "What d'ye make of that?"

"H'm, Jim Weston knows more about robbing Indians than he does about mining. He wouldn't know the real stuff from 'fool's gold.' No doubt that's what they've found."

The talk now became general and continued for some time. Several thought it worth while to go and see what the new discovery was like, but others scoffed at the idea. They also discussed the disappearance of Frontier Samson, and even hinted that perhaps his partner knew more than he was willing to tell. Curly suggested that he should be brought before them and questioned. This met with considerable favor, although no one seemed inclined to take upon himself such a responsibility. It was late when the men at length left the store, and took themselves off to their various cabins. Curly and his band went together, and for the rest of the night they communed and plotted in a lonely shack some distance up the creek.

With no idea that he was the centre of such interest, Reynolds slept soundly in his own little tent, for he was tired after his experiences in the hills. It was late when he awoke in the morning, and after he had eaten his frugal breakfast, he went over to the roadhouse for a supply of tobacco. Shorty was the only one present, for most of the miners were busy up the creek. Curly and his companions were still asleep after their night's vigil, and evidently would not show themselves for several hours. Shorty tried to learn from Reynolds something about the gold he had discovered, and also asked about Frontier Samson. But so little information did he gain, that he was much annoyed and became suspicious as well.

Reynolds went back to his tent, filled and lighted his pipe, and brought forth the two letters he had received, and read them again. They interested him, for they contained scraps of news of the outside world. But they were mostly filled with the editor's expressions of regret that Reynolds was wasting his time in the north, when he might be off on the great quest which was so near his heart.

"I hope you will return soon," he wrote, "and begin the search for Henry Redmond. Only yesterday I received what I consider a clue as to his whereabouts. I met a man who has been overseas, and telling him about Redmond, he informed me that he believed he knew where he was. He said that while in Switzerland he came across an old man and his daughter. The girl was about eighteen or nineteen years of age, and that corresponds with the age of the child Redmond took with him, for she was only three or four at the time of his disappearance. He said that the man had plenty of money, lived in a house beautifully furnished, and possessed a good library. But he was most reticent about himself, although he acknowledged that he was acquainted with Canada, and had lived here for some time. So you see, I have reason for believing that the man is Henry Redmond, and that you should go at once and hunt him out. Even after you meet him, your task will still bristle with difficulties, for he is evidently hard to approach."

Reynolds smiled as he read these words. He knew how anxious the editor was for him to return that he might start at once upon the search. But he had no idea of going to Switzerland, or anywhere else for that matter, while the northland held such attractions. He decided to write and tell his old friend to be patient a while longer, and then perhaps he would receive the greatest surprise of his life. He tried to picture the look upon the editor's face should he unexpectedly walk into his office with Glen by his side. He believed that he would be greatly pleased, for could any man in his right mind resist the girl's charms? He knew that Harmon would be somewhat annoyed, for a woman would ruin his hope of ever finding the missing Henry Redmond.

Reynolds spent part of the afternoon writing a long letter to the editor. He had much to tell him about the country, his experiences in the wilderness, and the mysterious ruler of Glen West. But of Glen he said little, nothing, in fact, that would in any way arouse Harmon's suspicion of the writer's deep interest in the girl.

When the letter was finished he took it over to the roadhouse to mail, and then spent the rest of the afternoon upon the creek in an effort to learn, if possible, something about Frontier Samson. But although he questioned all the miners he saw, not one could enlighten him in the least degree. He thought that several looked at him curiously when he asked about the old prospector, and he wondered what they meant.

He spent some time far up the creek, and ate the lunch he had brought with him in a quiet place near the stream which flowed down the valley, and provided the necessary water for the sluice-boxes where the precious gold was washed out. He enjoyed the seclusion, as it gave him an opportunity to think over what the editor had written, and also about Glen. He intended to leave early the next morning for Glen West by way of Crooked Trail, and he knew that Glen would be waiting and eager to greet him. Her face stood out clear and distinct in his mind, and he recalled the words she had spoken, and her charming manner. His heart beat fast as he thought of her, and he believed that she loved him. He chided himself for not pouring out his heart to her that evening as they stood by the side of the inland lake. The expression in her eyes and the tone of her voice were those of a woman whose heart must be filled with love, so he reasoned. Yes, he would speak to her just as soon as he reached Glen West. The way would be short, for she was his guiding star, and he would speed swiftly to the one he loved.

It was dusk when he at length rose to his feet and started down the creek. He did not hurry as he had the whole evening before him, and there was no one awaiting his coming. But there would be someone tomorrow, and his heart thrilled, and his eyes shone with animation as he thought of the girl beyond the Golden Crest.

Part way down Big Draw valley, and on the left side, was a sharp break in the bank, where a small creek met the larger one. This in ages past had evidently been a river, whose bed was now dry. It was up this creek that the trail led out into the hills, the one that Reynolds had always taken when he went forth on his hunting expeditions. The entrance to this draw was now wrapped in semi-darkness, for the high tree-clad banks shouldered toward each other, thus shutting out the dim light of departing day.

Reynolds reached this place, and with a glance up the trail which he would take in the morning, he had almost reached the opposite side, when, without a word of warning, a light was flashed into his eyes, and in an instant he was swept from his feet, hurled to the ground, and his arms securely bound. He had no chance to defend himself, for everything happened so quickly. There seemed to be quite a crowd of men holding him fast, some sitting upon his body, while others held his hands and feet. Although He strained and struggled desperately to free himself, his efforts were of no avail, and he soon realised that he might as well reserve his strength for whatever lay ahead.

"Now get on yer feet, an' be d—— quick about it, too." It was Curly's voice, and Reynolds knew that the villain was at the bottom of this affair.

He made no reply, however, but at once struggled to a standing position and looked around. There appeared to be more than a dozen men, and by the dim light he recognized several. They had been drinking, he could easily tell, and were in a quarrelsome mood, and wrangled with one another as to what they should do with their captive. One was for stringing him up to a tree; another was for shooting him; while a third suggested that they should pitch him head first down one of the mining-shafts. But Curly would not listen to these propositions, and gave orders that the prisoner should be taken up the creek in the direction of Crooked Trail.

"It's safer there," he told them, "an' we don't want our fun spoiled by the Police."

"There's none in camp to-night," one explained. "They're all off on the trail."

"An' lucky fer us," Curly replied. "Anyway, let's hustle an' get out of this."

Reynolds was immediately seized and hurried up the creek. He tried to think and plan some way of escape. He realised that the situation was serious, for with Curly, devilish and full of revenge, and at the head of a band of half-drunken men as reckless as himself, there was no knowing what he might do. But he was determined to be game, and await further developments as calmly as possible.

As they moved forward he partly learned from the men's conversation why they had waylaid him. He found out that Curly had been filling his companions' minds with gross lies, and now inflamed with impure whiskey they were willing tools in the hands of their revengeful leader.



CHAPTER XXVIII

HELP FROM THE HILLS

After they had stumbled on for about fifteen minutes Curly called a halt, and ordered the men to build a fire.

"This is as good a place as any," he told them. "No one will bother us here to-night, an' that's all we care."

Cursing and grumbling in a maudlin manner, several of the men gathered a number of sticks, and soon a fire was started. As the flames shot up Reynolds could see plainly the faces of his captors, and as he watched them his prospects did not seem very bright. They were men as reckless as Curly himself, and being half drunk they had lost all sense of responsibility. They did exactly what their leader commanded, notwithstanding their incessant complaints. This was exactly what Curly wanted. He had supplied them with liquor, but had taken little himself.

When the fire had been lighted, Reynolds was securely tied to a tree standing near. The rope which bound him was drawn tight and caused him considerable pain, although he exhibited no outward sign. But his heart was hot within him, especially when he looked upon Curly's sneering and jubilant face. If he could only be free for a few minutes he would attack the entire bunch, and revel in the fight. But to be bound and helpless was most galling.

"How d'ye like it?" Curly asked, coming up close to Reynolds. "Having a good time, eh? This is our picnic to-night."

"So I see," and the captive's lips curled in a sarcastic smile. "But just let me free for about five minutes, and then you'll see whose picnic it is."

"Not on yer life. We've got ye sure now, an' intend to keep ye that way until we're through with ye. What would yer little girlie say if she could see ye now?"

"To whom do you refer?"

"Oh, I guess you know, all right," and Curly grinned. "She's pretty, isn't she? But she has no use for me. She prefers a white-livered sucker like you."

"Who was the big white-livered sucker during the war?" Reynolds retorted. "I didn't hide away in the hills like you did, Curly. You are a coward, and you know it."

"Who killed his pardner, though?" Curly snarled, for the prisoner's words stung him to the quick.

"What do you mean?" Reynolds asked in surprise.

"Where is Frontier Samson? What happened to the old man?"

Reynolds' eyes grew big with amazement as the meaning of Curly's words dawned upon his mind. So these men believed that he had killed the prospector! His face turned pale at the thought. What could he say in self-defense? Curly noted his embarrassment as well as the change of countenance, and he was greatly elated.

"Ye can't deny it," he charged. "Look, boys," he shouted. "See the white streak about his gills."

"Where ish Samson?" a blear-eyed man demanded, thrusting his whiskey-reeking mouth up close to Reynolds' face. "Where ish my old friend?"

Reynolds made no reply, although it was with difficulty that he restrained himself. To try to explain to such men would be useless, he was well aware. Others now surrounded him, who asked, not only about Samson, but about Jim Weston's daughter. They made the night hideous with their oaths and vile questions, until they seemed to Reynolds more like imps of the infernal regions let loose than human beings. He saw that they were becoming more and more reckless as they talked, shouted, and quarrelled with one another, and he expected at any minute to see them turn upon him and inflict some bodily injury, and, perhaps, tear him to pieces.

All this pleased Curly immensely, as he stood a little aside and watched his followers. His eyes seldom left the captive's face, but he looked in vain for any show of weakness on Reynolds' part. This was not altogether to his liking. He wished to see his victim show signs of fear, to cry aloud and plead for mercy. He had done so himself, and he longed to find it in Reynolds that he might taunt him with weakness and cowardice.

When he had waited in vain for fully half an hour, he ordered the men to pile dry wood about the prisoner's feet. They readily obeyed, and all took part, anticipating some rare sport.

"We'll take that sneer off yer face," Curly remarked, as he stepped up close to Reynolds. "We'll make ye yell."

"The same as you did at Glen West, I suppose?" Reynolds retorted. "Your lungs must have been sore after such yelps. Who showed the white liver then?"

Curly spat contemptuously at the captive, and motioned the men to bring a burning stick from the fire. Several at once hastened to obey, tumbling over one another in their eagerness. One, more active than the rest, extricated himself, seized a flaming torch, and rushed toward the prisoner. He had almost reached him, and Reynolds felt that the moment of doom had arrived. But just at this critical instant a peculiar noise fell upon his ears, and he listened intently. Then his heart bounded with hope, for it was the sound of galloping horses. His captors heard it, too, and the man carrying the torch hesitated and then stopped. It was an ominous sound to them, and their hearts smote them with a great fear. But they had little time for thought, for at once nine hundred pounds of quivering horse flesh, bone, and sinewy muscle leaped out of the darkness into their midst, and reared wildly when suddenly checked by a pair of strong, tense arms. With head tossed high, and champing madly at his bits, Midnight reeled back almost upon his haunches in such a manner that an inexperienced rider would have been unhorsed in an instant. But Glen was not in the least perturbed by the rearing steed, and maintained her seat with an easy composure. In truth, she never thought about herself, but only of him whose life was in danger.

"Cowards!" she cried. "Unloose that man!" and she pointed to Reynolds.

But no one moved to obey her imperious command. The men stared as if she were an apparition, so sudden and unexpected was her arrival. And in fact, she did seem like a leader of the legendary Valkyries, with her flashing eyes and wind-swept hair, mounted upon that prancing horse as black as night itself. It was little wonder that the men trembled as they watched her, while several crossed themselves as if to ward off some malign influence.

Curly, who had staggered back aghast at this sudden intrusion, was the first to recover. He glanced apprehensively around, as if meditating flight. But Glen's keen eyes detected his design, and she sternly ordered him to remain where he was. Then she turned and spoke a few words to her followers in the Indian tongue. At once a rapid movement took place, as the natives formed themselves in a circle around the white men and thus barred every avenue of escape. This brought the miners somewhat to their senses, and seeing that their unwelcome visitors were not ghosts, their hands slipped to their hip-pockets. But a mighty roar from Sconda paralyzed their hands, causing them to drop by their sides as the baffled men stared sullenly upon almost a score of rifles pointing straight at their hearts.

It seemed to Reynolds as if he must be beholding a vision, so wonderful did it all appear. He gazed upon Glen with intense admiration. He could hardly believe it possible that such a sweet, confiding girl could be so changed into an imperious leader in such a short time. Could she be the same who had bade him such a tender farewell by the shore of the lake in the hills? She looked more beautiful than ever now, but it was the beauty of wild abandon in the glory of a noble cause, which for the time had transformed this tender maiden into a woman of unselfish daring. She held him spellbound as she sat so superbly upon her now quiet horse. Forgotten were his bonds as he watched her, and his one thought was of her. How had she heard of his trouble? and how had she managed to arrive just at the critical moment? He longed to hear the story from her own lips. A passionate desire swept upon him to enfold her in his arms, to tell her how proud he was of what she had done, and to press his lips to hers. And she was the girl who had been so grossly insulted by his villainous captors! The thought stung him, and he turned sharply toward the cringing Curly. The brute was standing there, sullen and defiant. Reynolds knew that he would soon be free, and then he would deal with the cur. He heard Glen speak and saw Sconda dismount and disarm the miners. Last of all he came to Curly, and when the Indian reached for his revolver, the serpent spat at him and cursed wildly. With a marvelous restraint, Sconda merely took the weapon from the enraged man's pocket, and then walking over to Reynolds, swiftly cut the cords which bound him to the tree and freed his hands.

Finding himself unbound, Reynolds cast one glance toward Glen, and saw her looking at him with a peculiar expression in her eyes. He seemed to read there a challenge, which could have but one meaning. He turned to Curly, and beholding that sneer of contempt still upon his face, he sprang forward and confronted the villain.

"I am free now," he cried, "and am able to answer your insult to the purest woman upon earth. It is man to man, and we shall settle it right here."

But Curly was in no mood for a fight; that was not his nature. He was a coward at heart, though the failure of his plot made him so angry that he was daringly reckless. With a curse he started to turn away, but Reynolds caught him by the shoulders and swung him roughly around.

"No, you don't get off so easily," he told him. "One of us must get a drubbing here to-night, and if you can give it to me, come on."

"Take that, then," and Curly drew off and hit him a savage blow on the face.

It was all that Reynolds needed, and springing forward, he felled his antagonist to the ground with a single blow. And there Curly lay, and made no attempt to rise. He had enough, and he knew in his heart that he was no match for the man standing over him.

"Get up," Reynolds ordered. "I'm not through with you yet."

But Curly did not move. He lay there as if dead. Reynolds did not know what to do, for he was unwilling to inflict further punishment upon the creature while he was down.

"Curly." It was Glen's voice, and it had an ominous note. "Get up at once, and explain the meaning of this night's affair. Why this insult to Mr. Reynolds?"

To this command, however, Curly paid no heed, but remained as he had fallen. Glen's eyes flashed with a dangerous light as she tapped impatiently with her riding-whip upon the pommel of her saddle.

"Get up," she again ordered, "or I shall hand you over to the Indians. They will not be so considerate of you as we are."

As Curly still made no effort to rise, Glen uttered just two Indian words to Sconda. The latter immediately turned and roared a command to his followers. At once half a dozen natives sprang eagerly forward, but before they could lay hands upon him Curly was on his feet, trembling violently. He leaped aside from the natives, his face ghastly pale.

"Keep them off!" he yelled. "Don't let the devils touch me!"

"I thought that would bring you somewhat to your senses," and a smile of contempt hovered about the corners of Glen's mouth as she spoke. "But I mean what I say, you can be assured of that. Tell me, now, what is the meaning of all this? Why did you bring Mr. Reynolds here, and what were you going to do to him?"

"He murdered his pardner," was the low reply.

Glen gave a violent start at this accusation, and looked keenly at Curly. Her hands trembled, and it seemed to her as if her heart had stopped beating.

"Who was his partner?" she at length found voice to ask.

"Frontier Samson, of course. He was a friend of ours, and we were about to avenge his death, when you interfered."

"But how did you learn that Frontier Samson is dead?" Glen inquired.

"Because no one has seen him since he left camp with this guy," and he motioned to Reynolds who was standing nearby. "Samson hasn't shown up at Big Draw, an' his pardner doesn't care to explain what happened to him."

For a few seconds there was a dead silence, save for the crackling of the fire, and the restless movements of the horses. Then from out of the darkness came a roar of laughter, and while all turned and stared in astonishment, Frontier Samson himself bounded into their midst and confronted Curly.

"Do I look like a dead man?" he demanded. "D'ye think I've been murdered by me pardner?"

Curly's only reply was a fearful stare as if he had seen a ghost. He tried to speak, but words would not come.

"Frightened, are ye?" and the prospector took a step closer to the unhappy villain. "But ye'll be more frightened before I git through with ye, let me tell ye that. What's the meanin' of sich actions? Out with it."

"I t-thought y-you were dead," Curly stammered.

"An' so ye was takin' the matter of justice into yer own dirty hands, eh?"

"Somebody had to do it."

"H'm," Samson grunted as he glanced around upon the miners. "Queer justice, I call it. Why didn't ye let the Police look after the affair, if ye thought me pardner had murdered me? No, ye can't answer that," he continued, for Curly made no defence. "It's yer own bad heart, that's what made ye do it. Yer jealous; that's what's wrong. An' as fer justice, you'll git plenty of it soon, an' more'n ye'll care fer. An' you talk about a man murderin' his pardner, an' givin' him justice! Who murdered Bill Ducett, at Black Ravine, tell me that?"

Curly's eyes, which were big with fear, now fairly burst from their sockets as the old prospector laid this startling charge. His knees trembled, and it seemed as if he must fall to the ground, so great was his terror.

"H-how d'ye know about Bill?" he gasped.

"Never mind how I know," Samson replied. Then he turned toward Glen. "Excuse me, Miss," and he lifted his old weather-beaten hat, "I'm real sorry that you have to witness sich a scene as this. But it can't be helped, fer thar stands the worst criminal that ever came into this region. An' to think of him talkin' about murder an' justice, when he himself murdered his own pardner!"

"It's a lie!" Curly denied with an oath. "What d'ye mean by making such a charge?"

"It's no lie, Curly," and the prospector looked sternly into the cur's bloodshot eyes. "I've got all the proof that's necessary to stretch yer neck. But it'll keep until the right ones git hold of ye. In the meantime, we might as well go down to Shorty's an' git something to eat. I'm as hungry as a two-year-old bear. We'll take these fellers along," and he motioned to the miners. "Jist let yer Injuns look after 'em, Miss. An' ye'd better see that Curly is tied tight so's he can't git away. We don't want to run any risk with him."

It took but a few minutes to carry out this latter suggestion, and then all headed for the mining creek. The miners were marshalled by the Indians, with Samson walking watchfully by Curly's side, while Reynolds kept close to Glen. No one spoke, and it was a strange procession which wound its way down the creek, and at length halted in front of the roadhouse.



CHAPTER XXIX

THE OLD TRUE STORY

There was great indignation at Shorty's when the miners heard of the villainous attempt upon Reynolds' life. At first they would hardly believe it, but as they listened to Frontier Samson, whose words were confirmed by Glen, and Reynolds, they knew that it must be true. Then when they learned that Curly was guilty of the murder of his partner, Bill Ducett, they became thoroughly aroused.

These miners were the finest men at Big Draw. They worked hard and minded their own business. They were not given to much talk, due, no doubt, to long years in the wilderness. Neither were they carried away by any sudden impulse on the spur of the moment. They never had anything in common with Curly and his gang, although they had often listened to their vapid boastings. So now when they learned of the despicable affair up the narrow creek, they did not take matters into their own hands, and visit upon the miscreants swift and dire punishment. They decided, after a brief consultation with Frontier Samson, to keep close guard upon Curly and hand him over to the Mounted Police, who were expected back the next day. His companions would be allowed their freedom until needed.

"Such actions must be stopped," one big weather-beaten veteran of many trails declared. "Curly and his bunch, as well as all others of such breed, must learn first as last that the Police are here to give British justice, and a fair trial to every man, no matter who he is. It's not for any of us to deal with such brutes as Curly and his gang."

"I agree with you, Tom," another replied. "But it's a pity we didn't hear sooner about what was taking place up the draw. We'd a been there in no time. I can't understand how that Indian Titsla learned the news. He was here yesterday selling meat, but he never mentioned a word to us."

"I imagine he thought the hull bunch of yez was in the plot," Samson replied, "an' so he hit the trail fer Glen West as fast as he could. That's the way with them Injuns." Then he turned suddenly and walked over to Shorty. "Say, old man," he began, "rustle up some grub fer them Injuns outside, will ye? I'd like to give 'em a good feed before they leave. An' hand out something to the rest of us while yer at it. I'm most starved, an' I guess the rest are, too. I'll foot the bill."

In less than an hour Shorty had the Indians fed, and when Samson had provided each with a large plug of tobacco, they all left in the best of spirits for Glen West.

Reynolds' entire solicitude was for Glen. He thought not of himself, and paid little heed to the miners as they discussed Curly and his companions. His only concern was for her who was sitting in the one arm-chair the room contained with such a weary look in her eyes. The stern expression had vanished from her face, and she was the real Glen again. She did not care to talk, although she listened intently to everything that was said. But after the miners had left, and she sat down to the supper Shorty had prepared, she became more animated.

"Oh, I am so glad that we are alone at last!" and she breathed a deep sigh of relief. "It seems as if I have had a fearful dream."

"You'll be all right, Miss, as soon as ye git a good night's sleep," Samson replied. "Yer a bit used up at present."

"I suppose so. But where shall I sleep?"

"Here, of course. Shorty's goin' to give ye his best room, an' not a soul will disturb ye until mornin'. Then ye must be up bright an' early. Yer dad wants ye at his cabin."

"Is anything wrong?" Glen anxiously asked.

"Nuthin', Miss. But yer dad wants ye as soon as ye kin git thar."

"How does he know I'm here?" and Glen looked her surprise.

"How does he know?" Samson slowly repeated. "Wall, that's fer you to find out. I jist come from thar to-day, so I know that he wants ye. What's the use of askin' how Jim Weston finds things out? Why, he seems to know what a man miles off is thinkin' about. Ye'd almost imagine that he has a wireless outfit fixed up in his head."

Glen and Reynolds laughed, and even the old man smiled. He seemed to like to see them both happy, and when supper was over he told several humorous stories in his quaint, droll fashion. For a time Glen forgot her exciting experiences of the afternoon, and Samson did not once allude to them. At length he arose and laid his hand upon Reynolds' shoulder.

"Come, young man, it's time fer us to be goin' if the lassie is to git any sleep," he reminded. "I know you'd like to sit here all night an' watch. But she'll be as safe as in her own little nest at home. We'll be around early in the mornin', remember, Miss."

Glen held out her hand as she bade each good night. Reynolds held her hand for a few seconds and looked lovingly into her tired eyes. How he longed to put his arms around her to comfort her and tell her how brave and noble she was. But no, he would not do that now, as she might resent it. Instead, he merely bent his head, and lifting her hand touched it lightly with his lips, and hurried out of the building. Alone in the little room that night, ere she laid herself down upon the rough cot, Glen pressed her hand to her lips and kissed the spot where her lover's lips had rested. Tired though she was, a sweet peace stole into her heart. Forgotten was Curly, and she thought only of him she had rescued, and of whose love she felt assured.

Frontier Samson made no allusion to Reynolds' presence at Big Draw. He never even asked what had befallen him when he was lost out in the hills. This did not seem strange to Reynolds for a while, as his mind was much filled with the stirring events of the night. But when lying wrapped up in his blankets in his tent he thought it all over, and the silence of the prospector did seem strange. Then he remembered that Samson had been at the cabin in the hills, and no doubt Weston had told him the whole story.

No reference was made to the matter the next day until they were well advanced on the trail. Glen was like her former self once more after her refreshing sleep, and the color had again returned to her cheeks, She was full of spirit and animation, and laughed gaily at Samson's quaint remarks as he rode by her side wherever the trail permitted.

Reynolds, too, was happy, and Glen's buoyant cheerfulness affected him like magic. To listen to her voice and merry laughter made him perfectly contented. Life was very pleasant to him this morning, with the dark clouds all rolled away.

Suddenly a moose appeared on the trail ahead, which gazed for an instant upon the riders, and then bounded off into the woods.

"Like to chase it, eh?" Samson queried, as he looked quizzically at Reynolds.

"Not this time," was the laughing reply. "I have learned a lesson."

"In the school of experience, I guess. It's the only school in which some people'll ever learn anything."

"Chiefly babies and fools, so I've heard," Reynolds replied. "I was certainly a fool, all right, for not obeying orders and leaving a moose alone unless one is in need of meat. But, then, things turned out all right after all. If I had not got lost, I would not have reached Glen West as I did."

"An' not have found the gold, either."

"Why, did you hear about the discovery?" Reynolds eagerly asked.

"Sure. I heard all about it, an' how ye staked a claim fer yer old pardner, Frontier Samson. It was sartinly kind of ye to think of me."

"But I didn't stake any claim for you," Reynolds confessed, while his face crimsoned.

"Ye didn't, eh? An' we was pardners, too! Wall, that's queer."

"Oh, I am sorry," the young man acknowledged. "But I staked two claims, so you shall have one of them. How will that do?"

"No, thank ye. I've got enough to do me, I guess, to the end of me tether. An', besides, mebbe you'll need a hull gold mine to keep a-goin' by the looks of things. Women need a lot these days." His eyes twinkled as he turned them upon Glen's face, and noted that she was blushing, for she understood the meaning of his words. "But, then, it'll all depend upon the woman," he continued, "Now, some wouldn't be satisfied with a dozen gold mines, while others would be perfectly contented with a little log shack, so long as the place was built of love. I guess that'd be the way with you, Miss, from what I've seen of ye. But, hello! who's this? Why, it's the rascal Dan, I do believe! He seems to be in a hurry."

And Dan certainly was in a hurry. He was not at all inclined to talk, but anxious to get along as fast as possible.

"What's yer rush?" Samson asked.

"I want to get to Big Draw before night," was the curt reply.

"Where's daddy?" Glen questioned.

"Blamed if I know. He cleared out shortly after you did, and left me to die out there. I haven't seen him since."

Dan's arm was in a sling, and the haggard expression upon his face showed that he had suffered a great deal both mentally and bodily. The three watched him as he hurried on his way, until a bend in the trail hid him from view.

"An' to think of that critter bein' free!" Samson exclaimed. "Why, he should be linked up with Curly, an' git the same dose. Thar's something comin' to him, an' he'll git it in time, mark my word."

"What do you suppose has become of daddy?" Glen enquired, as they resumed their journey. "Did you hear what Dan said?"

"Oh, yer dad's all right, Miss," Samson assured her. "He knows how to take care of himself. Mebbe he's off to that mine. He's sartinly much interested in it."

"But where did you see Mr. Weston?" Reynolds unexpectedly asked.

"Whar did I see him?" and Samson ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair in an abstracted manner. "Wall, let me see. It was somewhar out in the hills. I've been in so many places that it's hard fer me to tell one from t'other. I do git terribly mixed up these days."

No further reference was made to the matter during the rest of the day, although Reynolds was not at all satisfied with the prospector's lame explanation. He wondered why the old man should have such a sudden lapse of memory as to what had so recently happened. There was some reason for it, he felt quite sure.

It was evening when they at length reached the little cabin in the wilderness. Sconda had ridden on ahead, and had an appetizing supper ready by the time the others arrived.

"I wonder where daddy can be," Glen remarked as they sat down to the table. "I was hoping that he might be here to receive us."

"Oh, he's all right, an' will be back soon," Samson replied. "He'll be here this evenin' fer sure."

The sun had just disappeared beyond the far off mountain peaks as Glen and Reynolds walked down to the shore of the lake. Not a ripple disturbed the water, and the sombre trees along the shore were mirrored in the clear depths. It was a scene of restful peace and quietness.

"Isn't it beautiful here to-night!" Glen exclaimed, while she gave a sigh of contentment. "I have no fear now of any danger lurking within those dark shadows, such as I had the last time we were here."

"And were you fearful then?" Reynolds asked.

"Indeed I was, for I thought Curly might be lurking around. He was here that day, and I do not mind confessing it now." She then briefly told of Curly's visit, and how she had guarded him until Sconda arrived.

They were walking along the shore now, about one hundred yards from the cabin. Reynolds was amazed at the story, and when Glen finished he suddenly stopped.

"Oh, I wish I had known of this sooner," he declared, while his hands clenched hard. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I was afraid," Glen confessed in a low voice.

"Afraid! Of what?"

"Of what you might do to Curly."

For an instant Reynolds stared at the girl. Could it be possible that she was concerned about the villain's welfare?

"And you thought I might kill him?" he asked.

"Yes; that was it."

"But he deserves to be killed after doing such a contemptible thing. Why, it is as bad as the Huns would do, and you know what we did to them."

"But that was war," Glen reminded. "If you shot an enemy over there, you were not considered a murderer, and condemned to death, were you?"

"No, certainly not," Reynolds emphatically replied, as the meaning of the girl's words dawned upon his mind. "And so you kept silent for my sake?" he asked. "Were you afraid that I might do something desperate to Curly, and become a murderer?"

"Yes, I was," and Glen lifted her shining eyes to his.

"And you really care that much for me?"

"Why shouldn't I? Wouldn't anyone think of a friend, and his welfare?"

Only for an instant did Reynolds hesitate, while his heart beat wildly with hope. Then he caught the girl's hands in his, and looked longingly into her eyes.

"Glen, Glen!" he passionately cried, using her Christian name for the first time, "is it possible that you love me? I wanted to tell you of my love but I was afraid."

"Why, you did tell me," Glen whispered, making no effort to free her hands.

"I did! When?"

"Don't you remember that night at Glen West when we first sang together?"

"But I didn't say a word to you about my love."

"No, but you showed it in your face and manner. You know what you did."

"I kissed you; that was it."

Releasing her hands, he drew the girl close to him, and imprinted a fervent kiss upon her burning lips.

"Glen, Glen!" he murmured. "You are mine at last. I know you love me, and are now my very own. Tell me that you love me."

In reply, Glen threw her arms around his neck, while tears of joy stole down her cheeks.

"I love you. I love you," she whispered. "Oh, I am so happy! You will never leave me, will you?"

For some time they stood there, lost to the world around them. It was the old true story being repeated by that wilderness lake. It was love made perfect by the union of two young hearts, the flowing together of two souls, the sudden bursting into bloom of the seed of affection, which had been steadily developing for weeks past.

And as they stood there, whispering of things revealed only to true ardent lovers, and their faces aglow with the light of a great and a new-found joy, the atmosphere suddenly changed. Great clouds had massed on the mountains, and the wind was whipping down the valley, ruffling the surface of the lake. The air grew cold, and Glen shivered. Then it was that they first realised the change that had taken place, and they both laughed. But Glen's face grew instantly sober.

"What will daddy say?" she breathed. "We must tell him as soon as he comes home."

"How does he generally punish a thief?" Reynolds smilingly asked as they walked slowly back to the cabin. "I have stolen the greatest treasure he possesses, the heart of his only child."

"That remains to be seen," was the laughing reply. "He may punish you, though, by inflicting upon you for life that which you have stolen. Won't that be punishment enough?"



CHAPTER XXX

THE UNMASKING

Frontier Samson was sitting before an open fire as Glen and Reynolds entered. The flames were licking around the big sticks, lighting up the room, and playing fantastic tricks upon the walls and ceiling. They fell, too, upon the prospector's face, and had not the young couple been so full of their own happiness they would have noticed the sad, far-away look in the old man's eyes. He was huddled in his chair, but straightened himself suddenly up at the first sound of approaching footsteps. By the time the young people were at his side, he was the same genial companion as of old.

"Having pleasant dreams?" Glen asked, as she took a seat by his side, while Reynolds sat opposite.

"Evenin' dreams, Miss," Samson thoughtfully replied, as he looked into the girl's bright, animated face, and intuitively divined the meaning of her happiness. "They're different from day-dreams, ye know, 'specially when yer settin' before a fire like this. Things come to ye then which ye imagined ye had forgotten long ago."

"You must have had some wonderful experiences in this land," Reynolds remarked. "And what scenes you have witnessed, especially in winter. If only you were an artist or a poet, what masterpieces you could produce."

Samson reached for his pipe, filled and lighted it in thoughtful silence. Glen and Reynolds gazed into the fire, fascinated by the leaping, curling flames. Their hearts were so filled with joy that they could think of little but their own overflowing happiness.

"Yes," Samson at length began, "I have seen some wonderful sights, an' no mistake. I ain't no artist nor poet as fer as puttin' things on paper or canvas is consarned. But it's all here," and he tapped his breast with the fingers of his right hand. "When I hear the great mountains a-roarin' at night when the wind is abroad, an' at times listen to the breezes purrin' down their sides, I tell ye I'm a poet then. An' at night, 'specially in winter, when the moon is full an' ridin' aloft above the highest peaks, an' the hull land is lit up with a wonderful glory, then I'm an artist. I s'pose them things are all right in their way," and the old man gave a deep sigh, as he looked wistfully into the fire. "But they don't altogether satisfy the soul. One needs the touch of human nature, the bond of fellowship, an' the warm fire of love to make life really worth livin'. Now, I could tell ye about a man—but thar, you two don't want to hear a yarn from me to-night. You've got other things to think about."

"Indeed we do," Glen declared. "I'm just in a mood for a story. It will help to pass the time until daddy returns. I wonder what in the world is keeping him."

"Oh, he'll be here shortly, so don't worry," Samson told her. "He'll come so suddenly, mebbe, that ye'll be surprised. I find that it's ginerally the unexpected that happens in this world. An' so ye want to hear me little yarn, eh?"

"Certainly we do," and Glen settled herself comfortably in her chair.

"Well, I warn ye at the outset that it's about some of the deepest things of life; of love an' sich like. But it's true as the Gospel."

"That should make it all the more interesting," Reynolds replied. "We are both young, remember, and are fond of such things."

"Sure, sure, I'm well aware of that," and the prospector's eyes twinkled. "Now, this story of mine goes back quite a number of years. It is about a man who was carryin' on a very prosperous bizness in a sartin city, the name of which I shall not mention jist now. He had everything that his heart could desire, sich as money, friends, a good home, a wife who was one in a million, an' a little child who made that home full of joy. Then suddenly a great change took place. His wife died, an' the man was left dazed an' helpless. He no longer took any interest in his bizness, an' his one object was to git away from people, far off into the wilderness that he might be alone with his sorrow. The day at last came when he was missed in the city, an' his friends an' acquaintances did not know what had become of him. But thar was one thing that made them think he was not dead, an' that was something which appeared in one of the papers. I remember the exact words:

"'I go from the busy haunts of men, far from the worry an' bustle of bizness life. I may be found, but only he who is worthy will find me, an' whoever finds me, will, I trust, not lose his reward. From the loopholes of retreat I shall watch the stress an' fever of life, but shall not mingle in the fray."

Before Samson had ended, Reynolds was on his feet, standing excitedly before him.

"That man is Henry Redmond!" he exclaimed. "Did you know him? Have you any idea where he is?"

"Set down, young man, set down," the prospector ordered. "Don't git excited. Yes, I'm speakin' of Henry Redmond. No doubt ye've heard of him."

"Indeed I have, and if you know where he is, tell me quick."

Samson's eyes twinkled with amusement as he waved Reynolds back to his chair.

"Jist be patient until I git through with me yarn, will ye? I'm mighty glad that yer so interested in the story. Yes, the man was Henry Redmond, an', as I told ye, he suddenly lit out to parts unknown. But I know what happened to him. He did leave the busy haunts of men, an' went far off into the wilderness, takin' with him his little child. He lived alone fer a time in a cabin that he built. He thought that he could be happy with nature, an' find comfort fer his great heart-ache in the loneliness of the wild. But he soon found out his mistake. He needed human companionship more'n he could git from his little child. After a while he jined himself to a band of Injuns, became their leader, an' ruled 'em with a strong hand. Fer a time this gave him some comfort, an' he believed that sich a life was all that he could desire. He had his books, an' when he wished he could talk with the natives, whose lingo he soon larned."

Samson paused and gazed for a few minutes steadfastly into the fire. Reynolds had listened to every word and he could not tolerate the least delay. A startling thought had come suddenly into his mind which stirred him to a high pitch of excitement.

"Go on," he ordered. "Finish your story."

Samson aroused from his reverie, and looked keenly into the young man's eager eyes.

"Whar was I?" he asked. "Oh, yes, I remember. It was jist whar Redmond had settled down among the Injuns. Me mind was wanderin' a bit, due, no doubt, to old age. Well, Redmond tried to find peace an' contentment in the little village. From the loopholes of retreat he did watch the ways of civilization, an' the more he watched, the more dissatisfied he became. He longed fer the companionship of people of his own kind, fer between him an' the Injuns thar was too wide a gap. He needed the company of white people, an' that he did not have. He did not care to visit the outside world fer fear of bein' recognized. Then something happened which made a great change."

"What was it?" Glen eagerly asked, for she, too, was intensely interested.

"It was the discovery of gold in the very region whar Redmond thought he was secure from all contact with civilized life. The miners flocked into the place, pokin' their noses into every hole an' corner, until Redmond found it necessary to keep them at arm's length an' at the same time strike terror into their hearts, that he might protect his Injuns from their evil influence."

"Why, that's just like daddy," Glen remarked. "He won't allow the miners to come to Glen West."

"Sure, sure. Any man would have done the same as Redmond did. Thar was nuthin' else fer him to do. But after the miners came, he had a great longin' to meet 'em, an' talk to 'em in a friendly way. At first he didn't know how to manage this without bein' found out. But by a lucky chance he came across an old Injun, who had once been a great medicine-man, an' was a mighty good hand at makin' disguises. So he fixed up Redmond in sich a way that no one could tell but what he was a real old sourdough prospector who had spent most of his life lookin' fer gold."

A half suppressed exclamation from Reynolds caused Samson to turn quickly in his direction.

"Hey, anything wrong?" he asked. "Ye seem to be somewhat excited. Nuthin' serious, I hope?"

"Yes, there is," was the emphatic reply. "But go on. Never mind me."

"I s'pose I might as well git along with me yarn," the old man continued. "Yes, Redmond got all fixed up as a prospector, an' then he visited the minin' camps fer miles around. No one suspected who he was, an' so he used to come an' go in a most mysterious manner, to their way of thinkin'."

"What did he call himself?" Reynolds asked.

"I'll come to that later, young man," and Samson slyly tipped him a warning wink. "We'll jist call him Redmond fer the present. He sartinly did have a great time of it, an' no one was the wiser. An' he uster travel to the outside, too, an' everybody put him down as an old prospector hardly worth considering Say, it was great fun fer Redmond."

"But where was his child all this time?" Reynolds questioned.

"Oh, she jist stayed at home with a housekeeper Redmond got, an' grew up to be a fine slip of a gal. Then when she was old enough, her dad decided to send her outside to school. But when she came home fer the holidays she was somewhat unsettled, an' didn't want to stay in the north. She longed fer society, fine dresses, an' sich things. This worried her dad a great deal. But one day she happened to come across a chap who took her fancy, an' that made all the difference in the world. He saved her from a grizzly on Crooked——"

Samson never finished the sentence, for with a startled cry, Glen was on her feet, her body trembling with emotion, and her eyes wide with wonder.

"Are you Henry Redmond?" she demanded. "Are you my father?"

For an instant only did the old man look at the girl, then with a swift, deft movement he swept the long beard from his face, and the white hair from his head.

"Daddy!" It was all that Glen could say. She trembled, and would have fallen had not her father caught her in his arms, and held her close to his breast. For a time no one spoke, and Glen's sobs were the only sound heard.

"There, there, dear, don't feel so badly," her father at length told her. "Come, let me brush away your tears. One would think that I had committed some terrible deed."

"But I can't help it, daddy," the girl replied. "This is all so sudden, and such a great surprise. But I feel better now, so we can talk it all over. There are so many questions I want to ask."

The storm had now passed, and once more they resumed their seats. Glen, however, kept her eyes fixed intently upon her father's face.

"And to think that you have deceived me all these years," she upbraided. "Don't you feel thoroughly ashamed of yourself?"

"I suppose I should," was the laughing confession. "But I have had so much innocent fun out of it that my conscience doesn't trouble me in the least."

"And it was you all the time who travelled on the same steamer as I did," Glen mused. "I thought it strange that you should be going up or down the coast whenever I did."

"Yes, I was keeping a good watch over you. I must confess that you behaved yourself very well."

"Was it not difficult to play your part as a prospector?" Reynolds asked.

"Not after I got used to it, though at first it was a little awkward. But I threw myself so gladly and heartily into the character I had assumed that I really believed for the time that I was Frontier Samson. I might explain that he was a prospector I knew years ago, and was one of the finest men I ever met. So you see, it was quite easy for me to imitate him."

"How did you happen to lay claim to me, sir, on the Northern Light?"

"Oh, that is easily explained. I was always on the lookout for young men different from the ordinary miners who come to this country, and so spotted you at once. I surmised from the first that you were not on your way up here for gold alone, and so I was anxious to learn the story of your life."

"And did you?"

"Don't you think I did?" and a humorous expression shone in Redmond's eyes. "Didn't I listen to your words and study you as you were never studied before, unless it was by your mother? But when I found that you were in love with a girl beyond the Golden Crest I became doubly interested, and determined to prove your soul and find out your worth. The final test was made that night you faced me in my study at Glen West. Had you faltered then or shown the white streak, you would have been dumped beyond the pass."

The speaker paused and gazed thoughtfully into the fire. There was an expression of sadness in his eyes, and his face was somewhat strained and drawn. Both Glen and Reynolds noted this as they watched him in silence. At length he turned sharply to Reynolds, and spoke in a rapid and agitated manner.

"Young man," he began, "you have found me. I had given up all hope of anyone doing so. I was not easily found, as I wrote in that note I left behind. You have found more than my mere body—you have found my soul, my real self, and that was what I meant. And you have found something else, which is more important in your eyes—you have found your reward—the treasure of all treasures to me. Take her; she is yours, and may God bless you both."

Outside, the wind howled through the trees and over the lake. It beat upon the cabin and drove the rain lashingly against the small window-panes. But within the cabin all was peace and happiness. The flames from the burning sticks illumined the faces of the men and the girl as they sat and talked far on into the night. Many were the questions asked and answers given. They opened their hearts to one another, and as they talked and planned, all the disagreeable events of the past were forgotten, and the future looked rosy and bright. It was especially so to the young lovers as they sat close to each other, hand in hand, heart responding to heart, each thrilled with a love, deep, pure and tender—a love which transformed the commonplace into a realm of enchantment, beauty, and peace.



CHAPTER XXXI

OUTWARD BOUND

It was Saturday night and Andrew Harmon, editor of the Telegram and Evening News, was sitting in an easy chair in his bachelor quarters. It was a cozy room, and the pictures on the walls and the well-filled book-shelves revealed the artistic and literary taste of the owner. The large shaded electric lamp on the table cast its soft light upon Harmon's face as he sat there with his right hand supporting his firm, clean-shaven chin. It had been a trying week, and he was very weary. He was thankful that it was Saturday night, as he would be able to rest the next day, and think over a special editorial he was planning to write.

Harmon was really a lonely man. Of a reserved and retiring disposition, he had no desire for publicity. As editor of one of the leading papers in the city, he could express his views and remain unknown to most of the readers. His editorials were always written with great care and thought, and they were eagerly read by friends and opponents alike. Such work had always given him considerable pleasure as he felt that he was doing his part in moulding the thought of the community along true and strong lines. But to-night it all seemed of little avail. He had labored, but what had been the result? The only one upon whom he had lavished his affection had disappointed him, and was almost a stranger to him now. Mechanically he picked up a telegram from the table and read it again.

"Am leaving to-night on the Princess May.

"TOM."

That was all. It was dated three days ago, from Skagway, Alaska. Harmon held the telegram in his hand for some time, although he was not looking at the words. He was thinking of the sender of that message, wondering what was bringing him home. What would he do with him when he arrived? he asked himself. He tried to think of something that would satisfy Reynolds' restless spirit; that would give an outlet to his abounding energy. He had fondly hoped that Tom would throw himself into newspaper work, and thus make the Telegram and Evening News a greater force than ever. New blood was needed on the staff, he was well aware, and Reynolds was just the man for the work. He sighed as he thought of the futility of his dreams, and how impossible it was to make the young see with the eyes of age and experience.

For some time Harmon sat there, lost in deep thought. At length he arose and prepared himself for dinner. He was about to leave the room, when a knock sounded upon the door, and in another instant Tom Reynolds stood before him. Eagerly Harmon rushed forward, seized him by the hand, and bade him a hearty welcome.

"Tom, Tom!" he cried. "I am delighted to see you. I had no idea the boat had arrived. Come, sit down and tell me all about yourself."

"Just a minute," Reynolds laughingly replied. "Have you had dinner yet? No? Well, that's fortunate, as I want you to come and dine with me at the 'Pacific.'"

"At the Pacific!" Harmon looked his surprise and disappointment. "Why did you go there? I was expecting you here. And, besides, isn't it rather expensive?"

"It was at one time," and again Reynolds smiled. "But I have struck it rich, so I want you to come and have a blow-out with me to-night. You will come, won't you? I shall feel badly if you don't. The car is waiting."

Harmon could not very well refuse, although he much preferred to remain where he was, and hear the young man's story in the quietness of his own room. He was surprised at Reynolds' animated face and happy manner. How he had changed since he had seen him last. He could hardly believe it possible that this was the young man who but a short time before had been so listless and indifferent to life.

Little was said as the car sped onward through the city, until it at length drew up before the big hotel. With the air of one who had the full right of way, Reynolds at once conducted Harmon to a door on the first floor, which he opened and entered. It was one of a suite of rooms, Harmon could tell at the first glance. It was luxuriously furnished, and to live here for even a short time would be most costly.

He had little time, however, to think of such things, for a curtain was suddenly drawn aside, and Redmond and his daughter appeared. Although years had somewhat changed the former, yet Harmon recognized him at once. He stood as if rooted to the floor, so great was his surprise. What happened next he was never able to tell with any degree of certainty. He knew that Redmond seized him by the hand, and presented to him his daughter. He felt that he made a fool of himself, for his eyes grew very misty and his words became confused as he tried to express himself. He saw Reynolds smiling at him good-naturedly as he stared first at Redmond and then at his daughter. He longed to get away to the quietness of his own room that he might think it all over. But there was no chance for that. He was entrapped by these friendly plotters, and here he was forced to stay.

"Do you remember the words I wrote?" Redmond asked. "I think you will recall them. I said, 'I go from the busy haunts of men, far from the bustle and worry of business life. I may be found, but only he who is worthy will find me, and he who finds me, will, I trust, not lose his reward.' That is part of my message, you remember."

Harmon merely nodded in reply.

"Very well, then," Redmond continued. "I have been found, and he who found me stands there," and he motioned to Reynolds.

"So I surmised," Harmon replied. "And gold, I suppose, is the reward?"

"No, no," Reynolds protested. "Here is my reward," and he stepped over to Glen's side. "Where are your senses, sir?"

"Sure, sure, what was I thinking about?" and Harmon placed his hand to his head in perplexity. "I seem to be all upset to-night. But, my, my, what a reward! Why didn't I undertake this quest? for then the reward might have been mine."

Redmond and Reynolds smiled, but Glen immediately stepped forward, and putting her arms about the neck of the embarrassed man, kissed him upon the cheek.

"There, you have your reward, sir," she announced. "And if you are willing you may have me as a daughter. How will that do?"

Harmon was now more confused than ever. Not since the last time his mother kissed him had a woman's lips ever touched his face. And this girl had really kissed him, Andrew Harmon, the staid and sober editor of the Telegram and Evening News! What would his associates think and say if ever they heard of it? He thought of all this as he stood there abashed with the girl's twinkling eyes fixed upon him.