A profound silence lay over Big Draw mining camp as Frontier Samson and Tom Reynolds slipped quietly away among the hills. The sun had not yet lifted itself above the horizon, but the speediness of its coming was heralded in the eastern sky, and the tallest mountain peaks had already caught the first shafts of its virgin glory. The valleys were still robed in semi-darkness, and the two wayfarers seemed like mere spectres as they sped forward.
"My, this is great!" Reynolds exclaimed as he at length stopped to readjust his pack. "I believe I should live to be a hundred or over if I could breathe air like this all the time. It's a fine tonic."
"It sure is," Samson agreed, as he laid aside his rifle and pulled out his pipe. "Not much like the smell of yer city streets, whar ye swaller hundreds of disease germs every second."
"Have you ever lived there?" Reynolds asked, curious to learn something of the old man's history.
"Long enough to know what they're like. I've poked me nose into a good many cities, an' they're all the same, to my way of thinkin'. It's a wonder to me why so many people live in sich places, crowded, together like sheep, when thar's all this, an' millions of places like it, whar ye kin breathe the air as the Lord made it, an' not fouled by the work of human bein's."
"You are very fond of this wild life, I see," Reynolds replied. "Have you lived here many years?"
The prospector threw aside his burnt match, gave his pack an extra hitch, picked up his rifle and moved forward.
"Guess we'd better git on," he said. "Thar's a little brook we want to reach in time fer dinner. Ye don't find much water in these valleys."
Reynolds moved along by his companion's side, wondering why he did not answer his question. It was not until they were eating their dinner by the side of the brook did Samson vouchsafe any information.
"Ye asked me if I've been long in this country," he began. "My reply may seem strange to you, but it's true. Judgin' by years, I've been here a long time, but, accordin' to life, only a little while. I uster reckon things by years, but I don't do that any longer."
"No?" Reynolds looked quizzically at his companion.
"I don't count time by years, young man, an' the sooner ye larn to do the same the better it'll be fer ye. In the cities ye find clocks an' watches everywhere, an' they all remind people that time is passin'. Ye kin hardly walk along a street hut ye'll see funeral processions, an' the doctors are busy with the sick. Big hospitals are crowded with patients, an' accidents happen every minute of the day. These all tell that life is brief an' unsartin. The feelin' gits in the blood an' on the nerves that death is right near, an' as people think, so they are. Age an' health are accordin' to the mind, an' don't ye ever fergit that."
Samson paused and looked around.
"See them big mountains," and he pointed away to the left. "A man kin never feel old with them on every side. They don't remind ye of the passin' of time an' of dyin'. They're jist the same as they were thousands of years ago. An' so it's purty much like that with other things up here. I never feel old when I look around me on the wonderful sights; I feel young. An' why shouldn't I? Thar's so much to do, an' so many things to see an' larn that I haven't time to think of dyin'. Life after all, as I said, ain't to be judged by years, but by love of livin'."
Samson seemed to be on his pet theme, and he continued his talk as he and Reynolds again resumed their journey. Several times the latter endeavored to find out something about the old man's past history, but all in vain. The prospector gave him not the slightest information concerning himself, but discoursed volubly about the difference between the ways of the city and the wilderness.
"Money ain't everything," he declared, "even though some seem to think it is. It has its uses, I acknowledge, but it was never meant to starve the soul, though that is jist what it too often does. I know of men who sacrificed everything to the pilin' up of money, even love, without which life ain't worth a straw."
"Have you been able to find love here in the north?" Reynolds asked.
"Thar are different kinds of love, young man," was the somewhat slow and thoughtful reply. "The brand you mean, if I understand ye aright, I've never experienced in this country, an' in fact, I never expect to find it agin on this side of the grave. It's the pure love of a true man fer a good woman, I mean. I believe you have it, an' yer to be congratulated. It's the most wonderful thing in life. Even the love of children, though it is great, kin never equal it. It's in a class all by itself."
"But suppose the love isn't mutual, what then?" Reynolds asked.
"That'd be a pity, an' no mistake. Are ye referrin' to yer own case?"
"I certainly am. I am positive that the only woman in the world I want cares nothing for me. She does not even know my name, while I—oh, well, you know how I feel toward her."
"Jist keep up courage an' plod along, that's my advice. If she's meant fer you, ye'll win her all right. I'm a great believer in the idea that our own'll come to us some day, an' often in ways we least expect. But, hello! what's that?"
The trail on which they were now walking wound along the side of a deep valley, through which flowed a small stream. Samson was looking across toward the opposite bank, and as Reynolds turned his eyes in that direction he saw an Indian on horseback as motionless as the trees around him. He was facing the two travellers, and apparently he had been watching them for some time.
"Where do you suppose he has come from, and what does he want?"Reynolds asked.
His companion's only reply was to bring his rifle to his shoulder and fire two shots in rapid succession across the valley toward the horseman, neither of which took effect. The Indian quickly unslung his rifle, fired one shot in return, and immediately vanished into the forest.
"Is that the best you can do?" Reynolds asked. "You should have let me have a crack at him."
"Me aim's unsartin to-day," was the reply. "I don't allus miss like that."
"But why did you shoot, anyway? The Indian was doing us no harm."
"He was skulkin' around, though, an' I jist gave him a hint to move along."
"So you didn't intend to shoot him?"
"Oh, no. It was merely a hint, as I told ye."
"A queer hint, I should say," and Reynolds laughed. "Manners of the wilderness, I suppose?"
"Sure. We don't stand on ceremony up here. We're a bluff bunch, an' if we don't like a feller's company we tell him so without beatin' around the bush."
"And did the Indian understand your meaning?"
"Y'bet he did. He took my shots as sayin', 'Good day. How are the missus an' the kids? Mebbe they need ye.' His shot in reply jist said, 'Thank ye; mebbe they do.' That was all."
Reynolds laughed at this quaint explanation, although he felt certain that Samson was not telling him the truth. He said nothing about it, however, and the prospector did not refer to it again. But Reynolds had the feeling that his companion and the Indian understood each other, and that the shots they had fired were signals, the meaning of which was known only to themselves. Who was this Frontier Samson? he mused. Was he in some manner in league with the Indians? Why had he taken such an interest in him, a complete stranger, and a chechahco at that? Why should he wish to reveal to him the secret of his gold discovery? He could not for a moment think that Samson had any evil purpose in mind, but as he thought it all over during the remainder of the afternoon, he felt that there was something very peculiar and mysterious about it all.
This feeling was intensified that first night on the trail. They camped by a little stream, where the trees stood thick, and larger than on the uplands. They had shot a couple of grouse on their way, and these Samson prepared for supper.
"I'll jist cook both of 'em," he remarked, "an' what we don't eat to-night will be fine warmed up to-morrow."
"I should like to get a moose," Reynolds declared. "I haven't shot one since I came north."
"Don't do it, young man, unless ye kin git nuthin' else," Samson advised. "A moose is a purty big animal, an' we could tote only a little piece of its carcass. The rest we'd have to leave to spile. I've allus made a practice of shootin' something that I kin clean up in a few meals. Some critters, who call 'emselves men, shoot everything in sight, an' leave it to spile. That is wasteful slaughter, an' not true sport."
Reynolds was glad to roll himself up in his blanket that night, for he was tired after his day's tramp, with a heavy pack on his back. Samson did likewise, and soon silence reigned in the deep forest, broken only by the ripple of the brook a short distance away. It was a calm night, mild, and with not a breath of wind astir.
Some time during the night Reynolds awoke with a start. He sat up and looked around. It was light enough for him to see that his companion was gone, and he believed that it was his footsteps that had aroused him. After waiting for some time and nothing happened, he once again stretched himself out upon the ground. But he could not sleep. What was the meaning of Samson's departure? he wondered. Had it anything to do with the Indian they had seen that day across the ravine? The more he thought of it, the more mystified he became. How long he thus lay there with every sense alert, he did not know, though it seemed a long time before the prospector at last returned. Reynolds pretended that he was asleep, but his suspicions were now firmly confirmed when the old man bent over him for a few seconds as if to make sure that he was not awake.
Reynolds did not refer to the incident the next day, and Samson made no mention of it. The latter was in excellent spirits, and talked freely as they moved on their way. That night they halted, and made ready their camp by the side of a small lake. It was a peaceful and beautiful spot. Not a ripple ruffled the surface of the water, and the trees along the shore were mirrored in the clear depths. Reynolds was delighted, and he expressed his admiration to his companion.
"Isn't this great!" he exclaimed. "I have never seen anything to equal it! It is a matchless gem, with a perfect setting."
"Yes, it sartinly is wonderful," the prospector drawled. "An' I'm glad ye like it. Guess thar should be ducks over yonder," and he motioned to the upper end of the lake. "A good fat feller'd be nice fer dinner to-morrow."
Picking up his rifle, he disappeared among the trees, and in another minute his light tread was unheard. Reynolds stood for some time viewing the scene before him. He longed for his paints and brushes that he might catch the impressions ere they faded. Unfortunately he had left them behind, so he had to satisfy himself with feasting his soul instead.
At length he turned and walked back to their camping ground. He had just reached the place when a magnificent moose trotted majestically by but a short distance away. Forgotten was Samson's admonition about the shooting of big game, so seizing his rifle, he slipped quickly and quietly after the big animal. The latter had already passed out of sight, but expecting to catch a glimpse of it at any instant, Reynolds hastened forward. This led him down into a valley, and there he saw the moose in a small open clearing to the left. Before he was near enough to shoot, the animal once more vanished among the trees. The fever of the chase was now upon him, and unheeding his bearings, he pressed rapidly on, expecting every minute to come in sight of the lordly creature. But he was doomed to disappointment, and most reluctantly he was compelled to relinquish the pursuit.
Reynolds had no definite idea how far he had travelled, nor the direction he had taken. So intent had he been upon following the moose, that he had lost all trace of his bearings, and he knew not the way back to the camp. This was a most disquieting situation, and he chided himself for his stupidity. Night was also upon him, and this added to his perplexity.
"What a mess I have made of it!" he growled. "In this labyrinth of valleys, hills, trees, and wild meadows, how in the name of common sense am I to find that speck of camping ground? It must lie over there," and he looked away to his right. "The sun was before me when I started, and by keeping due east I should come somewhere near the place."
For over an hour he plowed his way through the forest, up hill and down, each moment expecting to see the lake for which he was searching. His efforts, however, were all in vain, so wearied almost to the point of exhaustion, and with clothes torn, hands and face bleeding, he was forced to give up for the night.
Sinking upon the ground, he tried to calm the agitated state of his mind. From the first he had realised his serious predicament, and how difficult it would be to extricate himself from that vast wilderness.
"I can't go any farther to-night," he declared, "so I might as well make the best of a bad affair. I have my rifle, and that's some comfort. I needn't starve, anyway, even though I am lost."
He felt for his cartridge belt, and immediately he gave a great start of dismay. It was not there! Then he remembered that he had taken it off when pitching camp that night by the shore of the lake. With trembling hands he next examined the magazine of his rifle, and found that but three cartridges were left, as he had fired two shots in the hope of attracting Frontier Samson's attention. This was a serious situation, and he realised that upon those three remaining cartridges his life depended.
Nowhere, perhaps, except adrift in mid-ocean, is the sense of loneliness more appalling than to be lost in a labyrinthine forest of the mighty north. Even upon the ocean there is always the chance of being picked up by a passing vessel. But lost in the wilderness! hidden from view, what hope can the stoutest heart entertain of rescue? Here a man is but a thing of naught, an insect creeping upon the ground, a mere speck, the veritable plaything of chance.
Reynolds, however, was well hardened to desperate situations. Often inFrance he had been alone in "No Man's Land," with death close at hand.He had never flinched then, and he was determined that he would not doso now.
"I told Harmon that I like adventure and desperate undertakings," he mused. "I have certainly enough here to satisfy me for a while. But it can't be helped, and so I must make the best of it. Rest is what I need at present, and I am not going to worry about to-morrow. 'One thing at a time' has been my motto, and I guess it's a good one."
He awoke early the next morning, though the sun was up ahead of him. He sprang to his feet and peered around. But nothing could he see, except trees on every side.
"I must get out of this," he muttered, "and strike for the high hills. Perhaps there I may be able to get my proper bearings. I must find a breakfast somewhere, but with my scanty supply of ammunition, it is necessary to be careful."
Picking up his rifle, he started forth, and for several hours moved steadily onward. Through a break in the forest he had caught sight of a high hill, and toward this he laboriously made his way. He had to descend first into a deep valley, where a large wild meadow offered an inviting feeding-ground for moose. But not a sign of life could he see, and greatly disappointed he was forced to begin the hard climb up the opposite side of the hill.
About the middle of the afternoon he succeeded in shooting a rabbit, which he at once skinned and broiled over a small fire. He was weak from hunger and hard, anxious travelling, so this food gave him much refreshment. He ate sparingly, nevertheless, knowing that he might not be able to procure anything more for supper. With only two cartridges left, his outlook was far from encouraging.
When the summit of the hill was at length reached, he climbed a large fir tree from which he was enabled to obtain an excellent view of the surrounding country. Far off rose great snow-capped mountain peaks, over which fleecy clouds were lazily drifting. A vast sea of forest stretched on every side, broken here and there by placid, shimmering lakes. But which was the one near the camp where Frontier Samson was no doubt anxiously awaiting the wanderer's return? That was the question which agitated Reynolds' mind. No sign of human life could he behold, and he wondered in which direction Big Draw mining camp lay. So completely had he lost his bearings that he had no idea which was the right course to pursue. Anyway, it was necessary to keep on the move, for to remain where he was meant certain death. If he must die, he would die fighting, game to the very last. Surely beyond some of those outstanding hills he could find a river, which would bear him out of that wilderness maze. A high crest to the left looked promising, and toward this he at once started.
He slept that night in a valley by a little brook which gurgled down to a lake beyond. The remains of the rabbit served him for supper, and where was he to obtain his next meal? He had startled several grouse during the day, and once he detected the plunging of a moose. But nothing came within the range of his rifle except a few noisy squirrels, but upon these he did not dare to waste his two remaining cartridges. In his extremity he would have welcomed the sight of a bear, and even a grizzly at that. He could then afford to exhaust his ammunition, as the flesh of a bear would last him for many days. But no bear had he met, although signs of them were at times abundant, especially in the valleys.
The next morning in a mood of desperation, he took a long shot at a flying grouse and missed it. One cartridge now remained, and it was absolutely necessary to reserve that for something large. Down the valley lay a big wide meadow, and here he believed he might find a moose feeding. It was worth trying, at any rate. Walking warily along the edge of the forest, he was at length rewarded by seeing a fine animal some distance off on the opposite side of the meadow. Reynolds instantly stopped, and his hands trembled through the excitement of his discovery. If he could get a little closer he felt sure that the moose would be his. But just as he took a few steps forward, the animal lifted its great head and sniffed the air. There was not a second to lose, so bringing the rifle to his shoulder, he took a quick aim and fired. With a startled snort, the moose reared, staggered, and then with tremendous leaps bounded across the twenty or thirty yards of intervening meadow and vanished in the forest. Reynolds could hear it crashing its way among the trees as he hurried out into the open. The sounds grew fainter and fainter, and finally ceased. The animal had made good its escape, although evidently wounded.
Reynolds' previous discouragement was nothing to what he experienced now. He moved mechanically toward the spot where the moose had been grazing. Why he did so he could not tell. He reached the border of the forest, and flung himself down upon the grass. With his last cartridge gone, what chance had he of life? He had been in many a dire strait in the past, but nothing to equal this. He was face to face with death, more surely and in a far more terrible form than he had ever encountered in far off France.
"This is certainly 'No Man's Land,'" he muttered. "I do not believe a human being ever trod this region before and it is not likely that anyone will come here during the next one hundred years. And to think that I missed that shot when my life depended upon it! It must be my nerves."
A feeling of annoyance swept upon him, and picking up his rifle, he hurled it among the trees.
"Lie there," he ordered. "You are of no use to me now, and I have no strength to tote you along."
Then he laughed, and the hollow sound of his voice startled him. He sprang to his feet and looked around. Why had he laughed? he asked himself. Was he going out of his mind? He glanced at his hands and shuddered, so bruised and bleeding were they. His clothes, too, were in tatters, while his boots were so worn that portions of his feet were visible.
For a few minutes he stood rigidly still, as if in a dream. The intense loneliness of the place was appalling. It was unnerving him, and he was losing control of himself. Suddenly he started and ran as if for life, back over the track he had recently traversed. He was no longer the Tom Reynolds who had started forth from Big Draw, but a denizen of the wilds. The desire for food possessed him. It made him mad, a demon, ready to fall upon any creature that crossed his path. He was crafty as well, and reaching the shelter of the forest, he glided cautiously along the edge of the meadow, up toward the little brook where he had slept the night before. No tiger creeping through the jungle moved more stealthily than did he. Nothing escaped his notice, and he eagerly watched for rabbit or squirrel that he might pounce upon it.
For some time he thus advanced, but nothing could he see. At length he came to an opening in the trees, which exposed the brook plainly to view. His eyes swept the stream, and as they did so they presently rested upon a black object crouched upon a fallen tree projecting out over the brook. He recognized it at once as a black bear, watching for fish. It was lying flat on the log, with one big paw close to the water waiting for its breakfast.
Reynolds' first impulse was to rush forward and engage the brute in a deadly conflict. But a natural caution restrained him, and he accordingly waited to see what would happen. Neither did he have to wait long, for in a twinkling the big paw struck, the water splashed, and a shiny form hurtled through the air, and fell several yards away. And after it sprang the bear, but his body had scarcely left the log ere Reynolds was bounding toward him with such yells and whoops that the forest resounded on all sides. Startled and surprised beyond measure, the bear paused and looked back. Seeing, but not understanding the strange creature rushing toward him with wildly waving arms, and emitting such blood-curdling yells, it uttered a hoarse growl of fear and rage and lumbered off for the shelter of the forest as fast as its legs would carry it.
Reynolds paid no more attention to the bear than if it had been a gnat, but sprang greedily upon the fish, which was wriggling and beating itself around upon the ground. It was a young king-salmon, and although not large, Reynolds thought it the finest fish he had ever beheld. It did not take him long to despatch his prize, and in a few minutes a portion of it was sizzling over a small fire he had lighted. Never had any food tasted so good, he imagined, and the strength thus gained brought back his normal state of mind. He felt more like himself, and ready for another effort to free himself from his wilderness prison. He even smiled as he thought of the bear's fright and its ignominious retreat.
"Lost your breakfast, old boy, didn't you?" he called out. "You weren't expecting company, were you? But I am grateful to you, and wish you better luck next time."
Taking with him the remainder of the fish, Reynolds once more continued his journey. The high ridge was a long way off, and before it could be reached it would be necessary to cross several smaller hills and a number of valleys. But with strength renewed, he sped onward.
All through the day the heat had been almost over-powering. It poured its hot rays full upon him, and not a breath of wind stirred the trees. He was about half way up the high hill when the weather suddenly changed. The sky darkened, and the wind began to howl through the forest. Great black clouds massed in vast battalions overhead, and in less than half an hour the storm burst.
Reynolds had paused on a rocky ledge as the tempest swept upon him. Never before had he experienced such a storm. It seemed as if the very windows of heaven had suddenly opened to deluge the earth. He looked hurriedly around for shelter, and seeing an overhanging portion of rock, he at once made his way thither, and crouched low for protection. The rain, however, swirled in after him, forcing him to move farther back. That he was able to do this surprised him, and feeling with his hands, he discovered that there was a big open space to the rear, and that he was at the entrance of a cave, how large he did not know. Fortunately he was provided with a good supply of matches, so striking one, he examined his new abode. The brief feeble light showed that the cave was about a foot higher than his head, and much larger than he had supposed. He had no inclination to explore it just then, for some dry sticks lying at his feet arrested his attention. He was hungry after his hard tramp, so a piece of salmon would be most acceptable.
It did not take him long to light a small fire as near the mouth of the cave as the rain would permit, and, prepare his meal. The fire felt good, too, for the air was damp and chilly.
"I might as well spend the night here," he mused, "for even if the storm does let up, I would only get soaked from the drenched trees. And, besides, I cannot see anything from the top of the hill until the clouds roll away and the air clears."
He ate the nicely browned piece of fish, and when he had finished he leaned comfortably back, filled and lighted his pipe. This was the first time he had thought of smoking since leaving Frontier Samson. He wondered where the old prospector was, and whether he was hunting frantically for his lost companion. His mind turned naturally to Glen. He was farther from her now than ever, and should he see her again? The thought of her had stimulated him during his recent terrible experiences. Over and over again she seemed to be standing by his side, urging him to go on, and renewing his fainting spirits. He pictured her now as he had last seen her at the top of that steep trail, mounted upon her horse. He recalled for the thousandth time her clear musical voice, the bright flash of her eyes, and the deep flush which had mantled her cheeks at the mention of Curly's name.
"I must find her," he emphatically declared, as he stirred up the dwindling fire, and added a couple of sticks. "I expected to be with her before this, but here I am, lodged like a bear in this dismal hole."
He glanced around the cave, and as he did so, he gave a sudden start. Something in one side of the wall where the fire-light fell attracted his attention. It made his heart beat fast, and brought him to his feet in an instant. His hand reached up and touched it. Then he quickly struck a match, and examined it more carefully. Yes, he was right, and he had made no mistake. It was gold!
For a few seconds Reynolds stared upon his new discovery. Then he examined the walls elsewhere, and no matter where he looked, he found nuggets of gold protruding from the earth. His excitement now became intense, and seizing a burning stick he began to explore the cave. Everywhere it was the same. The earth beneath his feet was even filled with nuggets, and, they gleamed upon him from overhead. He felt that he must be dreaming, or else his terrible experiences of late had turned his brain. Could it be possible that he had accidentally stumbled upon a vein of the precious metal, rich beyond the wildest bounds of imagination! He put his hand to his face, and even pinched himself to make sure that he was awake.
When the brand had flickered out, he walked back to the fire and sat down. He tried to calm himself that he might think over his wonderful discovery. The rain still pelted down outside, and the wind roared among the trees. But Reynolds paid no attention to them now. He saw nothing but gold, heaps of it, piled high before him, and himself the richest man in the whole world. What would not the miners of Big Draw give to know of this discovery! How they would flock to the place, followed by thousands of others. What a change would ensue in a short time. No longer would it be the desolate wilderness, but alive with frantic human beings.
But suppose he should never live to tell the tale? He was lost, far from any habitation, and with only enough food for a most meagre breakfast. No, he must not die. It was necessary for him to live, to make his great discovery known; and to reap the rich harvest himself. And Glen! Again he thought of her. He would be able to go to her a rich man instead of almost a beggar. He smiled as he recalled what he had said to Frontier Samson. The prospector had given him his choice between gold and the girl, and he had chosen the latter. His love had not changed in the least degree, but why should he not have the gold as well as the girl?
Reynolds sat for a long time that night absorbed in deep thought. He slept upon the ground, and his dreams were a jumble of wild animals, gold, and a beautiful girl. He awoke early and noted with satisfaction that the storm had ceased, and the sky was clear. Having eaten the last of the salmon, he left the cave and viewed his surroundings in order to locate his bearings should he ever return to the place. He believed that he was about half way up the highest hill in the immediate vicinity, and that he could not fail to miss seeing it from a distance. He noticed that the hill formed the apex of a triangular formation, while two hills, one to the right and the other to left, served as base corners. He was sure that he could remember such guiding marks, and would be able to return to the cave without any difficulty.
It was with a feeling of reluctance that he at length left the cave and again assayed the climb up the side of the hill, which became steeper and more precipitous the farther he advanced. At times he was forced to pull himself up by means of roots and small trees, so his progress was accordingly slow. The sun was hot, and often he grew faint from heat and fatigue. He watched for any sign of life, of rabbit, bird, or squirrel. But the place seemed deserted, and even the plant life was scant and scrubby. A fierce thirst came upon him, for no water had passed his lips since the previous day.
Thus hour after hour he toiled upward. He did not dare to return to the brook below, for that would mean certain death. It had to be ever on until the summit was reached, and what then? His courage almost failed as he thought of what that barren peak might have in store for him. He had been disappointed so often, surely Fate would not abandon him now after he had made such a fierce fight for life.
When but a hundred yards from his goal, he paused for a minute's respite. He turned his bloodshot eyes to the sky. A great eagle was soaring majestically athwart the blue. It seemed to mock him by its easy flight. It angered him as he followed its every movement. Why should a mere bird have such freedom of motion, while man was so helpless? To the eagle, distance was nothing; it laughed the highest mountain peak to scorn, and its food was wherever its fancy led. He suddenly thought of the gold he had discovered. In the world of civilization what a power it would mean. What could it not do toward providing ease and reputation? And of what use was that treasure to him now? It was of no more value than the stones beneath his feet, and he would gladly have given it all for one good meal and a draught of refreshing water.
The eagle was still soaring overhead, free and buoyant. It was nearer now, wheeling closer and closer to Reynolds as he clung like a snail to the side of the hill. And he was made in the image of God! The thought stung him. Why should such things be? Instantly there flashed into his mind a picture he had often seen. It was the side of a steep cliff, and there a shepherd was rescuing a sheep from its perilous position. The man was clinging with His left hand to a crevice in the rock, while with His right He was reaching far over to lift up the poor animal, which was looking up pathetically into the shepherd's loving face. He knew the meaning of that picture, and it came to him now with a startling intensity. Why did he think of it? he asked himself. Although his life was clean, yet Reynolds was not what might be called a religious man. He was not in the habit of praying, and he seldom went to church. But something about that picture appealed to him as he crouched on that burning hillside. Was there One who would help him out of his present difficulty? He believed there was, for he had been so taught as a little child. He remembered the Master's words, "Ask, and ye shall have." "Here, then, is a chance to test the truthfulness of that saying," a voice whispered.
"I shall not do it," Reynolds emphatically declared. "I have not prayed for so long, that I'm not going to act the hypocrite now, and cry for help when I'm in a tight corner. I daresay He would assist me, but I am ashamed to ask Him. If I should only think of a friend when I am in trouble I should consider myself a mean cur, and unfit to have the friendship of anyone. And that's about how I stand with Him, so I do not consider myself worthy of His help."
Although Reynolds reasoned in this manner, yet that picture of The Good Shepherd inspired him. He could not get it out of his mind as he lay there watching the eagle soaring nearer and nearer.
"I wonder what that bird is after?" he mused. "It is coming this way, and it seems to be getting ready to alight. Perhaps it has a nest somewhere on this hill."
This thought aroused him. An eagle's nest! It was generally built on some high rocky place, and why should there not be one here? And if so, there might be eggs, and eggs would mean food for a starving man.
Eagerly and anxiously he watched the bird now, hoping and longing that it would alight close to where he was crouching. Neither was he disappointed, for in a few minutes the eagle drove straight for the hill, about fifty yards above, and landed upon a rocky ledge. Seizing a stick lying near, with cat-like agility, Reynolds sprang forward, and hurried to the spot where the bird had alighted. From what he had heard and read about eagles he surmised that a struggle lay ahead of him, so he clutched the stick firmly as he advanced.
It took him but a few minutes to reach the place, and as he paused and looked keenly around for the nest, an infuriated mass of great wings and feathers hurled itself upon him. Taken by surprise, Reynolds staggered back, and lifted his stick to ward off the attack. How he saved himself from being torn to pieces by the talons and beak of that angry bird he never could tell. It was a mystery to him that he was able to defend himself at all. But do it he did, and used his stick in such a skilful manner that he kept the creature from tearing at his face. Fortunately he had a good footing, which enabled him to retreat at each desperate onslaught, and to meet the bird with a furious blow as it wheeled and circled close above his head. But he realised that he could not endure the strain much longer, for he was weak through lack of food and hard climbing. The energy of the eagle, on the other hand, seemed just as keen as ever, and it might continue the fight for hours. Reynolds grew desperate as he thought of this, and he was determined that he should not leave his body there as food for his opponent.
He watched as the bird again circled and once more swept to the attack. But he was ready, and as it swooped close enough he threw his entire remaining strength into one great swinging blow. The stick struck the eagle fair on the head with a resounding crash, and so great was the force of the impact that the cudgel snapped like a pipestem, and the broken end hurtled over the ledge. The eagle's fight was done. It swerved from its course, and frantically tried to recover itself. But all in vain. Far out over the hillside it swung, and then a helpless and inert mass, it dropped down, and crashed into the tops of the firs and jack-pines, which lifted their heads like pointed spears to receive the victim.
Reynolds watched until the bird had disappeared. Then he breathed a deep sigh of relief, and examined his wounds. His hands were bleeding, and such clothes as he had were literally torn into shreds. He was so weak that he could hardly stand, and he sank down upon the ground.
"How long will this keep up?" he panted. "What else lies before me? I am a poor specimen of a human being now, and unfitted for another encounter of any kind. This was my own fault, though. That poor devil I just sent to its doom was merely acting in self-defence. But the survival of the fittest is the law of the wilderness just as in the ways of so-called civilization. That bird had what I needed; and that settles it."
This turned his mind upon the nest, which he suspected was somewhere near. In another minute he had found it, a mass of sticks, in the midst of which was a hollow lined with wild grass, and lying there were three white eggs. Eagerly he seized one, and held it in his hand. Was it fresh? he wondered, or was it ready to be hatched?
Drawing forth his pocket-knife, he perforated each end of the egg, and smelled the contents. It was fresh, having been recently laid. In another instant it was at his parched lips, and never did he remember having tasted anything half as refreshing. Then he looked longingly at the other two.
"No, I must not eat them now," he told himself. "I shall need them for supper and breakfast. The Lord only knows when I shall get anything more."
The mention of the Lord brought back to him the picture of The Good Shepherd rescuing the lost sheep. "Strange, very strange," he mused, as he picked up the eggs and continued his climb. "Can it be possible that the Lord had anything to do with that eagle coming here just when I was about all in, and ready to drop from hunger and thirst? I am not ashamed, anyway, to confess my gratitude, even though I disliked the idea of praying."
A few minutes later he stood on the top of the hill, a bleak, desolate spot, rocky, and devoid of the least sign of vegetation. But this mattered nothing to him now, for his eyes rested almost immediately upon a silver gleam away to the left. It was water, and a river at that! An exclamation of joy leaped from his lips, as from that lonely peak he viewed the river of his salvation. Where it led, he did not know, but surely along that stream he would find human beings, able and willing to succor him.
Forgotten now was his weariness, and a new hope possessed his soul. He could not expect to reach the river that afternoon, for several valleys and small hills intervened. But he could go part of the way and on the morrow complete the journey. Carefully guarding his two precious eggs, he hurried down the opposite side of the hill as fast as it was possible, and night found him by the side of a small wood-enshrouded lake. Here he stopped, drank of the cool refreshing water, and built a small fire. Finding a smooth stone, he washed it clean, and heating it thoroughly, he was enabled to fry one of the eggs upon the surface. In the morning the other was treated in a similar manner, and thus strengthened, but his hunger not appeased, he sped onward.
This last lap of his journey to the river was a trying one. Reynolds made it more difficult by his feverish impatience, and when about the middle of the afternoon he heard the ripple of water, and caught the first gleam through the trees of its sparkling surface, he was completely exhausted, and had only sufficient strength to drag his weary form to the river's bank. A refreshing drink of the ice-cold water and a rest of a few minutes revived him. The stream was swift, far swifter than he had anticipated. But this encouraged him, for if once launched upon its surface it would bear him speedily out of that desolate wilderness.
A craft of some kind was necessary, so searching around, he found several good-sized trees, stripped and bare, which had been brought down stream by the spring floods, and left stranded upon the bank. With considerable difficulty he managed to fashion these into a rude raft, binding all together with strong, pliable willow withes. As a boy he had often made rafts, and the knowledge acquired then served him in good stead now.
Finding a stout pole, he stepped upon the raft, and to his delight found that it would easily bear his weight. Pushing it from the shore, it was soon caught by the strong current and borne rapidly down stream. The steering was an easy matter, so, sitting upon the raft, he gave himself up to the luxury of this new mode of travel. It was such a great relief from his fearful wandering through the woods and climbing the hills, that but for his pangs of hunger he would have been quite happy.
All through, the night the raft swung on its way, the plaything of the current which kept it clear of bars and rocks. Reynolds did not dare to sleep, for he could not tell what lay ahead. It might be a dangerous rapid, or at any minute he might come to some camp along the shore, and it would be necessary to be wide awake and alert.
But nothing happened, and morning found him still floating onward into the great unknown. He was ravenously hungry, and once he ran the raft ashore and gathered a number of willow twigs. These he gnawed as he once more continued his voyage. This, however, was poor food for a starving man, and he was well aware that unless he could obtain something more substantial he must miserably perish. Game was plentiful along the river, and several times he saw moose and bears, while early that morning he ran close to a flock of wild ducks. But their presence only mocked him now, weaponless as he was.
This day was a most trying one, for about the middle of the forenoon it began to rain, and Reynolds was wet to the skin as he sat huddled upon the raft. Anxiously he peered forward, hoping that around every bend something more cheering than the monotonous trees would meet his eyes. But hour after hour it was just the same, and the rain continued without any cessation. Would the river never end? he asked himself over and over again. Whither was it bearing him, anyway? At times the sinuous water appeared like a demon, carrying him on to destruction. Its gurgle and ripple sounded in his ears like mocking laughter, and the great brooding forest in its intense silence seemed in league with the stream. Of what avail were all his mighty efforts? He had escaped from the tangle of the forest, only to be lured to ruin by the river.
The afternoon waned, and night drew near, and still the raft swept onward. Reynolds felt that he could endure the strain but little longer. He was chilled to the bone, and cramped from his huddled position. He must land, and get some circulation in his body, providing he had any strength left.
He was about to run the raft ashore, when to his great delight it suddenly shot forth from its forest prison into the open expanse of a broad and silent lake. Reynolds staggered painfully to his feet and looked around. He could only see a short distance, as a heavy mist lay over the water. His eyes scanned the shore, but no sign of human habitation could he behold. There was nothing except the same scene of desolation which had been his companion for weary days.
The raft was motionless now, some distance out upon the lake. SlowlyReynolds forced it to the shore, and secured it in a little cove.
"I might as well stay here for the night," he muttered. "It may be clear to-morrow which will enable me to see farther. Oh, for something to eat!"
With much difficulty he started a fire, for the wood was wet, and then warmed himself before the cheerful blaze. It was not raining so hard now, for which he was thankful. He tried to dry his rags of clothes by hanging them on sticks near the fire. His boots were off his feet, with the uppers alone clinging to his ankles. Removing these, he examined them. Then an idea flashed into his mind. He had heard of men eating their boots in their extremity, and why should not he! It was worth the try, at any rate.
It took him but a second to whip out his knife and cut a piece from the top of one of the boots. This he washed clean in the lake, and tasted it. Only one on the extreme verge of starvation can in any manner comprehend what even a portion of a boot means. There is some nourishment there, as Reynolds soon found. Almost ravenously he chewed that piece of leather, extracting from it whatever life-giving substance it contained. When it had been converted to mere pulp, he helped himself to another piece. He was in a most desperate situation, but if he could sustain his strength for another night and day he believed that his life would be spared. Surely along that lake he would find human beings, whether Indians or whites he did not care, who would give him food.
He awoke early the next morning, and having partaken his breakfast of another piece of boot, he pushed off his raft. There was only one way for him to go, and that was with the breeze which was drawing down the lake. The mist was now lifting, and although he strained his eyes, he could see no sign of life. He had to pole the raft now, and in order to do so he was forced to keep close to the shore where the water was shallow.
Thus all through the morning and far on into the afternoon he urged the raft forward with all the strength at his command. There were so many curves to the shore that following these lengthened the voyage. From point to point he moved, each time to be disappointed as he looked ahead and saw nothing but trees and water.
The sun was hot, and the perspiration poured down his face. But with the energy of despair he drove his pole again and again into the water. As the afternoon waned, and night drew near, the limit of his endurance was reached, and he knew that he could do no more. He had struggled for life, but to no purpose. Rest was all that he cared for now. His head began to swim, and he sank exhausted upon the raft. And there he lay, face downward, while the raft drifted at its own sweet will. Presently a breeze sprang up and cooled the air. But it did not affect Reynolds in the least. He had fought to the last grain of strength, and when that left him he was beyond all sense of time, place, and feeling.
When Glen Weston reached the top of the hill that afternoon of her encounter with the grizzly, she reined in Midnight and swung him sharply around. She was confident that she could not be seen from the valley below, as a large projecting rock hid her from view. She was in no hurry to leave the place, and several times she was tempted to dismount, peer around the rock to see if her rescuer were still at the bottom of the trail. She refrained from doing so, however, lest he might see her, and thus be induced to follow her.
Glen was not a girl to be easily affected, but she had to acknowledge to herself that the gallant stranger interested her in an unusual manner. He was not like the men she was in the habit of meeting. He was different and so courteous. And he was good looking, too, she mused. He had also been at the Front! That appealed to her, and aroused her curiosity. What had he done over there? she wondered. Had he performed special deeds of daring, and carried off any medals?
For some time she remained there facing the west. The sun was riding over the distant mountain peaks, and the whole landscape was bathed in resplendent glory. Midnight was standing close to the rocky ledge, with ears pointed forward and his large eyes turned to the left. His body was still quivering, and every nerve was keenly alert. Occasionally his right fore-hoof struck the rock, indicating his impatience to be away. The slightest sound startled him, for he could not easily forget his encounter with the bear.
"Steady, laddie," Glen soothed, when he became more restless than usual. "I know you are anxious to be off, but I like this place. I wonder where we would be now but for that wonderful shot. Most likely we would be lying down there in the ravine instead of the grizzly."
For about fifteen minutes longer she remained in this position, silently looking out toward the great mountains beyond. Had Reynolds but seen her then, how the artist soul within him would have rejoiced. With a remarkable grace and ease she sat there, as one well accustomed to the saddle. Her left hand held the reins, and her right the riding-whip. Her soft felt hat, caught up at one side, partly shaded her face. A deep flush mantled her cheeks, due not to the reflection of the sun alone, but to buoyant health, and the excitement through which she had just passed.
Almost wistfully she at length wheeled her horse and headed him away from the summit. Midnight needed no urging, and the light of satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he sped swiftly and nimbly along the narrow trail. No guiding hand directed him, and the reins lay loose upon his glossy neck, for his mistress' mind was elsewhere. At times he was compelled to slow down to a walk where the rocks were thick, or the trail steep and dangerous. But whenever possible, such as on the wild meadows, he laid back his ears and sped like the wind. This always aroused Glen and brought her back to earth. She enjoyed such races, and when they were over, she would pat Midnight on the neck and utter affectionate words of praise. Horse and rider understood each other, which feeling had been developed through years of companionship on many a hard trail.
For over an hour they thus moved steadily onward, and at length there loomed before them the high frowning ridge of the Golden Crest. At first it seemed to form an impassable barrier to their advance. But as they continued, an opening suddenly appeared, flanked on either side by huge projecting rocks. It was Nature's great doorway in one of the mighty partitions of the house not made with hands. Through this Midnight speedily loped and ere long swept out upon a wild meadow which extended to the left farther than the eye could see, and over a mile in width. Horses were feeding here, and at once Midnight lifted up his voice in a friendly neigh of salutation, which was immediately answered by several horses in the distance. In fact, he was on the point of slowing down and swerving from the trail, but a light flick of the whip reminded him that his mistress had other business on hand which had to be attended to first, so again throwing back his ears, he dashed onward.
The wild meadow crossed, they reached a wooded region where the trail ascended and wound up a steep hill. Midnight took this with a bound, and in a few minutes he was at the top, panting heavily from his vigorous exercise. Here Glen reined him in, and sat silently looking straight before her. And truly it was a magnificent scene which was thus so suddenly presented to her view. Below stretched a dense forest, lying sombre beneath the shades of evening. Away in the distance rose the mighty mountains, sentinel-like and austere, while between, flashing like a jewel in its dark stern setting, was a large body of water. Not a ripple ruffled its surface, and nothing could Glen discern there, although her eyes scanned it most intently.
A word to Midnight, and down the incline they moved, and in a short time emerged from the forest, when a large open clearing burst into view. To a stranger the sight would have been startling, for a short distance away was a neat village, close to the water's edge. But to Glen it was not at all out of the ordinary. She had been accustomed to it from childhood, and to her it was home.
The village consisted of well built log houses, at the doors of which children were playing, and dogs lying around. The former smiled as the girl rode by. She did not stop as was her wont, to talk to them, but at once made her way to a building larger than the others. This was a store, in front of which a number of Indians were gathered.
As Glen rode up and stopped, a tall, powerfully built native came forth and laid his hand upon the horse's bridle. It was the same Indian Reynolds had seen that night at the dance in Whitehorse. He was evidently accustomed to waiting upon Glen, and needed no instructions. But on this occasion the girl did not dismount. She merely leaned over and whispered a few words to her attendant, who simply nodded, and let his hand drop from the bridle. Then as Glen continued on her way, he walked by her side through the street, up along the water-front.
In a few minutes they passed from the village and entered a grove of trees which extended down to the shore of the lake. In the midst of this was a clearing, and situated here was a log building of generous proportions, well made, and altogether different from the rest in the settlement. It was a two-story building, facing the water, with large windows, and a spacious verandah sweeping around the front and both sides. Wherever it was possible, paint had been liberally applied, and the white on the sashes, the green on the corner-boards, and the red on the roof gave it a striking appearance. It might well have been the home of some millionaire, who had thus sought seclusion in the wilderness, adding to his domicile a few touches of the world of civilization.
The grounds were well kept, showing that much attention had been bestowed upon them. Flowers bloomed in profusion, and off to the left a vegetable garden showed what the north could produce. A gravelly walk led to the water, and here at a small wharf floated a motor-boat, graceful in appearance, and capable of carrying passengers and freight. Several Indian men were standing on the wharf, while others, including women and children, were paddling in canoes but a short distance away. It was a scene of peace and seclusion, a regular fairy-land nestling there in the wilds. Even the storms of winter could not affect the place, for besides the sheltering trees which surrounded it on all sides, the frowning ridge of the Golden Crest formed a mighty barrier to the rear.
But Glen noticed none of these things, for something else occupied her mind this evening. She had remained silent since leaving the store, but now that the house was in sight, she halted Midnight at the edge of the woods and looked at her Indian companion.
"Is daddy home yet?" she asked, speaking in the rhythmical native language with which she was so familiar.
"Not home," was the brief reply.
"He said that he might come to-day, didn't he?"
The Indian, merely nodded.
"He has been gone for nearly a week now," Glen continued, "and I wonder what can be keeping him. Do you think he will come to-night?"
"Sconda doesn't know. Big white chief alone knows."
Glen laughed and stroked Midnight's neck with an impatient hand.
"I guess you are right, Sconda. Daddy alone knows what he is going to do, for he never tells me, at any rate. But as he is not here I must take matters into my own hands. You know Deep Gulch beyond the Golden Crest?" and she motioned to the left.
Again the Indian nodded.
"Well, then, there is a dead bear in the Gulch, Sconda, and I want you to take men and bring it in, see?"
A new light now shone in the native's eyes, and he looked enquiringly into the girl's face.
"Bear?" he asked. "In Deep Gulch?"
"Yes, and a grizzly at that; a monster. Oh, it was terrible!" and Glen shivered as the recollection of the brute's fierce charge swept upon her.
"Bear dead, eh?" Sconda queried.
"Yes, dead, and lying in the ravine, half covered with earth and rocks. Go down Crooked Trail to the bottom, then up the gulch, and you will find it."
"Who shoot grizzly?" the Indian asked.
"A white man. And, oh, Sconda, you should have seen what a shot he made! It was wonderful! I am sure you never did anything like it."
"Greater than Sconda made at Saku, when he shot grizzly, and savedInjun, eh?"
"Greater? Listen, Sconda. That white man shot the grizzly from the other side of Deep Gulch. He was way up on the hill, and he hit the bear in the heart."
The Indian's eyes showed his astonishment as he studied the girl's face as if to make sure that she was telling the truth.
"It is true, Sconda. I was there and saw him do it."
"What was bear doing?"
"Coming at me for all it was worth, and Midnight was almost frantic with fright. If it hadn't been for that white man we would be down there now where that grizzly is lying."
"And you want Sconda to fetch bear to camp, eh?"
"I do. Take as many men as you need and go in the morning. Tell the women to be ready to prepare the meat. And, Sconda, I want you to look after the dressing of the skin. Get Klota to do it. Tell her it is for me, and she will understand. That is all, I guess."
Glen dismounted, and handed the reins to the Indian.
"Midnight is hungry, Sconda. Look after him yourself, and see that he gets a good bite of grass. And, Sconda," she added, as if an afterthought, "you will be sure to go with the men in the morning?"
"Ah, ah, Sconda will go."
"That's good. And I want you to do something for me. Keep a sharp watch to see if that white man comes again to Deep Gulch. You will, won't you?"
"Sconda will watch."
"But don't let him think you are watching, remember. You stay behind when the others have brought the bear home. But don't let the white man see you."
Into Sconda's eyes flashed an expression of understanding. He knew now what the girl meant. What would he not do for her? the white girl he had known since she was but a child, and whose word to him was law, not of force but of affection.
"Now, don't forget, Sconda," Glen warned. "Stay there, if necessary, until night, and watch him carefully from the top of Crooked Trail. And don't tell anybody, not even Klota. Her eyes and ears are sharp, and she might suspect something. This is the greatest secret I have ever had. You have never failed me yet, Sconda, and I know that I can trust you now."
Glen West Lodge, the name of this fine building on the shore of that inland lake, was a comfortable and cozy abode. The rooms were not large, but their furnishings and decorations showed the artistic taste of the owner. The pictures adorning the walls had evidently been chosen with careful discrimination, most of them representing nature scenes, with a few well known paintings of the world of civilization. Each room contained a fire-place, and over the mantel of the livingroom, which opened off the hallway, was Watt's symbolical figure of "Hope." Glen had often seen her father standing before this, studying it most intently. Once he had told her its meaning. "You see that woman sitting on the top of the world," he had said. "The strings of her harp are all broken but one, and upon that she is making the best music she can. It teaches us, Glen, never to despair, but with the one string of limited power to do our best."
In one corner of this room was a piano, and the piece of modern music above the key-board showed that someone had been recently playing. A lamp of neat design hung from the wainscoted ceiling, while another with a soft shade stood upon a centre-table. The chairs in the room were comfortable, the largest being placed near the big southern window, close to which was a case well filled with books. The floor was covered with a rich carpet, of a quiet pattern, while before the fire-place was stretched a great bearskin rug. It was a room to delight the heart, especially on a night when a storm was raging over the land.
It was through this that Glen passed after entering the house. She went at once into the dining-room, adjoining, where she found the table all set for supper, and a white-haired woman standing before the side-board, arranging knives and forks in a drawer. She turned as Glen entered, and a bright smile of welcome illumined her face.
"You are late, dear," she reminded. "Supper has been ready for some time."
"I am sorry, Nannie," the girl apologized. "But I went farther to-day than I intended. There is no word from daddy, I suppose?"
"None at all, dearie. But, hurry and change your clothes, as your father may arrive at any minute. He will be angry if he knows that you have been far beyond the Golden Crest, for he has warned you to be careful. It is not safe for a girl to be riding alone since the miners have come into this region."
Glen smiled gaily at the woman's fears, and hastened away to her own room. In about a quarter of an hour she returned, but in that brief space of time a marvellous transformation had taken place. In a soft white dress, open at the throat, her beauty was enhanced ten-fold. Her luxuriant wavy hair had been hurriedly brushed back, and her cheeks bore the deep flush of health and youth. The woman at the head of the table looked at her with undisguised admiration as she passed her a piece of nicely browned fried salmon which an Indian servant girl had brought in from the kitchen.
"It is too bad that your father isn't here to see you, Glen," she remarked. "I never saw you look prettier. If we were outside, I might suspect that the color in your cheeks is not due to health and exercise alone."
"I am afraid you are flattering me, Nannie," Glen laughingly replied."You will make me vain, if you are not careful."
"I am not in the habit of flattering without good reason, as you well know, dear. But I have been thinking lately what a great pity it is that you should be wasting your young life in a place like this."
"Losing my sweetness on the desert air; is that it, Nannie? But what about you?"
"Oh, I do not signify," and again the sad expression came into the woman's eyes. "I might as well be here as anywhere else. But with you it is different. You need companions of your own age, and a more agreeable life than this place can provide."
"I certainly do," was the emphatic assent. "I never realised it until my return from the Seminary. What is the use of all my education if I am to spend the rest of my days here, with not a girl friend, and not a——"
Glen floundered and paused, while her cheeks flushed a deep crimson.
"I understand, dear, so do not try to explain. It is only natural that you should wish to be admired. I was the same when I was your age. But you cannot expect to find admirers up here, that is, the right kind, and especially the one above all others."
Glen looked keenly into her companion's eyes, as if to divine her meaning. But she saw nothing there which might lead her to suspect that the secret of her heart was known.
"Do you think that daddy will ever consent to leave this place?" she asked. "I have not spoken to him about it, for I was quite satisfied with this life until recently."
"I have mentioned it to him," was the reply. "Ever since you were a child I have been urging him to leave the north, for your sake, if for nothing else. He always said that he expected to do so some day, but here we are the same as ever, and I see no signs of his going."
"I wonder what in the world daddy ever came here for, anyway?"
"Why, for trading purposes, of course. He has done wonderfully well, and understands the Indians better than any white man in this country. You know they will do anything for him, because he is so fair and just in all his dealings."
"Yes, I know that, Nannie. But daddy never goes outside, and he will not allow white men to come here. You know as well as I do that he turns the Indians upon every white stranger who comes across the Golden Crest or by water. Daddy never mentioned it to me, but both Sconda and Klota have told me how the miners fear this place, and think that daddy is a terrible monster. When I asked them what became of the white men who ventured here, they wouldn't tell me, but looked at each other in a queer way. There is something mysterious about it all, and it has puzzled me ever since I was able to understand anything."
"There, dearie, never mind worrying your brain about it now," her companion soothed. "You are too young to have wrinkles in your smooth skin. Play that nice piece you were singing before you left to-day. I never heard it before, and it did me so much good. The piano has been idle all winter, so it must make up for lost time now."
Glen told Nannie nothing about her experiences that afternoon. She was afraid that this woman, gifted with more than ordinary insight, might read her heart. It made her feel somewhat guilty, nevertheless, for Nannie was the only mother she had ever known, and she lay awake a long time that night thinking it all over, and wondering whether she should tell her secret to the one woman in the world in whom she should confide. She had studied herself more carefully than usual in her large mirror before retiring, and what she beheld there was far from displeasing. She knew that she was beautiful, and her heart told her that her brave rescuer had looked upon her with admiration. Should she ever see him again? she asked herself, or had he already forgotten her?
Glen awoke early the next morning, and after breakfast she went down to the store. Here she learned that Sconda and a dozen men had gone to Deep Gulch after the grizzly. Formerly, women would have done most of the heavy work, but the ruler of Glen West had changed all that. The men did not take kindly to this at first, but Jim Weston had been firm.
"If you do not like this order of things, you can go elsewhere," he told them. "Women are not going to do men's work here. You bring the game into camp, and then let your wives attend to it."
Thus the custom of the men bringing in the bear or moose became established, and no one left, for the objectors knew that they were far better off at Glen West than they had ever been in their lives, and that it was to their advantage to obey their Big White Chief, as they called Weston.
Glen waited impatiently for the men's return, and the hours dragged slowly by until their arrival about the middle of the afternoon. They had skinned the bear, and cutting up the carcass, they had strapped the pieces upon their horses. They rode gaily into camp, and most of the inhabitants of the place were gathered around the store to acclaim their arrival. All had heard of the wonderful shot across Deep Gulch, and they were naturally curious to see the monster which had dared to face the Big Chief's daughter. There was the certainty, too, of fresh meat, which added much to the interest.
Sconda, however was not with the returned men, and Glen was greatly disappointed. Her rescuer, then, had not come back to the gulch, so he evidently had no more thought for her. She had imagined that he would be anxious to obtain the grizzly's fine skin as a souvenir of his meeting with her. At first she was tempted to ride forth toward Crooked Trail and await Sconda's return, but changing her mind, she launched her light canoe, and was soon skimming out over the water of the big lake. She generally took an Indian girl, or Sconda with her. But now she wished to be alone, that she might think as she drifted or paddled.
For over an hour she remained on the water, and when she returned, Sconda was waiting for her on the shore. Her face brightened as she saw him, and she at once questioned him about her rescuer.
"Did you see him?" she asked.
"Ah, ah. Sconda see white man."
"And did he see you?"
"Ah, ah."
"Oh! Did he stay long at Deep Gulch?"
A shake of the head was the native's only response.
"Did he seem surprised when he found that the grizzly was gone?" Glen asked. "Did he look up Crooked Trail as if expecting to see someone there?"
"White man act queer," the Indian explained. "He stay on big hill watching trail. He saw Sconda once."
"What did he do?"
"Nothing," and the Indian's eyes twinkled. "Sconda leave quick."
"And you didn't see him again?"
"Sconda come to Glen West. White man go to Big Draw, maybe."
Although Glen was not altogether satisfied at what Sconda told her, yet it was some comfort to know that her rescuer had returned to Deep Gulch, and stayed there for a while watching the trail as if expecting to see someone. And was that someone herself? she wondered. She had the feeling that it was, and the thought pleased her.
Glen now found the life at Glen West more irksome than ever. She missed her companions of the Seminary and the excitement of the city. She did not even have her father, for several days had now passed since his expected return. She had no idea what was keeping him, and she naturally became very anxious. Several times she discussed his delay with Nannie.