either win or die in the attempt to
win the Princess of his heart and mind.

So much was Glen in Reynolds' thoughts that he could think of little
else. He visioned her mounted upon her horse, facing the grizzly.
What a picture she would make! Never before had he beheld such a
scene, and his fingers burned to sketch her as she now stood out clear
and distinct in his mind.

Producing a pencil and a sheet of his scanty supply of paper, he was
soon at work before the door of his tent. The bottom of a biscuit box,
placed at the proper angle on the stump of a jack-pine, formed his
easel. Perched upon another box, he was soon busily engaged upon the
outline of what was to be his masterpiece. Forgotten was everything
else as he sat there, devoting all the energy of heart, mind, and hand
to the work before him. The miners might delve for gold; Curly and his
companions might gamble to their hearts' content; such things were
nothing to him. He had struck a vein of wealth, the true gold of love,
by the side of which all the treasures of earth were as dross.

And as he worked, a shadow suddenly fell across the picture. Looking
quickly up, he was surprised to see Frontier Samson standing quietly by
his side, looking intently upon the sketch.

"You startled me," and Reynolds gave a slight laugh, feeling for the
instant a sense of embarrassment.

"Caught in the act, eh?" the prospector queried.

"It seems so, doesn't it? I wasn't expecting company."

"Oh, I don't mean you, young man. I was thinkin' of her," and Samson
pointed to the picture. "Where did ye ketch her?"

"Out on the hills. Isn't she wonderful?"

"Mebbe she is an' mebbe she isn't," was the cautious reply.

"Have you any doubt about it?" Reynolds somewhat impatiently asked.

"Wall, no, I s'pose not. I'll take yer word fer it."

"But can't you see for yourself, man, what she is?"

"H'm, d'ye expect me to see what you do in that picter?"

"And why not?"

"Simply 'cause I'm not as young as you are. Now that," and he pointed
to the sketch, "doesn't tell me much. I see some drawin's thar of a
gal on horseback, but they don't show me the gal herself. They don't
tell me anything about the sound of her voice, the look in her eyes,
nor the heavin' of her buzom. I can't see what her mind's like, nor
her heart, fer that matter. Them's the things ye can't draw, an'
them's the things by which I judge a gal."

"But good gracious! if you saw her only