rstand, at least, not the brand ye find up here. She's some lass,
all right, an' whoever succeeds in winnin' her'll be a mighty lucky
chap."

"What does her father do? Is he a miner?"

"It's jist hard to tell what Jim Weston does an' what he doesn't do.
No one seems to know fer sartin. He lives like a lord on Big Lake, way
over yonder," and Samson motioned to the east. "All the folks know
that he lives thar with his lass, guarded by a hull pack of Injuns.
But what he does an' what he doesn't do is a mighty problem."

"His daughter travels, though, and alone at that, doesn't she?"
Reynolds queried.

"Occasionally. Jim's givin' her an eddication, so I hear. She must be
comin' back now, as this is vacation time."

"But what happened to her, do you suppose, after the dance that night?"
Reynolds asked. "She disappeared as if by magic, and I believe the big
Indian had something to do with it."

"How d'ye know she disappeared?" was the sudden and somewhat
embarrassing question.

Reynolds laughed, and his face flushed. He knew that he had betrayed
himself, and that the prospector noted his confusion.

"Oh, I didn't notice her in town," he explained, "and I saw by the
register that she had left the hotel."

"So you're interested in her, too, are ye, young man?"

"I certainly am," was the candid confession. "From the moment that I
first saw her at a street crossing in Vancouver she has been hardly out
of my mind. I never saw any girl who affected me so much, and she is
the reason why I am here now."

"Ye don't tell!" Samson tapped the ashes out of his pipe, and then
stretched himself full length upon the ground. "Make a clean breast of
it, young man," he encouraged. "I'm an old hardened chap meself, but I
do like to hear a real interestin' heart-story once in a while. I git
sick an' disgusted listenin' to brutes on two legs, callin' themselves
men when they talk about women. But when it comes to a clean young
feller, sich as I take you to be, tellin' of his heart-stroke, then
it's different, an' I'm allus pleased to listen."

And make a clean breast of it Reynolds did. He was surprised at
himself for talking so freely as he told about his indifference to life
until he first saw Glen Weston. It was easy to talk there in the
silence of the great forest, with the shadows of evening closing around
and such a sympathetic listener nearby. He felt better when his story
was ended, for he had shared his he