Part 11 (1/2)
”About what?”
”What lies beyond the Golden Crest. The spirit of adventure is on me, and I intend to make the attempt to find out for myself about the mystery surrounding that place.”
”Ye do! Didn't the gal say it wasn't safe?”
”All the greater reason, then, why I should go. If that girl will not come to me, I am going to her. Death is the worst that can happen to me, and I would rather die than live without Glen Weston.”
”Ye've got it bad, haven't ye?” and Samson smiled. ”But mebbe she's got the fever, too, since yesterday, an' has been back to the ravine to see if you was thar.”
”Perhaps she did, but I was too late. I was there this afternoon, and saw no one except an Indian on horseback. The bear, too, was gone.”
”Ye saw an Injun, ye say? What was he doin'?”
”Merely sitting upon his horse at the top of the trail. But he vanished just as soon as I glimpsed him.”
”An' the bear was gone, too, did ye say?”
”Yes; nothing left of it. I suppose the Indians came for it. Perhaps Glen was with them, and so I missed another chance of seeing her.”
During this conversation Frontier Samson had been standing. But now he sat down upon the ground, and remained for some time in deep thought.
He filled and lighted his pipe, and smoked in silence, while Reynolds continued his work upon the sketch.
”When d'ye expect to leave camp?” Samson at length asked.
But Reynolds made no reply. He went on steadily with his work, while the old man watched him with twinkling eyes.
”Completely gone,” he mused. ”Deaf to the world. Can't hear nuthin'.
It's a sure sign.”
”What's that? Were you speaking?” Reynolds suddenly asked.
”Speakin'! Sure. Why, me tongue's been goin' like a mill-clapper, though ye never heard a word I said.”
”I was lost, I guess,” and Reynolds smiled as he turned toward the sketch.
”So I imagined. But, then, I fergive ye, fer I was young once meself, an' in love, too, so I know all the signs. I only wanted to know when ye expect to hit the trail on yer great adventure?”
”To-morrow,” was the emphatic reply. ”This place won't keep me an hour longer than I can help. I am sick of it.”
”How d'ye expect to travel?”
”On foot, of course; straight over the mountains.”
”D'ye realise the dangers?”
”Dangers are nothing to me; I am used to them.”
”But s'pose I should tell ye it's impossible to git behind the Golden Crest?”
”Then, I like to do the impossible. There are plenty to do the ordinary things. I want to do the extraordinary, the so-called impossible. Did you ever hear the song that the Panama Ca.n.a.l diggers used to sing to cheer them up?”
”No; what is it?”