Part 44 (1/2)

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 fellows.h.i.+p, 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 pa.s.s 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 companions.h.i.+p 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.