CHAPTER IX
THE OUTER TRAIL
A profound silence lay over Big Draw mining camp as Frontier Samson andTom Reynolds slipped quietly away among the hills. The sun had not yetlifted itself above the horizon, but the speediness of its coming washeralded in the eastern sky, and the tallest mountain peaks had alreadycaught the first shafts of its virgin glory. The valleys were stillrobed in semi-darkness, and the two wayfarers seemed like mere spectresas they sped forward.
"My, this is great!" Reynolds exclaimed as he at length stopped toreadjust his pack. "I believe I should live to be a hundred or over ifI 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 outhis pipe. "Not much like the smell of yer city streets, whar yeswaller hundreds of disease germs every second."
"Have you ever lived there?" Reynolds asked, curious to learn somethingof the old man's history.
"Long enough to know what they're like. I've poked me nose into a goodmany cities, an' they're all the same, to my way of thinkin'. It's awonder to me why so many people live in sich places, crowded, togetherlike sheep, when thar's all this, an' millions of places like it, wharye kin breathe the air as the Lord made it, an' not fouled by the workof human bein's."
"You are very fond of this wild life, I see," Reynolds replied. "Haveyou lived here many years?"
The prospector threw aside his burnt match, gave his pack an extrahitch, picked up his rifle and moved forward.
"Guess we'd better git on," he said. "Thar's a little brook we want toreach 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 notanswer his question. It was not until they were eating their dinner bythe side of the brook did Samson vouchsafe any information.
"Ye asked me if I've been long in this country," he began. "My replymay seem strange to you, but it's true. Judgin' by years, I've beenhere a long time, but, accordin' to life, only a little while. I usterreckon 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 dothe 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 withpatients, an' accidents happen every minute of the day. These all tellthat life is brief an' unsartin. The feelin' gits in the blood an' onthe 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 fergitthat."
Samson paused and looked around.
"See them big mountains," and he pointed away to the left. "A man kinnever feel old with them on every side. They don't remind ye of thepassin' of time an' of dyin'. They're jist the same as they werethousands of years ago. An' so it's purty much like that with otherthings up here. I never feel old when I look around me on thewonderful sights; I feel young. An' why shouldn't I? Thar's so muchto do, an' so many things to see an' larn that I haven't time to thinkof dyin'. Life after all, as I said, ain't to be judged by years, butby love of livin'."
Samson seemed to be on his pet theme, and he continued his talk as heand Reynolds again resumed their journey. Several times the latterendeavored to find out something about the old man's past history, butall in vain. The prospector gave him not the slightest informationconcerning himself, but discoursed volubly about the difference betweenthe ways of the city and the wilderness.
"Money ain't everything," he declared, "even though some seem to thinkit is. It has its uses, I acknowledge, but it was never meant tostarve the soul, though that is jist what it too often does. I know ofmen 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 slowand thoughtful reply. "The brand you mean, if I understand ye aright,I've never experienced in this country, an' in fact, I never expect tofind it agin on this side of the grave. It's the pure love of a trueman fer a good woman, I mean. I believe you have it, an' yer to becongratulated. It's the most wonderful thing in life. Even the loveof children, though it is great, kin never equal it. It's in a classall 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 wantcares 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 meantfer you, ye'll win her all right. I'm a great believer in the ideathat 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 deepvalley, through which flowed a small stream. Samson was looking acrosstoward the opposite bank, and as Reynolds turned his eyes in thatdirection he saw an Indian on horseback as motionless as the treesaround him. He was facing the two travellers, and apparently he hadbeen 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 andfire two shots in rapid succession across the valley toward thehorseman, neither of which took effect. The Indian quickly unslung hisrifle, fired one shot in return, and immediately vanished into theforest.
"Is that the best you can do?" Reynolds asked. "You should have let mehave a crack at him."
"Me aim's unsartin to-day," was the reply. "I don't allus miss likethat."
"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 movealong."
"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 thewilderness, 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 themissus an' the kids? Mebbe they need ye.' His shot in reply jistsaid, 'Thank ye; mebbe they do.' That was all."
Reynolds laughed at this quaint explanation, although he felt certainthat Samson was not telling him the truth. He said nothing about it,however, and the prospector did not refer to it again. But Reynoldshad the feeling that his companion and the Indian understood eachother, and that the shots they had fired were signals, the meaning ofwhich was known only to themselves. Who was this Frontier Samson? hemused. Was he in some manner in league with the Indians? Why had hetaken such an interest in him, a complete stranger, and a chechahco atthat? Why should he wish to reveal to him the secret of his golddiscovery? He could not for a moment think that Samson had any evilpurpose in mind, but as he thought it all over during the remainder ofthe afternoon, he felt that there was something very peculiar andmysterious about it all.
This feeling was intensified that first night on the trail. Theycamped by a little stream, where the trees stood thick, and larger thanon the uplands. They had shot a couple of grouse on their way, andthese Samson prepared for supper.
"I'll jist cook both of 'em," he remarked, "an' what we don't eatto-night will be fine warmed up to-morrow."
"I should like to get a moose," Reynolds declared. "I haven't shot onesince I came north."
"Don't do it, young man, unless ye kin git nuthin' else," Samsonadvised. "A moose is a purty b
ig animal, an' we could tote only alittle 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 ina few meals. Some critters, who call 'emselves men, shoot everythingin sight, an' leave it to spile. That is wasteful slaughter, an' nottrue sport."
Reynolds was glad to roll himself up in his blanket that night, for hewas tired after his day's tramp, with a heavy pack on his back. Samsondid likewise, and soon silence reigned in the deep forest, broken onlyby 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 andlooked around. It was light enough for him to see that his companionwas gone, and he believed that it was his footsteps that had arousedhim. After waiting for some time and nothing happened, he once againstretched himself out upon the ground. But he could not sleep. Whatwas the meaning of Samson's departure? he wondered. Had it anything todo with the Indian they had seen that day across the ravine? The morehe thought of it, the more mystified he became. How long he thus laythere with every sense alert, he did not know, though it seemed a longtime before the prospector at last returned. Reynolds pretended thathe was asleep, but his suspicions were now firmly confirmed when theold man bent over him for a few seconds as if to make sure that he wasnot awake.
Reynolds did not refer to the incident the next day, and Samson made nomention of it. The latter was in excellent spirits, and talked freelyas they moved on their way. That night they halted, and made readytheir camp by the side of a small lake. It was a peaceful andbeautiful spot. Not a ripple ruffled the surface of the water, and thetrees along the shore were mirrored in the clear depths. Reynolds wasdelighted, and he expressed his admiration to his companion.
"Isn't this great!" he exclaimed. "I have never seen anything to equalit! It is a matchless gem, with a perfect setting."
"Yes, it sartinly is wonderful," the prospector drawled. "An' I'm gladye like it. Guess thar should be ducks over yonder," and he motionedto the upper end of the lake. "A good fat feller'd be nice fer dinnerto-morrow."
Picking up his rifle, he disappeared among the trees, and in anotherminute his light tread was unheard. Reynolds stood for some timeviewing the scene before him. He longed for his paints and brushesthat he might catch the impressions ere they faded. Unfortunately hehad left them behind, so he had to satisfy himself with feasting hissoul instead.
At length he turned and walked back to their camping ground. He hadjust reached the place when a magnificent moose trotted majestically bybut a short distance away. Forgotten was Samson's admonition about theshooting of big game, so seizing his rifle, he slipped quickly andquietly after the big animal. The latter had already passed out ofsight, but expecting to catch a glimpse of it at any instant, Reynoldshastened forward. This led him down into a valley, and there he sawthe moose in a small open clearing to the left. Before he was nearenough to shoot, the animal once more vanished among the trees. Thefever of the chase was now upon him, and unheeding his bearings, hepressed rapidly on, expecting every minute to come in sight of thelordly creature. But he was doomed to disappointment, and mostreluctantly he was compelled to relinquish the pursuit.
Reynolds had no definite idea how far he had travelled, nor thedirection he had taken. So intent had he been upon following themoose, that he had lost all trace of his bearings, and he knew not theway back to the camp. This was a most disquieting situation, and hechided himself for his stupidity. Night was also upon him, and thisadded to his perplexity.
"What a mess I have made of it!" he growled. "In this labyrinth ofvalleys, hills, trees, and wild meadows, how in the name of commonsense am I to find that speck of camping ground? It must lie overthere," and he looked away to his right. "The sun was before me when Istarted, and by keeping due east I should come somewhere near theplace."
For over an hour he plowed his way through the forest, up hill anddown, each moment expecting to see the lake for which he was searching.His efforts, however, were all in vain, so wearied almost to the pointof exhaustion, and with clothes torn, hands and face bleeding, he wasforced to give up for the night.
Sinking upon the ground, he tried to calm the agitated state of hismind. From the first he had realised his serious predicament, and howdifficult it would be to extricate himself from that vast wilderness.
"I can't go any farther to-night," he declared, "so I might as wellmake the best of a bad affair. I have my rifle, and that's somecomfort. I needn't starve, anyway, even though I am lost."
He felt for his cartridge belt, and immediately he gave a great startof dismay. It was not there! Then he remembered that he had taken itoff when pitching camp that night by the shore of the lake. Withtrembling hands he next examined the magazine of his rifle, and foundthat but three cartridges were left, as he had fired two shots in thehope of attracting Frontier Samson's attention. This was a serioussituation, and he realised that upon those three remaining cartridgeshis life depended.