Ever since leaving for the hills Reynolds had the strong feeling that the ruler of Glen West was studying him very closely.  In various subtle ways he could tell that he was being tested, and so this morning as they moved forward he seemed like one undergoing a peculiar examination.  That his war record had made a deep impression upon Weston he was well aware.  But the man did not yet seem satisfied.  He evidently wished to probe to the very soul of the one who had captured his daughter’s heart.

After Weston had expressed himself concerning Indian superstition, little was said until they had crossed the wild meadow and partly encircled the opposite side of the lake.  From here their course would take them directly overland toward the high hill with the cave of gold.

They were about to leave the shore, when Reynolds suddenly paused and looked excitedly around.  Then his eyes fell upon the remains of a campfire, and nearby, fastened to a stick in the ground, he saw a piece of paper.  This he quickly seized and read the brief message it contained.  He at once turned to Weston, who had been silently watching his every movement.

“It’s from Frontier Samson,” Reynolds explained.  “The old man is greatly worried over my disappearance, and has been searching for me several days.  He must have known about your cabin, sir, for he mentions it here, and advises me to go there at once should I return.  It is strange that he didn’t mention it to me.”

“He thought it hardly worth while, I suppose,” Weston replied.  “You were not bound that way.”

“But we must have been, though,” Reynolds insisted.  “How else could we have reached Glen West but by the trail over which we travelled yesterday?  Surely he must have known that.”

“It is difficult at times to fathom an old prospector’s mind,” Weston replied, as he threw his rifle over his shoulder and continued on his way.  “So you two were bound for Glen West, were you?” he queried, after they had gone a short distance.

“We certainly were, until I spoiled everything by getting lost.”

“You must not be too sure about that, young man.  It is hard to tell what might have happened to you had you reached Glen West by the trail.  You must have been aware of the risk you were running.”

“Oh, the risk is nothing when a great ideal lies ahead.  I for one would rather die following a noble vision than lie grovelling among the broken shards of life.  It was that which led so many to sacrifice their all in the Great War.  Lack of vision means repression, and often ruin; vision, expression.”

“In what way?  Go on, I am much interested.”

“In what way?” Reynolds repeated, as he stopped and looked far away upon some towering mountain peaks which just then were visible through an opening among the trees.  “Take the steam-engine for example.  Repress the power, and what do you get?  Destruction.  But give that power expression, and how beneficial it becomes.  So it is with man.  There is a mighty power within him.  Repress that power, keep it back, and you get nothing.  But let that power be released, and it expresses itself in thousands of ways for the benefit of mankind.”