“An’ to think of that critter bein’ free!” Samson exclaimed.  “Why, he should be linked up with Curly, an’ git the same dose.  Thar’s something comin’ to him, an’ he’ll git it in time, mark my word.”

“What do you suppose has become of daddy?” Glen enquired, as they resumed their journey.  “Did you hear what Dan said?”

“Oh, yer dad’s all right, Miss,” Samson assured her.  “He knows how to take care of himself.  Mebbe he’s off to that mine.  He’s sartinly much interested in it.”

“But where did you see Mr. Weston?” Reynolds unexpectedly asked.

“Whar did I see him?” and Samson ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair in an abstracted manner.  “Wall, let me see.  It was somewhar out in the hills.  I’ve been in so many places that it’s hard fer me to tell one from t’other.  I do git terribly mixed up these days.”

No further reference was made to the matter during the rest of the day, although Reynolds was not at all satisfied with the prospector’s lame explanation.  He wondered why the old man should have such a sudden lapse of memory as to what had so recently happened.  There was some reason for it, he felt quite sure.

It was evening when they at length reached the little cabin in the wilderness.  Sconda had ridden on ahead, and had an appetizing supper ready by the time the others arrived.

“I wonder where daddy can be,” Glen remarked as they sat down to the table.  “I was hoping that he might be here to receive us.”

“Oh, he’s all right, an’ will be back soon,” Samson replied.  “He’ll be here this evenin’ fer sure.”

The sun had just disappeared beyond the far off mountain peaks as Glen and Reynolds walked down to the shore of the lake.  Not a ripple disturbed the water, and the sombre trees along the shore were mirrored in the clear depths.  It was a scene of restful peace and quietness.

“Isn’t it beautiful here to-night!” Glen exclaimed, while she gave a sigh of contentment.  “I have no fear now of any danger lurking within those dark shadows, such as I had the last time we were here.”

“And were you fearful then?” Reynolds asked.

“Indeed I was, for I thought Curly might be lurking around.  He was here that day, and I do not mind confessing it now.”  She then briefly told of Curly’s visit, and how she had guarded him until Sconda arrived.

They were walking along the shore now, about one hundred yards from the cabin.  Reynolds was amazed at the story, and when Glen finished he suddenly stopped.

“Oh, I wish I had known of this sooner,” he declared, while his hands clenched hard.  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was afraid,” Glen confessed in a low voice.

“Afraid!  Of what?”

“Of what you might do to Curly.”

For an instant Reynolds stared at the girl.  Could it be possible that she was concerned about the villain’s welfare?