Leaving the level of the town, he climbed the hill, and there on the edge of the steep bank he feasted his eyes upon the wonderful panorama stretched out before him.  Like a silver thread the river wound its sinuous way between its steep banks, and faded from view amidst its setting of dark firs and jack-pines; around rose the mountains, their great sides either bathed in the glow of evening, or lying sombre and grim, telling of crouching valleys and funnel-like draws from which the light of day had retreated.  And below lay the little town, silent save for the occasional bark of a dog, or the shrill voices of children away to the right.

For some time Reynolds remained here.  He was in no hurry to go elsewhere, for the evening was mild and conducive to thought.  There was nothing to take him back to the hotel, and he preferred to be out of doors.  Just what he was to do next he had no clear idea.  He knew that somewhere out from this town was the new mining camp for which he had started.  But where it was and how to reach it he had not the faintest knowledge.  In truth, he had never been sufficiently interested to make any inquiries, even from Frontier Samson.  What had become of the prospector, he wondered, as he had not seen him since his arrival in town.  And where was Glen?  He had followed her this far, and was he to lose her after all?  She had aroused him to action, and caused him to take this long and apparently foolish journey.  But he had not spoken a word to her, and so far as he knew she was totally unaware of his existence.  He smiled at the thought, and wondered what his friend, the editor, would say if he knew of it.  And what about his search for the missing man, Henry Redmond?  Instead of throwing himself earnestly and actively into the quest he was frittering away his time, following the will-o’-the-wisp of a fancy, and going daft over a mere slip of a girl who moved serenely apart from his world of thought and being.  He called himself a fool and chided himself over and over again.  But for all that, he was unable to tear her out of his heart and mind.  She seemed to belong to him, and to no one else.

“I believe that my experiences in France have affected my brain,” he muttered, as he at length rose to his feet.  “I am sure I was not like this before the war.  But here I am now dazzled and mystified by a fair face, a pair of sparkling eyes, and the charm of a name.  This will never do.  I must shake off this fascination, or I shall be good for nothing.”

He walked rapidly down the hill, and then along a trail that wound through a thicket of small fir trees.  This brought him in a few minutes to one of the streets leading straight to the river.  He walked slower now, much interested in the quaint log houses, with here and there a miner’s or a prospector’s tent.  Presently he saw before him a large building, with galvanized roof and sides.  People were entering the place, and drawing nearer, the sound of music fell upon his ears.  A band was playing, he could easily tell, and it was dancing music at that.