The higher he climbed the more wonderful became the view.  The trail twisted around the mountain side, and from this vantage ground the solitary traveller could look forth upon vast reaches of forest and great wild meadows far below, with here and there placid lakes, mirroring trees, mountain peaks, and billowy clouds.  The voices of his companions had long since died away, and he was alone with the brooding silence all around, and his own thoughts for company.

At noon he rested under the shade of an old storm-beaten tree, and ate his meagre lunch.  This finished, he lighted his pipe and stretched himself full length upon the mossy ground.  He was feeling more contented than he had been in many a day.  The air was invigorating, and a desire came over him to be up and doing.  His old indifference to life seemed to slip away like a useless and impeding garment, leaving him free for action.  He even thought with pleasure of mingling again in the activities of civilization, and winning for himself a worthy reputation.  He would make good in the north, and then go back and surprise his friend, the editor, and all who knew him.

So strong was this feeling that he sat suddenly up, wondering what had come over him to cause the subtle change.  “It must be the wild mystery of this region,” he mused.  “It is stimulating and impelling.  It may be the spirit of the mountains, and the other grand things of nature.  They are carrying out the designs for which they were intended, and perhaps they have silently rebuked me for being a traitor to the highest that is in me.  But I shall show them a thing or two, if I am not much mistaken.”

Springing lightly to his feet, he continued his journey.  His step was more buoyant, his heart lighter, and the pack seemed less heavy than when he left the river.

He travelled all that afternoon, crossed the summit, and moved swiftly down the opposite slope.  It was easy walking now, and he hoped to reach the valley and there spend the night.  He believed that he should find water among that heavy timber ahead of him, and thither he made his way.  Neither was he mistaken, for when his steps at length began to lag he heard the ripple of water drifting up the trail.  As he drew nearer he smelled the smoke of a camp-fire, and the appetizing odor of roasting meat.  “Somebody must be camping there,” he mused, “and I may have company.  I am sorry, but then it can’t be helped.”

The brook was a small one, shallow, and Reynolds easily sprang across.  Gaining the opposite bank, he peered among the trees, and to his surprise he saw Frontier Samson squatting upon the ground, roasting a grouse over a fire he had previously lighted.  The old prospector’s face brightened as the young man approached.

“My, y’ve been a long time comin’,” he accosted.  “I thought mebbe ye’d played out, tumbled down the side of the mountain, or a grizzly had gobbled ye up.  What in time kept ye so long?”