“Yes, I do keep me eyes peeled fer Curly,” Samson drawled, as he finished his supper and pulled out his pipe.  “It’s necessary, let me tell ye that.  He ain’t safe nohow.”

“You have known him for some time, then?”

“Long enough to be suspicious of the skunk.”

“He seems to be very friendly with you, though.”

“Oh, he’s got sense enough not to buck up aginst me.  An’ besides, I’ve yanked him out of many a nasty fix.  Most likely he’d been planted long before this if I hadn’t been around at the right moment.”

“He’s up here for more than gold, so I understand.”

“How did ye larn that, young man?” There was a sharp note in Samson’s voice.

“Oh, I merely overheard your conversation with him in the smoking-room of the Northern Light.  That was all, but I drew my own conclusion.”

“An’ what was that?”

“Nothing very definite.  I simply inferred that he is after a girl somewhere here in the north, and that she is so guarded by a lion of a father that Curly hasn’t much of a chance.”

“An’ so that’s what ye surmised, is it?” the prospector queried.

“Am I right?”

“Guess yer not fer astray.”

“Have you seen the girl?  Do you know her father?”

“Have I seen the girl?  Do I know her father?” the old man slowly repeated.  “Yes, I believe I’ve seen her, all right.  But as fer knowin’ her father, wall, that’s a different thing.  Frontier Samson doesn’t pretend to know Jim Weston; he never did.”

“Weston, did you say?” Reynolds eagerly asked.

“That’s what I said, young man.  The name seems to interest ye.”

“It does.  When I registered at the hotel in Whitehorse, the name just before mine was ‘Glen Weston,’ and the girl who wrote it came north on the Northern Light.  Do you suppose she is Jim Weston’s daughter?”

“She might be,” was the somewhat slow reply.  “As I told ye before, it’s ginerally the unexpected that happens.  Anyway, ye can’t tell much by names these days.”

“But Curly knows her, for I saw them together at a dance the night I arrived in town.”

“Ye did!” The prospector took his pipe from his mouth and stared hard at Reynolds.  “Are ye sure?”

“Positive.  Why, I was standing at the door watching the dance, when I saw the two together upon the floor.  Later they came over and sat down quite close to me.  Curly did most of the talking, and the girl seemed quite uneasy.  She left shortly after with a fine-looking Indian, who had evidently come for her.  I have not seen her since.”

“So Curly was dancin’ with her,” Samson mused.  “Then she must be Jim Weston’s gal.  I wonder what the old man’ll say when he hears about it?”

“How will he know?”

“Oh, he’ll find out, all right.  There’s nuthin’ that misses him here in the north.”

“What will he do to Curly?”