“But he hit me,” Curly growled.

“Sure he did, an’ wouldn’t anyone with the least grain of spunk in him do the same if he’d been called a coward fer nuthin’?  This young chap is no coward, let me tell ye that.  He did more’n his bit over in France when you was hidin’ away in the hills.  Oh, I know all about it, an’ whar ye was an’ what ye was doin’.  Why, this chap ye wanted to shoot has more scars on his body an’ more medals to his credit than you have toes an’ fingers.  An’ yit ye called him a coward!  I guess the men here know purty well by this time who is the coward an’ who isn’t.  Thar, that’s all I have to say, so ye may go.  I’m sick of the sight of ye.”

Curly was angry, but so fierce and powerful did the old prospector look that he did not dare to reply.  He slunk away, leaving the miners greatly amused at his defeat.  But Frontier Samson was not amused, for he knew Curly better than any of the men gathered there.

CHAPTER VIII

LOVE VERSUS GOLD

The next day Reynolds spent as usual out in the hills, though he did no hunting.  When not stretched out upon the ground, he was wandering aimlessly around wherever his spirit listed.  He had no more interest in the mountain sheep, and he passed several fine flocks without firing a shot.  His thoughts were elsewhere, upon game of far greater importance.  He had spent a sleepless night, for Curly’s action not only annoyed but disgusted him.  He did not wish to remain near such a cur, and the sooner he left, the better it would be for both of them.  His only desire was to be left alone, and that seemed impossible so long as he stayed at Big Draw.  But where could he go, and what should he do?  Had he not met Glen Weston it would be an easy task to leave the north at once.  But since she was here, and just beyond the hills, he could not bear the thought of going away without seeing her again.

As he lay under a big tree, there suddenly came into his mind the old fairy tale of “The Sleeping Beauty and the Enchanted Palace.”  He smiled as he recalled it now, for was not he himself something like the young knight who faced all manner of difficulties and won the prize?  But the knight of the fairy tale did not have to contend with a desperate father and a tribe of Indians, as all the people connected with the ancient story were asleep.  This was a much more difficult undertaking, and a greater adventure by far.  It stirred his blood as he thought of it, making him anxious to be away upon the quest.