“I don’t count time by years, young man, an’ the sooner ye larn to do the same the better it’ll be fer ye.  In the cities ye find clocks an’ watches everywhere, an’ they all remind people that time is passin’.  Ye kin hardly walk along a street hut ye’ll see funeral processions, an’ the doctors are busy with the sick.  Big hospitals are crowded with patients, an’ accidents happen every minute of the day.  These all tell that life is brief an’ unsartin.  The feelin’ gits in the blood an’ on the nerves that death is right near, an’ as people think, so they are.  Age an’ health are accordin’ to the mind, an’ don’t ye ever fergit that.”

Samson paused and looked around.

“See them big mountains,” and he pointed away to the left.  “A man kin never feel old with them on every side.  They don’t remind ye of the passin’ of time an’ of dyin’.  They’re jist the same as they were thousands of years ago.  An’ so it’s purty much like that with other things up here.  I never feel old when I look around me on the wonderful sights; I feel young.  An’ why shouldn’t I?  Thar’s so much to do, an’ so many things to see an’ larn that I haven’t time to think of dyin’.  Life after all, as I said, ain’t to be judged by years, but by love of livin’.”

Samson seemed to be on his pet theme, and he continued his talk as he and Reynolds again resumed their journey.  Several times the latter endeavored to find out something about the old man’s past history, but all in vain.  The prospector gave him not the slightest information concerning himself, but discoursed volubly about the difference between the ways of the city and the wilderness.

“Money ain’t everything,” he declared, “even though some seem to think it is.  It has its uses, I acknowledge, but it was never meant to starve the soul, though that is jist what it too often does.  I know of men who sacrificed everything to the pilin’ up of money, even love, without which life ain’t worth a straw.”

“Have you been able to find love here in the north?” Reynolds asked.

“Thar are different kinds of love, young man,” was the somewhat slow and thoughtful reply.  “The brand you mean, if I understand ye aright, I’ve never experienced in this country, an’ in fact, I never expect to find it agin on this side of the grave.  It’s the pure love of a true man fer a good woman, I mean.  I believe you have it, an’ yer to be congratulated.  It’s the most wonderful thing in life.  Even the love of children, though it is great, kin never equal it.  It’s in a class all by itself.”

“But suppose the love isn’t mutual, what then?” Reynolds asked.

“That’d be a pity, an’ no mistake.  Are ye referrin’ to yer own case?”

“I certainly am.  I am positive that the only woman in the world I want cares nothing for me.  She does not even know my name, while I—­oh, well, you know how I feel toward her.”

“Jist keep up courage an’ plod along, that’s my advice.  If she’s meant fer you, ye’ll win her all right.  I’m a great believer in the idea that our own’ll come to us some day, an’ often in ways we least expect.  But, hello! what’s that?”