The trail on which they were now walking wound along the side of a deep valley, through which flowed a small stream.  Samson was looking across toward the opposite bank, and as Reynolds turned his eyes in that direction he saw an Indian on horseback as motionless as the trees around him.  He was facing the two travellers, and apparently he had been watching them for some time.

“Where do you suppose he has come from, and what does he want?” Reynolds asked.

His companion’s only reply was to bring his rifle to his shoulder and fire two shots in rapid succession across the valley toward the horseman, neither of which took effect.  The Indian quickly unslung his rifle, fired one shot in return, and immediately vanished into the forest.

“Is that the best you can do?” Reynolds asked.  “You should have let me have a crack at him.”

“Me aim’s unsartin to-day,” was the reply.  “I don’t allus miss like that.”

“But why did you shoot, anyway?  The Indian was doing us no harm.”

“He was skulkin’ around, though, an’ I jist gave him a hint to move along.”

“So you didn’t intend to shoot him?”

“Oh, no.  It was merely a hint, as I told ye.”

“A queer hint, I should say,” and Reynolds laughed.  “Manners of the wilderness, I suppose?”

“Sure.  We don’t stand on ceremony up here.  We’re a bluff bunch, an’ if we don’t like a feller’s company we tell him so without beatin’ around the bush.”

“And did the Indian understand your meaning?”

“Y’bet he did.  He took my shots as sayin’, ’Good day.  How are the missus an’ the kids?  Mebbe they need ye.’  His shot in reply jist said, ‘Thank ye; mebbe they do.’  That was all.”

Reynolds laughed at this quaint explanation, although he felt certain that Samson was not telling him the truth.  He said nothing about it, however, and the prospector did not refer to it again.  But Reynolds had the feeling that his companion and the Indian understood each other, and that the shots they had fired were signals, the meaning of which was known only to themselves.  Who was this Frontier Samson? he mused.  Was he in some manner in league with the Indians?  Why had he taken such an interest in him, a complete stranger, and a chechahco at that?  Why should he wish to reveal to him the secret of his gold discovery?  He could not for a moment think that Samson had any evil purpose in mind, but as he thought it all over during the remainder of the afternoon, he felt that there was something very peculiar and mysterious about it all.

This feeling was intensified that first night on the trail.  They camped by a little stream, where the trees stood thick, and larger than on the uplands.  They had shot a couple of grouse on their way, and these Samson prepared for supper.

“I’ll jist cook both of ’em,” he remarked, “an’ what we don’t eat to-night will be fine warmed up to-morrow.”