Glen of the High North | Page 9

the
room, when in an instant a commotion took place among the players.
They sprang to their feet, and a miniature babel ensued.
"You're cheating."
"I'm not."
"You're a liar."
These were some of the terms hurled forth in sharp rasping sentences,
and it seemed as if blood must surely be shed ere the confusion ended.
As the word "liar" rang out, a sudden silence followed, and at once
hands rested upon butts of revolvers concealed in four hip-pockets. But
before they were drawn a peculiar noise broke the stillness, which
caused Reynolds to start, for the sound came from the old prospector's
lips.
"Me-o-o-o-ow. Me-o-o-o-ow. Bow-wow-wow. Bow-wow-wow."
So unexpected was this interruption that all in the room stared in
amazement, and even the four angry men turned to see whence the
sound came. So perfect was the imitation, and so humorous the
expression upon the face of the old man, that the onlookers burst into a
hearty laugh, which caused the four inflamed players to shuffle
uneasily, and to look sheepishly at one another. Then their mouths

expanded into a grin, and the storm was over.
The curly-haired man at once left his place and strode over to where the
prospector was sitting.
"Frontier Samson!" he exclaimed, gripping him firmly by the hand. "Is
it really you?"
"Sure, it's me, all right, Curly. Who else did ye think it was; me ghost?"
"Not when I heard that cat-call, an' the bow-wow."
"Heard 'em before, eh? Guess this isn't the first scrape I've got ye out of,
is it?"
"Should say not. But where in h---- did ye drop from, Sam? I didn't
know ye were on board."
"Oh, I'm jist on a visit from the outside. An' it's mighty lucky that I'm
here, or else I don't know what 'ud have happened. Better leave cards
alone, Curly, if ye can't play without fightin'. They make people act like
a bunch of kids."
"It was those d---- fools' fault, though, Sam."
"Thar, now, don't make excuses an' blame others, Curly. That's jist
what kids allus do. An' cut out them unholy words. There might be a
parson around."
Curly flung himself down upon a seat, and lighted a cigarette. He cast a
furtive glance at Reynolds, thinking that perhaps he might be the
"parson."
"What have ye been doin', Curly?" the old man asked. "An' why was ye
driftin' out under that fog-bank? Ye nearly got left, let me tell ye that."
"I know we did, and I thought that d----, excuse me, Sam," he
apologized, as he again glanced toward Reynolds. "I mean, I thought
that the fog-bank would never lift. We've been doing some of the

islands for several months."
"Strike anything?"
"Nothing, an' nearly starved in the bargain. If it hadn't been fer an
Indian mission, we wouldn't be alive now."
"Then missionaries are of some use after all, Curly. You was allus hard
on 'em, if I remember right."
"Umph! They're all right when one's starving. If they'd only leave the
Gospel dope out, it wouldn't be so bad."
"Got a dose of it, eh?"
"Should say I did. Morning, noon an' night I had to go to church with
the Indians. I've had enough to last me the rest of me life. Say, weren't
we glad to get away!"
"Goin' north agin? I thought ye was through, up thar?"
"So did I. But we heard of the new strike at Big Draw, an' decided to
try our luck once more."
"Think ye'll hit it this time?"
"I hope so. But it isn't altogether the gold that's taking me back. There's
something more attractive."
"So I imagined."
"I thought you would understand." Curly's voice was eager now. "She'll
not escape me this time. Gad, she's a beaut! But as wild as a hawk."
"An' so ye think ye'll corner her, eh?" There was a peculiar note in
Samson's voice which Reynolds was quick to detect, but which Curly
missed.
"Just you wait an' see," the latter reminded. "That old cuss thinks he's

got a regular Gibraltar behind those hills with his lousy Indians. But I'll
show him a thing or two."
"Ye've never been thar, have ye?" Samson queried.
"Never. But the bird comes out of her nest sometimes, ye know, an'
then----"
"You'll be the hawk, is that it?" Samson asked as the other paused.
"Oh, I'll be around," Curly laughed. "One doesn't run across the likes of
her every day, an' she's the gold I'm really after."
"Wall, all I kin say is this," the prospector replied, as he rose slowly to
his feet, "that ye'd better be mighty keerful, young man. That Giberalter,
as ye call it, is guarded by a lion that ain't to be fooled with. He's got
claws that reach from sun-up to