"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."