"An' so that's what ye surmised, is it?" the prospector queried.
"Am I right?"
"Guess yer not fer astray."
"Have you seen the girl? Do you know her father?"
"Have I seen the girl? Do I know her father?" the old man slowly repeated. "Yes, I believe I've seen her, all right. But as fer knowin' her father, wall, that's a different thing. Frontier Samson doesn't pretend to know Jim Weston; he never did."
"Weston, did you say?" Reynolds eagerly asked.
"That's what I said, young man. The name seems to interest ye."
"It does. When I registered at the hotel in Whitehorse, the name just before mine was 'Glen Weston,' and the girl who wrote it came north on the Northern Light. Do you suppose she is Jim Weston's daughter?"
"She might be," was the somewhat slow reply. "As I told ye before, it's ginerally the unexpected that happens. Anyway, ye can't tell much by names these days."
"But Curly knows her, for I saw them together at a dance the night I arrived in town."