Producing a pencil and a sheet of his scanty supply of paper, he was soon at work before the door of his tent. The bottom of a biscuit box, placed at the proper angle on the stump of a jack-pine, formed his easel. Perched upon another box, he was soon busily engaged upon the outline of what was to be his masterpiece. Forgotten was everything else as he sat there, devoting all the energy of heart, mind, and hand to the work before him. The miners might delve for gold; Curly and his companions might gamble to their hearts' content; such things were nothing to him. He had struck a vein of wealth, the true gold of love, by the side of which all the treasures of earth were as dross.
And as he worked, a shadow suddenly fell across the picture. Looking quickly up, he was surprised to see Frontier Samson standing quietly by his side, looking intently upon the sketch.
"You startled me," and Reynolds gave a slight laugh, feeling for the instant a sense of embarrassment.
"Caught in the act, eh?" the prospector queried.
"It seems so, doesn't it? I wasn't expecting company."
"Oh, I don't mean you, young man. I was thinkin' of her," and Samson pointed to the picture. "Where did ye ketch her?"
"Out on the hills. Isn't she wonderful?"
"Mebbe she is an' mebbe she isn't," was the cautious reply.
"Have you any doubt about it?" Reynolds somewhat impatiently asked.
"Wall, no, I s'pose not. I'll take yer word fer it."