“Seems Surprise Lake is becoming populous,” Smoke complained, emptying the coffee-pot.
“Go on, you're joking, aren't you?” the man said, astonishment painted on his face.
Smoke laughed. “That's the way it takes everybody. You see those high ledges across there to the northwest? There's where I first saw it. No warning. Just suddenly caught the view of the whole lake from there. I'd given up looking for it, too.
“Same here,” the other agreed. “I'd headed back and was expecting to fetch the Stewart last night, when out I popped in sight of the lake. If that's it, where's the Stewart? And where have I been all the time? And how did you come here? And what's your name?”
“Bellew. Kit Bellew.”
“Oh! I know you.” The man's eyes and face were bright with a joyous smile, and his hand flashed eagerly out to Smoke's. “I've heard all about you.”
“Been reading police-court news, I see,” Smoke sparred modestly.
“Nope.” The man laughed and shook his head. “Merely recent Klondike history. I might have recognized you if you'd been shaved. I watched you putting it all over the gambling crowd when you were bucking roulette in the Elkhorn. My name's Carson—Andy Carson; and I can't begin to tell you how glad I am to meet up with you.”
He was a slender man, wiry with health, with quick black eyes and a magnetism of camaraderie.
“And this is Surprise Lake?” he murmured incredulously.