hours below the mountain Crests, and skims along the horizon, thus
illuminating the western sky, and holding back the heavy draperies of
night. The light on the far-off ranges and the glory of the distant
heavens fascinated Reynolds. He had beheld many beautiful sunsets, but
never such a one as this, and his entire soul was stirred within him.

Leaving the level of the town, he climbed the hill, and there on the
edge of the steep bank he feasted his eyes upon the wonderful panorama
stretched out before him. Like a silver thread the river wound its
sinuous way between its steep banks, and faded from view amidst its
setting of dark firs and jack-pines; around rose the mountains, their
great sides either bathed in the glow of evening, or lying sombre and
grim, telling of crouching valleys and funnel-like draws from which the
light of day had retreated. And below lay the little town, silent save
for the occasional bark of a dog, or the shrill voices of children away
to the right.

For some time Reynolds remained here. He was in no hurry to go
elsewhere, for the evening was mild and conducive to thought. There
was nothing to take him back to the hotel, and he preferred to be out
of doors. Just what he was to do next he had no clear idea. He knew
that somewhere out from this town was the new mining camp for which he
had started. But where it was and how to reach it he had not the
faintest knowledge. In truth, he had never been sufficiently
interested to make any inquiries, even from Frontier Samson. What had
become of the prospector, he wondered, as he had not seen him since his
arrival in town. And where was Glen? He had followed her this far,
and was he to lose her after all? She had aroused him to action, and
caused him to take this long and apparently foolish journey. But he
had not spoken a word to her, and so far as he knew she was totally