"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."

"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?"