sat down upon the ground, and remained for some time in deep thought.
He filled and lighted his pipe, and smoked in silence, while Reynolds
continued his work upon the sketch.

"When d'ye expect to leave camp?" Samson at length asked.

But Reynolds made no reply. He went on steadily with his work, while
the old man watched him with twinkling eyes.

"Completely gone," he mused. "Deaf to the world. Can't hear nuthin'.
It's a sure sign."

"What's that? Were you speaking?" Reynolds suddenly asked.

"Speakin'! Sure. Why, me tongue's been goin' like a mill-clapper,
though ye never heard a word I said."

"I was lost, I guess," and Reynolds smiled as he turned toward the
sketch.

"So I imagined. But, then, I fergive ye, fer I was young once meself,
an' in love, too, so I know all the signs. I only wanted to know when
ye expect to hit the trail on yer great adventure?"

"To-morrow," was the emphatic reply. "This place won't keep me an hour
longer than I can help. I am sick of it."

"How d'ye expect to travel?"

"On foot, of course; straight over the mountains."