"Have you been able to find love here in the north?" Reynolds asked.

"Thar are different kinds of love, young man," was the somewhat slow
and thoughtful reply. "The brand you mean, if I understand ye aright,
I've never experienced in this country, an' in fact, I never expect to
find it agin on this side of the grave. It's the pure love of a true
man fer a good woman, I mean. I believe you have it, an' yer to be
congratulated. It's the most wonderful thing in life. Even the love
of children, though it is great, kin never equal it. It's in a class
all by itself."

"But suppose the love isn't mutual, what then?" Reynolds asked.

"That'd be a pity, an' no mistake. Are ye referrin' to yer own case?"

"I certainly am. I am positive that the only woman in the world I want
cares nothing for me. She does not even know my name, while I--oh,
well, you know how I feel toward her."

"Jist keep up courage an' plod along, that's my advice. If she's meant
fer you, ye'll win her all right. I'm a great believer in the idea
that our own'll come to us some day, an' often in ways we least expect.
But, hello! what's that?"

The trail on which they were now walking wound along the side of a deep
valley, through which flowed a small stream. Samson was looking across
toward the opposite bank, and as Reynolds turned his eyes in that
direction he saw an Indian on horseback as motionless as the trees
around him. He was facing the two travellers, and apparently he had
been watching them for some time.