around the bush."

"And did the Indian understand your meaning?"

"Y'bet he did. He took my shots as sayin', 'Good day. How are the
missus an' the kids? Mebbe they need ye.' His shot in reply jist
said, 'Thank ye; mebbe they do.' That was all."

Reynolds laughed at this quaint explanation, although he felt certain
that Samson was not telling him the truth. He said nothing about it,
however, and the prospector did not refer to it again. But Reynolds
had the feeling that his companion and the Indian understood each
other, and that the shots they had fired were signals, the meaning of
which was known only to themselves. Who was this Frontier Samson? he
mused. Was he in some manner in league with the Indians? Why had he
taken such an interest in him, a complete stranger, and a chechahco at
that? Why should he wish to reveal to him the secret of his gold
discovery? He could not for a moment think that Samson had any evil
purpose in mind, but as he thought it all over during the remainder of
the afternoon, he felt that there was something very peculiar and
mysterious about it all.

This feeling was intensified that first night on the trail. They
camped by a little stream, where the trees stood thick, and larger than
on the uplands. They had shot a couple of grouse on their way, and
these Samson prepared for supper.

"I'll jist cook both of 'em," he remarked, "an' what we don't eat
to-night will be fine warmed up to-morrow."