“You’ve been a long time away,” Shorty remarked, as he looked curiously at the young man.

“Yes, I suppose I have,” was the absent-minded reply, for Reynolds was looking at his letters.

“Strike anything?”

“I believe so.  But, say, is Frontier Samson here?  Have you seen him lately?”

“W-why, no,” Shorty stammered.  He had overheard Curly’s remarks, so this unexpected question somewhat embarrassed him.  “He went with you, didn’t he?”

“He certainly did, but I got lost out in the hills, and haven’t seen the old man since.  I hope nothing has happened to him.”

Not a word of this escaped the men at the table, and when Reynolds had left the building they stared at one another for a few seconds.

“Did ye hear what he said about the gold?” Curly eagerly asked.  “I believe he’s struck it rich, an’ most likely he has put Samson out of the way.”

“But he asked about him, though,” one of the men replied.

“Oh, that was just a ruse, an’ nothing more.  He wanted to find out if we suspect anything.  I say, Shorty, bring us something,” he ordered.  “This is my treat.”

When the liquor had been brought, the men drank and talked in low voices.  What they said Shorty could not hear, although he strained his ears in an effort to catch the drift of the conversation.  After a while other men entered the room, and these were soon acquainted with Reynolds’ return, the gold he had discovered, and the mysterious disappearance of Frontier Samson.  A few agreed with Curly that it was strange that the old prospector had not been seen for some time, and that his partner had returned alone.  Where was the discovery made? they wanted to know.

“Near the Tasan,” a man replied.  “I’ve just been to the Recording Office, and found that three double claims have been entered there in the names of Jim Weston, Glen Weston, and Thomas Reynolds.  But I don’t put any stock in that.  Why, I’ve cruised all over that region, and so have others.  There’s not enough gold there to fill the eye-tooth of a mouse.  I’ve been on too many fool stampedes of late, and I’m sick of them.  What does that chechahco know about gold?”

“But Jim Weston is in with him,” Curly reminded.  “What d’ye make of that?”

“H’m, Jim Weston knows more about robbing Indians than he does about mining.  He wouldn’t know the real stuff from ‘fool’s gold.’  No doubt that’s what they’ve found.”

The talk now became general and continued for some time.  Several thought it worth while to go and see what the new discovery was like, but others scoffed at the idea.  They also discussed the disappearance of Frontier Samson, and even hinted that perhaps his partner knew more than he was willing to tell.  Curly suggested that he should be brought before them and questioned.  This met with considerable favor, although no one seemed inclined to take upon himself such a responsibility.  It was late when the men at length left the store, and took themselves off to their various cabins.  Curly and his band went together, and for the rest of the night they communed and plotted in a lonely shack some distance up the creek.