There's many a bad night in the history of the pioneers, its shadows falling on lonely, ill-marked roads cut by rivers, creeks and marshes and strung through unnumbered miles of wild country. Samson was up and off at daylight in a bitter wind and six inches of snow. It was a kind of work he would not have undertaken upon any call less commanding than that of friendship. He reached Chicago at noon having had nothing to eat that day. There was no such eager, noisy crowd in the streets as he had seen before. The fever of speculation had passed. Some of the stores were closed; he counted a score of half-built structures getting weather-stained inside and out. But there were many people on the main thoroughfares, among whom were Europeans who had arrived the autumn before. They were changing but the marks of the yoke were still upon them. In Chicago were the vitals of the West and they were very much alive in spite of the panic. Samson bought some new clothes and had a bath and a good dinner at the City Hotel. Then he went to the office of Mr. Lionel Davis. There to his surprise he met his old acquaintance, Eli Fredenberg, who greeted him with great warmth and told of having settled in Chicago. A well-dressed young man came out of an inner office and informed Eli that Mr. Davis could not see him that day. "I'd like to see Mr. Davis," said Samson as Eli went away. "I'm Mr. Davis's secretary," the young man politely informed him. "What's a secretary?" Samson asked. "It's a man who helps another with his work." "I don't need any help myself--thank you," said Samson. "You tell him that I've got some money that belongs to him and that I'm ready to deliver it." The young man disappeared through the door of the private office and soon returned and conducted Samson into the presence of Mr. Davis who sat at a handsome desk, smoking, in a room with fine old mahogany furnishings brought up from New Orleans. The two men recognized each other. "Well, sir, what is it about?" the young speculator demanded. "The daughter of my old friend, Jack Kelso, owes you some money and I want to pay it," said Samson. "Oh, that is a matter between Miss Kelso and me." Mr. Davis spoke politely and with a smile. "Not exactly--since I knew about it," Samson answered. "I refuse to discuss her affairs with you," Davis declared. "I suppose you mistrust me," said Samson. "Well, I've offered to pay you and I'm going to make it plain to them that they don't have to worry any more about the money you loaned them." "Very well, I bid you good morning." "Don't be in a hurry," Samson answered. "I have a note of five thousand dollars against you. It is endorsed to me by Henry Brimstead and I want to collect it." "I refuse to pay it," Davis promptly answered. "Then I shall have to put it in the hands of a lawyer," said Samson. "Put it where you like but don't consume any more of my time." "But you'll have to hear me say that I don't think you're honest."