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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gold Girl, by James B. Hendryx
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Gold Girl
+
+Author: James B. Hendryx
+
+Release Date: July 15, 2008 [EBook #26061]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLD GIRL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, K. Nordquist, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+(This book was produced from scanned images of public
+domain material from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: THE MAN WAS UPON HIS FEET, NOW, BENDING TOWARDS HER
+   WITH ARMS OUTSTRETCHED. Drawing by Monahan.]
+
+
+                            The Gold Girl
+
+
+                                  By
+
+                           James B. Hendryx
+
+     Author of "The Promise," "The Gun-Brand," "The Texan," etc.
+
+
+
+
+                         G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+                         New York and London
+
+                       The Knickerbocker Press
+
+                                 1920
+
+
+
+
+                           COPYRIGHT, 1920
+
+                                  BY
+
+                           JAMES B. HENDRYX
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER                                          PAGE
+
+I.--A HORSEMAN OF THE HILLS               1
+
+II.--AT THE WATTS RANCH                  10
+
+III.--PATTY GOES TO TOWN                 30
+
+IV.--MONK BETHUNE                        47
+
+V.--SHEEP CAMP                           65
+
+VI.--BETHUNE PAYS A CALL                 81
+
+VII.--IN THE CABIN                       98
+
+VIII.--PROSPECTING                      111
+
+IX.--PATTY TAKES PRECAUTIONS            129
+
+X.--THE BISHOP OF ALL OUTDOORS          146
+
+XI.--LORD CLENDENNING GETS A DUCKING    162
+
+XII.--BETHUNE TRIES AGAIN               180
+
+XIII.--PATTY DRAWS A MAP                198
+
+XIV.--THE SAMUELSONS                    219
+
+XV.--THE HORSE RAID                     239
+
+XVI.--PATTY FINDS A GLOVE               263
+
+XVII.--UNMASKED                         288
+
+XVIII.--PATTY MAKES HER STRIKE          308
+
+XIX.--THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER         327
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Gold Girl
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A HORSEMAN OF THE HILLS
+
+
+Patty Sinclair reined in her horse at the top of a low divide and
+gazed helplessly around her. The trail that had grown fainter and
+fainter with its ascent of the creek bed disappeared entirely at the
+slope of loose rock and bunch grass that slanted steeply to the
+divide. In vain she scanned the deeply gored valley that lay before
+her and the timbered slopes of the mountains for sign of human
+habitation. Her horse lowered his head and snipped at the bunch grass.
+Stiffly the girl dismounted. She had been in the saddle since early
+noon with only two short intervals of rest when she had stopped to
+drink and to bathe her fare in the deliciously cold waters of mountain
+streams--and now the trail had melted into the hills, and the broad
+shadows of mountains were lengthening. Every muscle of her body ached
+at the unaccustomed strain, and she was very hungry. She envied her
+horse his enjoyment of the bunch grass which he munched with much
+tongueing of the bit and impatient shaking of the head. With bridle
+reins gripped tightly she leaned wearily against the saddle.
+
+"I'm lost," she murmured. "Just plain _lost_. Surely I must have come
+fifty miles, and I followed their directions exactly, and now I'm
+tired, and stiff, and sore, and hungry, and lost." A grim little smile
+tightened the corners of her mouth. "But I'm glad I came. If Aunt
+Rebecca could see me now! Wouldn't she just gloat? 'I told you so, my
+dear, just as I often told your poor father, to have nothing whatever
+to do with that horrible country of wild Indians, and ferocious
+beasts, and desperate characters.'" Hot tears blurred her eyes at the
+thought of her father. "This is the country he loved, with its
+mountains and its woods and its deep mysterious valleys--and I want to
+love it, too. And I _will_ love it! I'll find his mine if it takes me
+all the rest of my life. And I'll show the people back home that he
+was right, that he did know that the gold was here, and that he
+wasn't just a visionary and a ne'er-do-well!"
+
+A rattle of loose stones set her heart thumping wildly and caused her
+to peer down the back trail where a horseman was slowly ascending the
+slope. The man sat loosely in his saddle with the easy grace of the
+slack rein rider. A roll-brim Stetson with its crown boxed into a peak
+was pushed slightly back upon his head, and his legs were encased to
+the thighs in battered leather chaps whose lacings were studded with
+silver _chonchas_ as large as trade dollars. A coiled rope hung from a
+strap upon the right side of his saddle, while a leather-covered jug
+was swung upon the opposite side by a thong looped over the horn. All
+this the girl took in at a glance as the rangy buckskin picked his way
+easily up the slope. She noted, also, the white butt-plates of the
+revolver that protruded from its leather holster. Her first impulse
+was to mount and fly, but the futility of the attempt was apparent. If
+the man followed she could hardly hope to elude him upon a horse that
+was far from fresh, and even if she did it would be only to plunge
+deeper into the hills--become more hopelessly lost. Aunt Rebecca's
+words "desperate character" seemed suddenly to assume significance.
+The man was very close now. She could distinctly hear the breathing of
+his horse, and the soft rattle of bit-chains. Despite her defiant
+declaration that she was glad she had come, she knew that deep down in
+her heart, she fervidly wished herself elsewhere. "Maybe he's a
+ranchman," she thought, "but why should any honest man be threading
+unfrequented hill trails armed with a revolver and a brown leather
+jug?" No answer suggested itself, and summoning her haughtiest,
+coldest look, she met the glance of the man who drew rein beside her.
+His features were clean-cut, bronzed, and lean--with the sinewy
+leanness of health. His gray flannel shirt rolled open at the throat,
+about which was loosely drawn a silk scarf of robin's-egg blue, held
+in place by the tip of a buffalo horn polished to an onyx luster. The
+hand holding the bridle reins rested carelessly upon the horn of his
+saddle. With the other he raised the Stetson from his head.
+
+"Good evenin', Miss," he greeted, pleasantly. "Lost?"
+
+"No," she lied brazenly, "I came here on purpose--I--I like it here."
+She felt the lameness of the lie and her cheeks flushed. But the man
+showed no surprise at the statement, neither did he smile. Instead,
+he raised his head and gravely inspected the endless succession of
+mountains and valleys and timbered ridges.
+
+"It's a right nice place," he agreed. To her surprise the girl could
+find no hint of sarcasm in the words, nor was there anything to
+indicate the "desperate character" in the way he leaned forward to
+stroke his horse's mane, and remove a wisp of hair from beneath the
+headstall. It was hard to maintain her air of cold reserve with this
+soft-voiced, grave-eyed young stranger. She wondered whether a
+"desperate character" could love his horse, and felt a wild desire to
+tell him of her plight. But as her eyes rested upon the brown leather
+jug she frowned.
+
+The man shifted himself in the saddle. "Well, I must be goin'," he
+said. "Good evenin'."
+
+Patty bowed ever so slightly, as he replaced the Stetson upon his head
+and touched his horse lightly with a spur. "Come along, you Buck,
+you!"
+
+As the horse started down the steep descent on the other side of the
+divide a feeling of loneliness that was very akin to terror gripped
+the girl. The sunlight showed only upon the higher levels, and the
+prospect of spending the night alone in the hills without food or
+shelter produced a sudden chilling sensation in the pit of her
+stomach.
+
+"Oh! Please----"
+
+The buckskin turned in his tracks, and once more the man was beside
+her upon the ridge.
+
+"I _am_ lost," she faltered. "Only, I hated to admit it."
+
+"Folks always do. I've be'n lost a hundred times, an' I never _would_
+admit it."
+
+"I started for the Watts's ranch. Do you know where it is?"
+
+"Yes, it's over on Monte's Creek."
+
+Patty smiled. "I could have told _you_ that. The trouble is, someone
+seems to have removed all the signs."
+
+"They ought to put 'em up again," opined the stranger in the same
+grave tone with which he had bid her good evening.
+
+"They told me in town that I was to take the left hand trail where it
+forked at the first creek beyond the canyon."
+
+The man nodded. "Yes, that about fits the case."
+
+"But I did take the trail that turned to the left up the first creek
+beyond the canyon, and I haven't seen the slightest intimation of a
+ranch."
+
+"No, you see, this little creek don't count, because most of the time
+it's dry; an' this ain't a regular trail. It's an' old winter road
+that was used to haul out cord wood an' timber. Monte's Creek is two
+miles farther on. It's a heap bigger creek than this, an' the trail's
+better, too. Watts's is about three mile up from the fork. You can't
+miss it. It's the only ranch there."
+
+"How far is it back to the trail?" asked the girl wearily.
+
+"About two mile. It's about seven mile to Watts's that way around.
+There's a short cut, through the hills, but I couldn't tell you so
+you'd find it. There's no trail, an' it's up one coulee an' down
+another till you get there. I'm goin' through that way; if you'd like
+to come along you're welcome to."
+
+For a moment Patty hesitated but her eyes returned to the jug and she
+declined, a trifle stiffly. "No, thank you. I--I think I will go
+around by the trail."
+
+Either the man did not notice the curtness of the reply, or he chose
+to ignore it, for the next instant, noting the gasp of pain and the
+sudden tightening of the lips that accompanied her attempt to raise
+her foot to the stirrup, he swung lightly to the ground, and before
+she divined what he was about, had lifted her gently into the saddle
+and pressed the reins into her hand. Without a word he returned to his
+horse, and with face flushed scarlet, the girl glared at the powerful
+gray shoulders as he picked up his reins from the ground. The next
+moment she headed her own horse down the back trail and rode into the
+deepening shadows. Gaining the main trail she urged her horse into a
+run.
+
+"He--he's awfully strong," she panted, "and just _horrid!_"
+
+From the top of the divide the man watched until she disappeared, then
+he stroked softly the velvet nose that nuzzled against his cheek.
+
+"What d'you reckon, Buck? Are they goin' to start a school for that
+litter of young Wattses? There ain't another kid within twenty
+mile--must be." As he swung into the saddle the leather covered jug
+bumped lightly against his knee. There was a merry twinkle of laughter
+in his blue eyes as, with lips solemn as an exhorter's, he addressed
+the offending object. "You brown rascal, you! If it hadn't be'n for
+you, me an' Buck might of made a hit with the lady, mightn't we, Buck?
+Scratch gravel, now you old reprobate, or we won't get to camp till
+midnight."
+
+"Anyway, she ain't no kin to the Wattses," he added reflectively, "not
+an' that clean, she ain't."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+AT THE WATTS RANCH
+
+
+It was with a decided feeling of depression that Patty Sinclair
+approached the Watts ranch. Long before she reached the buildings an
+air of shiftless dilapidation was manifest in the ill-lined barbed
+wire fences whose rotting posts sagged drunkenly upon loosely strung
+wire. A dry weed-choked irrigation ditch paralleled the trail, its
+wooden flumes, like the fence posts, rotting where they stood, and its
+walls all but obliterated by the wash of spring freshets. The
+depression increased as she passed close beside the ramshackle log
+stable, where her horse sank to his ankles in a filthy brown seepage
+of mud and rotting straw before the door. Two small, slouchily built
+stacks of weather-stained hay occupied a fenced-off enclosure, beside
+which, with no attempt to protect them from the weather, stood a
+dish-wheeled hay rake, and a rusty mowing machine, its cutter-bar
+buried in weeds.
+
+Passing through a small clump of cottonwoods, in which three or four
+raw-boned horses had taken refuge from the mosquitoes, she came
+suddenly upon the ranch house, a squat, dirt-roofed cabin of unpeeled
+logs. So, _this_ was the Watts ranch! Again and again in the delirium
+that preceded her father's death, he had muttered of Monte's Creek and
+the Watts ranch, until she had come to think of it as a place of cool
+halls and broad verandahs situated at the head of some wide mountain
+valley in which sleek cattle grazed belly-deep in lush grasses.
+
+A rabble of nondescript curs came snapping and yapping about her
+horse's legs until dispersed by a harsh command from the dark interior
+of the cabin.
+
+"Yere, yo' git out o' thet!"
+
+The dogs slunk away and their places were immediately taken by a
+half-dozen ill-kempt, bedraggled children. A tousled head was thrust
+from the doorway, and after a moment of inspection a man stepped out
+upon the hard-trodden earth of the dooryard. He was bootless and a
+great toe protruded from a hole in the point of his sock. He wore a
+faded hickory shirt, and the knees of his bleached-out overalls were
+patched with blue gingham.
+
+"Howdy," he greeted, in a not unkindly tone, and paused awkwardly
+while the protruding toe tried vainly to burrow from sight in the hard
+earth.
+
+"Is--is this the Watts ranch?" The girl suppressed a wild desire to
+burst into tears.
+
+"Yes, mom, this is hit--what they is of hit." His fingers picked
+vaguely at his scraggly beard. An idea seemed suddenly to strike him,
+and turning, he thrust his head in at the door. "Ma!" he called,
+loudly, and again "Ma! _Ma!_"
+
+The opening of a door within was followed by the sound of a harsh
+voice. "Lawzie me, John Watts, what's ailin' yo' now--got a burr in
+under yo' gallus?" A tall woman with a broad, kindly face pushed past
+the man, wiping suds upon her apron from a pair of very large and very
+red hands.
+
+"Sakes alive, if hit hain't a lady! Hain't yo' done tol' her to git
+off an' come in? Looks like yer manners, what little yo' ever hed of
+'em, fell in the crick an' got drownded. Jest yo' climb right down
+offen thet cayuse, dearie, an' come on in the house. John, yo' oncinch
+thet saddle, an' then, Horatius Ezek'l, yo' an' David Golieth, taken
+the hoss to the barn an' see't he's hayed an' watered 'fore yo' come
+back. Microby Dandeline, yo' git a pot o' tea abilin' an' fry up a
+bate o' bacon, an' cut some bread, an' warm up the rest o' thet pone,
+an' yo', Lillian Russell, yo' finish dryin' them dishes an' set 'em
+back on the table. An' Abraham Lincoln Wirt, yo' fetch a pail o'
+water, an' wrinch out the worsh dish, an' set a piece o' soap by, an'
+a clean towel, an' light up the lamp."
+
+Under Ma Watts's volley of orders, issued without pause for breath,
+things began to happen with admirable promptitude.
+
+"Land sakes!" cried the woman, as Patty climbed painfully to the
+ground, "hain't yo' that sore an' stiff! Yo' must a-rode clean from
+town, an' hits fifty mile, an' yo' not use to ridin' neither, to tell
+by the whiteness of yo' face. I'll help yo' git off them hat an'
+gloves, an' thar sets the worsh dish on the bench beside the do'.
+Microby Dandeline 'll hev a bite for ye d'rec'ly an' I'll fix yo' up a
+shake-down. Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth kin go out an' crawl in
+the hay an' yo' c'n hev theirn." Words flowed from Ma Watts naturally
+and continuously without effort, as water flows from a spring. Patty
+who had made several unsuccessful attempts to speak, interrupted
+abruptly.
+
+"Oh, I couldn't think of depriving the boys of their bed. I----"
+
+"Now, honey, just yo' quit pesterin' 'bout thet. Them young-uns
+'druther sleep out'n in, any time. Ef I'd let 'em they'd grow up plumb
+wild. When yo've got worshed up come on right in the kitchen an' set
+by. Us Wattses is plain folks an' don't pile on no dog. We've et an'
+got through, but yo' take all the time yo're a mind to, an' me an'
+Microby Dandeline 'll set by an' yo' c'n tell us who yo' be, ef yo're
+a mind to, an' ef not hit don't make no difference. We hain't
+partic'lar out here, nohow--we've hed preachers an' horse-thieves, an'
+never asked no odds of neither. I says to Watts----"
+
+Again the girl made forcible entry into the conversation. "My name is
+Sinclair. Patty Sinclair, of Middleton, Connecticut. My father----"
+
+"Land o' love! So yo're Mr. Sinclair's darter! Yo' do favor him a mite
+about the eyes, come to look; but yer nose is diff'rnt to hisn, an'
+so's yer mouth--must a be'n yer ma's was like that. But sometimes they
+don't favor neither one. Take Microby Dandeline, here, 'tain't no one
+could say she hain't Watts's, an' Horatius Ezek'l, he favors me, but
+fer's the rest of 'em goes, they mightn't b'long to neither one of
+us." Microby Dandeline placed the food upon the table and sank, quiet
+as a mouse into a chair beneath the glass bracket-lamp with her large
+dark eyes fixed upon Patty, who devoured the unappetizing food with an
+enthusiasm born of real hunger, while the older woman analyzed volubly
+the characteristics, facial and temperamental, of each and several of
+the numerous Watts progeny.
+
+Having exhausted the subject of offspring, Ma Watts flashed a direct
+question. "How's yer pa, an' where's he at?"
+
+"My father died last month," answered the girl without raising her
+eyes from her plate.
+
+"Fer the land sakes, child! I want to know!"
+
+"Watts! Watts!" The lank form appeared in the doorway. "This here's
+Mr. Sinclair's darter, an' he's up an' died."
+
+The man's fingers fumbled uncertainly at his beard, as his wife paused
+for the intelligence to strike home. "Folks does," he opined,
+judiciously after a profound interval.
+
+"That's so, when yo' come to think 'bout hit," admitted Ma Watts.
+"What did he die of?"
+
+"Cerebrospinal meningitis."
+
+"My goodness sakes! I should think he would! When my pa died--back in
+Tennessee, hit wus, the doctor 'lowed hit wus the eetch, but sho',
+he'd hed thet fer hit wus goin' on seven year. 'Bout a week 'fore he
+come to die, he got so's 't he couldn't eat nothin', an' he wus thet
+het up with the fever he like to burnt up, an' his head ached him fit
+to bust, an' he wus out of hit fer four days, an' I mistrust thet-all
+mought of hed somethin' to do with his dyin'. The doctor, he come an'
+bled him every day, but he died on him, an' then he claimed hit was
+the eetch, or mebbe hit wus jest his time hed come, he couldn't tell
+which. I've wondered sence if mebbe we'd got a town doctor he mought
+of lived. But Doctor Swanky wus a mountain man an' we wus, too, so we
+taken him. But, he wus more of a hoss doctor, an' seems like, he never
+did hev no luck, much, with folks."
+
+Her nerves all a-jangle from trail-strain and the depressing
+atmosphere of the Watts ranch, it seemed to Patty she must shriek
+aloud if the woman persisted in her ceaseless gabble.
+
+"Yer pa wus a nice man, an' well thought of. We-all know'd him well.
+It wus goin' on three year he prospected 'round here in the hills, an'
+many a time he's sot right where yo're settin' now, an' et his meal o'
+vittles. Some said las' fall 'fore he went back East how he'd made his
+strike, an' hit wus quartz gold, an' how he'd gone back to git money
+to work hit. Mr. Bethune thought so, an' Lord Clendenning. They must
+of be'n thicker'n thieves with yer pa, 'cordin' to their tell." The
+woman paused and eyed the girl inquisitively. "Did he make his strike,
+an' why didn't he record hit?"
+
+"I don't know," answered the girl wearily.
+
+"An' don't yo' tell no one ef yo' do know. I b'lieve in folks bein'
+close-mouthed. Like I'm allus a-tellin' Watts. But yo' must be plumb
+wore out, what with ridin' all day, an' a-tellin' me all about
+yo'se'f. I'll slip in an' turn them blankets an' yo' kin jest crawl
+right into 'em an' sleep 'til yo' slep' out."
+
+Ma Watts bustled away, and Microby Dandeline began to clear away the
+dishes.
+
+"Can't I help?" offered Patty.
+
+The large, wistful eyes regarded her seriously.
+
+"No. I like yo'. Yo' hain't to worsh no dishes. Yo're purty. I like
+Mr. Bethune, an' Lord Clendenning, an' that Vil Holland. I like
+everybody. Folks is nice, hain't they?"
+
+"Why--yes," agreed Patty, smiling into the big serious eyes. "How old
+are you?"
+
+"I'm seventeen, goin' on eighteen. Yo' come to live with us-uns?"
+
+"No--that is--I don't know exactly where I am going to live."
+
+"That Vil Holland, he's got a nice camp, an' 'tain't only him there.
+Why don't yo' live there? I want to live there an' I go to his camp on
+Gee Dot, but he chases me away, an' sometimes he gits mad."
+
+"What is Gee Dot?" Patty stared in amazement at this girl with the
+mind of a child.
+
+"Oh, he's my pony. I reckon Mr. Bethune wouldn't git mad, but I don't
+know where he lives."
+
+"I think you had better stay right here," advised Patty, seriously.
+"This is your home, you know."
+
+"Yes, but they hain't much room. Me, an' Lillian Russell, an' David
+Golieth sleeps on a shake-down, an' they-all shoves an' kicks, an'
+sometimes when I want to sleep, Chattenoogy Tennessee sets up a
+squarkin' an' I cain't. Babies is a lot of bother. An' they's a lot of
+dishes an' chores an' things. Wisht I hed a dress like yo'n!" The girl
+passed a timid finger over the fabric of Patty's moleskin riding coat.
+Ma Watts appeared in the doorway connecting the two rooms.
+
+"Well, fer the lands sakes! Listen at that! Microby Dandeline Watts,
+where's yo' manners?" She turned to Patty. "Don't mind her, she's kind
+o' simple, an' don't mean no harm. Yo' shake-down's ready fer yo' an'
+I reckon yo' glad, bein' that wore out. Hit's agin the east wall. Jest
+go on right in, don't mind Watts. Hit's dark in thar, an' he's rolled
+in. We hain't only one bed an' me an' Watts an' the baby sleeps in
+hit, on 'tother side the room. Watts, he aims to put up some bunks
+when he gits time."
+
+Sick at heart, and too tired and sore of body to protest against any
+arrangement that would allow her to sleep the girl murmured her thanks
+and crossed to the door of the bedroom. Not at all sure of her
+bearings she paused uncertainly in the doorway until a sound of heavy
+breathing located the slumbering Watts, and turning toward the
+opposite side of the room, proceeded cautiously through the blackness
+until her feet came in contact with her "shake-down," which consisted
+of a pair of blankets placed upon a hay tick. The odor of the blankets
+was anything but fresh, but she sank to the floor, and with much
+effort and torturing of strained muscles, succeeded in removing her
+boots and jacket and throwing herself upon the bed. Almost at the
+moment her head touched the coarse, unslipped pillow, she fell into a
+deep sleep, from which hours later she was awakened by an insistent
+tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. "Someone has forgotten to pull up the
+canoe and the waves are slapping it against the side of the dock," she
+thought drowsily. "Did I have it last?" She stirred uneasily and the
+pain of movement caused her to gasp. She opened her eyes, and instead
+of her great airy chamber in Aunt Rebecca's mansion by the sea, she
+was greeted by the sight of the hot, stuffy room of the Watts cabin. A
+rumpled pile of blankets was mounded upon the bed against the opposite
+wall, and a shake-down similar to her own occupied a space beside the
+open door through which hot, bright sunlight streamed.
+
+Several hens pecked assiduously at some crumbs, and Patty realized
+that it was the sound of their bills upon the wooden floor that had
+awakened her. She succeeded after several painful attempts in pulling
+on her boots, and as she rose to her feet, Ma Watts thrust her head in
+at the door.
+
+"Lawzie! Honey, did them hens wake yo' up? Sho'! ef I'd a thought o'
+thet, I'd o' fed 'em outside, an' yo' could of kep' on sleepin'. 'They
+ain't nothin' like a good long sleep when yo' tired,' Watts says, an'
+he ort to know. He aims to build a house fer them hens when he gits
+time. Yo' know where the worsh dish is, jest make yo'se'f to home,
+dinner'll be ready d'rec'ly." The feel of the cold water was grateful
+as the girl dashed it over her face and hands from the little tin
+wash-basin on the bench beside the door. Watts sat with his chair
+resting upon its rear legs and its back against the shady west wall of
+the cabin.
+
+"Mo'nin'," he greeted. "Hit's right hot; I be'n studyin' 'bout fixin'
+them thar arrigation ditches."
+
+Patty smiled brightly. "All they need is cleaning out, isn't it?"
+
+"Yas, mom. Thet an' riggin' up them flumes. But it's a right smart o'
+work, an' then the resevoy's busted, too. I be'n aimin' to fix 'em
+when I git time. They hain't had no water in 'em fer three year. Yo'
+see, two year ago hit looked like rain mos' every day. Hit didn't rain
+none to speak, but hit kep' a body hatin' to start workin' fer fear it
+would. An' las' year hit never looked like rain none, so hit wasn't no
+use fixin' 'em. An' this year I don't know jest what to do, hit might,
+an' then agin hit mightn't. Drat thet sun! Here hit is dinner time.
+Seems like hit never lets a body set in one place long 'nough to study
+out _whut_ he'd ort to do." Watts rose slowly to his feet, and
+picking up his chair, walked deliberately around to the east side of
+the house, where he planted it with the precision born of long
+practice in the exact spot that the shadow would be longest at the
+conclusion of the midday meal.
+
+Patty entered the cabin and a few minutes later the sound of voices
+reached her ears. Ma Watts hurried to the window.
+
+"Well, if hit ain't Mr. Bethune an' Lord Clendenning! Ef you see one
+you know the other hain't fer off. Hain't he good lookin' though--Mr.
+Bethune? Lord hain't so much fer looks, but he's some high up nobility
+like over to England where he come from, only over yere they call 'em
+remittance men, an' they don't do nothin' much but ride around an'
+drink whisky, an' they git paid for hit, too. Folks says how Mr.
+Bethune's gran'ma wus a squaw, but I don't believe 'em. Anyways, I
+allus like him. He's got manners, an' hit don't stan' to reason no
+breed would have manners."
+
+Patty could distinctly see the two riders as they lounged in their
+saddles. The larger, whose bulging blue eyes and drooping blond
+mustache gave him a peculiar walrus-like expression, she swept at a
+glance. The other was talking to Watts and the girl noted the slender
+figure with its almost feminine delicacy of mold, and the finely
+chiseled features dominated by eyes black as jet--eyes that glowed
+with a velvety softness as he spoke.
+
+"We have been looking over your upper pasture," he said. "A fellow
+named Schmidt over in the Blackfoot country will be delivering some
+horses across the line this summer and he wants to rent some pastures
+at different points along the trail. How about it?"
+
+Watts rubbed his beard uncertainly. "Them fences hain't hoss tight. I
+be'n studyin' 'bout fixin' 'em."
+
+"Why don't you get at it?"
+
+"Well they's the resevoy, an' the ditches----"
+
+"Never mind the ditches. All that fence needs is a few posts and some
+staples."
+
+"My ax hain't fitten to chop with no mo', an' I druv over the spade
+an' bruk the handle. I hain't got no luck."
+
+Reaching into his pocket, Bethune withdrew a gold piece which he
+tossed to Watts. "Maybe this will change your luck," he smiled. "The
+fact is I want that pasture--or, rather, Schultz does."
+
+"Thought yo' said Schmidt."
+
+"Did I? Those kraut names all sound alike to me. But his name is
+Schultz. The point is, he'll pay you five dollars a month to hold the
+pasture, and five dollars for every day or night he uses it. That ten
+spot pays for the first two months. Better buy a new ax and spade and
+some staples and get to work. The exercise will do you good, and
+Schultz may want to use that pasture in a couple of weeks or so."
+
+"Well, I reckon I kin. Hit's powerful hot fer to work much, but that's
+a sight o' money. As I wus sayin' to Mr. Sinclair's darter----"
+
+"Sinclair's daughter! What do you mean? Is Sinclair back?"
+
+Patty noted the sudden flash of the jet black eyes at the mention of
+her father's name. It was as though a point of polished steel had
+split their velvet softness. Yet there was no hostility in the glance;
+rather, it was a gleam of intense interest. The girl's own interest in
+the quarter-breed had been casual at most, hardly more than that
+accorded by a passing glance until she had chanced to hear him refer
+to the man in the Blackfoot country in one breath as Schmidt, and in
+the next as Schultz. She wondered at that and so had remained standing
+beside Mrs. Watts, screened from the outside by the morning-glory
+vines that served as a curtain for the window. The trifling incident
+of the changed name was forgotten in the speculation as to why her
+father's return to the hill country should be a matter of evident
+import to this sagebrush cavalier. So intent had she become that she
+hardly noticed the cruel bluntness of Watts's reply.
+
+"He's dead."
+
+"Dead!"
+
+"Yas, he died back East an' his darter's come."
+
+"Does she know he made a strike?" Patty noted the look of eagerness
+that accompanied the words.
+
+"I do'no." Watts wagged his head slowly. "Mebbe so; mebbe not."
+
+"Because, if she doesn't," Bethune hastened to add, "she should be
+told. Rod Sinclair was one of the best friends I had, and if he has
+gone I'm right here to see that his daughter gets a square deal. Of
+course if she has the location, she's all right." Patty wondered
+whether the man had purposely raised his voice, or was it her
+imagination?
+
+Ma Watts had started for the door. "Come on out, honey, an' I'll make
+yo' acquainted with Mr. Bethune. He wus a friend of yo' pa, an' Lord
+too." As she followed the woman to the door, the girl was conscious of
+an indefinable feeling of distrust for the man. Somehow, his words had
+not rung true.
+
+As the two women stepped from the house the horsemen swung from their
+saddles and stood with uncovered heads.
+
+"This yere's Mr. Sinclair's darter, Mr. Bethune," beamed Ma Watts.
+"An' I'd take hit proud ef yo'd all stay to dinner."
+
+"Ah, Miss Sinclair, I am most happy to know you. Permit me to present
+my friend Lord Clendenning."
+
+The Englishman bowed low. "The prefix is merely a euphonism Miss
+Sinclair. What you really behold in me is the decayed part of a
+decaying aristocracy."
+
+Patty laughed. "My goodness, what frankness!"
+
+"Come on, now, an' set by 'fore the vittles gits cold on us. Yere yo'
+Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth, yo' hay them hosses!"
+
+"No, no! Really, Mrs. Watts, we must not presume on your hospitality.
+Important business demands our presence elsewhere."
+
+"Lawzie, Mr. Bethune, there yo' go with them big words agin. Which I
+s'pose yo' mean yo' cain't stay. But they's a plenty, an' yo'
+welcome." Again Bethune declined and as the woman re-entered the
+house, he turned to the girl.
+
+"I only just learned of your father's untimely death. Permit me to
+express my sincerest sympathy, and to assure you that if I can be of
+service to you in any way I am yours to command."
+
+"Thank you," answered Patty, flushing slightly under the scrutiny of
+the black eyes. "I am here to locate my father's claim. I want to do
+it alone, but if I can't I shall certainly ask assistance of his
+friends."
+
+"Exactly. But, my dear Miss Sinclair, let me warn you. There are men
+in these hills who suspected that your father made a strike, who would
+stop at nothing to wrest your secret from you." The girl nodded. "I
+suppose so. But forewarned is forearmed, isn't it? I thank you."
+
+"Thet Vil Holland wus by yeste'day," said Watts.
+
+Bethune frowned. "What did he want?"
+
+"Didn't want nothin'. Jest come a-ridin' by."
+
+"I should think you'd had enough of him after the way he ran your
+sheep man off."
+
+Watts rubbed his beard. "Well, I do'no. The cattlemen pays me same as
+that sheep man done. Vil Holland tended to that."
+
+"That isn't the point. What right has Vil Holland and others of his
+ilk to tell you, or me, or anybody else who we shall, or shall not
+rent to? It is the principle of the thing. The running off of those
+sheep was a lawless act, and the sooner lawlessness, as exemplified by
+Vil Holland is stamped out of these hills, the better it will be for
+the community. He better not try to bulldoze me." Bethune turned to
+Patty. "That Vil Holland is the man I had in mind, Miss Sinclair, when
+I warned you to choose your friends wisely. He would stop at nothing
+to gain an end, even to posing as a friend of your father. In all
+probability he will offer to assist you, but if you have any map or
+description of your father's location do not under any circumstances
+show it to him."
+
+Patty smiled. "If any such paper exists I shall keep it to myself."
+
+Bethune returned the smile. "Good-by," he said. "I shall look forward
+to meeting you again. Shall you remain here?"
+
+"I have made no plans," she answered, and as she watched the two
+riders disappear down the creek trail her lips twisted into a smile.
+"May pose as a friend of your father ... and probably will offer to
+assist you;" she repeated under her breath. "Well, Mr. Bethune, I
+thank you again for the warning."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+PATTY GOES TO TOWN
+
+
+Ma Watts called loudly from the doorway and numerous small Wattses
+appeared as if by magic from the direction of the creek and the
+cottonwood thicket. Dinner consisted of flabby salt pork, swimming in
+its own grease, into which were dipped by means of fingers or forks,
+huge misshapen slices of sour white bread. There was also an abundance
+of corn pone, black molasses, and a vile concoction that Ma Watts
+called coffee. Flies swarmed above the table and settled upon the food
+from which they arose in clouds at each repetition of the dipping
+process.
+
+How she got through the meal Patty did not know, but to her surprise
+and disgust, realized that she had actually consumed a considerable
+portion of the unappetizing mess. Watts arose, stretched prodigiously,
+and sauntered to his chair which, true to calculation was already just
+within the shadow of the east side of the house.
+
+Baby on hip, Ma Watts, assisted by Microby Dandeline and Lillian
+Russell, attacked the dishes. All offers of help from Patty were
+declined.
+
+"Yo' welcome to stay yere jest as long as yo' want to, honey, an' yo'
+hain't got to work none neither. They's a old piece o' stack-cover
+somewheres around an' them young-uns kin rig 'em up a tent an' sleep
+in hit all summer, an' yo' kin hev their shake-down like yo' done las'
+night. I s'pose yo're yere about yo' pa's claim?"
+
+"Yes," answered the girl, "and I certainly appreciate your
+hospitality. I hope I can repay you some day, but I cannot think of
+settling myself upon you this way. My work will take me out into the
+hills and----"
+
+"Jest like yo' pa usta say. He wus that fond o' rale home cookin' thet
+he'd come 'long every onct in a month 'er so, an' git him a squr meal,
+an' then away he'd go out to his camp."
+
+"Where was his camp?" asked the girl eagerly.
+
+"Lawzie, his camp wus a tent, an' he moved hit around so they couldn't
+no one tell from one day to 'nother where he'd be at. But, he never
+wus no great ways from here, gen'ally within ten mile, one way er
+'nother. Hits out yonder in the barn--his tent an' outfit--pick an'
+pan an' shovel an' dishes, all ready to throw onto his pack hoss
+which hits a mewl an' runnin' in the hills with them hosses of ourn.
+If hit wusn't fer the fences they'd be in the pasture. Watts aims to
+fix 'em when he gits time."
+
+"I don't know much about tents, but I guess I'll have to use it, that
+is, if there isn't another ranch, or a--a house, or something, where I
+can rent a room all to myself."
+
+"Great sakes, child! They hain't another ranch within twenty-five
+mile, an' thet's towards town." As if suddenly smitten with an idea,
+she paused with her hand full of dishes and called loudly to her
+spouse:
+
+"Watts! Watts!"
+
+The chair was eased to its four legs, and the lank form appeared in
+the doorway. "Yeh?"
+
+"How about the sheep camp?"
+
+The man's fingers fumbled at his beard and he appeared plunged into
+deep thought. "What yo' mean, how 'bout hit?"
+
+"Why not we-all leave Mr. Sinclair's darter live up there?"
+
+Again the thoughtful silence. At length the man spoke: "Why, shore,
+she kin stay there long as she likes, an' welcome."
+
+"Hit's a cabin four mile up the crick," explained Ma Watts, "what we
+built on our upper desert fer a man thet wanted to run a band o'
+sheep. He wus rentin' the range offen us, till they druv him off--the
+cattlemen claimed they wouldn't 'low no sheep in the hill country.
+They warned him an' pestered him a spell, an' then they jest up an'
+druv him off--thet Vil Holland wus into hit, an' some more."
+
+"Who is this Vil Holland you speak of, and why did he want to drive
+off the sheep?"
+
+"Oh, he's a cowpuncher--they say they hain't a better cowpuncher in
+Montany, when he'll work. But he won't work only when he takes a
+notion--'druther hang around the hills an' prospeck. He hain't never
+made no strike, but he allus aims to, like all the rest. Ef he'd
+settle down, he could draw his forty dollars a month the year 'round,
+'stead of which, he works on the round-up, an' gits him a stake, an'
+then quits an' strikes out fer the hills."
+
+"I couldn't think of occupying your cabin without paying for it. How
+much will you rent it to me for?"
+
+"'Tain't wuth nothin' at all," said Watts. "'Tain't doin' no good
+settin' wher' it's at, an' yo' won't hurt hit none a-livin' in hit.
+Jest move in, an' welcome."
+
+"No, indeed! Now, you tell me, is ten dollars a month enough rent?"
+
+"Ten dollars a month!" exclaimed Watts. "Why, we-all only got fifteen
+fo' a herder an' a dog an' a band o' sheep! No, ef yo' bound to pay,
+I'll take two dollars a month. We-all might be po' but we hain't no
+robbers."
+
+"I'll take it," said Patty. "And now I'll have to have a lot of things
+from town--food and blankets, and furniture, and----"
+
+"Hit's all furnished," broke in Ma Watts. "They's a bunk, an' a table,
+an' a stove, an a couple o' wooden chairs."
+
+"Oh, that's fine!" cried the girl, becoming really enthusiastic over
+the prospect of having a cabin all her very own. "But, about the other
+things: Mr. Watts can you haul them from town?"
+
+Watts tugged at his beard and stared out across the hills. "Yes, mom,
+I reckon I kin. Le's see, the work's a-pilin' up on me right smart."
+He cast his eye skyward, where the sun shone hot from the cloudless
+blue. "Hit mought rain to-morrow, an' hit moughtn't. The front ex on
+the wagon needs fixin'--le's see, this here's a Wednesday. How'd next
+Sunday, a week do?"
+
+The girl stared at him in dismay. Ten days of Ma Watts's "home
+cooking" loomed before her.
+
+"Oh, couldn't you _possibly_ go before that?" she pleaded.
+
+"Well, there's them fences. I'd orter hev' time to study 'bout how
+many steeples hit's a-goin' to tak' to fix 'em. An' besides, Ferd Rowe
+'lowed he wus comin' 'long some day to trade hosses an' I'd hate to
+miss him."
+
+"Why can't I go to town. I know the way. Will you rent me your horses
+and wagon? I can drive and I can bring out your tools and things,
+too." As she awaited Watts's reply her eyes met the wistful gaze of
+Microby Dandeline. She turned to Ma Watts. "And maybe you would let
+Microby Dandeline go with me. It would be loads of fun."
+
+"Lawzie, honey, yo' wouldn't want to be pestered with her."
+
+"Yes, I would really. Please let her go with me, that is, if Mr. Watts
+will let me have the team."
+
+"Why, shore, yo' welcome to 'em. They hain't sich a good span o'
+hosses, but they'll git yo' there, an' back, give 'em time."
+
+"And can we start in the morning?"
+
+"My! Yo' in a sight o' hurry. They's thet front ex----"
+
+"Is it anything very serious? Maybe I could help fix it. Do let me
+try."
+
+Watts rubbed his beard reflectively. "Well, no, I reckon it's mebbe
+the wheels needs greasin'. 'Twouldn't take no sight o' time to do, if
+a body could only git at hit. Reckon I mought grease 'em all 'round,
+onct I git started. The young-uns kin help, yo' jest stay here with
+Ma. Ef yo' so plumb sot on goin' we'll see't yo' git off."
+
+"I kin go, cain't I, Ma?" Microby Dandeline's eyes were big with
+excitement, as she wrung out her dish towel and hung it to dry in the
+sun.
+
+"Why, yas, I reckon yo' mought's well--but seem's like yo' allus
+a-wantin' to gad. Yo' be'n to town twict a'ready."
+
+"Twice!" cried Patty. "In how long?"
+
+"She's goin' on eighteen. Four years, come July she wus to town. They
+wus a circust."
+
+"I know Mr. Christie. He lives to town."
+
+"He's the preacher. He's a 'piscopalium preacher, an' one time that
+Vil Holland an' him come ridin' 'long, an' they stopped in fer dinner,
+an' that Vil Holland, he's allus up to some kind o' devilment er
+'nother, he says: 'Ma Watts, why don't yo' hev the kids all
+babitized?' I hadn't never thought much 'bout hit, but thar wus the
+preacher, an' he seemed to think mighty proud of hit, an' hit didn't
+cost nothin', so I tol' him to go ahead. He started in on Microby
+Dandeline--we jest called her Dandeline furst, bein' thet yallar with
+janders when she wus a baby, but when she got about two year, I wus a
+readin' a piece in a paper a man left, 'bout these yere little
+microbys thet gits into everywheres they shouldn't ort to, jest like
+she done, so I says to Watts how she'd ort to had two names anyways,
+only I couldn't think of none but common ones when we give her hern. I
+says, we'll name her Microby Dandeline Watts an' Watts, he didn't care
+one way er t'other." Ma Watts shifted the baby to the other hip.
+"Babitizin' is nice, but hit works both ways, too. Take the baby,
+yere. When we'd got down to the bottom of the batch it come her turn,
+an', lawzie, I wus that flustered, comin' so sudden, thet way, I
+couldn't think of no name fer her 'cept Chattenoogy Tennessee, where I
+come from near, an' the very nex' day I wus readin' in the almanac an'
+I found one I liked better. Watts, he hain't no help to a body, he
+hain't no aggucation to speak of, an' don't never read none, an'
+would as soon I'd name his children John, like his ma done him. As I
+was sayin' there hit wus in the almanac the name 'twould of fitten the
+baby to a T. Vernal Esquimaux, hit said, March 21, 5:26 A.M. The baby
+was borned March the 21st, 'tween five an' six in the mornin'. Nex'
+time I wus to town I hunted up preacher Christie, but he said he
+couldn't onbabitize her, an' he reckoned Chatenoogy Tennessee wus as
+good as Vernal Esquimaux, anyhow, an' we could save Vernal Esquimaux
+fer the next one--jest's ef yo' could hev 'em like a time table!"
+
+The afternoon was assiduously devoted to overhauling the contents of a
+huge tin trunk in an effort to find a frock suitable for the momentous
+occasion of Microby Dandeline's journey. The one that had served for
+the previous visit, a tight little affair of pink gingham, proved
+entirely inadequate in its important dimensions, and automatically
+became the property of the younger and smaller Lillian Russell.
+Patty's suggestion of a simple white lawn that reposed upon the very
+bottom of the trunk was overruled in favor of a betucked and
+beflounced creation of red calico in which Ma Watts had beamed upon
+the gay panoply of the long remembered "circust." An hour's work with
+scissors and needle reduced the dress to approximately the required
+size. When the task was completed Watts appeared with the information
+that he reckoned the wagon would run, and that the "young-uns" were
+out in the hills hunting the "hosses."
+
+At early dawn the following morning Patty was awakened by a timid hand
+upon her shoulder.
+
+"Hit's daylight, an' Pa's hitchin' up the hosses." Arrayed in the red
+dress, her eyes round with excitement and anticipation, Microby
+Dandeline was bending over her whispering excitedly, "An' breakfus's
+ready, an' me an' Ma's got the lunch putten up, an' hit's a pow'ful
+long ways to town, an' we better git a-goin'."
+
+"Stay right clost an' don't go gittin' lost," admonished Ma watts, as
+she stood in the doorway and surveyed her daughter with approval born
+of motherly pride. The pink gingham sunbonnet that matched the tight
+little dress had required only a slight "letting out" to make it "do,"
+and taken in conjunction with the flaming red dress, made a study in
+color that would have delighted the heart of a Gros Ventre squaw.
+Thick, home-knit stockings, and a pair of stiff cow-hide shoes
+completed the costume, and made Microby Dandeline the center of an
+admiring semi-circle of Wattses.
+
+"Yo' shore look right pert an' briggity, darter," admitted Watts.
+"Don't yo' give the lady no trouble, keep offen the railroad car
+tracks, an' don't go talkin' to strangers yo' don't know, an' ef yo'
+see preacher Christie tell him howdy, an' how's he gittin' 'long, an'
+we're doin' the same, an' stop in nex' time he's out in the hills." He
+handed Patty the reins. "An' mom, yo' won't fergit them steeples, an'
+a ax, an' a spade?"
+
+"I won't forget," Patty assured him, and as Microby Dandeline was
+saying good-by to the small brothers and sisters, the man leaned
+closer. "Ef they's any change left over I wisht yo'd give her about
+ten cents to spend jest as she pleases."
+
+The girl nodded, and as Microby Dandeline scrambled up over the wheel
+and settled herself beside her upon the board that served as a seat,
+she called a cheery good-by, and clucked to the horses.
+
+The trail down Monte's Creek was a fearsome road that sidled
+dangerously along narrow rock ledges, and plunged by steep pitches
+into the creek bed and out again. Partly by sheer luck, partly by
+bits of really skillful driving, but mostly because the horses,
+themselves knew every foot of the tortuous trail, the descent of the
+creek was made without serious mishap. It was with a sigh of relief
+that Patty turned into the smoother trail that lead down through the
+canyon toward town. In comparison with the bumping and jolting of the
+springless lumber wagon, she realized that the saddle that had racked
+and tortured her upon her outward trip had been a thing of ease and
+comfort. Released from her post at the brake-rope, Microby Dandeline
+immediately proceeded to remove her shoes and stockings. Patty
+ventured remonstrance.
+
+"Hit's hot an' them stockin's scratches. 'Tain't no good to wear 'em
+in the summer, nohow, 'cept in town, an' I kin put 'em on when we git
+there. Why does folks wear 'em in town?"
+
+"Why, because it is nicer, and--and people couldn't very well go
+around barefooted."
+
+"I kin. I like to 'cept fer the prickly pears. Is they prickly pears
+in town?" Without waiting far a reply the girl chattered on, as she
+placed the offending stockings within her shoes and tossed them back
+upon the hay with which the wagon-box was filled. "I like to ride,
+don't you? We've got to ride all day an' then we'll git to town. We
+goin' to sleep in under the wagon?"
+
+"Certainly not! We will go to the hotel."
+
+"The hotel," breathed the girl, rapturously. "An' kin we eat there
+too?"
+
+"Yes, we will eat there, too."
+
+"An' kin I go to the store with yo'?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Patty's answers became shorter as her attention centered upon a
+horseman who was negotiating the descent of what looked like an
+impossibly steep ridge.
+
+"That's Buck!" exclaimed Microby Dandeline, as she followed the girl's
+gaze. The rider completed the descent of the ridge with an abrupt
+slide that obscured him in a cloud of dust from which he emerged to
+approach the trail at a swinging trot. Long before he was near enough
+for Patty to distinguish his features, she recognized him as her lone
+horseman of the hills. "If it is his intention to presume upon our
+chance meeting," she thought, "I'll----" The threat was unexpressed
+even in thought, but her lips tightened and she flushed hotly as she
+remembered how he had picked her up as though she had been a child and
+placed her in the saddle.
+
+"Who did you say he is?" she asked, with a glance toward the girl at
+her side.
+
+"He's Vil Holland, an' his hoss's name is Buck. I like him, only
+sometimes he chases me home."
+
+"Vil Holland!" she exclaimed aloud, and her lips pressed tighter. So
+this man was Vil Holland--_that_ Vil Holland, everybody called him.
+The man who had chased an inoffensive sheep herder from the range, and
+whose name stood for lawlessness in the hill country! So Aunt
+Rebecca's allusion to desperate characters had not been so
+far-fetched, after all. He looked the part. Patty's glance took in the
+vivid blue scarf with its fastening of polished buffalo horn, the huge
+revolver that swung in its holster, and the brown leather jug that
+dangled from the horn of his saddle.
+
+"Good-mornin'!" He drew up beside the trail, and the girl reined in
+her horses, flushing slightly as she did so--she had meant to drive
+past without speaking. She acknowledged the greeting with a formal
+bow. The man ignored the frigidity.
+
+"I see you found Watts's all right."
+
+"Yes, thank you."
+
+"Well, if there ain't Microby Dandeline! An' rigged out for who
+throw'd the chunk! Goin' to town to take in the picture show, an all
+the sights, I expect."
+
+"We're goin' to the _hotel_," explained the girl proudly.
+
+"My ain't that fine!"
+
+"I got a red dress."
+
+"Why so you have. Seein' you mentioned it, I can notice a shade of red
+to it. An' that bonnet just sets it off right. That'll make folks set
+up an' take notice, I'll bet."
+
+"I'm a-goin' to the store, too."
+
+"What do you think of that!" the man drew a half-dollar from his
+pockets. "Here, get you some candy an' take some home to the kids."
+
+Microby reached for the coin, but Patty drew back her arm.
+
+"Don't touch that!" she commanded sharply, then, with a withering look
+that encompassed both the man and his jug, she struck the horses with
+her whip and started down the trail.
+
+"I could of boughten some candies," complained Microby Dandeline.
+
+"I will buy you all the candy you want, but you must promise me never
+to take any money from men--and especially from that man."
+
+Microby glanced back wistfully, and as the wagon rumbled on her eyes
+closed and her head began to nod.
+
+"Why, child, you are sleepy!" exclaimed Patty, in surprise.
+
+"Yes, mom. I reckon I laid awake all night a-thinkin' about goin' to
+town."
+
+"If I were you I would lie down on the hay and take a nap."
+
+The girl eyed the hay longingly and shook her head. "I like to ride,"
+she objected, sleepily.
+
+"You will be riding just the same."
+
+"Yes but we might see somethin'. Onct we seen a nortymobile without no
+hosses an' hit squarked louder'n a settin' hen an' went faster'n what
+a hoss kin run."
+
+"You go to sleep and if there is anything to see I'll wake you up. If
+you don't sleep now you'll have to sleep when you get to town and I'm
+sure you don't want to do that."
+
+"No, mom. Mebbe ef I hurry up an' sleep fast they won't no
+nortymobiles come, but if they does, you wake me."
+
+"I will," promised Patty, and thus assured the girl curled up in the
+hay and in a moment was fast asleep.
+
+Hour after hour as the horses plodded along the interminable trail,
+Patty Sinclair sat upon the hard wooden seat, while her thoughts
+ranged from plans for locating her father's lost claim, to the
+arrangement of her cabin; and from Vil Holland to the welfare of the
+girl, a pathetic figure as she lay sprawled upon the hay, with her
+bare legs, and the gray dust settling thickly upon her red dress and
+vivid pink sunbonnet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+MONK BETHUNE
+
+    "When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be,
+    When the devil got well, the devil a monk was he."
+
+
+Pippin Larue chanted tipsily, as he strummed softly the strings of a
+muffled banjo. And Raoul Bethune, with the flush of liquor upon his
+pale cheeks, joined in the laugh that followed, and replenished his
+glass from the black bottle he had contrived to smuggle from the
+hospital stores when he had been returned to his room in the
+dormitory. And "Monk" Bethune he was solemnly rechristened by the
+half-dozen admiring satellites who had foregathered to celebrate his
+recovery from an illness. All this was long ago. Monk Bethune's
+dormitory life had terminated abruptly--for the good of the school,
+but the name had fastened itself upon him after the manner of names
+that fit. It followed him to far places, and certain red-coated
+policemen, who knew and respected his father, the Hudson Bay Company's
+old factor on Lake o' God's Wrath, hated him for what he had become.
+They knew him for an inveterate gambler who spent money freely and
+boasted openly of his winnings. He was soft of voice and mild of
+manner and aside from his passion for gambling, his conduct so far as
+was known was irreproachable. But, there were wise and knowing ones
+among the officers of the law, who deemed it worth their while to make
+careful and unobtrusive comparison between the man's winnings and his
+expenditures. These were the men who knew that certain Indians were
+being systematically supplied with whisky, and that there were certain
+horses in Canada whose brands, upon close inspection, showed signs of
+having been skillfully "doctored," and which bore unmistakable
+evidence of having come from the ranges to the southward of the
+international boundary.
+
+But, try as they might, no slightest circumstance of evidence could
+they unearth against Bethune, who was wont to disappear from his usual
+haunts for days and weeks at a time, to reappear smiling and
+debonaire, as unexpectedly as he had gone. Knowing that the men of the
+Mounted suspected him, he laughed at them openly. Once, upon a street
+in Regina, Corporal Downey lost his temper.
+
+"You'll make a mistake sometime, Monk, and then it will be our turn to
+laugh."
+
+"Oh-ho! So until I make a mistake, I am safe, eh? That is good news,
+Downey--good news! Skill and luck--luck and skill--the tools of the
+gamblers' trade! But, granted that sometime I shall make a
+mistake--shall lose for the moment, my skill; I shall still have my
+luck--and your mistakes. You are a good boy, Downey, but you'll be a
+glum one if you wait to laugh at my mistakes. If I were a chicken
+thief instead of a--gambler, I should fear you greatly."
+
+Downey recounted this jibe in the barracks, and the officers redoubled
+their vigilance, but the Indians still got their whisky, and new
+horses appeared from the southward.
+
+When Monk Bethune refused Ma Watts's invitation to dinner, and rode
+off down the creek followed by Lord Clendenning, the refusal did not
+meet the Englishman's unqualified approval, a fact that he was not
+slow in imparting when, a short time later, they made noonday camp at
+a little spring in the shelter of the hills.
+
+"I say, Monk, what's this bally important business we've got on hand?"
+he asked, as he adjusted a refractory hobble strap. "Seems to me you
+threw away an excellent opportunity."
+
+Bethune grinned. "Anything that involves the loss of a square meal, is
+a lost opportunity. You're too beefy, Clen, a couple of weeks on pilot
+bread and tea always does you good."
+
+"I was thinking more of the lady."
+
+"La, la, the ladies! A gay dog in your day--but, you've had your day.
+Forget 'em, Clen, you're fifty, and fat."
+
+"I'm forty-eight, and I weigh only fifteen stone as I stand,"
+corrected the Englishman solemnly. "But layin' your bloody jokes
+aside, this particular lady ought to be worth our while."
+
+Bethune nodded, as he scraped the burning ends of the little sticks
+closer about the teapot. "Yes, decidedly worth while, my dear Clen,
+and that's where the important business comes in. Those who live by
+their wits must use their wits or they will cease to live. I live by
+my wits, and you by your ability to follow out my directions. In the
+present instance, we had no plan. We could only have sat and talked,
+but talk is dangerous--when you have no plan. Even little mistakes are
+costly, and big ones are fatal. Let us go over the ground, now and
+check off our facts, and then we can lay our plans." As he talked,
+Bethune munched at his pilot bread, pausing at intervals for a swallow
+of scalding tea.
+
+"In the first place, we know that Rod Sinclair made a strike. And we
+know that he didn't file any claim. Why? Because he knew that people
+would guess he had made a strike, and that the minute he placed his
+location on record, there would be a stampede to stake the adjoining
+claims--and he was saving those claims for his friends."
+
+"His strike may be only a pocket," ventured Clendenning.
+
+"It is no pocket! Rod Sinclair was a mining man--he knows rock. If he
+had struck a pocket he would have staked and filed at once--and taken
+no chances. I tell you he went back East to let his friends in. The
+fool!"
+
+The Englishman finished his tea, rinsed out his tin cup in the spring,
+and filled his pipe. "And you think the girl has got the description?"
+
+Bethune shook his head. "No. A map, perhaps, or some photographs. If
+she had the description she would not have come alone. The friends of
+her father would have been with her, and they would have filed the
+minute they hit the country. It's either a map, or nothing but his
+word."
+
+"And in either case we've got a chance."
+
+"Yes," answered Bethune, viciously. "And this time we are not going to
+throw away our chance!" He glanced meaningly at the Englishman, who
+puffed contentedly at his pipe.
+
+"Sinclair was too shrewd to have carried anything of importance, and
+there would have been blood on our hands. As it is, we sleep good of
+nights."
+
+Bethune gave a shrug of impatience. "And the gold is still in the
+hills, and we are no nearer to it than we were last fall."
+
+"Yes, we are nearer. This girl will not be as shrewd as her father was
+in guarding the secret, if she has it. If she hasn't it our chance is
+as good as hers."
+
+"And so is Vil Holland's! He believes Sinclair made a strike, and now
+that Sinclair is out of the way, you may be sure he will leave no
+stone unturned to horn in on it. The gold is in these hills and I'm
+going to get it. If I can't get it one way, I will get it another."
+The quarter-breed glanced about him and unconsciously lowered his
+voice. "However, one could wish the girl had delayed her visit for a
+couple of weeks. A person slipped me the word he could handle about
+twenty head of horses."
+
+The Englishman's face lighted. "I thought so when you began to dicker
+with Watts for his pasture. We'll get him his bally horses, then. This
+horse game I like, it's a sportin' game, and so is the whisky runnin'.
+But I couldn't lay in the hills and shoot a man, cold blooded."
+
+"And you've never been a success," sneered Bethune. "You never had a
+dollar, except your remittance, until you threw in with me. And we'd
+have been rich now, if it hadn't been for you. I tell you I know
+Sinclair carried a map!"
+
+"If he had, we'll get it. And we can sleep good of nights!"
+
+"You're a fool, Clen, with your 'sleep good of nights!' I sleep good
+of nights, and I've--" he halted abruptly, and when he spoke again his
+words grated harsh. "I tell you this is a fang and claw existence--all
+life is fang and claw. The strong rip the flesh from the bones of the
+weak. And the rich rip their wealth from the clutch of a thousand
+poor. What a man has is his only so long as he can hold it. One man's
+gain is another man's loss, and that is life. And it makes no
+difference in the end whether it was got at the point of the pistol
+in defiance of law, or whether it was got within the law under the
+guise of business. And I don't need you to preach to me about what is
+wrong, either."
+
+The Englishman laughed. "I'm not preaching, Monk. Anyone engaged in
+the business we're in has got no call to preach."
+
+"We're no worse than most of the preachers. They peddle out, for
+money, what they don't believe."
+
+"Heigh-ho! What a good old world you've painted it! I hope you're
+right, and I'm not as bad as I think I am."
+
+Bethune interrupted, speaking rapidly in the outlining of a plan of
+procedure, and it was well toward the middle of the afternoon when the
+two saddled up and struck off into the hills in the direction of their
+camp.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Twilight had deepened to dusk as Patty Sinclair pulled her team to a
+standstill upon the rim of the bench and looked down upon the
+twinkling lights of the little town that straggled uncertainly along
+the sandy bank of the shallow river.
+
+"Hain't it grand lookin'?" breathed Microby Dandeline who sat
+decorously booted and stockinged upon the very edge of the board seat.
+"You wouldn't think they wus so many folks, less'n you seen 'em
+yers'f. Wisht I lived to town, an' I wisht they'd be a circust."
+
+Patty guided the horses down the trail that slanted into the valley
+and crossed the half-mile of "flats" whose wire fences and long,
+clean-cut irrigation ditches marked the passing of the cattle country.
+A billion mosquitoes filled the air with an unceasing low-pitched
+drone, and settled upon the horses in a close-fitting blanket of gray.
+The girls tried to fight off the stinging pests that attacked their
+faces and necks in whirring clouds. But they fought in vain and in
+vain they endeavored to urge the horses to a quickening of their pace,
+for impervious alike to the sting of the insects and the blows of the
+whip, the animals plodded along in the unvarying walk they had
+maintained since early morning.
+
+"This yere's the skeeter flats," imparted Microby, between slaps.
+"They hain't no skeeters in the mountains, mebbe it's too fer, an'
+mebbe they hain't 'nough folks fer 'em to bite out there, they's only
+us-uns an' a few more." As the girl talked the horses splashed into
+the shallow water of the ford and despite all effort to urge them
+forward, halted in mid-stream, and sucked greedily of the
+crystal-clear water. It seemed an hour before they moved on and
+assayed a leisurely ascent of the opposite bank. The air became
+pungent with the smell of smoke. They were in town, now, and as the
+wagon wheels sank deeply into the soft sand of the principal street,
+Patty noted that in front of the doors of most of the houses, slow
+fires were burning--fires that threw off a heavy, stifling smudge of
+smoke that spread lazily upon the motionless air and hung thick and
+low to the ground.
+
+"Skeeter smudges," explained Microby proud of being the purveyor of
+information, "towns has 'em, an' then the skeeters don't bite. Oh,
+look at the folks! Lest hurry up! They might be a fight! Las' time
+they wus a fight an' a breed cut a man Pap know'd an' the man got the
+breed down an' stomped on his face an' the marshal come an' sp'ilt
+hit, an' the man says if he'd of be'n let be he'd of et the breed up."
+
+"My, what a shame! And now you may never see a man eat a breed,
+whatever a breed is."
+
+"A breed's half a Injun." Microby was standing up on the seat at the
+imminent risk of her neck, peering over the heads of the crowd that
+thronged the sidewalk.
+
+"Sit down!" commanded Patty, sharply, as she noted the amused glances
+with which those on the outskirts of the crowd viewed the ridiculous
+figure in the red dress and the pink sunbonnet. "They are waiting for
+the movie to open.
+
+"Whut's a movie? Is hit like the circust? Kin I go?" The questions
+crowded each other, as the girl scrambled to her seat, her eyes were
+big with excitement.
+
+"Yes, to-morrow."
+
+"Looky, there's Buck!" Patty's eyes followed the pointing finger, and
+she frowned at sight of the rangy buckskin tied with half a dozen
+other horses to the hitching rail before the door of a saloon. It
+seemed as she glanced along the street that nearly every building in
+town was a saloon. Half a block farther on she drew to the sidewalk
+and stopped before the door of a two-story wooden building that
+flaunted across its front the words "MONTANA HOTEL." As Patty climbed
+stiffly to the sidewalk each separate joint and muscle shrieked its
+aching protest at the fifteen-hour ride in the springless, jolting
+wagon. Microby placed her foot upon the sideboard and jumped, her
+cow-hide boots thudding loudly upon the wooden planking.
+
+"Oughtn't you stay with the horses while I make the arrangements?"
+
+Microby shook her head in vigorous protest. "They-all hain't a-goin'
+nowheres less'n they has to. An' I want to go 'long."
+
+A thick-set man, collarless and coatless, who tilted back in his chair
+with his feet upon the window ledge, glanced up indifferently as they
+entered and crossed to the desk, and returned his gaze to the window,
+beyond which objects showed dimly in the gathering darkness. After a
+moment of awkward silence Patty addressed him. "Is the proprietor
+anywhere about?"
+
+"I'm him," grunted the man, without looking around.
+
+The girl's face flushed angrily. "I want a room and supper for two."
+
+"Nawthin' doin'. Full up."
+
+"Is there another hotel in this town?" she flashed angrily.
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you mean to say that there is no place where we can get
+accommodation for the night?"
+
+"That's about the size of it."
+
+"Can't we get anything to eat, either?" It was with difficulty Patty
+concealed her rage at the man's insolence. "If you knew how hungry we
+are--we've been driving since daylight with only a cold lunch for
+food." She did not add that the cold lunch had been so unappetizing
+she had not touched it.
+
+"Supper's over a couple hours, an' the help's gone out."
+
+"I'll pay you well if you can only manage to get us something--we're
+starved." The girl's rage increased as she noticed the gleam that
+lighted the heavy eyes. That, evidently was what he had been waiting
+for.
+
+"Well," he began, but she cut him short.
+
+"And a room, too."
+
+"I'm full up, I told you. The only way might be to pay someone to
+double up. An' with these here cowpunchers that comes high. I might--"
+The opening of the screen door drew all eyes toward the man who
+entered and stood just within the room. As Patty glanced at the
+soft-brimmed hat, the brilliant scarf, and noticed that the yellow
+lamplight glinted upon the tip of polished buffalo horn, and the ivory
+butt of the revolver, her lips tightened. But the man was not looking
+at her--seemed hardly aware of her presence. The burly proprietor
+smiled.
+
+"Hello, Vil. Somethin' I kin do fer you?"
+
+"Yes," answered the man. He spoke quietly, but there was that in his
+voice that caused the other to glance at him sharply. "You can stand
+up."
+
+The man complied without taking his eyes from the cowboy's face.
+
+"I happened to be goin' by an' thought I'd stop an' see if I could
+take the team over to the livery barn for my--neighbors, yonder. The
+door bein' open, I couldn't help hearin' what you said." He paused,
+and the proprietor grinned.
+
+"Business is business, an' a man's into it fer all he kin git."
+
+"I suppose that's so. I suppose it's good business to lie an' cheat
+women, an'----"
+
+"I hain't lied, an' I hain't cheated no one. An' what business is it
+of yourn if I did? All my rooms is full up, an' the help's all gone to
+the pitcher show."
+
+"An' there's about a dozen or so cowmen stoppin' here to-night--the
+ones you talked of payin' to double up--an' there ain't one of 'em
+that wouldn't be glad to double up, or go out an' sleep on the street
+if he couldn't get nowhere else to sleep, if you even whispered that
+there was a lady needed his room. The boys is right touchy when it
+comes to bein' lied about."
+
+The proprietor's face became suddenly serious. "Aw looky here, Vil, I
+didn't know these parties was friends of yourn. I'll see't they gits
+'em a room, an' I expect I kin dig 'em out some cold meat an'
+trimmin's. I was only kiddin'. Can't you take a joke?"
+
+"Yes, I can take a joke. I'm only kiddin', too--an' so'll the boys be,
+after I tell 'em----"
+
+"They hain't no use rilin' the boys up. I----"
+
+"An' about that supper," continued the cowboy, ignoring the protest,
+"I guess that cold meat'll keep over. What these ladies needs is a
+good hot supper. Plenty of ham _and_, hot Java, potatoes, an' whatever
+you got."
+
+"But the help's----"
+
+"Get it yourself, then. It ain't so long since you was runnin' a short
+order dump. You ain't forgot how to get up a quick feed, an' to give
+the devil his due, a pretty good one."
+
+The other started surlily toward the rear. "I'll do it, if----"
+
+"You won't do it _if_ nothin'. You'll do it--that's all. An' you'll
+do it at the regular price, too."
+
+"Say, who's runnin' this here _hotel_?"
+
+"You're runnin' it, an' I'm tellin you how," answered the tall
+hillman, without taking his eyes from the other's face.
+
+The man disappeared, muttering incoherently, and Vil Holland turned to
+the door.
+
+"I want to thank you," ventured Patty. "Evidently your word carries
+weight with mine host."
+
+"It better," replied the cowpuncher, dryly. "An' you're welcome. I'll
+take the team across to the livery barn." He spoke impersonally, with
+scarcely a glance in her direction, and as the screen door banged
+behind him the girl flushed, remembering her own rudeness upon the
+trail.
+
+"Lawless he may be, and he certainly looks and acts the part," she
+murmured to herself as the wagon rattled away from the sidewalk, "but
+his propensity for turning up at the right time and the right place is
+rapidly becoming a matter of habit." A door beside the desk stood
+ajar, and above it, Patty read the words "WASH ROOM." Pushing it open
+she glanced into the interior which was dimly lighted by a murky oil
+lamp that occupied a sagging bracket beside a distorted mirror. Two
+tin wash basins occupied a sink-like contrivance above which a single
+iron faucet protruded from the wall. Beside the faucet was tacked a
+broad piece of wrapping paper upon which were printed in a laborious
+scrawl the following appeals:
+
+             NOTISS
+
+Ples DoNT LEEv THE WaTTer RUN ITS hAN
+Pumpt.
+PLes DONT Waist THE ToWL.
+Kome AN BREsh AN TOOTH BResH IS INto
+THR Rak BESIDS THE MiRRoW.  PLeS PUT
+EM baCK.
+THes IS hoUSE RULes AN WANts TO be OBayD
+KINLY.
+
+                           F. RuMMEL, PROP.
+
+Removing the trail dust from their faces and hands, the girls returned
+to the office and after an interminable wait the proprietor appeared,
+red-faced and surly. "Grub's on, an' yer room'll be ready agin you've
+et," he growled, and waddled to his place at the window.
+
+A generous supply of ham and eggs, fried potatoes, bread and butter,
+and hot coffee awaited them in the dining-room, and it seemed to Patty
+that never before had food tasted so good. Twenty minutes later, when
+they returned to the office the landlord indicated the stairway with a
+jerk of his thumb. "First door to the right from the top of the
+stairs, lamp's lit, extry blankets in the closet, breakfast from five
+'till half-past-seven." The words rattled from his lips in a single
+breath as he sat staring into the outer darkness.
+
+"If Aunt Rebecca could see me, now," smiled Patty to herself, as she
+led the way up the uncarpeted stairs, with Microby Dandeline's
+cow-hide boots clattering noisily in her wake.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+SHEEP CAMP
+
+
+If Patty Sinclair had anticipated annoyance from the forced attention
+of her tall horseman of the hills, she was disappointed, for neither
+at meals, nor during the shopping tour that occupied the whole of the
+following day, nor yet upon the long homeward drive, did he appear.
+The return trip was slower and more monotonous even than the journey
+to town. The horses crawled along the interminable treeless trail with
+the heavily loaded wagon bumping and rattling in the choking cloud of
+its own dust.
+
+The expedition had been a disappointing one to Microby. The "pitcher
+show" did not compare in interest with the never forgotten "circust."
+There had been no "fight" to break the monotony of purchasing
+supplies. And they had encountered no "nortymobiles."
+
+Despite the fact that they had started from town at daylight,
+darkness overtook them at the canyon and it was with fear and
+misgiving that Patty contemplated the devious trail up Monte's Creek.
+The descent of this trail by daylight had taxed the girl's knowledge
+of horsemanship to the limit, and now to attempt its ascent with a
+heavily loaded wagon in the darkness--Microby Dandeline seemed to read
+her thoughts.
+
+"We-all cain't git up the crick, I don't reckon," she hazarded, but
+even as she spoke there was a flicker of light flashed through the
+darkness and, lantern in hand, Watts rose from his comfortable seat in
+a niche of rock near the fork of the trail and greeted them with his
+kindly drawl. "I 'lowed yo' all ort to be 'long d'rec'ly. I'll take
+'em now, Miss; the trail's kind of roughish like, but ef yo'll jist
+take the lantern an' foller 'long ahead I reckon we'll make hit all
+right. I've druv hit afore in the dark, an' no lantern, neither."
+Taking turns with the lantern, the girls led the way, and an hour and
+a half later halted before the door of the Watts cabin, where they
+became the center of an admiring group of young Wattses who munched
+their candy soberly as they gazed in reverent awe at the homing
+argonauts.
+
+The three mile walk up the rough trail did wonders for Patty's
+stiffened muscles, and it was with a feeling of agreeable surprise
+that she rose from her shake-down the following morning with scarcely
+an ache or a pain in her body.
+
+"Yer gittin' bruk in to hit," smiled Ma Watts, approvingly, as the
+girl sat down to her belated breakfast. But the surprise at her fit
+condition was nothing to the surprise of Ma Watts's next words. "Pa,
+he taken yer stuff on up to the sheep camp. He 'lowed yo'd want to git
+settled like. They taken yer pa's outfit along, too, an' when they git
+yo' onloaded they're a-goin' to work on the upper pasture fence. When
+Pa gits sot on a thing he goes right ahead an' does hit. Some thinks
+he's lazy, but hit hain't thet. He's easy goin'--all the Wattses
+wus--but when they git sot on a thing all kingdom come cain't stop 'em
+a-doin' hit. Trouble with Pa is he's got sot on settin'." Ma Watts
+talked on and on, and at the conclusion of the meal Patty drew a bill
+from her purse. But the woman would have none of it. "No siree, we-all
+hain't a-runnin' no _hotel_. Folks is welcome to come when they like
+an' stay as long as they want to, an' we're glad to hev 'em. Yer
+cayuse is a-waitin' out yender. The boys saddled him up fer yo'. Come
+down an' take pot luck whenever yo're a mind. Microby Dandeline, she
+ketched up Gee Dot an' went a-taggin' 'long fer to help yo' git
+settled. Ef she gits in the way jist send her home. Foller up the
+crick," she called, as Patty mounted her horse. "Yo' cain't miss the
+sheep camp, hit's about a mild 'bove the upper pasture."
+
+Watts and the boys were just finishing the unloading of her supplies
+when Patty slipped from her horse and surveyed the little cabin with
+its dark background of pines.
+
+"Hit hain't so big as some," apologized the man, as he climbed into
+the wagon and gathered up the reins. "But the chinkin's tol'ble, an'
+the roof's middlin' tight 'cept a couple places wher' it leaks."
+
+The girl's glance strayed from the little log building to the untidy
+litter of rusty tin cans and broken bottles that ornamented its
+dooryard, and the warped and broken panels of the abandoned corral
+that showed upon the weed-choked flat across the creek. Stepping to
+the door, she peered into the interior where Microby was industriously
+sweeping the musty hay from the bunk with the brand-new broom. Thumbed
+and torn magazines littered the floor, a few discarded garments hung
+dejectedly from nails driven into the wall, while from the sagging
+door of the rough board cupboard bulged a miscellaneous collection of
+rubbish. A sense of depression obsessed her; _this_ was to be her
+home! She sneezed and drew back hastily from the cloud of dust raised
+by Microby's broom. As she dabbed at her eyes and nose with a small
+and ridiculously inadequate handkerchief, she was conscious of an
+uncomfortable lump in her throat, and the moisture that dampened the
+handkerchief could not all be accredited to the sneeze tears. "What if
+I have trouble locating the mine and have to stay here all summer?"
+she was thinking, and instantly recalling the Watts ranch with its air
+of shiftless decay, the smelly Watts blankets in the overcrowded
+sleeping room, the soggy meals, the tapping of chickens' bills upon
+the floor, and the never ending voice of Ma Watts, she smiled. It was
+a weak, forced little smile, at first, but it gradually widened into a
+real smile as her eyes swept the little valley with its long vista of
+pine-clad hills that reached upward to the sky, their mighty sides and
+shoulders gored by innumerable rock-rimmed coulees and ravines.
+Somewhere amid the silence of those mighty slopes and high-flung peaks
+her father had found Eldorado--had wrested nature's secret from the
+guardianship of the everlasting hills. Her heart swelled with the
+pride of him. She was ashamed of that sudden welling of tears. The
+feeling of depression vanished and her heart throbbed to the lure of
+the land of gold. The two small Wattses had scrambled into the
+wagon-box.
+
+"Yo' goin' to like hit," announced Watts, noticing the smile. "I
+'lowed, fust-off yo'----"
+
+"I'm going to _love_ it!" interrupted the girl vehemently. "My father
+loved these hills, and I shall love them. And, as for the cabin! When
+Microby and I get through with it, it's going to be the dearest little
+place imaginable."
+
+"Hit wus a good sheep camp," admitted Watts, his fingers fumbling
+judiciously at his head. "An' they's a heap o' good feed goin' to
+waste in this yere valley. But ef the cattlemen wants to pay fer what
+they hain't gittin' hit hain't none o' my business, I reckon."
+
+"Why did they drive the sheep out? Surely, there is room for all here
+in the hills."
+
+"Vil Holland, he claimed they cain't no sheeps stay in the hill
+country. He claims sheeps is like small-poxt. Onct they git a-goin'
+they spread, an' like's not, the hull country's ruint fer cattle
+range."
+
+"It seems that Vil Holland runs this little corner of Montana."
+
+"He kind o' looks after things fer the cattlemen, but the prospectin's
+got into his blood, an' he won't stick to the cattle, only on the
+round-up, 'til he gits him a grub-stake. He's a good man--Vil is--ef
+it wusn't fer foolin' 'round with the prospectin'."
+
+Instantly, the girl's eyes flashed. "If it wasn't for the
+prospecting!" she exclaimed, in sudden anger. "My father was a
+prospector--and there was never a better man lived than he! Why is it
+that everyone looks askance at a prospector? You talk like the people
+back home! But, I'll show you all. My father made a strike. He told me
+of it on his death-bed, and he gave me the map, and the photographs
+and his samples. Maybe when I locate this mine and begin taking out
+more gold every day than most of you ever saw, you won't talk of
+people 'fooling around' prospecting. I tell you prospectors are the
+finest men in the world! They must have imagination, and unending
+patience, and the heart to withstand a thousand disappointments--" She
+broke off suddenly as the soft rattle of bit-chains sounded from
+behind her, and whirled to face Vil Holland. The man regarded her
+gravely, unsmiling. A gauntleted hand raised the Stetson from his
+head. As her eyes took in every detail, from the inevitable leather
+jug, to the tip of polished buffalo horn, she flushed. How long had he
+stood there, listening?
+
+The cowpuncher seemed to divine her thoughts. "I just happened along,"
+he said regarding her with his steady blue eyes. "I couldn't help
+hearin' what you said about the prospectors. You're right in the
+main."
+
+"I was speaking of my father. I am Rodney Sinclair's daughter."
+
+The man nodded. "Yes, I know."
+
+Watts rubbed his chin apologetically. "We-all thought a right smart o'
+yo' pa, didn't we, Vil? I didn't aim to rile yo'."
+
+"I know you didn't!" the girl smiled. "And thank you so much for
+bringing my things up so early." She turned to the cowboy who sat
+regarding the outfit indifferently. "I hope you'll overlook my lack of
+hospitality, but really I must get to work and help Microby or she'll
+have the whole house cleaned before I get started."
+
+"I saw the team here, an' thought I'd swing down to find out if Watts
+was movin' in another sheep outfit."
+
+"I've heard about your driving away the sheep man," returned Patty,
+with more than a trace of sarcasm in her tone. "I am moving into this
+cabin--am taking up my father's work where he left off. I suppose I
+should ask your permission to prospect in the hill country."
+
+"No," replied the man, gravely. "Just help yourself, only don't get
+lost, an' remember yer dad knew enough to play a lone hand. I must be
+goin', now. Good day." He turned his horse to see Microby standing in
+the doorway. "Hello, Microby Dandeline! House cleanin', eh? I s'pect
+you took in the picture show in town?"
+
+"Yes, but circusts is better. I got some yallar ribbon fer my hat, an'
+a awful lot o' candies."
+
+"My, that's fine! How's ma an' the baby?"
+
+"They stayed hum. The baby'd squall. Pa an' the boys is goin' to mend
+fence, an' I'm a-goin' to stay yere an' he'p her clean up the sheep
+camp."
+
+The cowpuncher turned to Watts. "What's the big hurry about the
+fences, Watts? You goin' to take over a bunch of stock?"
+
+"Hosses," answered Watts with an important jerk at his scraggly beard.
+"I done rented the upper pasture to a man name o' Schultz over in
+Blackfoot country. Five dollars a month, I git fer hit, an' five
+dollars fer every day er night they's hosses in hit. He done paid two
+months' rent a'ready."
+
+Vil Holland's brows puckered slightly. "Schultz, you say? Over in the
+Blackfoot country?"
+
+"Yas, he's aimin' to trail hosses from there over into Canady an' he
+wants some pastures handy."
+
+"Did Schultz see you about it himself?" asked Vil, casually.
+
+"No, Monk Bethune; he come by this way, an' he taken the pasture for
+Schultz."
+
+Patty noted an almost imperceptible narrowing of the cowpuncher's
+eyes, an expression, slight as it was, that spoke disapproval. The
+man's attitude angered her. Here was poor Watts, about to undertake
+the first work he had done in years, judging by the condition of the
+ranch, under stimulus of the few dollars promised him by Bethune, and
+this cowboy disapproved. "Are horses under the ban, too?" she asked
+quickly. "Hasn't Mr. Watts the right to rent his land for a horse
+pasture?"
+
+The man's answer seemed studiously rude in its direct brevity. "No,
+horses ain't under the ban. Yes, Watts can rent his land where he
+wants to. Good day." Before the girl could reply he reined his horse
+abruptly about, and disappeared in the timber upon the opposite side
+of the creek.
+
+"Reckon I better be gittin' 'long, too," said Watts. "Microby's
+welcome to stay an' he'p yo'-all git moved in, but please mom, to
+see't she gits started fer hum 'fore dark. Hit takes thet ol' pinto
+'bout a hour to make the trip."
+
+Patty promised, and unsaddling, picketed her horse, and joined the
+girl in the dusty interior of the cabin. The musty hay, the discarded
+garments, and the two bushels or more of odds and ends with which the
+pack rats had filled the cupboard made a smudgy, smelly bonfire beside
+which Patty paused with an armful of discarded magazines. "Wouldn't
+you like to take these home?" she asked.
+
+"Which?" inquired Microby, deftly picking a small stick from the
+ground with her bare toes and tossing it into the fire.
+
+"These magazines. There are stories and pictures in them."
+
+"No, I don't want none. We-alls cain't read, 'cept Ma, an' she's got a
+book--an' a bible, too," she added, with a touch of pride. "Davey, he
+kin mos' read, an' he kin drawer pitchers, too. Reckon he'll be a
+preacher when he's grow'd up, like Preacher Christie. He done read
+outen a book when he babitized us-uns. I don't like to read. Ma, she
+aimed to learn me onct, but I'd ruther shuck beans."
+
+"Maybe you didn't keep at it long enough," suggested Patty.
+
+"Yes, we did! We kep' at hit every night fer two nights 'til hit come
+bedtime. I cain't learn them letters--they's too many diffe'nt ones,
+an' all mixed up."
+
+Patty smiled, but she did not toss the magazines into the fire.
+Instead she laid them aside with the resolve that when opportunity
+afforded, she would carry on the interrupted education.
+
+Microby's literary delinquency in no wise impaired her willingness to
+work. She had inherited none of her father's predilection toward
+eternal rest, and all day, side by side with Patty, she scraped, and
+scoured, and scrubbed, and washed, until the little cabin and its
+contents fairly radiated cleanliness. The moving in was great fun for
+the mountain girl. Especially the unpacking of the two trunks that
+resisted all efforts to lift them until their contents had been
+removed. But at last the work was finished even to the arrangement of
+dishes and utensils, the stowing of supplies, and the blowing up of
+the air mattress that replaced the musty hay of the sheep herder. And
+as the long shadows of mountains crept slowly across the little valley
+and began to climb the opposite slope, Patty stood in the door of her
+cabin and watched Microby mount the superannuated Indian pony and
+proceed slowly down the creek, her bare feet swinging awkwardly in the
+loops of rope that served as stirrups of her dilapidated stock saddle.
+
+When horse and rider disappeared into a grove of cottonwoods, Patty's
+gaze returned to her immediate surroundings--her saddle-horse
+contentedly snipping grass, the waters of the shallow creek burbling
+noisily over the stones, the untidy scattering of tin cans, and the
+leaning panels of the old sheep corral. She frowned at the panels.
+"I'll just use you for firewood," she muttered. "And that reminds me
+that I've got to wake up to my responsibility as head of the
+household--even if the household does only consist of one bay cayuse,
+named Dan, and a tiny one-room cabin, and two funny little
+squirrel-tailed pack rats, and me." She reached for her brand new ax,
+and picking her way from stone to stone, crossed the creek, and
+attacked a sagging panel.
+
+Patty Sinclair was no hot-house flower, and the hand that gripped the
+ax was strong and brown and capable. Back home she had been known to
+the society reporters as "an out-door girl," by which it was
+understood that rather than afternoon auction at henfests, she
+affected tennis, golf, swimming, and cross-country riding. She could
+saddle her own horse, and paddle a canoe for hours on end. Even the ax
+was no stranger to her hand, for upon rare occasions when her father
+had returned during the summer months from his everlasting
+prospecting, he had taken her to camp in the mountains, and there from
+the quiet visionary whom she loved more than he ever knew, she learned
+the ax, and the compass, and a hundred tricks of camp lore that were
+to stand her well in hand. Partly inherited, partly acquired through
+association with her father upon those never-to-be-forgotten
+pilgrimages to the shrine of nature, her love of the vast solitudes
+shone from her uplifted eyes as she stood for a moment, ax in hand,
+and let her gaze travel slowly from the sun-gilded peaks of the
+mountains, down their darkening sides, to the dusk-enshrouded reaches
+of her valley. "He used to watch the sun go down, and he never wearied
+at the wonder of it," she breathed, softly. "And then, as the darkness
+deepened and the bull-bats came wheeling overhead, and the
+whip-poor-wills began calling from the thickets, he would light his
+pipe, and I would cuddle up close to him, and the firelight would grow
+redder and brighter and the soft warm dark would grow blacker. The
+pine trees would lose their shapes and blend into the formless night
+and mysterious shadow shapes would dance to the flicker of the little
+flames. It was then he would talk of the things he loved; of quartz,
+and drift, and the mother lode; of storms, and bears, and the scent of
+pines; of reeking craters, parched deserts, ice-locked barrens, and
+the wind-lashed waters of lakes. 'And some day, little daughter,' he
+would say, 'some day you are going with daddy and see all these things
+for yourself--things whose grandeur you have never dreamed. It won't
+be long, now--I'm on the right track at last--only till I've made my
+strike.' Always--'it won't be long now.' Always--'I'm on the right
+track, at last.' Always--'just ahead is the strike'--that lure, that
+mocking chimera that saps men's lives! And now, he is--gone, and I am
+chasing the chimera." Salt tears stung her eyes and blurred the
+timbered slopes. "They said he was a--a ne'er-do-well. He became
+almost a joke--" the words ended in a dry sob, as the bright blade of
+the ax crashed viciously into the rotting panel. A few moments later
+she picked up an armful of wood, and retracing her steps, piled it
+neatly behind the stove. She lighted the fire, fetched a pail of water
+from the spring, and moved the picketed cayuse to a spot beside the
+creek where the grass was green and lush. She had intended after
+supper to study her map and familiarize herself with the two small
+photographs that were pinned to it. But, when the meal was over and
+the dishes washed and put away she was too sleepy to do anything but
+drop the huge wooden bar that the sheep herder had contrived to insure
+himself against a possible night attack from his enemies into its
+place and crawl into her bunk. How good it felt, she thought,
+sleepily--the yielding air mattress, and the soft, clean blankets,
+after the straw tick on the floor, and the course sour blankets in the
+Wattses' stuffy room.
+
+Somewhere, way off in the hills, a wolf howled and almost before the
+sound had died away the girl was asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+BETHUNE PAYS A CALL
+
+
+It was past noon when Patty sank into the chair beside her table and
+glanced about her with a sigh of satisfaction. Warm June sunlight
+streamed through the open door and lay in a bright oblique patch upon
+the scrubbed floor. The girl's glance strayed past the door and rested
+with approval upon the little flat across the creek where a neat pile
+of panels replaced the broken sheep corral. She had spent hours in
+untwisting the baling wire with which they had been fastened to the
+posts and dragging them to the pile, and other hours in chopping a
+supply of firewood, and picking up the cans and broken bottles and
+pitching them into the deep ravine of a side coulee. Also she had
+built a little reservoir of rocks about her spring, and had found time
+to add a few touches to the interior of the cabin. "It's just as homey
+and cozy as it can be," she murmured, as her eyes strayed from the
+little window where the colored chintz curtain stirred lightly in the
+breeze, to the neatly arranged "dressing table" that she had contrived
+with the aid of four light packing boxes and a bit of figured
+cretonne. Another packing case, covered to match, served as a stool,
+and upon the wall above the table hung a small mirror. Four or five
+prints, looking oddly out of place, hung upon the dark log
+walls--pictures that had always hung in her room at Aunt Rebecca's,
+and which she had managed to crowd into one of the trunks. A fond
+imagination had pictured them adorning the walls of her "apartment"
+which was to be located in a spacious wing of the great Watts ranch
+house. "I don't care, I'm glad there wasn't any big ranch house," she
+muttered. "It's lots nicer this way, and I'm absolutely independent.
+We prospectors can't hope to be regular in our habits--and I've always
+wanted a house of my very own. Ten times better!" she exclaimed
+vehemently. "There won't be anybody to ask me every day or two if I've
+made my strike yet? And how much gold I brought back to-day? And all
+the other fool questions that seem so humorous to questioners and
+hearers, but which hurt and sting and rankle when you're sick at heart
+with disappointment, and gritting your teeth to keep up your courage
+and your belief in yourself. Oh I know! Daddy didn't know I knew, but
+I did--how it hurt when the village wits would slyly wink at each
+other as they asked their cruel questions. Even when I was a little
+girl I knew, and I could have _killed_ them!" Her glance rested upon
+the canvas covered pack that lay in the corner at the foot of the
+bunk. "There are his things--his outfit, they call it here. I'm going
+to examine it." The sack of stiff oiled canvas, with its contents, was
+heavy, but the girl dragged it to the middle of the floor and
+squatting beside it, stared in dismay at the stout padlock and the
+chain that threaded a set of grommets. She was about to search for the
+key among the contents of her father's pockets which she had placed in
+the tray of her trunk, when her eye fell upon a thin slit close along
+the edge of the hem that held the grommets--a slit that, pulled wide,
+disclosed an aperture through which the contents of the sack could be
+easily removed but withal so cunningly contrived as to escape casual
+inspection. With an angry exclamation the girl stared at the gaping
+hole. "Someone has cut it!" she cried. "He doesn't seem to have taken
+much, though. It's about as full as it can be." She began hurriedly
+to remove the contents, piling them about her upon the floor. "I
+wonder if--if he left any papers, or note books, or maps, or things
+that would enable anyone to locate the claim? If he did," she
+muttered, peering into the empty sack, "they're gone, now."
+
+One by one, she returned the belongings, handling them tenderly, now,
+and examining them lovingly, and many an article was returned to the
+sack, wet with its splash of hot tears. "Here's his coffee pot, and
+his plate, and frying pan, and his old pipe--" the pipe she did not
+replace, but put it with the other things in her trunk. "And
+here--why, it's a revolver and a belt of cartridges--like Vil
+Holland's! And a hat like his, too! And I thought he was a desperado
+because he wore them!" She jumped to her feet and, hurrying to the
+mirror, tried on the hat, pinching the crown into a peak, tilting it
+this way and that, and arranging and rearranging the soft roll brim.
+"It fits!" she cried, delighted as a child, and then with eyes
+sparkling, picked up the belt with its row of yellow cartridges and
+its ivory handled six gun dangling in the holster. Buckling the belt
+about her waist, she laughed aloud as the buckle tongue came to rest a
+full six inches beyond the last hole. "I'll look just as desperate as
+he does, now--except for his old jug. Daddy didn't have any jug, and
+I'm glad--that's where the difference is--it's the jug. But, I wish he
+had had one of those black horn effects for his scarf." She knotted
+the brilliant red scarf with its zigzag border of yellow, about her
+neck, and snatching a small pair of scissors from the dressing table,
+removed the heavy belt, and proceeded to bore a tongue hole at the
+point she had marked with her finger nail. So engrossed she became in
+the work, that she failed to hear the approach of horses' feet, and
+started violently at the sound of a voice from the doorway. "Permit
+me." The six shooter thudded to the floor, and sweeping the hat from
+his head, Monk Bethune crossed the room, and replaced it upon the
+table. He smiled as he noticed the scar left upon the thick leather by
+the scissor points; and repeated. "Permit me, please." He drew a
+penknife from his pocket, and picked up the belt. "A knife is so much
+better."
+
+Ashamed of having been startled, Patty smiled. "Yes, please do. I had
+no idea it was so tough, or that scissors could be so dull."
+
+Deftly twirling the penknife, Bethune bored a neat hole in the
+leather. "There should be several holes," he smiled, "for there are
+occasions in the hill country when one fails to connect with the
+commissary, and then it is that the tightening of the belt answers the
+purpose of a meal." Drilling as he talked, he soon finished the task
+and held up the belt for inspection. "Rod Sinclair's gun," he
+commented, sorrowfully. "And Rod's scarf, and hat, too. Ah, there was
+a man, Miss Sinclair! I doubt if even you yourself knew him as I knew
+him. You must ride and work with a man, in fair weather and foul; you
+must share his hardships, and his disappointments, yes and his joys,
+too, to really know him." A look of genuine affection shone from the
+man's eyes as he stood drawing his fingers gently along the rims of
+the shiny cartridges. He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to
+the girl. His manner, the look in his eyes, the very tone of his
+voice, were so intrinsically honest in their expression of unbounded
+sympathy with his subject, and his mood fitted so thoroughly with her
+own, that the girl's heart suddenly warmed toward this man who spoke
+so feelingly of her father. She flushed slightly as she remembered
+that upon the occasion of their previous meeting, his words had
+engendered a feeling of distrust.
+
+"You knew him--well?" she asked.
+
+"Like a brother. For two years we have worked together in our search
+for the mother lode that both believed lay concealed deep within the
+bosom of these hills. A dozen times during those two years our hopes
+have risen, as only the hopes can rise, of those who seek gold. A
+dozen times it seemed certain that at last we had reached our goal.
+But, always it was the same--a false lead--shattered hopes--and a
+fresh start. Those were the times, Miss Sinclair, that your father
+showed the stuff that was in him. He was a better man than I. It was
+his Spartan acceptance of disappointment, his optimism, and his
+unshaken faith in ultimate success, that kept me going. I suppose it
+is my French ancestry that is responsible for my lack of just the
+qualities that made your father the man he was. I lacked his
+stability--his balance. I had imagination--vision, possibly greater
+than his. And under the stimulus of apparent success, my spirits would
+rise to heights his never knew. But I paid for it--no one knows how
+bitterly I paid. For when apparent success turned into failure, mine
+were depths of despair he never descended to. At first, before I
+learned that his disappointment was as bitter as my own, his smiling
+acceptance of failure, used to goad me to fury. There were times I
+could have killed him with pleasure--but that was only at first.
+Before we had been long together God knows how I came to depend on
+those smiles. Then, at last, we struck it--and poor Rod--" The man's
+voice which had dropped very low, broke suddenly. He cleared his
+throat and turning abruptly, stared out the door toward the green
+sweep of pines on the mountain slopes.
+
+There was a long silence during which the words kept repeating
+themselves in the girl's brain. "_Then, at last, we struck it._" What
+did he mean? His back was toward her, and she saw that the muscles of
+his neck worked slowly, as though he were swallowing repeatedly.
+
+When at last she spoke, her voice sounded strangely dull to her own
+ears. "Do you mean that you and my father were partners, and that you
+know the location of his mine?"
+
+Bethune faced her, laying the belt gently upon the table. "Partners?"
+He repeated the word as though questioning himself. "Hardly partners,
+I should say. We were--it is hard to define the exact relationship
+that existed between Rod Sinclair and me. There was never any
+agreement of partnership, rather a sort of tacit understanding, that
+when we struck the lode, we should work it together. Your father knew
+vastly more about rock than I, although I had long suspected the
+existence of this lode. But extensive interests to the northward
+prevented me from making any continued search for it. However, I found
+time at intervals to spend a month or six weeks in these hills, and it
+was upon one of these occasions that we struck up the acquaintance
+that ripened into a sort of mutuality of interest. Neighbors are few
+and far between in the hill country, and those not exactly of the type
+that attract men of education. I think each found in the other a man
+of his own stripe, and thus a friendship sprang up between us that
+gradually led to a merging of interests. His were by far the most
+valuable activities in the field, while I, from time to time, advanced
+certain funds for the carrying on of the work.
+
+"But let us not talk of business matters. Time enough for that." He
+stepped to the doorway and glanced down the creek. "Here comes Clen
+and we must be going. While he stopped at Watts's to reset a shoe I
+rode on to inquire if there is any way in which I may serve the
+daughter of my friend.
+
+"Oh-ho! I see Clen is carrying something very gingerly. He has
+prevailed upon the good Mrs. Watts to sell him some eggs. A great
+gourmand--but a good fellow at heart. I think a great deal of Clen,
+even though it was he who----"
+
+"But tell me, before you go," interrupted the girl. "Do you know the
+location of my father's mine?"
+
+Bethune turned from the door, smiling. Patty noticed with surprise
+that the dark, handsome features looked almost boyish when he smiled.
+There had been no hint of boyishness before, in fact something of
+baffling inscrutability in the black eyes, gave the man an expression
+of extreme sophistication. "Do not call it a mine," he laughed. "At
+least, not yet. A mine is a going proposition. If your father actually
+succeeded in locating the lode, it is a strike. Had he filed, it would
+be a claim. Had he started operation it would be a proposition--but
+not until there is ore on the dump will it be a mine."
+
+"If he actually succeeded!" cried Patty. "I thought you said----"
+
+The man interrupted with a wave of the hand. "So I did, for I believe
+he did succeed. In fact, knowing Rod Sinclair as I did, I am certain
+of it."
+
+"But the location of the--the strike," she persisted, "do you know
+it?"
+
+Bethune shook his head sadly. "Had your father filed the claim, all
+would have been well. But, who am I to question Rod's judgment? For on
+the other hand, if he had filed, word of the strike would have spread
+broadcast, and the whole hill country would immediately have been
+overrun by stampeders--those vultures that can scent a gold strike for
+five thousand miles. No one knows where they come from, and no one
+knows where they go. It was to guard our secret from these that
+prompted your father not to file. We had planned to establish our
+friends on the adjoining claims, and thus build up a syndicate of our
+own choosing. So he did not file, but it was through no fault of his
+that I remain ignorant of the location, but rather it was the result
+of a combination of unforeseen circumstances. You shall judge for
+yourself.
+
+"I was deep in the wilds of British Columbia, upon another matter,
+when Rod unearthed the lode, and, not knowing this, he hastened at
+once to my camp. He found Clen there and after expressing
+disappointment at my absence, sat down and hurriedly sketched a map,
+and taking from his pocket a photograph, he wrapped both in a piece
+of oilskin, and handed them to Clen, with instructions to travel night
+and day until he had delivered the packet to me. He told him that he
+had located the lode and was hurrying East to procure the necessary
+capital and would return in the early spring for immediate operation."
+Bethune paused and, with his eyes upon the Englishman who was
+dismounting, continued:
+
+"Poor Clen! He did his best, and I do not hold his failure against
+him, for his was a journey of hardship and peril such as few men could
+have survived. Upon receiving the packet he started within the hour.
+That night he camped at the line, and that night, too, came the first
+snow of the season. He labored on next day to the railway and took a
+train to Edmonton, and from there, to Fort George, where he succeeded
+in procuring an Indian guide for the dash into the wilderness beyond
+the railway. The early months of last winter were among the most
+terrible in the history of the North. Storm after storm hurtled out of
+the Arctic, and between storms the bitter winds from the barrens to
+the eastward roared with unabated fury. Yet Clen and his guide pushed
+on, fighting the cold and the snow. Up over the Height of Land, to the
+Hudson Bay Post at the head of the Parsnip, where I was making my
+headquarters, and where I had lain snowbound for ten days. It was
+during the descent of Crooked River, a quick water, treacherous
+stream, whose thin ice was covered with snow, that the accident
+happened that cost me the loss of the location, and nearly cost Clen
+his life. The Indian guide was mushing before, bent low with the
+weight of his pack, and head lowered to the sweep of the wind. Clen
+followed. At the head of a newly frozen rapid, the Englishman suddenly
+broke through and was plunged into the icy waters. Grasping the ice,
+he managed to draw himself up so that his elbows rested upon the edge,
+and in this position he called again and again to the guide. But the
+Indian was far ahead, his ears were muffled in his fur cap, and the
+wind roared through the scrub, drowning Clen's voice. The icy waters
+numbed him and sucked at his body seeking to drag him to his doom. The
+heavy pack was dragging him slowly backward, and his hold upon the ice
+was slipping. Then, and not until then, Clen did what any other man
+who possessed the strength, would have done. He worked the knife from
+his belt and cut the straps of his pack sack. In an instant it
+disappeared beneath the ice, and with it the location of your
+father's strike. Relieved of the weight upon his shoulders, Clen had a
+fighting chance for his life, but it is doubtful if he would have won
+had it not been that the Indian, missing him at last, returned in the
+nick of time, and with the aid of a loop of _babiche_, succeeded in
+drawing him from the water. The rest of the day was spent in drying
+Clen's clothing beside a miserable fire of brushwood, and the next day
+they made Fort McLeod, more dead than alive."
+
+"Lord" Clendenning had dismounted, deposited his precious basket of
+eggs upon the ground, and stood in the doorway as Bethune concluded
+his narrative. When the man ceased speaking the Englishman shook his
+head sadly. "Yes, yes, it seemed to me then, as I clung to the edge of
+the bloomin' ice, freezin' from my feet up, that my only chance was in
+bein' rid of the pack. But, I've thought since that maybe if I'd held
+on just a few minutes longer, the bloody Injun would have got there in
+time to save both me an' the pack to boot."
+
+"There you go again!" exclaimed Bethune, with a trace of impatience in
+his voice. "How many times have I told you to quit this
+self-accusation. A man who covered fifty miles on horseback, seven
+hundred on the train, and then nearly a hundred a-foot, under
+conditions such as you faced, has nothing to be ashamed of in the
+failure of his mission. It is your loss as well as mine, for you also
+were to have profited by the strike. It is possible, however, that all
+will be well--that Miss Sinclair has her father's original map, and a
+duplicate of the photograph, or better yet, the film from which the
+print was made."
+
+Pausing he glanced at the girl significantly, but she was gazing past
+him--past Clendenning, her eyes upon the giant up-sweep of the hills.
+He hurried on, "So now you have the whole story. I had not meant to
+speak of it, to-day. Really, we must be going. If I can be of service
+to you in any way, Miss Sinclair, I am yours to command. We will drop
+in again, after you have had time to get used to your surroundings,
+and lay our plans for the rediscovery of the mother lode." Smiling he
+pointed to the canvas bag upon the floor. "Your father's pack sack,"
+he said. "I should know it in a thousand. He devised it himself. It is
+a clever combination of the virtues of several of the standard packs,
+and an elimination of the evils of all." He stooped closer. "What's
+this? You should not have cut it! Couldn't you find the key? If not,
+it would have been a simple matter to file a link of the chain, and
+leave the sack undamaged." He laughed, shortly. "But, that, I suppose,
+is a woman's way."
+
+"I did not cut it. It was cut before it came here. My father left it
+in Mr. Watts's care and he stored it in the barn. Look at the edges,
+it is an old cut."
+
+"So it is!" exclaimed Bethune, as he and Lord Clendenning bent close
+to examine it. "So it is. I wonder who--" Suddenly he ceased speaking,
+and stood for a moment with puckered brows. "I wonder," he muttered.
+"I wonder if he would have dared? Yes, I think he would. He knew of
+Rod's strike, and he would stop at nothing to steal the secret."
+
+"I don't believe Mr. Watts, nor any of the Wattses cut that pack,"
+defended the girl.
+
+"Neither do I. Watts has his faults, but dishonesty is not one of
+them. No. The man who cut that pack, was the man who carried it
+there----"
+
+"Vil Holland!" exclaimed Lord Clendenning. "My word, d'ye think he'd
+dare? Yes, Watts told us that he brought in the pack because Sinclair
+was in a hurry. The bloody scamp! He should be jolly well trounced!
+I'll do it myself if I see him, so help me Bob, I will!"
+
+Bethune turned to the girl. "You have examined his effects. Was there
+evidence of their having been tampered with?"
+
+"I'm sure I don't know. If he left any papers or maps or things like
+that in there it most certainly has been tampered with, for they are
+not there now."
+
+The man smiled. "I think we are safe in assuming that there were no
+maps or papers of value in the outfit. Your father was far too shrewd
+to have left anything of the sort to the tender mercies of Vil
+Holland. By cutting the pack Vil merely gave evidence of his
+unscrupulous methods without in any way profiting by it. And, as for
+the map and photographs in your possession, I should advise you to
+find some good hiding place for them and not trust to carrying them
+about upon your person." Swiftly Patty glanced at the speaker. That
+last injunction, somehow, did not ring quite true. But he had turned
+to the door, and a moment later when he faced her to bid her adieu,
+the boyish smile was again curling his lips, and he mounted and rode
+away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+IN THE CABIN
+
+
+For a long time after the departure of her visitors, Patty Sinclair
+sat thinking. Was it true, all this man had told her? She remembered
+vividly the beautiful tribute he had paid her father and the emotion
+that had gripped him as he finished. Surely his words rang true. They
+were true, or else the man was a consummate actor as well as an
+unscrupulous knave. She recalled the boyish smile, the story of Lord
+Clendenning's terrible journey, and the impatience with which he had
+silenced the Englishman's self-criticism. What would be more natural
+than that two men thrown together in the middle of the hill country,
+as her father and Bethune had been thrown together, should have pooled
+their interests, especially if each possessed an essential that the
+other did not. There had been somehow a sincerity about the man that
+carried conviction. She liked his ready admission that her father's
+knowledge of mining greatly exceeded his own. And the assertion that
+he had advanced sums of money for the carrying on of the work sounded
+plausible enough, for the girl knew that her father's income had been
+small--pitiably small, but enough, he had always insisted, for his
+meager needs. Unquestionably, up to that point the man's words had
+carried the ring of truth. Then came the false notes; the open
+accusation of Vil Holland, and the warning as to the concealment of
+the map and photos which she had twice purposely refused to admit that
+she possessed. This was the second time he had gone out of his way to
+warn her against Vil Holland. On occasion of their previous meeting,
+he had hinted that Holland might pose as a friend of her father--a
+pose Bethune, himself, boldly assumed. Perhaps Vil Holland had been a
+friend of her father. In the matter of the pack sack, to whom would a
+man intrust his belongings, if not to a friend? Surely not to an
+enemy, nor to one he had reason to suspect. And now Bethune openly
+accused him of cutting the pack sack, and intimated that he would not
+hesitate to rob her of her secret.
+
+For a long time she sat with her elbow on the table and her chin
+resting in her palm, staring out at the overshadowing hills. "If there
+was only somebody," she muttered. "Somebody I could--" Suddenly she
+leaped to her feet. "No, I'm glad there isn't! I'll play the game
+alone! I came out here to do it, and I'll do it, in spite of forty Vil
+Hollands, and Bethunes, and Lord Clendennings! I'll find the mine
+myself--and I'll call it a mine, too, if I want to! And then, after I
+find it, if Mr. Monk Bethune can show me that he is entitled to a
+share in it, I'll give it to him--and not before. I'll stay right here
+till I find it, or till my money gives out, and when it does, I'll
+earn some more and come back again till that's gone!" Crossing the
+room, she stamped determinedly out the door, threw the saddle onto her
+cayuse, and rode rapidly down the creek. Horseback riding always
+exhilarated her, even back home where she had been obliged to keep to
+roads, or the well-worn courses of the hunt club. But here in the
+hills where the very air was a tonic that sent the blood coursing
+through her veins, and where tier after tier, the mighty mountains
+rolled away into the distance, as if flaunting a challenge to come and
+explore their secrets, and unscarred valleys gave glimpses of alluring
+vistas, the exhilaration amounted almost to intoxication. As her
+horse's feet thudded the ground, and splashed in and out of the
+shallows of the creek, she laughed aloud for the very joy of living.
+She pulled her horse to a walk as she skirted the fence of Watts's
+upper pasture, and her eyes rested with approval upon the straightened
+posts and taut wire. "At last Mr. Watts has bestirred himself. I hope
+he will keep on, now, that he's got the habit, and fix up the rest of
+the ranch. I wonder why that Vil Holland disapproved when he mentioned
+that he had leased his pasture. It seems as though nothing can happen
+in this country unless Vil Holland is mixed up in it someway. And, now
+I'm down this far, I'll just find out whether Vil Holland did take
+that pack down here for daddy. And if he did I'll let him know mighty
+quick, the next time I see him, that I know all about it's being cut
+open."
+
+With her tubs on a bench, and the baby propped and tied securely in an
+old wooden rocker, Ma Watts was up to her elbows in her "week's
+worsh." Watts sat in his accustomed place, his chair tilted against
+the shady side of the house. "Laws sakes, ef hit hain't Mr. Sinclair's
+darter!" cried the woman, shaking the suds from her bare arms, "How be
+yo', honey? An' how's the sheep camp? Microby Dandeline tellen us how
+yo'-all scrubbed, an' scraped, an' cleaned 'til hit shined like a
+nigger's heel. Hit's nice to be clean, that-a-way ef yo' got time, but
+with five er six young-uns to take keer of, an' a passel of chickens
+a-runnin' in under foot all day, seems like a body cain't keep clean
+nohow. Microby says how yo' got a rale curtin' in yo' winder, an' all
+kinds of pert doin' an' fixin's. That's hit, git right down off yer
+horse. Land! I wus so busy hearin' 'bout yo' fixin' up the sheep camp,
+thet I plumb fergot my manners. Watts, get a cheer! An' 'pears like
+yo' could say 'Howdy' when anyone comes a visitin'."
+
+"I aimed to," mumbled Watts apologetically, as he dragged a chair from
+the kitchen, "I wus jest a-aidgin' 'round fer a chanct."
+
+"I can't stay but a minute, see, the shadows are already half way
+across the valley. I just thought I'd take a little ride before
+supper."
+
+"Law, yes, some folks likes to ride hossback, but fer me, I'd a heap
+ruther go in a jolt wagon. Beats all the dif'fence in folks. Seems
+like the folks out yere jist take to hit nachel. Yo' be'n huntin' yo'
+pa's location yet?"
+
+"No, I've been getting things in shape around the cabin. I'm going to
+start prospecting to-morrow." She glanced back along the valley, "I
+suppose my father came along this way when he left his pack on his way
+East," she said.
+
+"No, mom," Watts rubbed his chin, reflectively. "Hit wus Vil Holland
+brung in his pack. Seems like yo' pa wus in a right smart of a hurry
+when he left, so Vil taken his pack down yere an' me an' the boys put
+hit in the barn fer to keep hit saft. Then Vil he rud on down the
+crick, hell bent fer 'lection----"
+
+"Watts! Hain't yo' shamed a-cussin'?" cried his scandalized spouse.
+
+"Why was he in such a hurry?" asked the girl.
+
+"I dunno. He jes' turned the mewl loost an' says to keep the pack till
+yo' pa come back, an' larruped off."
+
+Patty rose from the chair and gathered up her bridle reins. "I must be
+going, really. You see, I've got my chores to do, and supper to get,
+and I want to go to bed early so I'll be fresh in the morning." She
+mounted, and turned to Ma Watts: "Can't you come up some day and bring
+the children? I'd love to have you. Let's arrange the day now, so I
+will be sure to be home."
+
+"Lawzie, I'd give a purty! Listen at thet, now, Watts. Cain't we fix
+to go?"
+
+Watts fumbled his beard: "Why, yas, I reckon, some day, mebbe."
+
+"What day can you come?" asked Patty.
+
+"Well, le's see, this yere's about a Tuesday." He paused, glanced up
+at the sky, and gave careful scrutiny to the horizon. "How'd Sunday a
+week suit yo'--ef hit don't rain?"
+
+"Fine," agreed the girl, smiling. "And, by the way, I came down past
+the upper pasture. The fence looks grand. It didn't take long to fix
+it, did it?"
+
+"Well, hit tuk quite a spell--all day yeste'day, an' up 'til noon
+to-day. We only got one side an' halft another done, an' they's two
+sides an' a halft yet. But Mr. Bethune came by this noon, him an'
+Lord, an' 'lowed he worn't in no gret hurry fer hit, causen he heerd
+from Schultz thet the hoss business 'ud haf to wait over a spell----"
+
+"An' Lord, he come down an' boughten a lot of aigs offen me. Him an'
+Mr. Bethune is both got manners."
+
+"Women folks likes 'em better'n what men does, seems like," opined
+Watts, reflectively.
+
+"Why don't men like them?" asked the girl eagerly.
+
+"I dunno. Seems like they jes' nachelly mistrust 'em someways."
+
+"Did my father like him--Mr. Bethune?"
+
+"'Cordin' to Mr. Bethune they wus gret buddies, but when I'd run
+acrost yo' pa in the hills, 'pears like he wus allus alone er elsen
+Vil Holland was along. But, Mr. Bethune claims he set a heap by yo'
+pa, like the time he come an' 'lowed to take away his pack. I wouldn't
+let hit go, 'cause thet hain't the way Vil said, an' Mr. Bethune, he
+started in to git mad, but then he laffed, an' said hit didn't make no
+diff'ence, 'cause all he wanted wus to be shore hit wus saft kep."
+
+"An' Pa mos' hed to shoot him, though, 'fore he laffed. I done tol' Pa
+he hadn't ort to. Lessen yo' runnin' a still, yo' hain't no call to
+shoot folks comin' 'round."
+
+"Shoot him!" exclaimed Patty, staring in surprise at the easy-going
+Watts.
+
+"Yas, he aimed to take thet pack anyways. So I went in an' got down
+the ol' rifle-gun an' pintedly tole him I'd shoot him dead ef he laid
+holt o' thet pack, an' then he laffed an' rud off."
+
+"But, would you have shot him, really?"
+
+"Yas," answered the mountaineer, in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'd of hed
+to."
+
+Patty rode home slowly and in silence--thinking. And that evening, by
+the light of her coal-oil lamp she puzzled over the roughly sketched
+map with its cryptic signs and notations. There were a half-dozen
+samples, too--chips of rough, heavy rock that didn't look a bit like
+gold. "High grade," her daddy had called them as he babbled
+incessantly upon his death-bed. But they looked dull and unpromising
+to the girl as they lay upon the table. She returned to the sketch.
+With the exception of a single small dot, placed beside what was
+evidently the principal creek of the locality, the map consisted only
+of lines and shadings which evidently indicated creeks and
+mountains--no cross, no letter, no number--nothing to indicate
+landmark or location, only a confusing network of creeks and feeders
+branching out like the limbs of a tree. Along the bottom of the paper
+the girl read the following line:
+
+"SC 1 S1 1/2 E 1 S [up arrow] to [union symbol] 2 W to a. to b. stake L.C.
+[zigzag symbol] centre."
+
+"I suppose that was all clear as daylight to daddy, and maybe it would
+be to anyone who is used to maps, but as for doing me any good, he
+might as well have copied a line from the Chinese dictionary."
+
+She stared hopelessly at the unintelligible line, and then at the two
+photographs. One, taken evidently from a point well up the side of a
+hill, showed a narrow valley, flanked upon the opposite side by a high
+rock wall. Toward the upper end of the wall an irregular crack or
+cleft split it from top to bottom. The other was a "close up" taken at
+the very base of the cleft, and showed only the narrow aperture in the
+rock, and the ground at its base. For a long time she sat studying the
+photographs, memorizing every feature and line of them; the
+conformation of the valley, the contour of the rock wall, the position
+and shapes of the trees and rock fragments. "That must be the mine,"
+she concluded, at length, "right there at the bottom of that crack."
+She closed her eyes and conjured a mental picture of the little
+valley, of the rock wall, and of the cleft that would mark the
+location. "I'd know it if I should see it," she muttered, "let's see:
+big broken rocks strewn along the floor of the valley, and a tiny
+creek, and then the rock cliff, it must be about as high as--about
+twice as tall as the trees that grow along the foot of it, and it's
+highest at the upper end, then there's a big tree standing alone
+almost in the middle of the valley, and the gnarled, scraggly trees
+that grow along the top of the rocks, and the valley must be as wide
+as from here to that clump of trees beyond my wood-pile--about a
+block, I guess. And there's the big crack in the cliff that starts
+straight," she traced the course of the crack with her finger upon the
+table top, "and then zigzags to the ground." Her glance returned to
+the map, and she frowned. "I don't think that's a bit of good to me.
+But I don't care as long as I have the photographs. I'll just ride,
+and ride, and ride through these hills till I find that valley, and
+then--" The little clock on the shelf beside the mirror ticked loudly.
+Her thoughts strayed far beyond the confines of the little cabin on
+Monte's Creek, as she planned how she would spend the golden stream
+that was to flow from the foot of the rock ledge.
+
+Gradually her vision became confused, the incessant ticking of the
+little clock sounded farther, and farther away, her head settled to
+rest upon her folded arms, and she was in the midst of a struggle of
+some kind, in which a belted cowboy and a suave, sloe-eyed
+quarter-breed were fighting to gain possession of her mine--or, were
+they trying to help her locate it? And what was it daddy was trying to
+tell her? She couldn't quite hear. She wished he would talk
+louder--but it was something about the mine, and the men who were
+struggling.... She awoke with a start, and glanced swiftly about the
+cabin. The roots of her hair along the back of her neck tingled
+uncomfortably. She felt she was not alone--that somewhere eyes were
+watching her. The chintz curtain that screened the open window swayed
+lightly in the night breeze and she jumped nervously. "I'm a perfect
+fool!" she exclaimed, aloud: "As if any 'Jack the Peeper' would be
+prowling around these mountains! It's just nerves, that's all it is."
+
+Slipping the map and the photographs beneath a plate, she crossed to
+the door and made sure the bar was in place, took the white butted
+revolver from its holster, and with a determined tightening of the
+lips, stepped to the window, drew the curtain aside, and stood peering
+out into the dark. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock, and
+the purling of the water as it rushed among the stones of the shallow
+ford. Overhead the stars winked brightly, in sharp contrast to the
+velvet blackness of the pines. The sound of the water soothed her, and
+she laughed--a forced little laugh, but it made her feel better.
+Crossing to the table she blew out the lamp and, placing her revolver
+at the head of her bunk, undressed in the darkness. She raised the
+plate, took the map and the two precious photographs, placed them in
+their envelope, and slipped the chain about her neck.
+
+For a long time she lay between her blankets, wide awake, conscious
+that she was straining her ears to catch some faint sound. A half
+dozen times she caught herself listening with nerves on edge and
+muscles taut, and each time forced herself to relax. But always she
+came back to that horrible, tense listening. She charged herself with
+cowardice, and pooh-poohed her fears, but it was no use, and she wound
+up by covering her head with her blanket. "I don't care, there _was_
+somebody watching, but if he thinks he's going to find out where I
+keep these," her hand clutched the little oiled packet, "he'll have to
+come again, that's all."
+
+It was nearly an hour later that Monk Bethune quitted his post close
+against the cabin wall, at the point where the chinking had fallen
+away from the logs, and slipped silently into the timber.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+PROSPECTING
+
+
+The gray of early morning was just beginning to render objects in the
+little room indistinguishable when Patty awoke. She made a hasty
+toilet, lighted the fire, and while the water was heating for her
+coffee, delved into the pack sack and drew out a gray flannel shirt
+which she viewed critically from every conceivable angle. She tried it
+on, turning this way and that, before the mirror. "Daddy wasn't so
+much larger than I am," she smiled, "I can take a tuck in the sleeves,
+and turn back the collar and it will fit pretty well. Anyway, it will
+be better than that riding jacket. It will look less citified, and
+more--more prospecty." A few moments sufficed for the alteration and
+as the girl stood before the mirror and carefully knotted her
+brilliant scarf, she nodded emphatic approval.
+
+Breakfast over, she washed her dishes and as she put them on their
+shelf her glance rested upon the bits of broken rock fragments.
+Instantly, her thoughts flew to the night before, and the feeling that
+someone had been watching her. Rapidly her glance flashed about the
+cabin searching a place to hide them. "They're too heavy to carry,"
+she murmured. "And, yet," her eyes continued their search, lingering
+for a moment upon some nook or corner only to flit to another, and
+another, "every place I can think of seems as though it would be the
+very first place anyone would look." Her eyes fell upon the empty
+tomato can that she had forgotten to throw into the coulee after last
+night's supper. She placed the samples in the can. "I might put it
+with the others in the cupboard, but if anybody looked there they
+would be sure to see that it had been opened. Where do people hide
+things? I might go out and dig a hole and bury it, but if anyone were
+watching--" Suddenly her eyes lighted: "The very thing," she cried:
+"Nobody would think of looking among those old bottles and cars." And
+placing the can in the pan of dish-water, she carried it out and threw
+it onto the pile of rubbish in the coulee. Returning to the cabin, she
+put on her father's Stetson, slipped his revolver into its holster,
+and buckling the belt about her waist, gave one last approving glance
+into the mirror, closed the door behind her, and saddled her horse.
+With the bridle reins in her hand she stood irresolute. In which
+direction should she start? Obviously, if she must search the whole
+country, she should begin somewhere and work systematically. She felt
+in the pocket of her skirt and reassured herself that the compass she
+had taken from the pack sack was there. Her eyes swept the valley and
+came to rest upon a deep notch in the hills that flanked it upon the
+west. A coulee sloped upward to the notch, and mounting, the girl
+crossed the creek and headed for the gap. It was slow and laborious
+work, picking her way among the loose rocks and fallen trees of the
+deep ravine that narrowed and grew steeper as she advanced. Loose
+rocks, disturbed by her horse's feet, clattered noisily behind her,
+and marks here and there in the soil told her that she was not the
+first to pass that way. "I wonder who it was?" she speculated. "Either
+Monk Bethune, or Vil Holland, or Lord Clendenning, I suppose. They all
+seem to be forever riding back and forth through the hills." At last
+she gained the summit, and pulled up to enjoy the view. Judging by
+the trampled buffalo grass that capped the divide, the rider who
+preceded her had also stopped. She glanced backward, and there,
+showing above the tops of the trees that covered the slope, stood her
+own cabin, looking tiny and far away, but with its every detail
+standing out with startling clearness. She could even see the ax
+standing where she had left it beside the door, and the box she had
+placed at the end of the log wall to take the place of the cupboard as
+a home for the pack rats. "Whoever it was could certainly keep track
+of my movements from here without the least risk of being discovered,"
+she thought, "and if he had field glasses!" She blushed, and turned
+her eyes to survey the endless succession of peaks and passes and
+valleys that lay spread out over the sea of hills. "How in the world
+am I ever going to find one tiny little valley among all these?" she
+wondered. Her heart sank at the vastness of it all, and at her own
+helplessness, and the utter hopelessness of her stupendous task. "Oh,
+I can never, never do it," she faltered, "--never." And, instantly
+ashamed of herself, clenched her small, gloved fist. "I will do it! My
+daddy found his mine, and he didn't have any pictures to go by either.
+He just delved and worked for years and years--and at last he found
+it. I'd find it if there were twice as many hills and valleys. It may
+take me years--and I may find it to-day--just think! This very day I
+may ride into that little valley--or to-morrow, or the next day. It
+can't be far away. Mrs. Watts said daddy was always to be found within
+ten miles of the ranch."
+
+She headed her horse down the opposite slope that slanted at a much
+easier gradient than the one she had just ascended. The trees on this
+side of the divide were larger and the hillside gradually flattened
+into a broad, tilted plateau. She gave her horse his head and breathed
+deeply of the pine-laden air as the animal swung in beside a tiny
+creek that flowed smooth and black through the dusky silence of the
+pines whose interlacing branches, high above, admitted the sunlight in
+irregular splashes of gold. There was little under-brush and the horse
+followed easily along the creek, where here and there, in the softer
+soil of damp places, the girl could see the hoof marks of the rider
+who had crossed the divide. "I wonder whether it was he who watched me
+last night? There was someone, I could feel it."
+
+The creek sheered sharply around an out-cropping shoulder of rock, and
+the next instant Patty pulled up short, and sat staring at a little
+white tent that nestled close against the side of the huge monolith
+which stood at the edge of a broad, grassed opening in the woods. The
+flaps were thrown wide and the walls caught up to allow free passage
+of air. Blankets that had evidently covered a pile of boughs in one
+corner, were thrown over the ridgepole from which hung a black leather
+binocular case, and several canvas bags formed an orderly row along
+one side. A kettle hung suspended over a small fire in front of the
+tent, and a row of blackened cooking utensils hung from a wooden bar
+suspended between two crotched stakes. Out in the clearing, a man was
+bridling a tall buckskin horse. The man was Vil Holland. Curbing a
+desire to retreat unobserved into the timber, the girl advanced boldly
+across the creek and pulled up beside the fire. At the sound the man
+whirled, and Patty noticed that a lean, brown hand dropped swiftly to
+the butt of the revolver.
+
+"Don't shoot!" she called, in a tone that was meant to be sarcastic,
+"I won't hurt you." Somehow, the sarcasm fell flat.
+
+The man buckled the throat-latch of his bridle and picking up the
+reins, advanced hat in hand, leading the horse. "I beg your pardon,"
+he said, gravely, "I didn't know who it was, when your horse splashed
+through the creek."
+
+"You have enemies in the hills? Those you would shoot, or who would
+shoot you?"
+
+He dropped the bridle reins, allowing them to trail on the ground. "If
+some kinds of folks wasn't a man's enemy he wouldn't be fit to have
+any friends," he said, simply. "And here in the hills it's just as
+well to be forehanded with your gun. Won't you climb down? I suppose
+you've had breakfast?"
+
+Patty swung from the saddle and stood holding the bridle reins. "Yes,
+I've had breakfast, thank you. Don't let me keep you from yours."
+
+"Had mine, too. If you don't mind I'll wash up these dishes, though.
+Just drop your reins--like mine. Your cayuse will stand as long as the
+reins are hangin'. It's the way they're broke--'tyin' 'em to the
+ground,' we call it." He glanced at her horse's feet, and pointed to a
+place beneath the fetlock from which the hair had been rubbed: "Rope
+burnt," he opined. "You oughtn't to put him out on a picket rope. Use
+hobbles. There's a couple of pair in your dad's war-bag."
+
+"War-bag?"
+
+"Yeh, it's down in Watts's barn, if he ain't hauled it up for you."
+
+"What are hobbles?"
+
+The man stepped to the tent and returned a moment later with two heavy
+straps fastened together by a bit of chain and a swivel. "These are
+hobbles, they work like this." He stooped and fastened the straps
+about the forelegs of the horse just above the fetlock. "He can get
+around all right, but he can't get far, and there is no rope to snag
+him."
+
+Patty nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'll try it. But how do you know
+there are hobbles in dad's pack?"
+
+"Where would they be? He had a couple of pair. All his stuff is in
+there. He always traveled light."
+
+"Did you leave my father's war-bag, as you call it, at Watts's?"
+
+"Yeh, he was in somethin' of a hurry and didn't want to go around by
+the trail, so he left his outfit here and struck straight through the
+hills."
+
+"Why was he in a hurry?"
+
+The man placed the dishes in a pan and poured water over them. "I've
+got my good guess," he answered, thoughtfully.
+
+"Which may mean anything, and tells me nothing."
+
+Holland nodded, as he carefully wiped his tin plate. "Yeh, that's
+about the size of it."
+
+His attitude angered the girl. "And I have heard he was not the only
+one in the hills that was in a hurry that day, and I suppose I can
+have my 'good guess' at that, and I can have my 'good guess' as to who
+cut daddy's pack sack, too."
+
+"Yeh, an' you can change your guess as often as you want to."
+
+"And every time I change it, I'd get farther from the truth."
+
+"You might, an' you might get nearer." The cowpuncher was looking at
+her squarely, now. "You ain't left-handed, are you?" he asked,
+abruptly.
+
+"No, of course not! Why?"
+
+"Because, if you ain't, you better change that belt around so the
+holster'll carry on yer right side--or else leave it to home."
+
+The coldly impersonal tone angered the girl. "Much better leave it
+home," she said, "so if anyone wanted to get my map and photographs,
+he could do it without risk."
+
+"If you had any sense you'd shut up about maps an' photos."
+
+"At least I've got sense enough not to tell whether I carry them with
+me, or keep them hidden in a safe place."
+
+"You carry 'em on you!" commanded the man, gruffly. "It's a good deal
+safer'n _cachin_' 'em." He laid his dishes aside, poured the water
+from the pan, wiped it, hung it in its place, and picking up his
+saddle blanket, examined it carefully.
+
+"I wonder why my father entrusted his pack sack to you?" said Patty,
+eyeing him resentfully. "Were you and he such great friends?"
+
+"Knew one another tolerable well," answered Holland, dryly.
+
+"You weren't, by any chance--partners, were you?"
+
+He glanced up quickly. "Didn't I tell you once that yer dad played a
+lone hand?"
+
+"You knew he made a strike?"
+
+"That's what folks think. But I suppose he told Monk Bethune all about
+it."
+
+The thinly veiled sneer goaded the girl to anger. "Yes, he did," she
+answered, hotly, "and he told me, too!"
+
+"Told Monk all about it, did he--location an' all, I suppose?"
+
+"He intended to, yes," answered the girl, defiantly. "The day he made
+his strike, Mr. Bethune happened to be away up in British Columbia,
+and daddy told Lord Clendenning that he had made his strike, and he
+drew a map and sent it to Mr. Bethune by Lord Clendenning."
+
+Holland smoothed the blanket into place upon the back of the buckskin,
+and reached for his saddle. "An' of course, Monk, he wouldn't file
+till you come, so you'd be sure an' get a square deal----"
+
+"He never got the map or the photos. Lord Clendenning lost them in a
+river. And he nearly lost his life, and was rescued by an Indian."
+
+There was a sound very like a cough, and Patty glanced sharply at the
+cowpuncher, but his back was toward her, and he was busy with his
+cinch. "Tough luck," he remarked, as he adjusted the latigo strap.
+"An', you say, yer dad told you all about this partnership business?"
+
+"No, he didn't."
+
+"Who did?"
+
+"Mr. Bethune."
+
+"Oh."
+
+Something in the tone made the girl feel extremely foolish. Holland
+was deliberately strapping the brown leather jug to his saddle horn,
+and gathering up her reins, she mounted. "At least, Mr. Bethune is a
+gentleman," she emphasized the word nastily.
+
+"An' they can't hang him for that, anyway," he flung back, and swung
+lightly into the saddle, "I must be goin'."
+
+"And you don't even deny cutting the pack?"
+
+He looked her squarely in the eyes and shook his head. "No. You kind
+of half believe Monk about the partnership. But you don't believe I
+cut that pack, so what's the use denying it?"
+
+"I do----"
+
+"If you should happen to get lost, don't try to outguess your compass.
+Always pack a little grub an' some matches, an' if you need help,
+three shots, an' then three more, will bring anyone that's in hearin'
+distance."
+
+"I hope I shall never have to summon you for help."
+
+"It is quite a bother," admitted the other. "An' if you'll remember
+what I've told you, you prob'ly won't have to. So long."
+
+The cowboy settled the Stetson firmly upon his head, and with never a
+glance behind him, headed his horse down the little creek.
+
+The girl watched him for a moment with angry eyes, and then, urging
+her horse forward, crossed the plateau at a gallop, and headed up the
+valley. "Of all the--the _boors_! He certainly is the limit. And the
+worst of it is I don't know whether he deliberately tries to insult
+me, or whether it's just ignorance. Anyway, I wouldn't trust him as
+far as I could see him. And I do believe he cut daddy's pack sack, so
+there!" The heavy revolver dangling at her side attracted her
+attention, and she pulled up her horse and changed it to the opposite
+side. "I suppose I did look like a fool," she admitted, "but he
+needn't have told me so. And I bet I know as much about a compass as
+he does, anyway. And I'll tie my horse up with a rope if I want to."
+
+Beyond the plateau, the valley narrowed rapidly, and innumerable
+ravines and coulees led steeply upward to lose themselves among the
+timbered slopes of the mountain sides. Crossing a low divide at the
+head of the valley, she reined in her horse and gazed with thumping
+heart into the new valley that lay before her. There, scarcely a mile
+away, stretched a rock ledge--and, yes, there were scraggly trees
+fringing its rim, and the valley was strewn with rock fragments! Her
+valley! The valley of the photographs! She laughed aloud, and urged
+her horse down the steep descent, heedless of the fact that upon the
+precarious, loose rock footing of the slope, a misstep would mean
+almost certain destruction.
+
+Directly opposite the face of the rock wall she pulled her horse to a
+stand. "Surely, this must be the place, but--where is the crack? It
+should be about there." Her eyes searched the face of the cliff for
+the zigzag crevice. "Maybe I'm too close to it," she muttered. "The
+picture was taken from a hillside across the valley. That must be the
+hill--the one with the bare patch half way up. That's right where he
+must have stood when he took the photograph." The hillside rose
+abruptly, and abandoning her horse, the girl climbed the steep ascent,
+pausing at frequent intervals for breath. At last, she stood upon the
+bare shoulder of the hill and gazed out across the valley, and as she
+gazed, her heart sank. "It isn't the place," she muttered. "There is
+no big tree, and the rock cliff isn't a bit like the one in the
+picture--and I thought I had found it sure! I wonder how many of those
+rock walls there are in the hills? And will I ever find the right
+one?"
+
+Once more in the saddle, she crossed another divide and scanned
+another rock wall, and farther down, another. "I believe every single
+valley in these hills has its own rock ledge, and some of them three
+or four!" she cried disgustedly, as she seated herself beside a tiny
+spring that trickled from beneath a huge rock, and proceeded to devour
+her lunch. "I had no idea how hungry I could get," she stared ruefully
+at the paper that had held her two sandwiches. "Next time I'll bring
+about six."
+
+Producing her compass, she leveled a place among the stones. "Let's
+see if I can point to the north without its help." She glanced at the
+sun and carefully scanned the tumultuous skyline. "It is there," she
+indicated a gap between two peaks, and glanced at the compass. "I knew
+I wouldn't get turned around," she said, proudly. "I didn't miss it
+but just a mite--anyway it's near enough for all practical purposes.
+If that's north," she speculated, "then I must have started east and
+then turned south, and then west, and then south again, and my cabin
+must be almost due north of me now." She returned the compass to her
+pocket. "I'll explore a little farther and then work toward home."
+
+Mounting, she turned northward, and emerging abruptly from a clump of
+trees, caught a glimpse of swift motion a quarter of a mile away,
+where her trail had dipped into the valley, as a horse and rider
+disappeared like a flash into the timber. "He's following me!" she
+cried angrily, "sneaking along my trail like a coyote! I'll tell him
+just what I think of him and his cowardly spying." Urging her horse
+into a run, she reached the spot to find it deserted, although it
+seemed incredible that anyone could have negotiated the divide
+unnoticed in that brief space of time. "I saw him plain as day," she
+murmured, as she turned her horse toward the opposite side of the
+valley. "I couldn't tell for sure that it was he--I didn't even see
+the color of the horse--but who else could it be? He knew I started
+out this way, and he knew that I carried the map and photos, and was
+hunting daddy's claim. I know, now who was watching the other night."
+She shuddered. "And I've got to stay here 'til I find that claim,
+knowing all the time that I am being watched! There's no place I can
+go that he will not follow. Even in my own cabin, I'll always feel
+that eyes are watching me. And when I do find the mine, he'll know it
+as soon as I do, and it will be a race to file." Drawing up sharply,
+she gritted her teeth, "And he knows the short cuts through the hills,
+and I don't. But I will know them!" she cried, "and when I do find the
+mine, Mr. Vil Holland is going to have the race of his life!"
+
+Another parallel valley, and another, she explored before turning her
+horse's head toward the high divide that she had reasoned separated
+her from Monte's Creek at a point well above her cabin. Comparatively
+low ridges divided these valleys, and as she topped each ridge, the
+girl swerved sharply into the timber and, concealing herself, intently
+watched the back trail--a maneuver that caused the solitary horseman
+who watched from a safe distance, to chuckle audibly as he carefully
+wiped the lenses of his binoculars.
+
+The sunlight played only upon the higher peaks when at last, weary and
+dispirited, she negotiated the steep descent to Monte's Creek at a
+point a mile above the sheep camp. "If he'd only photographed
+something besides a rock wall," she muttered, petulantly, "I'd stand
+some show of finding it." At the door of the cabin she slipped from
+her saddle, and pausing with her hand on the coiled rope, dropped her
+eyes to the rubbed place below her horse's fetlock. A moment later she
+knelt and fastened a pair of hobbles about the horse's ankles, and,
+removing the saddle, watched the animal roll clumsily in the grass,
+and shuffle awkwardly to the creek where he sucked greedily at the
+cold water. Entering the cabin, she lighted the lamp and stared about
+her. Her glance traveled one by one over the objects of the little
+room. Everything was apparently as she had left it--yet--an
+uncomfortable, creepy sensation stole over her. She knew that the room
+had been searched.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+PATTY TAKES PRECAUTIONS
+
+
+During the next few days Patty Sinclair paid scant attention to rock
+ledges. Each morning she saddled her cayuse and rode into the hills to
+the southward, crossing divides and following creeks and valleys from
+their sources down their winding, twisting lengths. After the first
+two or three trips she left her gun at home. It was heavy and
+cumbersome, and she realized, in her unskilled hand, useless. Always
+she felt that she was being followed, but, try as she would, never
+could catch so much as a fleeting glimpse of the rider who lurked on
+her trail. Nevertheless, during these long rides which she made for
+the sole purpose of familiarizing herself with all the short cuts
+through the hills, she derived satisfaction from the fact that, while
+the trips were of immense value to her, Vil Holland was having his
+trouble for his pains.
+
+Ascertaining at length that, after crossing the high divide at the
+head of Monte's Creek, any valley leading southward would prove a
+direct outlet onto the bench and thereby furnish a short cut to town,
+she returned once more to her prospecting--to the exploration of
+little valleys, and the examination of innumerable rock ledges.
+
+Accepting as part of the game the fact that her cabin was searched
+almost daily during her absence she derived grim enjoyment in
+contemplation of the searcher's repeated disappointment. Several
+attempts to surprise the marauder at his work proved futile, and she
+was forced to admit that in the matter of shrewdness and persistence,
+his ability exceeded her own. "The real test will come when I locate
+the mine," she told herself one evening, as she sat alone in her
+little cabin. "Then the prize will go to the fastest horse." She drew
+a small folding check-book from her pocket and frowningly regarded its
+latest stub. "A thousand dollars isn't very much, and--it's half
+gone."
+
+Next day she rode out of the hills and, following the trail for town,
+dismounted at Thompson's ranch which nestled in its coulee well out
+upon the bench, and waited for the rancher, who drove up beside a huge
+stack with a load of alfalfa, to unhitch his team.
+
+"Have you a good saddle horse for sale?" she asked, abruptly.
+
+Thompson released the tug chains, and hung the bridles upon the hames,
+whereupon the horses of their own accord started toward the stable,
+followed by a ranch hand who slid from the top of the stack. Without
+answering, he called to the man: "Take the lady's horse along an' give
+him a feed."
+
+"It's noon," he explained, turning to the girl. "You'll stay fer
+dinner." He pointed toward the house. "You'll find Miz T. in the
+kitchen. If you want to wash up, she'll show you."
+
+The ranch hand was leading her horse toward the barn. "But," objected
+Patty, "I didn't mean to run in like this just at meal time. Mrs.
+Thompson won't be expecting a guest, and I brought a lunch with me."
+
+Thompson laughed: "You must be a pilgrim in these parts," he said.
+"Most folks would ride half a day to git here 'round feedin' time. We
+always count on two or three extry, so I guess they'll be a-plenty."
+The man's laugh was infectious, and Patty found herself smiling. She
+liked him from the first. There was a ponderous heartiness about him,
+and she liked the way his little brown eyes sparkled from out their
+network of sun-browned wrinkles. "You trot along in, now, an' tell Miz
+T. she can begin dishin' up whenever she likes. We'll be 'long
+d'rectly. They'll be plenty time to talk horse after we've et. My work
+teams earns a good hour of noonin', an' I don't begrudge 'em an hour
+an' a half, hot days."
+
+Patty found Mrs. Thompson slight and quiet as her husband was big and
+hearty. But her smile was as engaging as his, and an indefinable
+something about her made the girl feel at home the moment she crossed
+the threshold. "I came to see Mr. Thompson about a horse, and he
+insisted that I stay to dinner," she apologized.
+
+"Why, of course you'll stay to dinner. But you must be hot an' tired.
+The wash dish is there beside the door. You better use it before
+Thompson an' the hands comes, they always slosh everything all
+up--they don't wash, they waller."
+
+"Mr. Thompson said to tell you you could begin to dish up whenever
+you're ready."
+
+The woman smiled. "Yes, an' have everythin' set an' git cold, while
+they feed the horses an' then like's not, stand 'round a spell an'
+size up the hay stack, er mebbe mend a piece of harness or somethin'.
+I guess you ain't married, er you wouldn't expect a man to meals 'til
+you see him comin'. Seems like no matter how hungry they be, if they's
+some little odd job they can find to do just when you get the grub set
+on, they pick that time to do it. 'Specially if it's somethin' that
+don't 'mount to anythin', an' like's not's b'en layin' 'round in plain
+sight a week."
+
+Patty laughingly admitted she was not married. "But, I'd teach 'em a
+lesson," she said. "I'd put the things on and let them get cold."
+
+The older woman smiled, and at the sound of voices, peered out the
+door: "Here they come now," she said, and proceeded to carry heaping
+vegetable dishes and a steaming platter of savory boiled meat from the
+stove to the table. There was a prodigious splashing outside the door
+and a moment later Thompson appeared, followed by his two ranch hands,
+hair wet and shining, plastered tightly to their scalps, and faces
+aglow from vigorous scrubbing. "You mind Mr. Sinclair, that used to
+prospect in the hills," introduced Mrs. Thompson; "this is his
+daughter."
+
+Her husband bowed awkwardly: "Glad to know you. We know'd yer
+paw--used to stop now an' again on his way to town. He was a smart
+man. Liked to talk to him. He'd be'n all over." The man turned his
+attention to his plate and the meal proceeded in solemn silence to its
+conclusion. The two ranch hands arose and disappeared through the
+door, and tilting back in his chair Thompson produced a match from his
+pocket, and proceeded to whittle it into a toothpick. "I heard in town
+how you was out in the hills," he began. "They said yer paw went back
+East--" he paused as if uncertain how to proceed.
+
+Patty nodded: "Yes, he went back home, and this spring he died. He
+told me he had made a strike and I came out here to locate it."
+
+The kindly brown eyes regarded her intently: "Ever do any
+prospectin'?"
+
+"No. This is my first experience."
+
+"I never, either. But, if I was you I'd kind of have an eye on my
+neighbors."
+
+"You mean--the Wattses?" asked the girl in surprise.
+
+The brown eyes were twinkling again: "No, Watts, he's all right! Only
+trouble with Watts is he sets an' herds the sun all day. But, they's
+others besides Watts in the hills."
+
+"Yes," answered the girl, quickly, "I know. And that is the reason I
+came to see you about a horse."
+
+"What's the matter with the one you got?"
+
+"Nothing at all. He seems to be a good horse. He's fast too, when I
+want to crowd him. But, I need another just as good and as fast as he
+is. Have you one you will sell?"
+
+"I'll sell anything I got, if the price is right," smiled the man.
+
+Patty regarded him thoughtfully: "I haven't very much money," she
+said. "How much is he worth?"
+
+Thompson considered: "A horse ain't like a cow-brute. There ain't no
+regular market price. Horses is worth just as much as you can get
+folks to pay fer 'em. But it looks like one horse ort to be enough to
+prospect 'round the hills on."
+
+"It isn't that," explained the girl. "If I buy him I shall try to
+arrange with you to leave him right here where I can get him at a
+moment's notice. I shall probably never need him but once, but when I
+do, I shall need him badly." She paused, but without comment the man
+waited for her to proceed: "I believe I am being followed, and if I
+am, when I locate the claim, I am going to have to race for the
+register's office."
+
+Thompson leaned forward upon the table and chewed his toothpick
+rapidly: "By Gosh, an' you want to have a fresh horse here for a
+change!" he exclaimed, his eyes beaming approval.
+
+"Exactly. Have you got the horse?"
+
+The man nodded: "You bet I've got the horse! I've got a horse out
+there in the corral that'll run rings around anythin' in this country
+unless it's that there buckskin of Vil Holland's--an' I guess you
+ain't goin' to have no call to race him."
+
+Patty was on the point of exclaiming that the buckskin was the very
+horse she would have to race, but instead she smiled: "But, if your
+horse started fresh from here, and even Vil Holland's horse had run
+clear from the mountains, this one could beat him to town, couldn't
+he?"
+
+"Could do it on three legs," laughed the man.
+
+"How much do you ask for him?" The girl waited breathless, thinking of
+her diminishing bank account.
+
+Thompson's brow wrinkled: "I hold Lightnin' pretty high," he said,
+after a pause. "You see, some of us ranchers is holdin' a fast horse
+handy, a-waitin' fer word from the hills--an' when it comes, they's
+goin' to be the biggest horse-thief round-up the hill country ever
+seen. An' unless I miss my guess they'll be some that's carried their
+nose pretty high that's goin' to snap down on the end of a tight one."
+
+"Now, Thompson, what's the use of talkin' like that? Them things is
+bad enough to have to do, let alone set around an' talk about 'em.
+Anyone'd think you took pleasure in hangin' folks."
+
+"I would--some folks."
+
+The little woman turned to Patty: "He's just a-talkin'. Chances is, if
+it come to hangin', Thompson would be the one to try an' talk 'em out
+of it. Why, he won't even brand his own colts an' calves--makes the
+hands do it."
+
+"That's different," defended the man. "They're little an' young an'
+they ain't never done nothin' ornery."
+
+"But you haven't told me how much you want for your horse," persisted
+the girl.
+
+"Now just you listen to me a minute. I don't want to sell that horse,
+an' there ain't no mortal use of you buyin' him. He's always
+here--right in the corral when he ain't in the stable, an' either
+place, all you got to do is throw yer kak on him an' fog it."
+
+The girl stared at him in surprise: "You mean----"
+
+"I mean that you're plumb welcome to use Lightnin' whenever you need
+him. An' if they's anything else I can do to help you beat out any
+ornery cuss that'd try an' hornswaggle you out of yer claim, you can
+count on me doin' it! An' whether you know it 'er not, I ain't the
+only one you can count on in a pinch neither." The man waved her
+thanks aside with a sweep of a big hand, and rose from the table. "Miz
+T. an' me'd like fer you to stop in whenever you feel like----"
+
+"Yes, indeed, we would," seconded the little woman. "Couldn't you come
+over an' bring yer sewin' some day?"
+
+Patty laughed: "I'm afraid I haven't much sewing to bring, but I'll
+come and spend the day with you some time. I'd love to."
+
+The girl rode homeward with a lighter heart than she had known in some
+time. "Now let him follow me all he wants to," she muttered. "But I
+wonder why Mr. Thompson said I wouldn't have to race the buckskin. And
+who did he mean I could count on in a pinch--Watts, I guess, or maybe
+he meant Mr. Bethune."
+
+As she saddled her horse next morning, Bethune presented himself at
+the cabin. "Where away?" he smiled as he rode close, and swung
+lightly to the ground.
+
+"Into the hills," she answered, "in search of my father's lost mine."
+
+The man's expression became suddenly grave: "Do you know, Miss
+Sinclair, I hate to think of your riding these hills alone."
+
+Patty glanced at him in surprise: "Why?"
+
+"There are several reasons. For instance, one never knows what will
+happen--a misstep on a dangerous trail--a broken cinch--any one of a
+hundred things may happen in the wilds that mean death or serious
+injury, even to the initiated. And the danger is tenfold in the case
+of a tender-foot."
+
+The girl laughed: "Thank you. But, if anything is going to happen,
+it's going to happen. At least, I am in no danger from being run down
+by a street car or an automobile. And I can't be blown up by a gas
+explosion, or fall into a coal hole."
+
+"But there are other dangers," persisted the man. "A woman, alone in
+the hills--especially you."
+
+"Why 'especially me'? Plenty of women have lived alone before in
+places more dangerous than this, and have gotten along very well,
+too. You men are conceited. You think there can be no possible safety
+unless members of your own sex are at the helm of every undertaking or
+enterprise. But you are wrong."
+
+Bethune shook his head: "But I have reason to believe that there is at
+least one person in these hills who believes you possess the secret of
+your father's strike--and who would stop at nothing to obtain that
+secret."
+
+"I suppose you mean Vil Holland. I agree that he does seem to take
+more than a passing interest in my comings and goings. But he doesn't
+seem very fierce. Anyhow, I am not in the least afraid of him."
+
+"What do you mean that he seems to take an interest in your comings
+and goings?" The question seemed a bit eager. "Surely he has not been
+following you!"
+
+"Hasn't he? Then possibly you can tell me who has?"
+
+"The scoundrel! And when you discover the lode he'll wait 'til you
+have set your stakes and posted your notice, and have gotten out of
+sight, and then he'll drive in his own stakes, stick up his own notice
+beside them and beat you to the register."
+
+Patty laughed: "Race me, you mean. He won't beat me. Remember, I shall
+have at least a half-hour's start."
+
+"A half-hour!" exclaimed Bethune. "And what is a half-hour in a
+fifty-mile race against that buckskin. Why, my dear girl, with all due
+respect for that horse of yours, Vil Holland's horse could give you
+two hours' start and beat you to the railroad."
+
+"Maybe," smiled the girl. "But he's going to have to do it--that is,
+if I ever locate the lode."
+
+"Ah, that is the point, exactly. It is that that brings me here. Not
+that alone," he hastened to add. "For I would ride far any day to
+spend a few moments with so charming a lady--and indeed, I should not
+have delayed my visit this long but for some urgent business to the
+northward. At all events, I'm here, and here I shall stay until,
+together, we have solved our mystery of the hills."
+
+The girl glanced into the face alight with boyish enthusiasm, and felt
+irresistibly impelled to take this man into her confidence--to enlist
+his help in the working out of her unintelligible map, and to admit
+him to full partnership in her undertaking. There would be enough for
+both if they succeeded in uncovering the lode. Her father had
+intended that he should share in his mine. She recalled his eulogy of
+her father, and his frank admission that there had been no agreement
+of partnership. If anyone ever had the appearance of perfect sincerity
+and candor this man had. She remembered her seriously depleted bank
+account. Bethune had money, and in case the search should prove
+long--Suddenly the words of Vil Holland flashed into her brain with
+startling abruptness: "Remember yer dad knew enough to play a lone
+hand." And again. "Did yer dad tell you about this partnership?" And
+the significant emphasis he placed upon the "Oh," when she had
+answered in the negative.
+
+Bethune evidently had taken her silence for assent. He was speaking
+again: "The first thing to do is to find the starting point on the map
+and work it out step by step, then when we locate the lode, you and
+Clen and I will file the first three claims, and we'll file all the
+Wattses on the adjoining claims. That will give us absolute control of
+a big block of what is probably a most valuable property."
+
+Again Bethune had referred directly to the map which she had never
+admitted she possessed. He had not said, "If you have a map." The
+man's assumption angered her: "You still persist in assuming that I
+have a map," she answered. "As a matter of fact, I'm depending
+entirely upon a photograph. I am riding blindly through the hills
+trying to find the spot that tallies with the picture."
+
+Bethune frowned and shook his head doubtfully: "You might ride the
+hills for years, and pass the spot a dozen times and never recognize
+it. If you do not happen to strike the exact view-point you might
+easily fail to recognize it. Then, too, the landscape changes with the
+seasons of the year. However," his face brightened and the smile
+returned to his lips; "we have at least something to go on. We are not
+absolutely in the dark. Who knows? If the goddess of luck sits upon
+our shoulders, I myself may know the place well--may recognize it
+instantly! For years I have ridden these hills and I flatter myself
+that no one knows their hidden nooks and byways better than I. Even if
+I should not know the exact spot, it may be that I can tell by the
+general features its approximate locality, and thus limit our search
+to a comparatively small area."
+
+Patty knew that her refusal to show the photograph could not fail to
+place her in an unfavorable position. Either she would appear to
+distrust this man whom she had no reason to distrust, or her action
+would be attributed to a selfish intention to keep the secret to
+herself, even though she knew she could only file one claim. The man's
+argument had been entirely reasonable--in fact, it seemed the sensible
+thing to do. Nevertheless, she did refuse, and refuse flatly: "I
+think, Mr. Bethune, that I would rather play a lone hand. You see, I
+started in on this thing alone, and I want to see it through--for the
+present, at least. After a while, if I find that I cannot succeed
+alone, I shall be glad of your assistance. I suppose you think me a
+fool, but it's a matter of pride, I guess."
+
+Was it fancy, or did the black eyes flash a gleam of hate--a glitter
+of rage beneath their long up-curving lashes? And did the swarthy face
+flush a shade darker beneath its tan? Patty could not be sure, for the
+next moment he was speaking in a voice under perfect control: "I can
+well understand your feeling in the matter, Miss Sinclair, and I have
+nothing of reproach. I do think you are making a mistake. With Vil
+Holland knowing what he does of your father's operations, time may be
+a vital factor in the success of your undertaking. Let me caution you
+again against carrying the photograph upon your person."
+
+"Oh, I keep that safely hidden where no one would ever think of
+searching for it," smiled the girl, and Bethune noted that her eyes
+involuntarily swept the cabin with a glance.
+
+The man mounted: "I will no longer keep you from your work," he said.
+"I have arranged to spend the summer in the hills where I shall carry
+on some prospecting upon my own account. If I can be of any assistance
+to you--if you should need any advice, or help of any kind, a word
+will procure it. I shall stop in occasionally to see how you fare.
+Good-bye." He waved his hand and rode off down the creek where, in a
+cottonwood thicket he dismounted and watched the girl ride away in the
+opposite direction, noted that Lord Clendenning swung stealthily, into
+the trail behind her, and swinging into his saddle rode swiftly toward
+the cabin.
+
+In his high notch in the hills, Vil Holland chuckled audibly, and
+catching up his horse, headed for his camp.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE BISHOP OF ALL OUTDOORS
+
+
+The days slipped into weeks, as Patty Sinclair, carefully and
+methodically traced valleys to their sources, and explored innumerable
+coulees and ravines that twisted and turned their tortuous lengths
+into the very heart of the hills. Rock ledges without number she
+scanned, many with deep cracks and fissures, and many without them.
+But not once did she find a ledge that could by any stretch of the
+imagination be regarded as the ledge of the photograph. Disheartened,
+but not discouraged, the girl would return each evening to her
+solitary cabin, eat her solitary meal, and throw herself upon her bunk
+to brood over the apparent hopelessness of her enterprise, or to read
+from the thumbed and tattered magazines of the dispossessed sheep
+herder. She rode, now, with a sort of dogged persistence. There was
+none of the wild thrill that, during the first days of her search,
+she experienced each time she topped a new divide, or entered a new
+valley.
+
+Three times since she had informed him she would play a lone hand in
+the search for her father's strike, Bethune had called at the cabin.
+And not once had he alluded to the progress of her work. She was
+thankful to him for that--she had not forgotten the hurt in her
+father's eyes as the taunting questions of the scoffers struck home.
+Always she had known of the hurt, but now, with the disheartening days
+of her own failure heaping themselves upon her, she was beginning to
+understand the reason for the hurt. And, guessing this, Bethune
+refrained from questioning, but talked gaily of books, and sunsets,
+and of life, and love, and the joy of living. A supreme optimist, she
+thought him, despite the half-veiled cynicism that threaded his
+somewhat fatalistic view of life, a cynicism that but added the
+necessary _sauce piquante_ to so abandoned an optimism.
+
+Above all, the man was a gentleman. His speech held nothing of the
+abrupt bluntness of Vil Holland's. He would appear shortly after her
+early supper, and was always well upon his way before the late
+darkness began to obscure the contours of her little valley. An hour's
+chat upon the doorstep of the cabin and he was gone--riding down the
+valley, singing as he rode some old _chanson_ of his French forebears,
+with always a pause at the cottonwood grove for a farewell wave of his
+hat. And Patty would turn from the doorway, and light her lamp, and
+proceed to enjoy the small present which he never failed to leave in
+her hand--a box of bon-bons of a kind she had vainly sought for in the
+little town--again, a novel, a woman's novel written by a man who
+thought he knew--and another time, just a handful of wild flowers
+gathered in the hills. She ate the candy making it last over several
+days. She read the book from cover to cover as she lay upon her air
+mattress, tucked snugly between her blankets. And she arranged the
+wild flowers loosely in a shallow bowl and watered them, and talked to
+them, and admired their beauty, and when they were wilted she threw
+them out, but she did not gather more flowers to fill the bowl,
+instead she wiped it dry and returned it to its shelf in the
+cupboard--and wondered when Bethune would come again. She admitted to
+herself that he interested--at least, amused her--helped her to throw
+off for the moment the spirit of dull depression that had fastened
+itself upon her like a tangible thing, bearing down upon her,
+threatening to crush her with its weight.
+
+Always, during these brief visits, her lurking distrust of him
+vanished in the frank boyishness of his personality. The incidents
+that had engendered the distrust--the substitution of the name Schultz
+for Schmidt in the matter of the horse pasture, his abrupt warning
+against Vil Holland, and his attempt to be admitted into her
+confidence as a matter of right, were for the moment forgotten in the
+spell of his presence--but always during her lonely rides in the
+hills, the half-formed doubt returned. Pondering the doubt, she
+realized that the principal reason for its continued existence was not
+so much in the incidents that had awakened it, as in the simple
+question asked by Vil Holland: "You say your dad told you all about
+this partnership business?" And in the "Oh," with which he had greeted
+the reply that she had it from the lips of Bethune. With the
+realization, her dislike for Vil Holland increased. She characterized
+him as a "jug-guzzler," a "swashbuckler," and a "ruffian"--and smiled
+as she recalled the picturesque figure with the clean-cut, bronzed
+face. "Oh, I don't know--I hate these hills! Nobody seems sincere
+excepting the Wattses, and they're--impossible!"
+
+She had borrowed Watts's team and made a second trip to town for
+supplies, and the check that she drew in payment cut her bank account
+in half. As before she had offered to take Microby Dandeline, but the
+girl declined to go, giving as an excuse that "pitcher shows wasn't as
+good as circusts, an' they wasn't no fights, an' she didn't like
+towns, nohow."
+
+Upon her return from town Patty stopped at the Thompsons' for dinner
+where she was accorded a royal welcome by the genial rancher and his
+wife, and where also, she met the Reverend Len Christie, the most
+picturesque, and the most un-clerical minister of the gospel she had
+ever seen. To all appearances the man might have been a cowboy. He
+affected chaps of yellow hair, a dark blue flannel shirt, against
+which flamed a scarf of brilliant crimson caught together by means of
+a vivid green scarab. He wore a roll brimmed Stetson, and carried a
+six-gun at his belt. A pair of high-heeled boots added a couple of
+inches to the six feet two that nature had provided him with, and he
+shook hands as though he enjoyed shaking hands. "I've heard of you,
+Miss Sinclair, back in town and have looked forward to meeting you on
+my first trip into the hills. How are my friends, the Wattses, these
+days? And that reprobate, Vil Holland?" He did not mention that it was
+Vil Holland who had spoken of her presence in the hills, nor that the
+cowboy had also specified that she utterly despised the ground he rode
+on.
+
+To her surprise Patty noticed that there was affection rather than
+disapprobation in the word reprobate, and she answered a trifle
+stiffly: "The Wattses are all well, I think: but, as for Mr. Holland,
+I really cannot answer."
+
+The parson appeared not to notice the constraint but turned to
+Thompson: "By the way, Tom, why isn't Vil riding the round-up this
+year? Has he made his strike?"
+
+Thompson grinned: "Naw, Vil ain't made no strike. Facts is, they's
+be'n some considerable horse liftin' goin' on lately, an' the
+stockmen's payin' Vil wages fer to keep his eye peeled. He's out in
+the hills all the time anyhow with his prospectin', an' they figger
+the thieves won't pay no 'tention to him, like if a stranger was to
+begin kihootin' 'round out there."
+
+"Have they got a line on 'em at all?"
+
+"Well," considered Thompson. "Not as I know of--exactly. Monk Bethune
+an' that there Lord Clendennin' is hangin' 'round the hills--that's
+about all I know."
+
+The parson nodded: "I saw Bethune in town the other day. Do you know,
+Tom, I believe there's a bad Injun."
+
+"Indian!" cried the girl. "Mr. Bethune is not an Indian!"
+
+Thompson laughed: "Yup, that is, he's a breed. They say his
+gran'mother was a Cree squaw--daughter of a chief, or somethin'.
+Anyways, this here Monk, he's a pretty slick article, I guess."
+
+"They're apt to be worse than either the whites or the Indians,"
+Christie explained. "And this Monk Bethune is an educated man, which
+should make him doubly dangerous. Well, I must be going. I've got to
+ride clear over onto Big Porcupine. I heard that old man Samuelson's
+very sick. There's a good man--old Samuelson. Hope he'll pull
+through."
+
+"You bet he's a good man!" assented Thompson, warmly. "He seen Bill
+Winters through, when they tried to prove the murder of Jack Bronson
+onto him, an' it cost him a thousan' dollars. The districk attorney
+had it in fer Bill, count of him courtin' his gal."
+
+"Yes, and I could tell of a dozen things the old man has done for
+people that nobody but I ever knew about--in some instances even the
+people themselves didn't know." He turned to Patty: "Good-by, Miss
+Sinclair. I'm mighty glad to have met you. I knew your father very
+well. If you see the Wattses, tell them I shall try and swing around
+that way on my return." The parson mounted a raw-boned, Roman-nosed
+pinto, whose vivid calico markings, together with the rider's
+brilliant scarf gave a most unministerial, not to say bizarre effect
+to the outfit. "So long, Tom," he called.
+
+"So long, Len! If they's anything we can do, let us know. An' be sure
+an' stop in comin' back." Thompson watched the man until he vanished
+in a cloud of dust far out on the trail.
+
+"Best doggone preacher ever was born," he vouchsafed. "He can ride,
+an' shoot, an' rope, an' everything a man ort to. An' if anyone's
+sick! Well, he's worth all the doctors an' nurses in the State of
+Montany. He'll make you git well just 'cause he wants you to. An' they
+ain't nothin' too much trouble--an' they ain't no work too hard for
+him to tackle. There ain't no piousness stickin' out on him fer folks
+to hang their hat on, neither. He'll mix with the boys, an' listen to
+the natural cussin' an' swearin' that goes on wherever cattle's
+handled, an' enjoy it--but just you let some shorthorn start what you
+might call vicious or premeditated cussin'--somethin' special wicked
+or vile, an' he'll find out there's a parson in the crowd right quick,
+an' if he don't shut up, chances is, he'll be spittin' out a couple of
+teeth. There's one parson can fight, an' the boys know it, an' what's
+more they know he _will_ fight--an' they ain't one of 'em that
+wouldn't back up his play, neither. An' preach! Why he can tear loose
+an' make you feel sorry for every mean trick you ever done--not for
+fear of any punishment after yer dead--but just because it wasn't
+playin' the game. That's him, every time. An' he ain't always
+hollerin' about hell--hearin' him preach you wouldn't hardly know they
+was a hell. 'The Bishop of All Outdoors,' they call him--an' they say
+he can go back East an' preach to city folks, an' make 'em set up an'
+take notice, same as out here. He's be'n offered three times what he
+gets here to go where he'd have it ten times easier--but he laughs at
+'em. He sure is one preacher that ain't afraid of work!"
+
+As Watts's team plodded the hot miles of the interminable trail
+Patty's brain revolved wearily about its problem. "I've made almost a
+complete circle of the cabin, and I haven't found the rock ledge with
+the crack in it yet--and as for daddy's old map--I've spent _hours_
+trying to figure out what that jumble of letters and numbers mean,
+I'll just have to start all over again and keep reaching farther and
+farther into the hills on my rides. Mr. Bethune said I might not
+recognize the place when I come to it!" she laughed bitterly. "If he
+knew how that photograph has burned itself into my brain! I can close
+my eyes and see that rock wall with its peculiar crack, and the
+rock-strewn valley, and the lone tree--_recognize_ it! I would know it
+in the dark!"
+
+Her eyes rested upon the various packages of her load of supplies.
+"One more trip to town, and my prospecting is done, at least, until I
+can earn some more money. The prices out here are outrageous. It's the
+freight, the man told me. Five cents' freight on a penny's worth of
+food! But what in the world can I do to make money? What can anybody
+do to make money in this Godforsaken country? I can't punch cattle,
+nor herd sheep. I don't see why I had to be a _girl_!" Resentment
+against her accident of birth cooled, and her mind again took up its
+burden of thought. "There is one way," she muttered. "And that is to
+admit failure and take Mr. Bethune into partnership. He will advance
+the money and help with the work--and, surely there will be enough for
+two. And, I'm not so sure but that--" She broke off shortly and felt
+the hot blood rise in a furious blush, as she glanced guiltily about
+her--but in all the vast stretch of plain was no human being, and she
+laughed aloud at the antics of the prairie dogs that scolded and
+barked saucily and then dove precipitously into their holes as a lean
+coyote trotted diagonally through their "town."
+
+What was it they had said at Thompson's about Mr. Bethune? Despite
+herself she had approved the outlandishly dressed preacher with the
+smiling blue eyes. He was so big, and so wholesome! "The Bishop of All
+Outdoors," Thompson had called him. She liked that--and somehow the
+name seemed to fit. Looking into those eyes no one could doubt his
+sincerity--his every word, his every motion spoke unbounded enthusiasm
+for his work. What was it he had said? "Do you know, Tom, I believe
+there's a bad Injun." And Thompson had referred to Bethune as "a
+pretty slick article." Surely, Thompson, whole-souled, generous
+Thompson, would not malign a man. Here were two men whom the girl knew
+instinctively she could trust, who stood four-square with the world,
+and whose opinions must carry weight. And both had spoken with
+suspicion of Bethune and both had spoken of Vil Holland as one of
+themselves. "I don't understand it," she muttered. "Everybody seems to
+be against Mr. Bethune, and everybody seems to like Vil Holland, in
+spite of his jug, and his gun, and his boorishness. Maybe it's because
+Mr. Bethune's a--a breed," she speculated. "Why, they even hinted that
+he's a--a horse-thief. It isn't fair to despise him for his Indian
+blood. Why should he be made to suffer because his grandmother was an
+Indian--the daughter of a Cree chief? It sounds interesting and
+romantic. The people of some of our very best families point with
+pride to the fact that they are descendants of Pocahontas! Poor
+fellow, everybody seems down on him--everybody that is, but Ma Watts
+and Microby. And, as a matter of fact, he appears to better advantage
+than any of them, not excepting the very militant and unorthodox
+'Bishop of All Outdoors.'"
+
+The result of the girl's cogitations left her exactly where she
+started. She was no nearer the solution of her problem of the hills.
+And her lurking doubt of Bethune still remained despite the excuses
+she invented to account for his unpopularity, nor had her opinion of
+Vil Holland been altered in the least.
+
+Upon arriving at her cabin she was not at all surprised to find that
+it had been thoroughly searched, albeit with less care than the
+searcher had been in the habit of bestowing upon the readjustment of
+the various objects of the room exactly as she had left them. Canned
+goods and dishes were disarranged upon their shelves, and the loose
+section of floor board beneath her bunk that had evidently served as
+the secret _cache_ of the sheep herder, had been fitted clumsily into
+its place. The evident boldness, or carelessness of this latest
+outrage angered her as no previous search had done. Heretofore each
+object had been returned to its place with painstaking accuracy so
+that it had been only through the use of fine-spun cobwebs and
+carefully arranged bits of dust that she had been able to verify her
+suspicion that the room had really been searched--and there had been
+times when even the dust and the cobwebs had been replaced. Whoever
+had been searching the cabin had proven himself a master of detail,
+and had at least, paid her the compliment of possessing imagination,
+and a shrewdness equaling his own. Was it possible that the searcher,
+emboldened by her repeated failure to spy upon him at his work, had
+ceased to care whether or not she knew of his visits? The girl
+recalled the three weary days she had spent watching from the
+hillside. And how she had decided to buy a lock for her door, until
+the futility of it had been brought home to her by the discovery that
+her trunks were being searched along with her other belongings, and
+their locks left in perfect condition. So far, he might well scorn her
+puny attempts at discovery. Or, had a new factor entered the game? Had
+someone of cruder mold undertaken to discover her secret? The thought
+gave her a decided uneasiness. Tired out by her trip, she did not
+light the fire, and after disposing of the cold lunch Mrs. Thompson
+had put up for her, affixed the bar, and went to bed, with her six-gun
+within reach of her hand.
+
+For a long time she lay in the darkness, thinking. "The way it was
+before, I haven't been in any physical danger. Mr. Vil Holland knows
+that if what he is searching for is not here I must carry it on my
+person. The obvious way to get it would be to take it away from me. Of
+course the only way he could do that without my seeing him would be to
+kill me. He hesitates at murder. Either there are depths of moral
+turpitude into which he will not descend--or, he fears the
+consequences. He has imagination. He assumes that sometime I'll leave
+that packet at home--either through carelessness, or because I have
+learned its contents by heart and don't need it. In the meantime, in
+addition to his patient searching of the cabin, he is taking no
+chances, and while he waits for the inevitable to happen he is
+following me so if I do succeed in locating the claim, he can beat me
+to the register. It's a pretty game--no violence--only patience and
+brains. But this other," she shuddered, "there is something positively
+brutal in the crude awkwardness of his work. If he thinks I carry what
+he wants with me, would he hesitate at murder? I guess I'll have to
+carry that gun again--and I better practice with it, too. If I can
+only get rid of this last one, I believe I've got a scheme for
+catching the other!" She sat bolt upright in bed. "Oh, if I only
+could! If I could only beat him at his own game--and I believe I can!"
+For several minutes she sat thinking rapidly, and as she lay back upon
+her pillow, she smiled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+LORD CLENDENNING GETS A DUCKING
+
+
+Patty awoke at dawn and dressed hurriedly. Shivering in the chill air,
+she lighted a match and pushed back a lid of the little cast iron cook
+stove. Instead of the "cold fire" of neatly arranged wood and
+kindlings that she had built before leaving for town a pile of gray
+ashes and blackened ends of charcoal greeted her.
+
+"Whoever it was knew he had plenty of time at his disposal so he
+helped himself to a meal," she muttered angrily. "He might, at least,
+have cut me some kindlings. I'm surprised that he had the good grace
+to wash up his dirty dishes." A few moments later, as the fire
+crackled merrily in the stove, she picked up the water pail and
+stepping through the door, threw back her head and breathed deeply of
+the crisp mountain air. "Oh, it's wonderful just to be alive!" she
+whispered. "Even if everybody is against you. It's just like a great
+big game and, oh, I want to win! I've got to win!" she added, grimly,
+as her thoughts flew to her depleted bank account.
+
+At the spring she paused in the act of filling her pail and stared at
+a mark in the mud at the edge of the tiny rill formed by the overflow
+from the catch basin. She leaned over and examined the mark more
+closely. It was the track of a bare foot. Then, for the first time in
+many days, the girl threw back her head and laughed. "Microby
+Dandeline!" she cried. "And I was picturing some skulking murderer
+lying in wait to pounce on me at the first opportunity. And here it
+was only poor little Microby who happened along, and with her natural
+curiosity pawed over everything in the cabin, and then decided it
+would be a grand stunt to cook herself a meal and eat it at my
+table--and I haven't the least doubt that she arrayed herself in one
+of my dresses when she did it." Patty hummed a light tune as, water
+pail in hand, she made her way up the path to the cabin. "Whee! but
+it's a relief to feel that I won't have to ride these hills peering
+behind every tree and rock for a lurking assassin. And I won't have to
+carry that horrid heavy old gun, either."
+
+After breakfast she saddled her horse and headed up the ravine that
+she had followed upon the morning of her first ride. At the top of the
+divide she pulled up her horse and gazed downward at the little cabin.
+As before she was impressed by the startling distinctness with which
+each object was visible. "Anyway, I'm glad my window is not on this
+side," she muttered, as her eyes strayed to the ground at her horse's
+feet. For yards around, the buffalo grass had been trampled and pawed
+until scarcely a spear remained. "Here's where he watches me start out
+each morning, then he follows me until he's sure I'm well away from
+the valley, then he slips back and searches the cabin, and then takes
+up my trail again. The miserable sneak!" she cried, angrily. "If Mr.
+Thompson, and Watts, and that cowboy preacher knew what I knew about
+him, they wouldn't seem so impressed with him. Anyway," she added,
+defiantly, "Mr. Bethune and Lord Clendenning know him for what he
+is-and so do I."
+
+It was in a very wrathful mood that she turned her horse's head and
+struck into the timber, being careful to avoid Vil Holland's camp by a
+wide margin. Crossing the timbered plateau, she topped a low divide
+and found herself at the head of a deep, rocky valley, whose course
+she could trace for miles as it wound in and out among the far hills.
+Giving her horse his head, she began the descent of the valley,
+scanning its sides carefully as the animal picked his way slowly among
+the rock fragments and patches of scrub timber that littered its
+floor. She had proceeded for perhaps an hour when, in passing the
+mouth of a ravine that slanted sharply into the hills, she was
+startled by a rattling of loose stones, and a horse and rider emerged
+almost directly into her path. The next moment Vil Holland raised the
+Stetson from his head and addressed her gravely: "Good mornin' Miss
+Sinclair, I sure didn't mean to come out on you sudden, that way, but
+Buck slipped on the rocks an' we come mighty near pilin' up."
+
+"It is about the first slip you've made, isn't it?" Patty answered,
+acidly. "Possibly if you'd left your jug at home you wouldn't have
+made that."
+
+"Oh no. We've slipped before. Fact is, we've been into about every
+kind of a jack-pot the hills can deal. We rolled half way down a
+mountain once, an' barrin' a little skinnin' up, we come out of it all
+to the good. But it ain't the jug. Buck don't drink. It's surprisin'
+what a good habited horse he is. He's a heap better'n most folks."
+The man spoke gravely, with no hint of sarcasm in his tone, and Patty
+sniffed. He appeared not to notice. "How you comin' on with the
+prospectin'? Found yer dad's claim yet?"
+
+"You ought to know whether I have or not," she retorted, hotly.
+
+"That's so. If you had, you wouldn't still be huntin' it, would you?"
+
+"No. And if I had, I'd have had a nice little race on my hands to file
+it, wouldn't I?"
+
+"Well, I expect maybe you would. But that horse of yours is pretty
+handy on his feet. Used to belong to Bob Smith--that's his brand--that
+KN on the left shoulder."
+
+"Yes," answered the girl, meaningly. "I understand there is only one
+horse in the hills that could outrun him."
+
+"Buck can. I won ten dollars off Bob one time. We run a mile, an' Buck
+won, easy. But the best thing about Buck, he's a distance horse. He's
+got the wind--an' he don't know what it means to quit. He could run
+all day if he had to, couldn't you, Buck?" The man stroked the
+buckskin's neck affectionately as he talked.
+
+Patty's eyes glinted angrily: "The stakes would have to be pretty
+high for you to run him, say, fifty miles, wouldn't they?"
+
+"Yes. Pretty high," he repeated, and changed the subject abruptly.
+"Must find it kind of lonesome out here in the hills, after livin' in
+the East where there's lots of folks around all the time."
+
+"Oh, not at all," answered the girl, quickly. "Some of my neighbors
+are good enough to call on me once in a while--_when I am at home_.
+And there is at least _one_ that calls very regularly when I am not at
+home. He is a genius for detail--that one. Sharp eyes, and a light
+touch. He's something of an expert in the matter of duplicate keys,
+too. In any large city he should make a grand success--as a burglar.
+It is really too bad that he's wasting his talents, here in the
+hills."
+
+"Maybe he figures that the stakes are higher, and the risk less--here
+in the hills."
+
+"Of course," sneered Patty. "And I must say his reasoning does him
+credit. If he should succeed in burglarizing even the biggest bank in
+the richest city, he could not expect to carry off a gold mine. And,
+here in the hills, instead of burglar-proof devices and armed
+policemen, he has only an unlocked cabin, and a woman to contend
+with. Yes, the risk is far less here in the hills. His location speaks
+well for his reasoning--if not for his courage."
+
+"I suppose he figures that plenty of brutes have got courage, but only
+humans can reason," answered the man, blandly. "But, ridin' out in the
+hills this way--that must be a lonesome job."
+
+"Not at all," she answered, in a voice that masked the anger against
+the man who sat calmly baiting her. "In fact, I never ride alone. I
+have an unseen escort, who accompanies me wherever I go. 'My guardian
+devil of the hills' I call him, and even when I'm at home I know that
+he is watching from his notch in the rim of the hills."
+
+"Guardian devil," the man repeated. "That's pretty good." He did not
+smile, in fact, Patty recalled, as she sat looking squarely into his
+eyes, that she had never seen him smile--had never seen him express
+any emotion. Without a trace of anger in tone or expression he had
+ordered the grasping hotel-keeper about--and had been obeyed to the
+letter. And without the slightest evidence of annoyance or displeasure
+he had listened, upon several occasions to her own sarcastic outbursts
+against him. Here was a man as devoid of emotion as a fish, or one
+whose complete self-mastery was astounding. "Pretty good," he
+repeated. "And does he know that you call him your 'guardian devil?'"
+
+"Yes, I think he does--now," she answered, dryly. "By the way, Mr.
+Holland, you do a good deal of riding about the hills, yourself."
+
+"Yeh, prospectors are apt to. Then, there's other little matters of
+interest here, too."
+
+"Such as horse-thieving?" suggested the girl. "I heard you were paid
+to run down a gang of horse-thieves. I was wondering when you found
+time to earn your money."
+
+"Yeh, there's some hair artists loose in the hills, an' some of the
+outfits kind of wanted me to keep an eye out for 'em."
+
+An old saw flashed into the girl's mind, and the comers of her mouth
+drew into a sarcastic smile.
+
+"'Settin' a thief to catch a thief,' is what you're thinkin'. We ain't
+so well acquainted yet as what we will be--when you get your eye teeth
+cut."
+
+"I suppose our real acquaintance will begin when the game we are
+playing comes to a show-down?" she sneered. "But let me tell you this,
+if I win, our acquaintance will end, right where you think it will
+begin!"
+
+The cowboy nodded: "That's fair an' square. An' if I win--_you'll have
+to be satisfied with what you get_. Good-day, I've fooled away time
+enough already." And, with a word to his horse, Vil Holland
+disappeared up the valley in the direction from which the girl had
+come.
+
+When her anger had cooled sufficiently, Patty smiled, a rather grim,
+tight-lipped little smile. "If he wins I'll have to be satisfied with
+what I get," she muttered. "At least, he's candid about it. I think,
+now, Mr. Vil Holland and I understand each other perfectly."
+
+Late in the afternoon she emerged from the mouth of her valley and,
+crossing a familiar tongue of bench, found herself upon the trail near
+the point of its intersection with Monte's Creek. Turning up the
+creek, she stopped for a few minutes' chat with Ma Watts.
+
+"Law sakes! Climb right down an' set a while. I wus sayin' to Watts
+las' night how we-all hain't see nawthin' of yo' fer hit's goin' on a
+couple of weeks 'cept yo' hirein' the team, an' not stoppin' in to
+speak of, comin' er goin'. How be yo'? An' I 'spect yo' hain't found
+yer pa's claim yet. I saved yo' up a dozen of aigs. Hed to mighty near
+fight off that there Lord Clendennin' he wanted 'em so bad. But I
+done tol' him yo' wus promised 'em, an' yo'd git 'em not nary nother.
+So there they be, honey, all packed in a pail with hay so's they won't
+break. No sir, I tol' him how he couldn't hev' 'em if he wus two
+lords. An' all the time we wus a-augerin', Mr. Bethune an' Microby
+Dandeline sot out yonder a-talkin' an' laughin', friendly as yo'
+please." Ma Watts paused for breath and her eye fell upon her spouse,
+who stood meekly beside the kitchen door. "Watts, where's yer manners?
+Cain't yo' say 'howdy' to Mr. Sinclair's darter--an' her a-payin' yo'
+good money fer rent an' fer team hire. Yo' ort to be 'shamed, standin'
+gawpin' like a mud turkle. Folks 'ud think yo' hain't got good sense."
+
+"I aimed to say 'howdy' first chanct I got." He shoved a chair toward
+the girl. "Set down an' take hit easy a spell."
+
+"Where is Microby?" she asked, refusing the proffered seat with a
+smile, and leaning lightly against her saddle.
+
+"Land sakes, I don't know! She's gittin' that no 'count, she goes
+pokin' off somewhere's in the hills on Gee Dot. Says she's
+a-prospectin'--like they all says when they're too lazy to do reg'lar
+work."
+
+"My father was a prospector," answered the girl, quickly, "and there
+wasn't a lazy bone in his body. And I'm a prospector, and I'm sure I'm
+not lazy."
+
+"Law, there I went an' done hit!" exclaimed Ma Watts, contritely. "I
+didn't mean no real honest-to-Gawd, reg'lar prospectors like yo' pa
+wus, an' yo', an' Mr. Bethune. But there's that Vil Holland, he's a
+cowpuncher, when he works, and a prospector when he don't. An' there's
+Lord Clendennin', he's a prospector all the time, 'cause he don't
+never work--an' that's the way hit goes. An' Microby Dandeline's
+a-gittin' as triflin' as the rest. Mr. Bethune, he tellin' her how
+she'd git rich ef she could find a gol' mind, an' how she could buy
+her some fine clos' like yourn, an' go to the city to live like the
+folks in the pitchers. Mr. Bethune, he's done found minds. He's rich.
+An' he's got manners, too. Watts, he's allus makin' light of
+manners--says they don't 'mount to nawthin'. But thet's 'cause he
+hain't quality. Quality's got 'em, an' they're nice to hev."
+
+"Gre't sight o' quality--him," growled Watts. "He's part Injun."
+
+"Hit don't make no diff'ence what he's part!" defended the woman.
+"He's rich, an' he's purty lookin', an' he's got manners like I done
+tol' yo'. Ef I wus you I'd marry up with him, an----"
+
+"Why, Mrs. Watts! What do you mean?" exclaimed the girl flushing with
+annoyance.
+
+"Jest what I be'n aimin' to tell yo' fer hit's goin' on quite a spell.
+Yo'n him 'ud step hit off right pert. Yo' pretty, an' yo' rich, er yo'
+will be when yo' find yo' pa's mind, an' yo' manners is most as good
+as his'n."
+
+The humor of the mountain woman's serious effort at match-making
+struck Patty, and she interrupted with a laugh: "There are several
+objections to that arrangement," she hastened to say. "In the first
+place Mr. Bethune has never asked me to marry him. He may have serious
+objections, and as for me, I'm not ready to even think of marrying."
+
+"Don't take long to git ready, onct yo' git in the notion. An' I bet
+Mr. Bethune hain't abuzzin' 'round up an' down this yere crick fer
+nawthin'. Law sakes, child, when I tuk a notion to take Watts, come a
+supper time I wusn't no more a mind to git married than yo' be, an',
+by cracky! come moonrise me an' Watts had forked one o' pa's mewels
+with nothin' on but a rope halter, an' wus headin' down the branch
+with pa an' my brother Lafe a-cuttin' through the lau'ls with their
+rifle-guns fer to head us off."
+
+"Yo' didn't take me fer looks ner manners, neither," reminded Watts.
+
+"Law, I'd a be'n single yet, ef I hed. No sir, I tuk yo' to save a
+sight o' killin' that's what I done. Yo' see, Miss, my pa wus sot on
+me not marryin' no Watts--not that I aimed to, 'til he says I dasn't.
+But Watts hed be'n a pesterin' 'round right smart, nights, an' pa
+lowed he'd shore kill him daid ef he didn't mind his own
+business--so'd my brothers, they wus five of 'em, an' nary one that
+wusn't mighty handy with his rifle-gun.
+
+"So Watts, he quit a-comin' to the cabin, but me an' him made hit up
+thet he'd hide out on t'other side o' the branch an' holler like a
+owl, an' then I'd slip out the back do'--an' that's the way we done
+our co'tin'. My folks didn't hev no truck with the Wattses thet lived
+on t'other side the mountain, 'count of them killin' two Strunkses a
+way back, the Strunkses bein' my pa's ma's folks, over a hawg. Even
+then I didn't hev no notion o' marryin' Watts, jest done hit to be
+a-doin' like, ontil pa an' the boys ketched on to whut we wus up to.
+After thet, hit got so't every time they heerd a squinch owl holler,
+they'd begin a-shootin' into the bresh with their rifle guns. Watts
+lowed they was comin' doggone clust to him a time er two, an' how he
+aimed to bring along his own gun some night, an' start a shootin'
+back.
+
+"Law knows wher it would ended, whut one with another, the Biggses an'
+the Strunkses, an' the Rawlins, an' the Craborchards would hev be'n
+drug into hit, along of the Wattses an' the Scrogginses. So I tuk
+Watts, an' we went to live with his folks, an' we sent back the mewel
+with Job Swenky, who they wouldn't nobody kill 'cause he wus a daftie.
+An' pa brung back the mewel hisself, come alone, an' 'thouten his
+rifle-gun. He says seem' how Watts hed got me fair an' squr, an' we
+wus reg'lar married, he reckoned the ol' grudge wus dead, the
+Strunkses wasn't no count much, nohow, an' we wus welcome to keep the
+mewel to start on. So Watts's pa killed a shoat, an' brung out a big
+jug o' corn whisky, an' we-all et an' drunk all we could hold, an'
+from then on 'til whut time we come away from ther, they wusn't a man,
+outside a couple o' revenoos, killed on B'ar Track.
+
+"So yo' see," the woman continued, with a smile. "Hit don't take no
+time to git ready, onct yo' git in the notion."
+
+"I'm afraid I haven't the same provocation," Patty laughed, as she
+picked up her pail of eggs and swung into the saddle. "Good-by, and be
+sure and tell Microby Dandeline to come up and see me. Maybe she'd
+like to come up on Sunday. I never ride on Sunday."
+
+"She'll come fast enough," promised Ma Watts, and watched the
+retreating girl until a bend of the creek carried her out of sight.
+
+The long shadows of the mountains were slowly climbing the opposite
+wall of the valley, as the girl rode leisurely up Monte's Creek. And
+as she rode, she smiled: "Why is it that every married woman--and
+especially the older ones, thinks it is her bounden duty to pounce
+upon and marry off every single one? It is not one bit different out
+here in the heart of the hills, than it is in Middleton, or New York.
+And, it isn't because they're all so happy in their own marriages,
+either. Look at old Mrs. Stratford, who was bound and determined that
+I must marry that Archie Smith-Jones; she's been married four times,
+and divorced three. And Archie never will amount to a row of pins. He
+looks like a tailor's model, and acts like a Rolls-Royce. And, I
+don't see any supreme bliss about Mrs. Watts's married existence,
+although she's perfectly satisfied, I guess, poor thing. I love the
+subtle finesse with which she tried to arrange a match between me and
+Mr. Bethune. ''Ef I wus yo' I'd marry up with him'--just like that!
+Shades of Mrs. Stratford who spent two whole months trying to get
+Archie and me into the same canoe! And when she did, the blamed thing
+tipped over and ruined the only decent summer things I had, all
+because that fool Archie thought he had to stand up to fend the canoe
+off the pier.... At least, Mr. Bethune has got some sense, and he is
+good looking, and he seems to have money, and there is a certain dash
+and verve about him that one would hardly expect to find here in the
+hills--and yet--there's something--it isn't his Indian blood, I don't
+care a cent about that--but sometimes, there's something about him
+that makes me wonder if he's genuine."
+
+She passed through the cottonwood grove and emerged into the open only
+a few hundred yards below the sheep camp. A moment later she halted
+abruptly and stared toward the cabin. Two saddled horses stood before
+the door, reins hanging loosely, and upon the edge of a low cut-bank,
+just below the shallow waters of the ford, two men were struggling,
+locked in each other's embrace. Hastily the girl drew back into the
+cover of the grove and watched with intense interest the two forms
+that weaved precariously above the deep pool formed by a sudden bend
+in the creek. The horses she recognized as Vil Holland's buckskin, and
+the big, blaze-faced bay ridden by Lord Clendenning. In the gathering
+dusk she could not make out the faces of the two men, but by their
+heaving, circling, swaying figures she knew that mighty muscles were
+being strained to their utmost, and that soon one or the other must
+give in. A dozen questions flashed through the girl's brain. What were
+they doing there? Why were they fighting at the very door of her
+cabin? And, above all, what would be the outcome? Would one of them
+kill the other? Would one of them be left maimed and bleeding for her
+to bind up and coax back to life?
+
+The men were on the very verge of the cut-bank, now, and it seemed
+inevitable that both must go crashing into the creek. "Serve 'em right
+if they would," muttered Patty, "I'd like to give 'em a push." With
+the words on her lips, she saw a blur of motion, one of the forms
+leaped lightly back, and the other poised for a second, arms waving
+wildly in a vain effort to regain his balance, then fell suddenly
+backward and toppled headlong into the creek. Patty could distinctly
+hear the mighty splash with which he struck the water, as the other
+advanced to the edge and peered downward. She knew that this other was
+Vil Holland, and a moment later he turned away and catching up the
+reins of the buckskin, swung into the saddle, splashed through the
+ford, and disappeared into the scrub timber of the opposite side of
+the valley.
+
+Patty urged her horse forward, at the imminent risk of injury to her
+pail of eggs. When she had almost reached the cabin, a grotesque,
+dripping form crawled heavily from the creek bed, gave one hurried
+glance in her direction, mounted his horse, and disappeared in a
+thunder of galloping hoofs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+BETHUNE TRIES AGAIN
+
+
+For several days following the incident of the two struggling
+horsemen, Patty rode, extending her quest farther and farther into the
+hills, and thus widening the circle of her exploration. She had
+overhauled her father's photographic outfit and found it contained
+complete supplies for the development and printing of his own
+pictures, and having brought several rolls of films from town, she
+proceeded to amuse herself by photographing the more striking bits of
+scenery she encountered upon her daily rides.
+
+It was mid-summer, now, the sun shone hot and brassy from a cloudless
+sky, and the buffalo grass was beginning to exchange its fresh
+greenness for a shade of dirty tan. Only the delicious coolness of the
+short nights made bearable the long, hot, monotonous days during which
+the girl stuck doggedly to her purpose. Upon these rides she met no
+one. It was as if human beings had entirely forsaken the world and
+left it to the prairie dogs, the coyotes, and the lazily coiled
+rattle-snakes that lay basking upon the rocks in the hot glare of the
+sun. Even the occasional bunches of range cattle did not eye her with
+their accustomed interest, but lay in straggling groups close beside
+the cold waters of tiny streams.
+
+And it was upon one of these hot days, long past the noon hour, that
+Patty dismounted in a narrow valley near the head of a cold mountain
+stream and, affixing the hobbles to her horse's legs, threw off the
+saddle and bridle, and spread the sweat-dampened blanket to dry in the
+sun. Freed of his accouterments, the horse shook himself, shuffled to
+the stream, and burying his muzzle to the eyes, sucked up great gulps
+of the cold water, and playfully thrashing his head, sent volleys of
+silver drops flying from side to side, as he churned the tiny pool
+into a veritable mud wallow. Tiring of that, he rolled luxuriously,
+the crisping buffalo grass scratching the irking saddle-feel from his
+back and sides: and as the girl spread her luncheon upon a clean white
+napkin in the shade of a stunted cottonwood, fell to grazing
+contentedly.
+
+As Patty chipped at the shell of a hard-boiled egg she glanced toward
+the horse, which had stopped grazing and stood facing down stream with
+ears nervously alert. A few moments later the soft rattle of
+bit-chains and the low shuffling of hoofs told her that a rider was
+approaching at a walk. "Probably my guardian devil, ostensibly paying
+strict attention to his own business of prospecting, or trying to
+strike the trail of the horse-thieves, but in reality hot on the trail
+of little me. I just wish I could find the mine. He'll have to stop
+and drive his stakes and fix his notice, and if his old buckskin is as
+good as he thinks he is, he'll just about overtake me at Thompson's.
+And then on a fresh horse--I just want one good look into his face
+when I pass him, that's all!"
+
+The horseman came suddenly into view a few yards distant, and the girl
+looked up into the black eyes of Monk Bethune.
+
+"Well, well, my dear Miss Sinclair!" The quarter-breed's tone was one
+of glad surprise, as he dismounted and advanced, hat in hand. "This is
+indeed an unexpected pleasure. La, la, la, the luck of it! Shall we
+say, the romance? Hot and saddle-weary from a long ride, to come
+suddenly upon the fairest of ladies, at luncheon alone in the most
+charming of little valleys. It is a situation to be dreamed of. And,
+am I not to be asked to share your repast?"
+
+Patty laughed. The light whimsicality of the man's mood amused her:
+"Yes, you may consider yourself invited."
+
+"And be assured that I accept, that is, upon condition that I be
+allowed to contribute my just share toward the feast." As he talked,
+Bethune fumbled at his pack-strings, and brought forth a small canvas
+bag, from which he drew sandwiches of fried trout and bacon thrust
+between two slabs of doubtful looking baking-powder bread. "No dainty
+lunch prepared by woman's hand," he apologized, "but we of the hills,
+no matter how exotic or æsthetic our tastes may be, must of stern
+necessity descend to the common level of cowboys and offscourings in
+the matter of our eating. See, beside your own palatable food, this
+rough fare of mine presents an appearance unappetizing almost to
+repugnance."
+
+"At least, it looks eminently satisfying," said Patty, eyeing the
+thick sandwiches.
+
+"Satisfying, I grant you. Satisfying to the beast that is in man, in
+that it stays the pangs of hunger. So is the blood-dripping carcass of
+the fresh-killed calf satisfying to the wolf, and carrion satisfying
+to the buzzard. But, not at all satisfying to the unbestial ego--to
+the thing that makes man, man."
+
+"You should have been a poet," smiled the girl. "But come, even poets
+must eat."
+
+"God help the man who has no poetry in his soul--no imagination!"
+exclaimed Bethune, a trifle sententiously, thought the girl, as she
+resumed the chipping of her egg. "Imagination," the word hovered
+elusively in her brain--she had applied that word only recently to
+someone--oh, yes, the man whose habit it was to search her cabin. She
+smiled ever so slightly as she glanced sidewise at Bethune who was
+nibbling at one of his own sandwiches.
+
+"Please try one of mine," she urged, "and there are some pickles, and
+an olive or two. I have loads of them at home, and really I believe I
+should like that other sandwich of yours. I haven't tasted fish for
+ages."
+
+"Take it and welcome," smiled the man. "But do not deny yourself the
+pleasure of eating all the fish you want. Why, with a bent pin, a bit
+of thread, and housefly, you can catch yourself a mess of trout any
+morning without venturing a hundred yards from your own door. Monte's
+Creek is alive with them, and taken fresh from the water and fried to
+a crisp in butter, they make a breakfast fit for a king, or in the
+present instance, I should have said, a queen."
+
+"Tell me," asked Patty, abruptly. "Has Vil Holland imagination?"
+
+"Imagination! My dear lady, Vil Holland is the veriest clod! Too lazy
+to do the honest work for which he is fitted, he roams the hills under
+pretense of prospecting."
+
+"But, how does he make a living?"
+
+Bethune shrugged. "Who can tell? I know for a certainty that he has
+never made a cent out of his alleged prospecting. It is true he rides
+the round-up for a couple of months in the spring and fall, but four
+months' work at forty dollars a month will hardly suffice for a man's
+yearly needs." He unconsciously lowered his voice, and continued:
+"Several ranchers have complained of losing horses and only a few days
+ago, up near the line, my good friend Corporal Downey, of the Mounted,
+told me that a number of American horses, with brands skillfully
+doctored, had been regularly making their appearance in Canada. It is
+an ugly suspicion, and I am making no open accusation, but--one may
+wonder."
+
+The man finished his sandwich, dipped his fingers into the creek, wiped
+them upon his handkerchief, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. "Speaking of
+Vil Holland, why did you ask whether he had--imagination?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," replied the girl, lightly. "I just wondered."
+
+Bethune regarded her steadily. "Has he been,--er, interfering in any
+way with your attempt to locate your father's strike?"
+
+"Hardly interfering, I should say."
+
+"You believe he still follows you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You do not fear him?"
+
+"No."
+
+"That is because you do not know him! I tell you he is a dangerous
+man!" Bethune puffed shortly at his cigarette, hurled it from him, and
+faced the girl with glowing eyes: "Ah, Miss Sinclair, why don't you
+end this uncertainty? Why do you continue every day to jeopardize your
+interests--yes, your very life----?"
+
+"Do you mean," interrupted the girl, "why don't I form a partnership
+with you?"
+
+"A partnership! Ah, no, not a--and, yet--yes, a partnership. A
+partnership of life, and love, and happiness!" The man moved close,
+and the black eyes seemed, in the intensity of their gaze to devour
+her very soul. "There I have said it--the thing I have been wanting to
+say, yet have feared to say." Patty's lips moved, as if to speak, but
+the man forestalled the words with a gesture. "Before you answer, let
+me tell you how, since you first came into the hills, I have lived in
+the shadow of a mighty fear--I, who have lived my life among men, and
+have never known the meaning of fear, have been harassed by a
+multitude of fears. From the moment of our first meeting I have loved
+you. And, by all the saints, I swear you are the only woman I have
+ever loved! And, yet, I feared to tell you of that love. Twice the
+words have trembled on my tongue, and remained unspoken, because I
+feared that you might spurn me. Then in my heart rose another fear,
+and I cursed myself for a craven. I feared that chance might favor you
+in locating your father's strike, and then people would say, 'he loves
+her for her wealth.' I even thought that you, yourself, might
+doubt--might ask yourself why he waited until I became rich before he
+told me of his love? But, believe me, my dear lady, for your wealth, I
+care not the snap of my fingers--so!" He snapped his fingers loudly
+and continued: "But say the word, and we will go far from the hill
+country, and leave your father's secret to the guardianship of his
+beloved mountains. For I am rich. I own mines, mines, mines! What is
+one mine more or less to me?"
+
+Patty Sinclair felt herself drifting under the spell of his compelling
+ardor. "Why not?" she asked herself. "Why not marry this man and give
+up the hopeless struggle?" She thought of her depleted bank account.
+At best, she could not hope to hold out much longer. Bethune had taken
+her hand as he talked, and she had not withdrawn it from his palm.
+Swiftly he bent his head and pressed the brown hand passionately to
+his lips. She felt his grip tighten as the burning kisses covered her
+hand--her wrist. She drew the hand away.
+
+"But, I do not want to leave the hill country," she said, quite
+calmly. "I shall never leave it until I have vindicated my father's
+course in the eyes of the people back home--the men who scoffed at
+him, and called him a ne'er-do-well, and a dreamer--who refused to
+back his judgment with their miserable dollars--who killed him with
+their cruelty, and their doubt!"
+
+"I hoped you would say that!" exclaimed Bethune, his eyes alight with
+approval. "I knew you would say it! The daughter of your father could
+not do otherwise. I knew him well, and loved him as a son should love.
+And I, too, would see his judgment vindicated in the eyes of all the
+world. Listen, together we will remain, and together we will locate
+the lost strike, if it takes every cent I own." The man's voice
+gripped in its intensity, and Patty's eyes returned from the distance
+where the summer haze bathed far mountain tops in soft purple, and
+looked into the eyes of velvet black.
+
+"But, why should you want to marry me?" she inquired, a puzzled little
+frown wrinkling her forehead. "You hardly know me. You have not always
+lived in the hills. You have met many women."
+
+"A man meets many women. He marries but one. You ask me why I want to
+marry you. I cannot tell you why. Many times since we first met I have
+asked myself why. I, who have openly scoffed at the yoke, and boasted
+proudly of my freedom. I do not know why, unless it is that to me you
+are the embodiment of all womanhood--of all that is desirable and
+worth while, or maybe the reason is in the fact that while I am with
+you I am supremely happy, and while I am absent from you I am
+restless and unhappy--a prey to my fears. I suppose it all sums up in
+the reason--world-old, but ever new--because I love you." The man was
+upon his feet, now, bending toward her with arms outstretched. For
+just an instant Patty hesitated, then shook her head.
+
+"No!" she cried and struggling to her feet, faced him across the
+remains of the luncheon. "No, it would not be playing the game. I have
+my work to do, and I'll do it alone. It would be like quitting--like
+calling for help before I am beaten. This is my work--not yours, this
+vindication of my father!"
+
+"But think," interrupted Bethune, "you will not let such Quixotic
+ideals stand between us and happiness! You have your right to
+happiness, and so have I, and in the end 'twill be the same, your
+father's name will be cleared of any suspicion of unworthiness."
+
+"It is my work," Patty repeated, stubbornly, "and besides, I do not
+think I love you. I do not know----"
+
+"Ah, but you will love me!" cried Bethune. "Such love as mine will not
+be denied!" The black eyes glowed, and he took a step toward her, but
+the girl drew away.
+
+"Not now--not yet! Stop!" At the command Bethune recoiled slightly,
+and the arms that had been about to encircle the girl, fell slowly to
+his sides. Patty had suddenly drawn herself erect and looked him eye
+for eye: and as she looked, from behind the soft glow of the velvet
+eyes, leaped a wolfish gleam--a glint of baffled rage, a flash of
+hate. In a moment it was gone and the man's lips smiled.
+
+"Pardon," he said, "for the moment I forgot I have not the right." The
+voice had lost its intense timbre, and sounded dull, as if held under
+control only by a mighty effort of will. And in that moment a strange
+fear of him took possession of the girl, so that her own voice
+surprised her with its calm.
+
+"I must be going, now."
+
+Bethune bowed. "I will saddle your horse, while you clear up the
+table." He nodded toward the napkin spread upon the grass with the
+remains of the luncheon upon it. "My way takes me within a short
+distance of your cabin; may I ride with you?" he asked a few moments
+later, as he led her horse, bridled and saddled, to his own.
+
+"Why certainly. I should be glad to have you. And we can talk."
+
+"Of love?"
+
+The girl laughed: "No, not of love. Surely there are other things----"
+
+"Yes, for instance, I may again warn you that you are in danger."
+
+"Danger?" she glanced up quickly.
+
+"From Vil Holland." They had mounted, and turned their horses toward a
+long divide.
+
+"Oh, yes, from Vil Holland," she repeated slowly, as she drew in
+beside him. "I had almost forgotten Vil Holland."
+
+"I wish to God I could forget him," retorted the man, viciously. "But,
+as long as you remain unprotected in these hills I shall never for one
+moment forget him. Your secret is not safe. Your person is not safe.
+He dogs your footsteps. He visits your cabin during your absence. He
+is bad--_bad!_ And here I must tell you of an incident--or rather
+explain an incident, the unfortunate conclusion of which you saw with
+your own eyes. Poor Clen! He is beside himself with mortification at
+the sorry spectacle he presented when you rode up and saw him crawl
+dripping from the creek.
+
+"I was away to the northward, on important business, and knowing that
+it had become my custom to ride over occasionally to see how you
+fared, he decided to do the same during my absence. Arriving at the
+cabin, he was surprised to see Vil Holland's horse before the door. He
+rode boldly up, dismounted, and caught the scoundrel in the act of
+searching among your effects. The sight, together with the memory of
+the cut pack sack, enraged him to such an extent that, despite the
+fact that the other was armed, he attacked him with his fists. In the
+fighting that ensued, Holland, being much the younger and more agile,
+succeeded in pitching Clen over the edge of the bank into the creek.
+Whereupon, he leaped into the saddle and vanished.
+
+"When Clen finally succeeded in reaching the bank and drawing himself
+over the top, he was horrified to see you approaching. Above all
+things Clen is a gentleman, and rather than appear before you in his
+bedraggled condition, he fled. Upon my return he insisted that I see
+you and explain the awkward situation to you in person. I beg of you
+never to refer to the incident in Clen's presence, especially not in
+levity, for he has, more strongly than anyone I ever knew, the
+Englishman's horror of appearing ridiculous."
+
+Patty smiled: "It was too funny for words. The way he gave one
+horrified glance in my direction and then scrambled into his saddle
+and dashed away, with the water flowing from him in rivulets. But of
+course, I shall never mention it to Lord Clendenning, and I wish you
+would thank him for his valiant championship of my cause."
+
+Bethune shot her a swift sidewise glance. Was there just a trace of
+mockery in the tone? If so, her expression masked it perfectly.
+
+They rode in silence for a time, following down the course of a broad
+valley, and presently came out onto the trail. A rider approached them
+at a walk, the low-hung white dust cloud in his wake marking the
+course of the long, hot trail. Bethune scrutinized the man intently.
+"Jack Pierce," he announced. "He runs a little yak outfit, a few head
+of horses, and some cattle over on Big Porcupine." A moment later
+Bethune drew up and greeted the rider with a great show of cordiality.
+"Hello, Pierce, old hand! How's everything over on Porcupine?"
+
+The rancher returned the greeting with a curt nod, and a level stare:
+"Things on Porky's all right, I guess--so far."
+
+"I hear old man Samuelson's sick?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How's he getting on?"
+
+"Ain't heard. So long." He touched his horse with a quirt and the
+animal continued down the trail at a brisk trot.
+
+"Surly devil," growled Bethune, as he gazed for a moment at the
+retreating horseman, and this time Patty was sure she detected the
+snake-like gleam in the black eyes. He dug his horse viciously with
+his spurs and jerked him in, dancing and fighting the bit. He laughed,
+shortly. "These little ranchers--bah!"
+
+"Mr. Christie rode over to see Mr. Samuelson the other day. I met him
+at Thompson's."
+
+"Oh, so you know the soul-puncher, do you? Makes a big play with his
+yellow chaps and six-gun. Suppose he had to be there to see that old
+Samuelson gets a ring-side seat if he happens to cash in."
+
+"He said he was going over to see if there was anything he could do,"
+answered the girl, ignoring the venom of the man's words.
+
+"Pretty slick graft--preaching. Educated for it myself. Old
+Samuelson's rich. Christie goes over and pulls a long face, and sends
+up a hatful of prayers, and if he gets well Samuelson will hand him a
+nice fat check for the church. If he don't, the old woman kicks in.
+And you know, and I know how much of it the church ever sees. Did the
+soul-puncher have anything to say about me?"
+
+"About you?" asked the girl in apparent surprise. "Why should he say
+anything about you?"
+
+"Because they all take a crack at me!" said Bethune in an injured
+tone. "You just saw how Pierce answered a civil question. They all
+hate me because I have made money. They never made any, and they never
+will, and they're jealous of my success. They never lose a chance to
+malign and injure me in every way possible--but I'll show them! Damn
+them! I'll show them all!" They rode for a short distance in silence,
+then Bethune laughed. It was the ringing boyish laugh that held no
+hint of bitterness or sneer. "I hope you will pardon my outburst. I
+have my moments of irascibility, for which I am heartily ashamed.
+But--poof! Like a summer cloud, they are gone as quickly as they come.
+Why should I care what they say of me. They betray their own meanness
+of soul in their envy of my success. We part here for the time. I must
+ride over onto the east slope--a little matter of some horses." Again
+he laughed: "In a few days I shall return--I give you fair
+warning--return to win your love. And I will win--I am Monk Bethune--I
+always win!" Without waiting for a reply, the man drove his spurs
+into his horse's sides and, swerving abruptly from the trail,
+disappeared down a narrow rock chasm that led directly into the heart
+of the hills.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+PATTY DRAWS A MAP
+
+
+That evening after supper, Patty sat upon her doorstep and watched the
+slowly fading opalescent glow in which the daylight surrendered to
+encroaching darkness. "How wonderful it all is, and how beautiful!"
+she breathed. "The indomitable ruggedness of the hills--rough and
+forbidding, but never ugly. Always beckoning, always challenging, yet
+always repulsing. Guarding their secrets well. Their rock walls and
+mighty precipices frowning displeasure at the presumptuous meddling of
+the intruder, and their valleys gaping in sardonic grins at the puny
+attempts to wrest their secret from them. Always, the mountains mock,
+even as they stimulate to greater effort with their wonderful air, and
+soothe bitter disappointment with the soft caress of twilight's
+after-glow. I love it--and yet, how I hate it all! I can't hold out
+much longer. I'm like a general who has to withdraw his forces, not
+because he is beaten, but because he has run short of ammunition. It
+is August, and by the end of September I'll be done." She clenched her
+fists until the nails dug into her palms. "But I'll come back," she
+cried, defiantly. "I'll work--I'll find some way to earn some money,
+and I'll come back year after year, if I have to, until I have
+explored every single one of these mountains from the littlest
+foothill to the top of the highest peak. And someday, I'll win!"
+
+"Mr. Bethune is rich." She started. The thought flashed upon her
+brain, vivid as whispered words. Involuntarily, she shuddered at the
+memory of his burning eyes, the hot touch of his lips upon her
+hand--her arm. She remembered the short, curt answers of the hard-eyed
+Pierce. And the thinly veiled distrust of Bethune, voiced by Vil
+Holland, Thompson, and the preacher whom he had affectionately
+referred to as "The Bishop of All Outdoors." Could it be possible--was
+it reasonable, that these were all so mean and contemptible of soul
+that their words were actuated by jealousy of Bethune's success? Patty
+thought not. Somehow, the characters did not fit the rôle. "If he'd
+have explained their dislike upon the grounds of his Indian blood, it
+might have carried the ring of truth--at least, it would have been
+reasonable. But, jealousy--as Mr. Vil Holland would say, 'I don't grab
+it.'"
+
+She recalled the wolfish gleam that flashed into Bethune's eyes, and
+the malicious hatred expressed in his insinuations and accusations
+against these men. Could it be possible that her distrust of Vil
+Holland was unfounded? But no, there was the repeated searching of her
+cabin--and had not Lord Clendenning caught him in the act? There was
+the trampled grass of the notch in the hills from which he was
+accustomed to spy upon her. And the cut pack sack--somehow, she was
+not so sure about that cut pack sack. But, anyway--there is the jug!
+"I don't trust him!" she exclaimed, "and I don't trust Monk Bethune,
+now. I'm glad I found him out before it was--too late. He's bad--I
+could see the evil glitter in his eyes. And, how do I know that he
+told the truth about Lord Clendenning and Vil Holland?" Darkness
+settled upon the valley and Patty sought her bunk where, for a
+restless hour, she tossed about thinking.
+
+The following morning the girl paused, coffee pot in hand, in the act
+of preparing breakfast, and listened. Distinct and clear above the
+sound of sizzling bacon, floated the words of an old ballad:
+
+    Oh, ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road,
+    An' I'll be in Sco'lan' afore ye;
+
+    But, oh, my true love I'll never meet again,
+    On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomon'.
+
+Hastening to the open door she peered down the valley. The song
+ceased, and presently from the cottonwood thicket emerged a horse and
+rider. The rider wore a roll-brimmed hat and brilliant yellow chaps,
+and he was mounted upon a fantastically spotted pinto. "It's--'The
+Bishop of All Outdoors'," she smiled, as she returned to the stove.
+"He certainly has a voice. I don't blame Mr. Thompson for being crazy
+about him. Anybody that can sing like that! And he loves it, too."
+
+A hearty "Good morning" brought her once more to the door.
+
+"Just in time for breakfast," she smiled up into the eyes of the man
+on the pinto.
+
+"Breakfast! Bless you, I didn't stop for breakfast. I figured on
+breakfasting with my friend, The Villain, over across the ridge."
+
+"The Villain?"
+
+"Vil Holland," laughed the man. "His name, I believe is, Villiers. I
+shortened it to Villain, and the natives hereabouts have bobbed it
+down to Vil. But he'll have to breakfast alone this morning, as
+usual. I've changed my mind. You see, I share the proverbial weakness
+of the clergy for a good meal. And against so charming a hostess, old
+Vil hasn't a chance in the world." Dismounting, the Reverend Len
+Christie removed his saddle and bridle and, with a resounding slap on
+the flank turned the pinto loose. "Get along, old Paint, and lay in
+some of this good grass!" he laughed as the pinto, cavorting like a
+colt, galloped across the creek to join Patty's hobbled cayuse.
+
+"My, that bacon smells good," he said, a moment later, as he stood in
+the doorway and watched the girl turn the thin strips in the pan. "Do
+let me furnish part of the breakfast," he cried, eagerly and began
+swiftly to loosen from behind the cantle of his saddle a slender case,
+from which he produced and fitted together a two-ounce rod. "I'll take
+it right from your own dooryard in just about two jiffies." He affixed
+a reel, threaded a cobweb line, and selected a fly. "Just save that
+bacon fry for a few minutes and we'll have some speckled beauties in
+the pan before you know it."
+
+Pushing the frying pan to the back of the stove, Patty accompanied him
+to the bank of the stream where she watched enthusiastically as, one
+after another, he pulled four glistening trout from the water.
+
+"That's enough," he said, as the fourth fish lay squirming upon the
+grass. And in what seemed to the girl an incredibly short time, he had
+them cleaned, washed, and ready for the pan. While she fried them he
+busied himself with his outfit, wiping his rod and carefully returning
+it to its case, and spreading his line to dry. And a few moments later
+the two sat down to a breakfast of hot biscuits, coffee, bacon, and
+trout, crisp and brown, smoking from the pan.
+
+"You must have ridden nearly all night to have reached here so early,"
+ventured the girl as she poured a cup of steaming coffee.
+
+"No," laughed Christie, "I spent the night at the Wattses'. I had some
+drawing paper and pencils for David Golieth. Do you know, I've a
+notion to send that kid to school some place. He's wild about drawing.
+Takes me all over the hills for a mile or two around the ranch and
+shows me pictures he has drawn with charcoal wherever there is a piece
+of flat rock. He's as shy and sensitive as a girl, until he begins to
+talk about his drawing, then his big eyes fairly glow with enthusiasm
+as he points out the good points of some of his creations, and the
+defects of others. All of them, of course, are crude as the pictorial
+efforts of the Indians, but it seems to me that here and there I can
+see a flash of real genius."
+
+"Wouldn't it be wonderful if he should become a famous artist!"
+exclaimed the girl. "And wouldn't you feel proud of having discovered
+him? And I guess lots of them do come from just as unpromising
+parentage."
+
+"It wouldn't be so remarkable," smiled the man. "Watts, himself is a
+genius--for inventing excuses to rest."
+
+"How is the sick man?" asked Patty. "The one you went to see, over on
+Big Porcupine, wasn't it?"
+
+"Yes, old man Samuelson. Fine old fellow--Samuelson. I sure hope he'll
+pull through. Doc Mallory came while I was there, and he told me he's
+got a good fighting chance. And a fighting chance is all that old
+fellow asks--even against pneumonia. He's a man!"
+
+"I wonder if there is anything I could do?" asked the girl.
+
+Christie's face brightened. "Why, yes, if you would. It's a long ride
+from here--thirty miles or so. There's nothing you could take them,
+they're very well fixed--capital Chinese cook and all that. But I've
+an idea that just the fact that you called would cheer them immensely.
+They lost a daughter years ago who would be about your age, I think.
+They've got a son, but he's up in Alaska, or some place where they
+can't reach him. Decidedly I think it would do those old people a
+world of good. You'll find Mrs. Samuelson different from----"
+
+"Ma Watts?" interrupted Patty.
+
+The man laughed, "Yes, from Ma Watts. Although she's a well meaning
+soul. She's going over and 'stay a spell' with the Samuelsons, just as
+soon as she can 'fix to go.' Mrs. Samuelson is a really superior old
+lady, refined and lovable in every way. You'll like her immensely. I'm
+sure. And I know she will enjoy you."
+
+"Thank you," Patty bowed elaborately. "Poor thing, she must be
+frightfully lonely."
+
+"Yes. Of course, the neighbors do all they can. But neighbors are few
+and far between. Vil Holland has been over a couple of times, and Jack
+Pierce stopped work right in the middle of his upland haying to go to
+town for some medicine. I tell you, Miss Sinclair, a person soon
+learns who's who in the mountains."
+
+Christie pushed back his chair. "I must be going. I hate to hurry off,
+but I want to see Vil and caution him to have an eye on the old man's
+stock--you see, there are some shady characters in the hills, and old
+man Samuelson runs horses as well as cattle. It is very possible they
+may decide to get busy while he is laid up.
+
+"By the way, Miss Sinclair, may I ask if you are making satisfactory
+headway in your own enterprise?"
+
+Patty shook her head. "No. I'm afraid I'm making no headway at all.
+Sometimes, I think--I'm afraid--" she stumbled for words.
+
+"Is there anything in the world I can do to help you?" asked the man,
+eagerly. "If there is, just mention it. I knew your father, and
+admired him very much. I'm satisfied he made a strike, and I do hope
+you can locate it."
+
+The girl shook her head. "No, nothing, thank you," she answered and
+then suddenly looked up, "That is--wait, maybe there is something----"
+
+"Name it." Christie waited eagerly for her to speak.
+
+"It just occurred to me--maybe you could help me--find a school."
+
+"A school!"
+
+"Yes, a school to teach. You see, I have used nearly all my money. By
+the end of next month it will be gone, and I must get a job." The man
+noticed that the girl was doing her best to meet the situation
+bravely.
+
+"Indeed I will help you!" he exclaimed. "In fact, I think I can right
+now promise that whenever you get ready to accept it, there will be a
+position waiting."
+
+"Even if it is only a country school--just so I can make enough money
+this winter to come back next summer."
+
+"I couldn't think of letting a country school get you. We need you
+right in town. You see, I happen to be president of the school board,
+and if I were to let a perfectly good teacher get away, I'd deserve to
+lose my job." Stepping to the door, he whistled shrilly, and a moment
+later the piebald cayuse trotted to his side. When the horse stood
+saddled and bridled, the man turned to Patty: "Oh, about the
+Samuelsons--do you know how to get to Big Porcupine?"
+
+Patty shook her head. "No, but I guess I can find it."
+
+"Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I'll show you in a
+minute." Leaning over the table, the man sketched rapidly upon the
+paper. "We'll say this is the Watts ranch, and mark it R. That's our
+starting point. Then you follow down the creek to the ford--here, at
+F. Then, instead of following the trail, you turn due east, and follow
+up a little creek about ten miles. This arrow pointing upward means up
+the creek. When you come to a sharp pinnacle that divides your
+valley--we'll mark that [^] so--you take the right hand branch, and
+follow it to the divide. That leads, let's see, southeast--we'll mark
+it S. E. 3 to D; it runs about three miles to the divide which you
+cross. Then you follow down another creek four or five miles until it
+empties into Big Porcupine, 4 E. to P., and from there it's easy. Just
+turn up Porcupine, pass Jack Pierce's ranch, and about five miles
+farther on you come to Samuelson's. Do you get it?"
+
+Patty watched every move of the pencil, as she listened to the explanation.
+And when, a few moments later, the big "Bishop of All Outdoors" crossed the
+ford and rode out of sight up the coulee that led to the trampled notch in
+the hills, she threw herself down at the table and with eyes big with
+excitement, drew her father's map from its silk envelope and spread it out
+beside Christie's roughly sketched one. "What a fool I am not to have
+guessed that those letters must stand for the points of the compass!" she
+cried. "It ought to be plain as day, now." Carefully, she read the
+cabalistic line at the bottom of the map. "SC 1 S 1 1/2 E 1 S [up arrow] to
+[union symbol] 2 W to a. to b. Stake L. C. [zigzag symbol] center." Her
+brow drew into a puzzled frown "SC," she repeated. "S stands for south, but
+what does SC mean? SW or SE would be southwest, or southeast, but SC--?"
+She glanced at the other map. "Let's see, Mr. Christie's first letter is
+R--that stands for Watts' Ranch. SC must represent daddy's starting point,
+of course! But, SC? Let's see, South Corner--south corner of _what?_ I wish
+he'd put his letters right on the map like this one, instead of all in a
+row at the bottom, then I might figure out what he was driving at. SC, SC,
+SC, SC," she repeated over and over again, until the letters became a mere
+jumble of meaningless sounds. "S must stand for South," she insisted, "and
+C could stand for creek, or cave, only there are no caves around here that
+I've seen, or camp--South Camp--that don't do me any good, I don't know
+where any of his camps were. And he'd hardly say Creek, that would be too
+indefinite. Let's see, C--cottonwood--south cottonwood--short cottonwood,
+scarred cottonwood, well if I have to hunt these hills over for a short
+cottonwood or a scarred cottonwood, when there are millions of both, I
+might better keep on hunting for the crack in the rock wall."
+
+For a long time she sat staring at the paper. "If I could only get the
+starting point figured out, the rest would be easy. It says one mile
+south, one and one half miles east, one mile south, then the arrowhead
+pointing up, must mean up a creek or a mountain to something that
+looks like an inverted horseshoe, then, two miles west to a. to b.
+whatever a. and b. are. There are no letters on the map, then it says
+to stake L. C.--L. C., is lode claim, at least, I know that much, and
+it can be 1500 feet long along the vein, and 300 feet each way from
+the center. But what does he mean by the wiggly looking mark before
+the word center? I guess it isn't going to be quite as easy as it
+looks," she concluded, "even when I know that the letters stand for
+the points of the compass. If I could only figure out where to start
+from I could find my way at least to the a. b. part--and that would be
+something.
+
+"Anyway, I know how to make a map, now, and that is just exactly what
+I needed to know in order to set my trap for the prowler who is
+continually searching this cabin. It's all ready but the map, and I
+may as well finish up the job to-day as any time." From the pocket of
+her shirt she drew a photograph and examined it critically. "It looks
+a good deal like the close-up of one of daddy's," she said
+approvingly, "and it certainly looks as if it might have been carried
+for a year." Returning the picture to her pocket, she folded the
+preacher's map with her father's and replaced them in the envelope,
+then making her way to the coulee, extracted from the tin can two or
+three of her father's ore samples. These, together with a light
+miner's pick, she placed in an empty flour sack which she secured to
+her saddle and struck out northwestward into the hills.
+
+At the top of the first divide she stopped, carefully studied the back
+trail, and producing paper and pencil made a rough sketch which she
+marked 1 NW. She rode on, mapping her trail and adding letters and
+figures to denote distance and direction.
+
+Her continued scrutiny of the back trail satisfied her that she was
+not followed. Two hours brought her to her journey's end, a rock wall
+some seven miles from her cabin. Producing the photograph, she
+verified the exact location, and with her pick, proceeded to stir up
+the ground and loose rocks at the base of the ledge. For an hour she
+worked steadily, then carefully replaced the dirt and small fragments,
+taking care to leave the samples from her sack where they would appear
+to have been tossed with the other fragments. Indicating the spot by a
+dot on the photograph she rode back to her cabin and spent the entire
+afternoon covering sheets of paper with trail maps, and letters, and
+figures, in an endeavor to produce a sketch that would pass as a
+prospector's hastily prepared field map. At last she produced several
+that compared favorably with her father's and taking a blank leaf from
+an old notebook she found in the pack sack, drew a very creditable
+rough sketch.
+
+"Now, for putting in the letters and figures," she said, as she held
+the paper up for inspection. "Let's see, where would daddy have
+started from? Watts's ranch, maybe, or he could have started from
+here. This cabin was here then, and that would make it seem all the
+more reasonable that I should have chosen this for my home. C stands
+for cabin, or, let's see, what did they call this place. The sheep
+camp, here goes SC--Why! SC--SC! That's the starting point on daddy's
+map! And here I sat right in this chair and nearly went crazy trying
+to figure out what SC meant! And, if it weren't so late, I'd start
+right out now to find my mine! If it weren't for that a. b. part I
+could ride right to it, and snap my fingers at the prowler. But, it
+may take me a long time to blunder onto the meaning of these letters,
+and anyway, I want to know 'who's who,' as Mr. Christie says." She
+continued her work, and a half-hour later examined the result
+critically. "SC 1 NW 1 N [up arrow] to [union symbol] 2 E to a. Stake L. C.
+center at dot," she read, "and just to make it easier for him, I put
+the a. down on the map." With a sigh of satisfaction the girl
+carefully placed the new map and photograph in the silk envelope, and
+placing the others in the pocket of her shirt, fastened it with a pin.
+Whereupon, she gathered up all the practice sketches and burned them.
+
+Glancing out of the window, she saw Microby Dandeline approaching the
+cabin, her dejected old Indian pony, ears a-flop, placing one foot
+before the other with the extreme deliberation that characterized his
+every movement. Patty smiled as her eyes took in the details of the
+grotesque figure; the old harness bridle with patched reins and one
+blinder dangling, the faded gingham sunbonnet hanging at the back of
+the girl's neck, held in place by the strings knotted tightly beneath
+her chin, the misshapen calico dress caught over the saddle-horn in a
+manner that exposed the girl's bare legs to the knees, and the thick
+bare feet pressed uncomfortably into the chafing rope stirrups--truly,
+a grotesque, and yet, Patty frowned--a pitiable figure, too. The pony
+halted before the door, and Patty greeted the girl who scrambled
+clumsily to the ground.
+
+"Well, well, if it isn't Microby Dandeline! You haven't been to see me
+lately. The last time you were here I was not at home."
+
+"Hit wasn't me."
+
+"What!" exclaimed Patty, remembering the barefoot track at the spring.
+
+"I wasn't yere las' time."
+
+Patty curbed a desire to laugh. The girl was deliberately lying--but
+why? Was it because she feared displeasure at the invasion of the
+cabin. Patty thought not, for such was the established custom of the
+country. The girl did not look at her, but stood boring into the dirt
+with her bare toe.
+
+"Well, you're here now, anyway," smiled Patty. "Come on in and help me
+get supper, and then we'll eat. You get the water, while I build the
+fire."
+
+When the girl returned from the spring, Patty tried again: "While I
+was in town somebody came here and cooked a meal, and when they got
+through they washed all the dishes and put them away so nicely I
+thought sure it was you, and I was glad, because I like to have you
+come and see me."
+
+"Hit wasn't me," repeated the girl, stubbornly.
+
+"I wonder who it could have been?"
+
+"Mebbe hit was Mr. Christie. He was to our house las' night. He brung
+Davy some pencils an' a lot o' papers fer to draw pitchers. Pa 'lowed
+how Davy'd git to foolin' away his time on 'em, an' Mr. Christie says
+how ef he learnt to drawer good, folks buys 'em, an' then Davy'll git
+rich. Pa says, whut's folks gonna pay money fer pitchers they kin git
+'em fer nothin'? But ef folks gits pitchers they does git rich, don't
+they?"
+
+"Why, yes----"
+
+"You got pitchers, an' yo' rich."
+
+Patty laughed. "I'm afraid I'm not very rich," she said.
+
+"Will yo' give me a pitcher?"
+
+"Why, yes." She glanced at the few prints that adorned the log wall,
+trying to make up her mind which she would part with, and deciding
+upon a mysterious moonlight-on-the-waves effect, lifted it from the
+wall and placed it in the girl's hands.
+
+Microby Dandeline stared at it without enthusiasm: "I want a took
+one," she said, at length.
+
+"A what?"
+
+"A one tooken with that," she pointed at the camera that adorned the
+top of the little cupboard.
+
+"Oh," smiled Patty, "you want me to take your picture! All right, I'd
+love to take your picture. You can get on Gee Dot, and I'll take you
+both. But we'll have to wait till there is more light. The sun has
+gone down and it's too dark this evening."
+
+The girl shook her head, "Naw, I don't want none like that. That
+hain't no good. I want one like yo' pa tookened of his mine. Then I'll
+git rich too."
+
+"So that's it," thought Patty, busying herself with the biscuit dough.
+And instantly there flashed into her mind the words of Ma Watts, "Mr.
+Bethune tellin' her how she'd git rich ef she could fin' a gol' mine,
+an' how she could buy her fine clos' like yourn an' go to the city an'
+live." And she remembered that the woman had said that all the time
+she and Lord Clendenning had been wrangling over the eggs, Bethune and
+Microby had "talked an' laughed, friendly as yo' please."
+
+"How do you know my father took any pictures of his mine?" asked
+Patty, cautiously.
+
+"'Cause he did."
+
+"What would you do with the picture if I gave it to you?"
+
+"I'd git rich."
+
+"How?"
+
+"'Cause I would."
+
+Patty whirled suddenly upon the girl and grasping her shoulder with a
+doughy hand shook her smartly: "Who told you that? What do you mean?
+Who are you trying to get that picture for? Come! Out with it!"
+
+"Le' me go," whimpered the girl, frightened by the unexpected attack.
+
+"Not 'til you tell me who told you about that picture. Come
+on--speak!" The shaking continued.
+
+"Hit--wu-wu-wus--V-V-Vil Hol-Holland!" she sniffled readily--all too
+readily to be convincing, thought Patty, as she released her grip on
+the girl's shoulder.
+
+"Oh, it was Vil Holland, was it? And what does he want with it?"
+
+"He--he--s-says h-how h-him an' m-me'd g-git r-r-rich!"
+
+"Who told you to say it was Vil Holland?"
+
+"Hit wus Vil Holland--an' that's whut I gotta say," she repeated,
+between sobs. "An' now yo' mad--an'--an' Mr. Bethune he'll--he'll kill
+me."
+
+"Mr. Bethune? What has Mr. Bethune got to do with it?"
+
+The girl leaped to her feet and faced Patty in a rage: "An' he'll kill
+yo', too--an' I'll be glad! An' he says he's gonna By God git that
+pitcher ef he's gotta kill yo', an' Vil Holland, an' everyone in these
+damn hills--an' I'm glad of hit! I don't like yo' no more--an' pitcher
+shows _hain't_ as good as circusts--an' I don't like towns--an' I
+hain't a-gonna wear no shoes an' stockin's--an' I'm a-gonna tell ma
+yo' shuck me--an' she'll larrup yo' good--an' pa'll make yo' git out
+o' ar sheep camp--an' I'm glad of hit!" She rushed from the cabin, and
+mounting her pony, headed him down the creek, turning in the saddle
+every few steps to make hateful mouths at the girl who stood watching
+from the doorway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE SAMUELSONS
+
+
+Patty retired that night with her thoughts in a whirl. So, it was Monk
+Bethune who, all along, had been plotting to steal the secret of her
+father's strike? Monk Bethune, with his suave, oily manner, his
+professed regard for her father, and his burning words of love! Fool
+that she couldn't have penetrated his thin mask of deceit! It all
+seemed so ridiculously plain, now. She remembered the flash of
+distrust that her first meeting with him engendered. And, step, by
+step, she followed the course of his insidious campaign to instill
+himself into her good graces. She thought of the blunt warning of Vil
+Holland when he told her that her father always played a lone hand,
+and his almost scornful question as to whether her father had told her
+of his partnership with Bethune. And she remembered her defiance of
+Holland, and her defense of Bethune. And, with a shudder, she
+recollected the moments when, in the hopelessness of her repeated
+failures, she had trembled upon the point of surrendering to his
+persuasive eloquence.
+
+With the villainous scheming of Bethune exposed, her thoughts turned
+to the other, to her "guardian devil of the hills." What of Vil
+Holland? Had she misjudged this man, even as she had so nearly become
+the dupe of Bethune? She realized now, that nearly everyone with whom
+she had come into contact, distrusted Bethune, and that they trusted
+Vil Holland. She realized that her own distrust of him rested to a
+great extent upon the open accusations of Bethune, and the fact that
+he was blunt to rudeness in his conversations with her. If he were to
+be taken at his neighbors' valuation, why was it that he watched her
+comings and goings from his notch in the hills? Why did he follow her
+about upon her rides? And why did he carry that disgusting jug? She
+admitted that she had never seen him the worse for indulgence in the
+contents of the jug, but if he were not a confirmed drunkard, why
+should he carry it? She knew Bethune hated him--and that counted a
+point in his favor--now. But it did not prove that he was not as bad
+as Bethune. But why had Bethune told Microby that he would get that
+picture if he had to kill her and Vil Holland? What had Vil Holland
+to do with his getting the picture! Surely, Bethune did not believe
+that Vil Holland shared her secret! Vil Holland _must_ be lawless--the
+running of the sheep herder out of the hills was a lawless act. Why,
+then, were such men as Thompson and the Reverend Len Christie his
+friends? This question had puzzled her much of late, and not finding
+the answer, she realized her own dislike of the man had waned
+perceptibly. Instinctively, she knew that Len Christie was genuine.
+She liked this "Bishop of All Outdoors," who could find time to ride a
+hundred miles to cheer a sick old man; who would think to bring
+pencils and drawing paper to a little boy who roamed over the
+hillsides with a piece of charcoal, searching for flat rocks upon
+which to draw his pictures; and who sang deep, full-throated ballads
+as he rode from one to the other of his scattered hill folk, upon his
+outlandish pinto. Surely, such men as he, and the jovial,
+whole-hearted Thompson--men who had known Vil Holland for
+years,--could not be deceived.
+
+"Is it possible I've misjudged him?" she asked herself. And when at
+last she dropped to sleep it was to plunge into a confused jumble of
+dreams whose dominant figure was her lone horseman of the hills.
+
+Patty resolved to keep her promise to Christie and ride over to the
+Samuelson ranch, before she started to work out the directions of her
+father's map. "I may be weeks doing it if I continue to be as dumb as
+I have been," she laughed. "And when I get started I know I'll never
+want to stop 'til I've worked it out."
+
+Immediately after breakfast she saddled her horse and returning to the
+cabin, picked up the little oiled silk packet that contained
+photograph and map. Where should she hide it? Her glance traveled from
+the locked trunks to the loose board in the floor. Each had been
+searched time and again. "Whoever he is, he'd think it was funny that
+I decided all at once to hide the map, when I've been carrying it with
+me so persistently," she muttered. Her eyes rested upon the little
+dressing table. "The very thing!" she cried. "I'll leave it right out
+in plain sight, and he'll think I forgot it." Her first impulse was to
+remove the thin gold chain but she shook her head: "No, it will look
+more as if I'd just slipped it off for the night if I leave the chain
+on. And besides," she smiled, "he ought to get some gold for his
+pains." With a last glance of approval at the little packet lying as
+if forgotten upon the dressing table, she closed the door and headed
+down the creek.
+
+It was evident to Patty, upon reaching the Watts ranch that Microby
+Dandeline had not carried out her threat to "tell ma" about the
+shaking. For the mountain woman was loquaciously cordial as usual:
+"Decla'r ef hit hain't yo', up an' a-ridin' fo' sun-up! Yo' shore
+favor yo' pa. He wus the gittin'est man--Yo'd a-thought he wus ridin'
+fer wages, 'stead o' jest prospectin'. Goin' down the crick, to-day,
+eh? Well, I don't reckon yo' pa's claim's down the crick, but yo'
+cain't never tell. He wus that clost-mouthed--I've heard him an' Watts
+set a hour, an' nary word between the two of 'em. 'Pears like they's
+jest satisfied to be a-lightin' matches an' a-puffin' they pipes.
+Wimmin folks hain't like thet. They jest nachelly got to let out a
+word now an' then, 'er bust--one."
+
+"Microby Dandeline!" there was a sudden rush of bare feet upon the
+wooden floor, and Patty caught a flick of calico and a flash of bare
+legs as the girl disappeared around the corner of the barn.
+
+"Land sakes! Thet gal acts like she's p'ssessed! She tellin' whut a
+nice time she had to yo' place las' evenin', an' then a-runnin' away
+like she's wild as a hawrk. Seems like she's a-gittin' mo' triflin'
+every day----"
+
+"Sence Monk Bethune's tuk to ha'ntin' this yere crick so reg'lar,"
+interrupted Watts, who stood leaning against the door jamb.
+
+"'T'aint nothin' agin Mr. Bethune, 'cause he's nice to Microby,"
+retorted the woman; "I s'pose 'cordin' to yo' idee, he'd ort to cuss
+her an' kick her aroun'."
+
+"Might be better in the long run, an' he did," opined the man,
+gloomily.
+
+"Where's yo' manners at? Not sayin' 'howdy'?" reminded his wife.
+
+"I be'n a-fixin' to," he apologized, "yo' lookin' mighty peart this
+mawnin'." A cry from the baby brought a torrent of recrimination upon
+the apathetic husband: "Watts! Watts! Looks like yo' ort to could look
+after Chattenoogy Tennessee, that Microby Dandeline run off an' left
+alone. Like's not she's et a nail thet yo' left a han'ful of on the
+floor thet day yo' aimed fer to fix me a shelft."
+
+"She never et no nail," confided the man, as he returned a moment
+later carrying the infant. "She done fell out the do' an' them hens
+wus apeckin' her. She's scairt wuss'n hurt."
+
+"Well," smiled Patty. "I must go. Tell Microby to come up to my cabin
+right soon. I'd like to have a talk with her."
+
+"Might an' yo' pa's claim 'ud be som'ers up the no'th branch,"
+suggested the woman. "He rid that-a-way sometimes, didn't he, Watts?"
+
+"I'm not prospecting to-day. I'm going over to see the Samuelsons. Mr.
+Samuelson is sick."
+
+"Law, yes! I be'n a-aimin' fer to git to go, this long while. I heern
+it a spell back, an' Mr. Christie done tol' us over again. They do say
+he's bad off. But yo' cain't never tell, they's hopes of 'em gittin'
+onto they feet agin right up 'til yo' hear the death rattle. Yo' tell
+Miz Samuelson I aim to git over soon's I kin. I'll bring along the
+baby an' a batch o' sourdough bread, an' fix to stay a hull week.
+Watts'll hev to make out with Microby an' the rest. Yo' tell Miz
+Samuelson I say not to git down in the mouth. They all got to die
+anyhow. An' 'taint so bad, onct it's over an' done. But lots of 'em
+gits well, too. So they hain't no call to do no diggin' right up to
+the death rattle--an' even then they don't allus die. Ol' man Rink,
+over on Tom's Hope, back in Tennessee, he rattled twict, an' come to
+both times, an' then, couple days later, he up an' died on 'em 'thout
+nary rattle. So yo' cain't never tell--men's thet ornery, even the
+best of 'em."
+
+Christie's prediction that Patty would like Mrs. Samuelson proved to
+be conservative in the extreme. From the moment the slight gray-haired
+little woman greeted her, the girl felt as though she were talking to
+an old friend. There was something pathetic in the old lady's cheerful
+optimism, something profoundly pathetic in the endeavor to transform
+her bit of wilderness into some semblance to the far-away home she had
+known in the long ago. And she had succeeded admirably. To cross the
+Samuelson threshold was to step from the atmosphere of the cow-country
+and the mountains into a region of comfort and quiet that contrasted
+sharply with the rough and ready air of the neighboring ranches. The
+house itself was not large, but it was built of lumber, not logs. The
+long living room was provided with tastefully curtained casement
+windows, and rugs of excellent quality took the place of the
+inevitable carpet upon the floor. A baby grand piano projected into
+the room from its niche beside the huge log fireplace, and bookcases,
+guiltless of glass fronts, occupied convenient spaces along the wall,
+their shelves supporting row upon row of good editions. It was in
+this room, looking as though she had stepped from an ivory miniature,
+that the mistress of the house greeted Patty.
+
+"You are very welcome, my dear. Mr. Samuelson and I were deeply
+grieved to hear the sad news of your father. We used to enjoy his
+occasional brief visits."
+
+"How is Mr. Samuelson?" asked Patty, as she pressed the little woman's
+thin, blue-veined hand.
+
+"He seems better to-day."
+
+The girl noted the hopeful tone of voice. "Is there anything I can
+do?" she asked.
+
+"Not a thing, thank you. Mr. Samuelson sleeps a good part of the time,
+and Wong Yie is a wonderful nurse. But, come, you must have luncheon.
+I know you will want to refresh yourself after your long ride. The
+bathroom is at the head of the stairs. I'll take a peep at my invalid
+and when you are ready we'll see what Wong Yie has for us."
+
+Patty looked hungrily at the porcelain tub--"A real bathroom!" she
+breathed, "out here in the mountains--and books, and a piano!"
+
+Mrs. Samuelson awaited her at the foot of the stair and led the way to
+the dining room. When she was seated at the round mahogany table she
+smiled across at the old lady in frank appreciation.
+
+"It seems like stepping right into fairyland," she said. "Like the old
+stories when the heroes and heroines rubbed magic lamps, or stepped
+onto enchanted carpets and were immediately transported from their
+miserable hovels to castles of gold inhabited by beautiful princes and
+princesses."
+
+The old lady's eyes beamed: "I'm glad you like it!"
+
+"Like it! That doesn't express it at all. Why, if you'd lived in an
+abandoned sheep camp for months and prepared your own meals on a
+broken stove, and eaten them all alone on a bumpy table covered with a
+piece of oilcloth, and taken your bath in an icy cold creek and then
+only on the darkest nights for fear someone were watching, and read a
+few magazines over and over 'til you knew even the advertisements by
+heart--then suddenly found yourself seated in a room like this, with
+real china and silver, and comfortable chairs and a _luncheon
+cloth_--you'd think it was heaven."
+
+Patty was aware that the old lady was smiling at her across the table.
+"If I had lived like that for months, did you say? My dear girl, we
+lived for years in that little shack--you can see it from where you
+sit--it's the tool house, now. Mr. Samuelson built it with his own
+hands when there weren't a half-dozen white men in the hills, and
+until it was completed we lived in a tepee!"
+
+"You've lived here a long time."
+
+"Yes, a long, long time. I was the first white woman to come into this
+part of the hill country to live. This was the first ranch to be
+established in the hills, but we have a good many neighbors now--and
+such nice neighbors! One never really appreciates friends and
+neighbors until a time--like this. Then one begins to know. A long
+time ago, before I knew, I used to hate this place. Sometimes I used
+to think I would go crazy, with the loneliness--the vastness of it
+all. I used to go home and make long visits every year, and then--the
+children came, and it was different." The woman paused and her eyes
+strayed to the open window and rested upon the bold headland of a
+mighty mountain that showed far down the valley.
+
+"And--you love it, now?" Patty asked, softly, as she poured French
+dressing over crisp lettuce leaves.
+
+"Yes--I love it, now. After the children came it was all different. I
+never want to leave the valley, now. I never shall leave it. I am an
+old woman, and my world has narrowed down to my home, and my
+valley--my husband, and my friends and neighbors." She looked up
+guiltily, with a tiny little laugh. "Do you know, during those first
+years I must have been an awful fool. I used to loathe it all--loathe
+the country--the men, who ate in their shirt sleeves and blew into
+their saucers, and their women. It was the uprising that brought me to
+a realization of the true worth of these people--" The little woman's
+voice trailed off into silence, and Patty glanced up from her salad to
+see that the old eyes were once more upon the far blue headland, and
+the woman's thoughts were evidently very far away. She came back to
+the present with an apology: "Why bless you, child, forgive me! My old
+wits were back-trailing, as the cowboys would say. You have finished
+your salad, come, let's go out onto the porch, where we can get the
+afternoon breeze and be comfortable." She led the way through the
+living-room where she left the girl for a moment, to tiptoe upstairs
+for a peep at the sick man. "He's asleep," she reported, as they
+stepped out onto the porch and settled themselves in comfortable
+wicker rockers.
+
+"What was the uprising?" asked Patty. "Was it the Indians? I'd love to
+hear about it."
+
+"Yes, the Indians. That was before they were on reservations and they
+were scattered all through the hills."
+
+A cowboy galloped to the porch, drew up sharply, and removed his hat.
+"We rode through them horses that runs over on the east slope an'
+they're all right--leastways all the markers is there, an' the bunches
+don't look like they'd be'n any cut out of 'em. But, about them white
+faces--Lodgepole's most dried up. Looks like we'd ort to throw 'em
+over onto Sage Crick."
+
+The little woman looked thoughtful. "Let's see, there are about six
+hundred of the white faces, aren't there?"
+
+"Yessum."
+
+"And how long will the water last in Lodgepole?"
+
+"Not more'n a week or ten days, if we don't git no rain."
+
+"How long will it take to throw them onto Sage Creek?"
+
+"Well, they hadn't ort to be crowded none this time o' year. The four
+of us had ort to do it in three or four days."
+
+The old lady shook her head. "No, the cattle will have to wait. I
+want you boys to stay right around close 'til you hear from Vil
+Holland. Keep your best saddle horses up and at least one of you stay
+right here at the ranch all the time. The rest of you might ride
+fences, and you better take a look at those mares and colts in the big
+pasture."
+
+The cowboy's eyes twinkled: "I savvy, all right. Guess I'll take the
+bunk-house shift myself this afternoon. Got a couple extry guns to
+clean up an' oil a little."
+
+"Whatever you do, you boys be careful," admonished the woman. "And in
+case anything happens and Vil Holland isn't here, send one of the boys
+after him at once."
+
+The other laughed: "Guess they ain't much danger, if anything happens
+he won't be a-ridin' right on the head of it." The cowboy gathered up
+his reins, dropped them again, and his gloved fingers fumbled with his
+leather hat band. The smile had left his face.
+
+"Anything else, Bill?" asked Mrs. Samuelson, noting his evident
+reluctance to depart.
+
+"Well, ma'am, how's the Big Boss gittin' on?"
+
+"He's doing as well as could be expected, the doctor says."
+
+The cowboy cleared his throat nervously: "You know, us boys thinks a
+heap of him, an' we'd like fer him to git a square deal."
+
+"A square deal!" exclaimed the woman. "Why, what in the world do you
+mean?"
+
+"About that there doc--d'you s'pect he savvys his business?"
+
+"Of course he does! He's considered one of the best doctors in the
+State. Why do you ask?"
+
+"Well, it's this way. When he was goin' back to town yesterday I laid
+for him. You see, the Old Man--er, I mean--you know, ma'am, the Big
+Boss, he's a pretty sick man--an' it looks to us boys like things had
+ort to break pretty quick, one way er another. So, I says, 'Doc, how's
+he gittin' on?' an' the doc he says, jest like you done, 'good as
+could be expected.' When you come right down to cases, that don't tell
+you nothin'. So I says, 'that's 'cordin' to who's doin' the expectin'.
+What we want to know,' I says, 'is he goin' to git well, er is he
+goin' to die?' 'I confidently hope we're going to pull him through,'
+he comes back. 'Meanin', he's goin' to git well?' I says. 'Yes,' he
+says. 'Fer how much?' I asks him. I didn't have but thirty-five
+dollars on me, but I shook that in under his nose. You see, I wanted
+to find out if the fellow would back his own self up with his money.
+'What do you mean?' he says. 'I mean,' I informs him, 'that money
+talks. Here's the Missus payin' you good wages fer to cure up the Old
+Man. You goin' to do it, an' earn them wages, or ain't you? Here's
+thirty-five dollars that says you can't cure him.'"
+
+The corners of the old lady's mouth were twitching behind the
+handkerchief she held to her lips: "What did the doctor say?" she
+asked.
+
+"Tried to laugh it off," declared the cowboy in disgust. "But I
+reminds him that this here ain't no laughin' matter. 'D'you s'pose,' I
+says, 'if the Old Man told me: "Bill, there's a bad colt to bust," or
+"Bill, go over onto Monte's Crick, an' bring back them two-year-olds,"
+do you s'pose I wouldn't bet I could do it? They's plenty of us here
+to do all the "confidently hopin'" that's needed. What you got to do
+is to git busy with them pills an' make him well,' I says, 'or quit
+an' let someone take holt that kin.'" The man paused and regarded the
+woman seriously. "What I'm gittin' at is this: If this here doc ain't
+got confidence enough in his own dope to back it with a bet, it's time
+we got holt of one that will. Now, ma'am, you better let me send one
+of Jack Pierce's kids to town to see Len Christie an' tell him to git
+the best doc out here they is. I'll write a note to Len on the side
+an' tell him to tell the doc he kin about double his wages, 'cause the
+rest of the boys feels just like I do, an' we'll all bet agin him so't
+it'll be worth his while to make a good job of it." He paused,
+awaiting permission to carry out his plan.
+
+The little woman explained gravely: "Doctors never bet on their cases,
+Bill. It isn't that they won't back their judgment. But because it
+isn't considered proper. Doctor Mallory is doing all any mortal man
+can do. He's a wonderfully good doctor, and it was Len Christie,
+himself, that recommended him."
+
+The cowboy's eyes lighted: "It was? Well, then, mebbe he's all right.
+I never had no time fer preachers 'til I know'd Len. But, what he says
+goes with me--he's square. I don't go much on no doctor, though.
+They're all right fer women, mebbe, an' kids. I believe all the Old
+Man needs right now to fix him up good as ever is a big stiff jolt of
+whisky an' bitters." The cowboy rode away, muttering and shaking his
+head, but not until he was well out of sight round the corner of the
+house did the little woman with the gray hair smile.
+
+"I hope Doctor Mallory will understand," she said, a trifle
+anxiously, "I have some rather trying experiences with my boys, and if
+Bill has gone and insulted the doctor I'll have to get Jack Pierce to
+go to town and explain."
+
+"This Bill seems to just adore Mr. Samuelson," ventured Patty. "Why
+his voice was almost--almost reverent when he said 'the Old Man.'"
+
+The little lady nodded: "Yes, Bill thinks there's no one like him. You
+see, Bill shot a man, one day when--he was not quite himself. Over in
+the Blackfoot country, it was, and Vil Holland knew the facts in the
+case, and he rode over and told Mr. Samuelson all about it, and they
+both went and talked it over with the prosecuting attorney, and with
+old Judge Nevers, with the result that they agreed to give the boy a
+chance. So Mr. Samuelson brought him here. That was five years ago.
+Bill is foreman of this outfit now, and our other three riders are
+boys that were headed the same way Bill was. Vil Holland brought one
+of them over, and Bill and Mr. Samuelson picked up the other two--and,
+if I do say it myself," she declared, proudly, "there isn't an outfit
+in Montana that can boast a more capable or loyal, or a straighter
+quartet of riders than this one."
+
+As Patty listened she understood something of what was behind the
+words of Thompson and Len Christie, when they had spoken that day of
+"Old Man" Samuelson. But, there was something she did not understand.
+And that something was--Vil Holland. Everybody liked him, everybody
+spoke well of him, and apparently everybody but herself trusted him
+implicitly. And yet, to her own certain knowledge, he did carry a jug,
+he did follow her about the hills, and he did tell her to her face
+that when she found her father's claim she would have a race on her
+hands, and that if she were beaten she would have to be satisfied with
+what she would get.
+
+But Vil Holland, his comings and his goings were soon forgotten in the
+absorbing interest with which Patty listened as her little gray-haired
+hostess recounted incidents and horrors of the Indian uprising, the
+first sporadic depredations, the coming of the troops, and finally the
+forcing of the belligerent tribes onto their reservations.
+
+It had been Patty's intention to ride back to her cabin in the
+evening, but Mrs. Samuelson would not hear of it. And, indeed the girl
+did not insist, for despite the fact that she had become thoroughly
+accustomed to her surroundings, the anticipation of a dinner prepared
+and served by the highly efficient Wong Yie, in the tastefully
+appointed dining room, with its real silver and china, proved
+sufficiently attractive to overcome even her impatience to begin the
+working out of her father's map. And the realization fully justified
+the anticipation. When the meal was finished the two women had talked
+the long evening away before the cheerful blaze of the wood fire, and
+when at last she was shown to her room, the girl retired to luxuriate
+in a real bed of linen sheets and a box mattress.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE HORSE RAID
+
+
+Patty did not know how long she had slept when she awoke, tense and
+listening, sitting bolt upright in bed. Moonlight flooded the room
+through the windows thrown wide to admit the chill night air. Beyond
+the valley floor, green with the luxuriant second crop of alfalfa, she
+could see the mountains looming dim and mysterious in the half-light.
+
+The whole world seemed silent as the grave--and yet, something must
+have awakened her. She shuddered, partly at the chill that struck at
+her thinly clad shoulders, and partly at the recollection of some of
+the scenes those selfsame mountains had witnessed, during the
+uprisings, and which her hostess had so vividly recounted. The girl
+smiled, and gazing toward the mountains, pictured long lines of naked
+horsemen stealing silently into the valley. She started violently.
+Through the open window came sounds, the muffled thud of hoofs upon
+the soft ground, the low rattle of bit-chains and spur-rowels, and the
+creak of saddle leather. There _were_ horsemen in the valley, and the
+horsemen were passing almost beneath her windows--and they were moving
+stealthily.
+
+For a moment her heart raced madly--the fancy of those conjured
+horsemen, and then the mysterious sounds from the night that were not
+fancy, combined in just the right proportion to overcome her with a
+momentary terror. She realized that the sounds were passing--growing
+fainter, and leaping from the bed, rushed to the window and peered
+out. Only silence--profound, unbroken silence, and the moonlight. In
+vain she strained her ears to catch a repetition of the faint sounds,
+and in vain she peered into the dark shadows cast by the bunk house
+and the pole horse-corral. Her windows commanded the eastern wall of
+the valley, and its upper reaches. Had there actually been horsemen,
+or were the sounds part of her vivid vision of the long ago? "No," she
+muttered, "those sounds were real," and she leaned far out of the
+window in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of the trail that led down
+the creek toward Pierce's.
+
+For some time she remained at the window and then, shivering, crept
+back to bed, where she lay speculating upon the identity of these
+horsemen who passed in the night. She knew that a horse raid had been
+expected. Could these raiders have had the audacity to pass through
+the very dooryard of the ranch, knowing as they must have known, that
+four armed and determined cowboys occupied the bunk house?
+
+And who were these raiders? At Thompson's she had heard Monk Bethune's
+name mentioned in connection with possible horse-thieving. Bethune had
+spoken of hurried trips, "to the northward." She remembered that upon
+the occasion of their first meeting, she had heard him dickering with
+Watts for the rent of his horse pasture, and she recollected the
+incident of the changed name. Then, again, only a few days before, she
+had parted with him when he struck off the trail to the eastward with
+the excuse that he was going over onto the east slope on a matter
+having to do with some horses. Bill had mentioned, in talking to Mrs.
+Samuelson, that he had been riding through the horses on the east
+slope. Could it be possible that the suave Bethune was a horse-thief?
+On the other hand, Bethune had openly hinted that Vil Holland was a
+horse-thief--and yet, these other people all believed that he was
+persistently on the trail of the horse-thieves.
+
+For a long time she lay thinking, guessing, trying to recall little
+scraps of evidence that would bear upon the case. Again, a slight
+sound brought her to a sitting posture. This time it was the opening
+of a door across the hall from her room. The sound was followed by the
+soft padding of slippered feet in the hall, the low tapping, evidently
+at another door, a few low-voiced words, and a return of the padding
+steps. A few moments later other steps hurried along the hall past her
+door and rapidly descended the stairs. Patty heard the opening of an
+outside door, and once more stealing to the window she saw the
+Chinaman hurry across the moonlit yard to the bunk house and throw
+open the door. He entered to emerge a moment later and rush to the
+horse-corral, where he peered between the poles for a moment and then
+made his way swiftly back to the house.
+
+Without lighting the lamp Patty dressed hurriedly. Was the Samuelson
+ranch a place of mystery? What was the meaning of the light
+sounds--the soft tramp of horses, and the padding of feet upon the
+stairs? The footsteps paused at the door across the hall. There
+followed a whispered colloquy and the steps retreated rapidly to the
+lower regions. Patty opened her door to see Mrs. Samuelson, her face
+expressing the deepest agitation, and one thin hand catching together
+the folds of a lavender kimono.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the girl. "What has happened?"
+
+The old lady closed the door from beyond which came sounds of heavy
+breathing. "I am afraid he is worse," she whispered. "Wong Yie went to
+the bunk house to send the boys for the doctor and for Mrs. Pierce,
+and he says they are gone! Their horses are not in the corral. I don't
+understand it," she cried. "I told them not to go away. They know,
+that with my husband sick, we are in momentary danger from the
+horse-thieves, and they know that their place is right here."
+
+"You told Bill to stay until he heard from Vil Holland," reminded
+Patty. "Maybe they heard from him, and left without disturbing you."
+
+"That's it, of course!" cried the woman. "I ought to have known I
+could trust them. But, for a moment it seemed that--" She stopped
+abruptly and glanced anxiously into the girl's face, "But what in the
+world will we do? Wong Yie can't ride a step, and if he could, I need
+him here----"
+
+"I'll ride to Pierce's!" exclaimed Patty. "And get Mr. Pierce to go
+for the doctor, and bring Mrs. Pierce back with me. My horse is in the
+corral, and I can get down there in no time."
+
+"Oh, can you? Will you? And you are not afraid--alone at night in the
+hills? Under any other circumstances I wouldn't think of letting you
+do it, child--especially with the horse-thieves about. But, it seems
+the only way----"
+
+"Of course it's the only way! And I'm not a bit afraid."
+
+Hurrying to the corral, Patty saddled her horse, and a few moments
+later swung into the trail that led down the creek. She glanced at her
+watch; it was one o'clock. The moon floated high in the heavens and
+the valley was almost as light as day. Urging her horse into a run,
+she found a wild exhilaration in riding through the night, splashing
+across shallows and shooting across short level stretches to plunge
+through the water again.
+
+After what seemed an interminable wait, Pierce himself appeared at the
+door in answer to her persistent pounding. Patty thought he eyed her
+curiously as he stood aside and motioned her into the kitchen. Very
+deliberately he lighted the lamp and listened in silence until she had
+finished. Then, coolly, he eyed her from top to toe: "'Pears to me
+I've saw you before," he announced. "Over on the trail, a while back.
+An' you was a-ridin' with--Monk Bethune."
+
+"Well?" asked the girl, angered by the man's tone.
+
+"Well," mocked Pierce. "So to-night's the night yer figgerin' on
+pullin' the raid, is it?"
+
+"I'm figuring on pulling the raid! What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean you, an' Bethune, an' yer gang. You be'n up a-spottin' the
+lay, so's to tip 'em off, an' now you come down here an' tell me the
+Old Man's worst so's I'll take out to town fer the doc--an' one less
+posse-man in the hills. Yer a pretty slick article, Miss, but it
+hain't a-goin' to work."
+
+Patty listened, speechless with rage. When the man finished she found
+her tongue. "You--you accuse me of being a--a horse-thief?" she
+choked.
+
+"Yup," answered the man. "That's it--an' not so fur off, neither.
+Don't you s'pose I know that if the Old Man was worst one of his own
+boys would of be'n a foggin' it fer town hisself? I'd ort to take an'
+lock you up in the root cellar an' turn you over to Vil Holland, but I
+guess if we get all the he ones out of yer gang we kin leave you
+loose. 'Tain't likely you could run off no horses single-handed."
+
+A woman whose appearance showed an evident hasty toilet had stepped
+from an inner room, and stood listening to the man. Patty was about to
+appeal to her when, from the outside came a thunder of hoofs, and
+suddenly a man burst into the room. Patty recognized him as Bill, of
+the Samuelson ranch. "Come on, Jack, quick! Git yer gun, while I slam
+the kak on yer cayuse. The raid's on, they've cut out a bunch of them
+three an' four-year-olds offen the east slope an' they're a-foggin'
+'em off."
+
+"Bill! Oh, Bill!" cried the girl, in desperation. But the man had
+plunged toward the corral, followed by Pierce, buckling on his
+cartridge belt as he ran. A moment later both men were in the saddle,
+and the sound of pounding hoofs grew far away.
+
+In tears, Patty turned to the woman. "Oh, why couldn't he have
+believed me?" she cried. "He thinks I'm one of that detestable gang of
+thieves! But, you--surely you don't think I'm a horse-thief?" In
+broken sentences she related the facts to the woman, and finished by
+begging her to go up to the Samuelson ranch. "I'll ride on to town
+for the doctor myself!" she exclaimed. "And surely you can do that
+much for your neighbor."
+
+"Do that much fer 'em!" the woman exclaimed. "I reckon they ain't
+nothin' I wouldn't do fer _them_. Mebbe Jack's right, an' mebbe he's
+wrong. I've saw him be both, 'fore now. Anyways, it ain't a-goin' to
+do Samuelsons no harm, nor the horse-thieves no good fer me to go up
+there. You hit the trail fer town, an' I'll ride up the crick." The
+woman cut short the girl's thanks. "You better take straight on down
+Porky 'til it crosses the trail," she advised. "It's a little longer
+but you won't git lost that way, an' chances is you would if I tried
+to tell you the short cut. Thompsons is great friends with
+Samuelsons," called the woman, as Patty mounted. "Better change horses
+there! Or, mebbe Thompson'll go on to town fer you."
+
+Below the Pierce ranch the trail was not so good but, unheeding, the
+girl held her horse to his pace. In her heart now was no wild
+exhilaration of moonlight, nor was there any lurking fear of unknown
+horsemen, only a mighty rage--a rage engendered by Pierce's
+accusation, but which expanded with each leap of her horse until it
+included Vil Holland, Bethune, the Samuelson cowboys, and even Len
+Christie and the Samuelsons themselves--a senseless, consuming rage
+that caused the blood to throb hotly to her temples and found vicious
+expression in driving the rowels into her horse's sides until the
+animal tore down the rough, half-lit trail at a pace that sent the
+loose stones flying from beneath his hoofs in rattling volleys.
+
+Possibly, it was the rattling of loose stones, possibly her anger
+dulled her sensibilities to the point where they were incapable of
+taking note of her surroundings, but the fact remains that as she
+approached the mouth of a wide coulee that gave into the valley from
+the eastward, she did not hear the rumble of hundreds of pounding
+hoofs that each second grew louder and more ominous, until as she
+reached the mouth of the coulee a rider swept into the valley, his
+horse straining every muscle to keep ahead of the herd that thundered
+in his wake.
+
+Apparently the horseman did not notice her, and the next moment Patty
+was engulfed in the herd. The girl lived one wild moment of terror. In
+front, behind, upon each side were madly plunging horses, eyes
+staring, mouths agape exposing long white teeth that flashed wickedly
+in the moonlight, manes tossing wildly, and air whistling through
+wide-flaring nostrils. On and on they swept down the valley. The roar
+of hoofs rose to a mighty crescendo of thunder, above which, now and
+then, the terrified girl caught fierce yells from the flank of the
+herd. So close were the terrorized horses running that it was
+impossible for the girl to see the ground before her. Sweating,
+plunging bodies surged against her legs threatening each moment to
+scrape her feet from the stirrups. Gripping the horn with both hands
+she rode in a sort of daze.
+
+Glancing over her shoulder, she caught an occasional flash of white as
+the men on the flanks waved sheets above their heads, whose flapping,
+fluttering folds urged the maddened horses into a perfect frenzy of
+action.
+
+In front, and a little to one side of Patty, a horse went down, a big
+roan colt, and she got one horrible glimpse of a grotesquely twisted
+neck, and a tangle of thrashing hoofs as another horse plunged onto
+his fallen comrade. A horrible scream split the air as he, too, went
+down, and the sudden side-surge of the herd all but unseated the
+clinging girl. In a second it was over and the herd thundered on.
+Patty closed her eyes, and with white, tight-pressed lips, wondered
+when her horse would go down. She pictured the bloody, battered
+_thing_ that had been herself, lying flattened and gruesome, in the
+moonlight when the pounding hoofs swept past.
+
+Time and distance ceased to be. Patty was carried helplessly on, a
+part of that frenzied flood of flesh, muscles rigid, brain
+tense--waiting for the inevitable moment--the horrible moment that was
+to mark the climax of this ride of horrors. She wondered if it would
+hurt, or would merciful unconsciousness come with the first impact of
+the fall.
+
+Suddenly she opened her eyes. She sensed a change in the rumble of
+hoofs. Horses surged together and the pace slackened from a wild rush
+to a wilder thrashing of uncertainty. In the forefront a thin red
+spurt of flame leaped forth and above the pounding hoofs rang the
+report of a shot. The leaders seemed to have stopped and the main body
+of the herd pressed and struggled against the unyielding front. Other
+spurts of flame pierced the night, and shots rang viciously from all
+sides. The horses were milling, churning, about in a huge maelstrom,
+in which Patty found herself being slowly forced to the outside as the
+unencumbered free horses crowded to the center away from the
+terrifying stabs of flame and the crack of guns. She could see a
+mounted form before her. Evidently it was the man who had ridden in
+the forefront of the herd. The rider was very close, now, his horse
+keeping pace with her own which had nearly reached the outer rim of
+the churning mass of animals. The brim of his hat shadowed his face
+but Patty could see that the gauntleted hand held a six-gun. A shift
+of position brought the moonlight full upon the man's front--upon a
+scarf of robin's-egg blue caught together at the throat with the
+polished tip of buffalo horn. No other horsemen were in sight, but an
+occasional sharp report sounded from the opposite side of the herd.
+"Vil!" she screamed. "Vil Holland!" The form stiffened in the saddle
+and the girl caught the flash of his eyes beneath the hat brim. The
+next instant the gun had given place to a heavy quirt in his hand, his
+tall, rangy horse plunged straight toward her, the wild horses,
+crowding frenziedly to escape the blows as the rider lashed furiously
+to the right and to the left as he forced his mount to her side.
+
+"Good God! Girl, what are you doing here? I thought you were one of
+them--and I nearly--" The man leaned suddenly forward and grasped the
+bit-chain of her bridle. As if knowing exactly what was expected of
+them, side by side the two horses fought their way free of the herd,
+the big buckskin with ears laid back, snapping viciously at the
+crowding horses. A six-gun roared twice. Patty felt a sudden brush of
+air against her cheek and the next instant the two horses plunged down
+the steep side of a narrow ravine. In the bottom the man released her
+bridle. "You stay here!" he commanded gruffly.
+
+"But, the Samuelsons! Mr. Samuelson is--" The words were drowned in a
+shower of gravel as the rangy buckskin scrambled up the bank and
+disappeared over the top. The rapid transition from anger to terror,
+and from terror to relief, proved too much for the girl's nerves and
+she burst into a violent fit of sobbing. The tears enraged her and she
+shouted at the top of her voice. "I won't stay here!" but the words
+sounded puny and weak, and she knew that they had not penetrated
+beyond the rim of the ravine. "I won't do it! I won't stay here!" she
+kept repeating, the sentences broken by the hysterical sobbing.
+Nevertheless, stay there she did, until with a mighty rumble of hoofs
+and a scattering volley of shots, the horse herd swept northward, and
+when finally she succeeded in gaining the upper level, the sounds came
+to her ears faint and far away.
+
+Hurriedly she glanced about her. What was that stretching to the
+southward, a long ribbon of white in the moonlight? "The trail!" she
+cried. "The trail to town--and to Thompson's!" Just beyond the trail,
+upon the brown-yellow buffalo grass a dark object lay motionless.
+Patty stared at it in horror. It was the body of a man. Her first
+impulse was to put spurs to her horse and fly down that long white
+ribbon of trail--to place distance between herself and the thing that
+lay sprawled upon the grass. Then a thought flashed into her brain.
+Suppose it were he? Vil Holland, the man whom everybody trusted--the
+man who had calmly braved the shots of the horse-thieves to rescue her
+from that churning maelstrom of horror.
+
+Unconsciously, but surely, under the influence of those upon whose
+judgment she knew she could rely, her suspicion and distrust of him
+had weakened. She had half-realized the fact days ago, when at thought
+of him she found herself forced to enumerate his apparent offenses
+over and over again to keep the distrust alive. She thought of him now
+as he had fought his way to her, lashing the infuriated horses from
+his path. He had appeared, somehow--different. She closed her eyes and
+clean cut as though chiseled upon her brain was the picture of him as
+he forced his way to her side. Like a flash the detail of difference
+broke upon her--The jug was missing! And close upon the heels of the
+discovery came the memory of the strange thrill that had shot through
+her as his leg pressed hers when their horses had been forced together
+by the milling herd, and the sense of security and well being that
+replaced the terror in her heart from the moment she had called his
+name. A sudden indescribable pain gripped her breast, as though icy
+fingers reached up and slowly clutched her heart. With staring eyes
+and breath coming heavily between parted lips, she rode toward the
+thing on the ground. As she drew near, her horse stopped, sniffing
+nervously. She attempted to urge him forward, but he quivered, shied
+sidewise, and, snorting his fear, circled the sprawling object with
+nostrils a-quiver.
+
+Fighting a terrible dread, the girl forced her eyes to focus upon the
+gruesome form, and the next instant she uttered a quick little cry of
+relief. The man's hat had fallen off and lay at some distance from the
+body. She could see a shock of thick black hair, and noticed that he
+wore a cheap cotton shirt that had once been white. There were no
+chaps. One leg of his blue overalls had rolled up and exposed six
+inches of bare skin which gleamed whitely in the moonlight above the
+top of his shoe. The sight sickened, disgusted her, and whirling her
+horse she dashed southward along the trail forgetting for the moment
+the Samuelsons, the doctor, and everything else in a wild desire to
+put distance between herself and that awful thing on the ground.
+
+Not until her horse's hoofs rang upon the hard rock of the canyon
+floor, did Patty slacken her pace. Thompson's was only a few miles
+farther on. It was dark in the high walled canyon and she slowed her
+horse to a walk. He stopped to drink in the shallow creek and the girl
+glanced over the back trail. Where was he now! Thundering along with
+the recaptured horse herd, or following the thieves in a mad flight
+through the devious fastnesses of the mountains. Was it possible that
+even at this moment he was lying upon the yellow-brown grass, or among
+the broken rock fragments of some coulee, twisted, and shapeless, and
+still--like that other who lay repulsive and ugly, with his bare leg
+shining white in the moonlight? She shuddered. "No, no, no!" she cried
+aloud, "they can't kill him. They're cowards--and he is brave!" Her
+voice rang hollow and thin in the rocky chasm, and she started at the
+sound of it. Her horse moved on, tongueing the bit contentedly. "They
+were right, and I was wrong," she muttered. "And--and, I'm _glad_."
+
+The canyon was left behind and before her the trail wound among the
+foothills that rolled away to the open bench. She noticed that the
+moon had sunk behind the mountains, yet it was not dark. Glancing
+toward the east, she realized that it was morning. She urged her horse
+into a lope, and reached Thompson's just as the ranchman and his two
+hands were starting for the barn.
+
+"Well, dog my cats, if it ain't Miss Sinclair!" exclaimed the man, and
+stood silent for a second as if trying to remember something. He
+rushed toward her excitedly. "You want that horse?" he cried, and
+without waiting for an answer, turned to the astonished ranch hands:
+"You, Mike, throw the shell onto Lightnin', an' git him out here, an'
+don't lose no time about it, neither!
+
+"Pete, git that rifle an' lay along the trail! An' if anyone comes
+a-foggin' along towards town shoot his horse out from in under him!
+Never mind chawin'--you git! Shoot his horse, an' I'll pay the bill.
+Any skunk that would try fer to beat a lady out of her claim ain't
+a-goin' to expect nothin' but what he gits around this outfit. An'
+say, Pete--if it should be Monk Bethune--an' you happen to shoot a
+leetle high fer to hit the horse--don't worry none--git, now!
+
+"You come right along of me, an' git a snack from Miz T. while Mike's
+a-saddlin' up. It's a long drag to town, even on Lightnin', an' you
+ain't et yet. If the coffee ain't hot, you can wait a couple o'
+minutes--that there Pete--he won't let nothin' git by--he kin cut a
+sage hen's head off twenty rod with that rifle!" Patty had made
+several unsuccessful attempts to speak--attempts to which Thompson
+paid no attention whatever. At last, she managed to make him
+understand. "No, no! It isn't the claim, Mr. Thompson--but, let him
+saddle the horse just the same. Mr. Samuelson is worse and I'm riding
+for the doctor."
+
+"You!" exclaimed the astonished Thompson. "What's the matter with Bill
+or some of Samuelson's riders?"
+
+"They're after the horse-thieves. They ran off a lot of Mr.
+Samuelson's horses last night, and they're after them. And they caught
+them, and had a battle, and I was in it, and there is a dead man lying
+back there beside the trail." Patty talked rapidly, and Thompson
+stared open-mouthed.
+
+"Run off Samuelson's horses--battle--dead man--you was in it!" he
+repeated, in bewilderment. "Who run 'em off? Where's Vil Holland?
+Who's dead?"
+
+"I don't know who's dead. A horse-thief, I guess. And Vil Holland's
+with them--with the Samuelson cowboys and that horrid Pierce, and
+that's why I had to ride for the doctor--because the cowboys were with
+Vil Holland, and Pierce thought I was one of the horse-thieves."
+
+"If you know what you're talkin' about it's more'n what I do," sighed
+Thompson, resignedly, as the girl concluded the somewhat muddled
+explanation. "If the raid's come off, why wasn't I in on it--an' me
+keepin' Lightnin' up an' ready fer it's goin' on three months? They's
+a thing or two I do know, though. For one, you've rode fer enough." He
+called to Pete, who, rifle in hand, was making for the trail. "Hey,
+Pete, come back here with that gun, an' quick as Mike gits the hull
+cinched onto Lightnin', you fork him an' hightail fer town an' fetch
+Doc Mallory out to Samuelson's. Tell him the Old Man's worse. Better
+fetch Len Christie along, too. If there's a dead man, even if he's a
+horse-thief, it's better he was buried accordin' to the book. Take
+Miss Sinclair's horse to the stable an' tell Mike to onsaddle him an'
+give him a feed." He turned to Patty: "You come along in an' rest up
+'til Miz T. gits breakfast ready. Then when you've et, you kin begin
+at the beginnin' an' tell what's be'n a-goin' on in the hills."
+
+A couple of hours later when Patty concluded her detailed narrative,
+Thompson leaned back in his chair. "I got a crow to pick with Vil
+Holland, all right, fer not lettin' me in on that there raid."
+
+"Maybe he didn't have time," suggested the girl, and suppressed a
+desire to smile at the readiness with which she sprang to the defense
+of her "guardian devil of the hills."
+
+Protesting that she needed no rest after her night of wild adventure,
+Patty refused the pressing invitation of the Thompsons to remain at
+the ranch, and mounting her horse, headed for the cabin on Monte's
+Creek.
+
+Once through the canyon, she turned abruptly into the hills and as her
+horse, unguided, topped low divides, and threaded mile after mile of
+narrow valleys, her thoughts wandered from the all-absorbing topic of
+her father's location, to the man for whom she had so recently
+experienced such a signal revulsion of feeling. "How could I ever have
+been deceived by that disgusting Monk Bethune?" she muttered.
+"Especially after he warned me against him. It's a wonder I couldn't
+have seen him for the sleek oily devil that he is. I must have been
+crazy." She shuddered at the recollection of that day in the little
+valley when he boldly made love to her. "It's just blind luck
+that--that something _awful_ didn't happen. I could see the lurking
+devil in his eyes! And I saw it again, when he sneered at Mr.
+Christie. And when Pierce showed very plainly what he thought of him,
+he cursed everybody in the hills, and then offered his glaringly false
+explanation as to why people hate and distrust him." At the top of a
+low divide, she turned her horse into a valley that was not, by any
+means, the most direct route to the little cabin on Monte's Creek. A
+half hour later she came out onto the plateau, upon the edge of which
+Vil Holland's little tent nestled against its towering rock fragment.
+
+For just an instant she hesitated, then, blushing, rode boldly across
+the open space toward the little patch of white that showed through
+the scrub timber. Pulling up before the tent door the girl glanced
+about her. Everything was in its place. Her eyes rested approvingly
+upon the well-scoured cooking utensils that hung in an orderly row.
+Evidently the camp had not been used the night before. She drew off
+her glove and, leaning over, felt the blankets that were thrown over
+the ridgepole. They were still wet with the heavy dew, and the
+dampened ashes showed that no fire had been built that morning. "Oh,
+where is he?" whispered the girl, glancing wildly about, "Surely, he
+has had time to reach here--if he's--all right." After a few moments
+of silence she laughed nervously: "He's all right," she assured
+herself with forced cheerfulness. "Of course, he wouldn't return here
+right away. He probably had to help drive those horses back, or--or
+help bury that man, or something. I wonder what he thinks of me?
+Pierce will tell him his suspicions, and then--finding me mixed in
+with those horses--he'll think I've 'thrown in' with Bethune, as he
+would say. I must see him. I must!"
+
+Deciding to return later in the day, Patty headed her horse for the
+divide and soon found herself at the much trampled notch in the hills.
+For some moments she sat staring down at the ground. She glanced
+toward the cabin that showed so distinctly in the valley below. "He
+certainly watches from here," she mused. "And not just occasionally
+either." Suddenly, she straightened in her saddle, and her eyes
+glowed: "I wonder if--if he has been watching--Monk Bethune? Watching
+to see that no harm comes to--me? Oh, if I only knew--if I only knew
+the real meaning of this trampled grass!" Resolutely, she gathered up
+her reins. "I _will know_!" she muttered. "And I'll know before very
+long, too. That is, I _hope_ I will," she qualified, as the bay cayuse
+began to pick his way carefully down the steep descent to Monte's
+Creek.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+PATTY FINDS A GLOVE
+
+
+Dismounting before her cabin, Patty dropped her reins, pushed open the
+door, and entered. Her eyes flew to the little dressing table. The
+packet was gone! With a thrill of exultation she carefully inspected
+the room. Everything was exactly as she had left it. No blundering
+Microby had been here during her absence, for well she knew that
+Microby could no more have invaded the cabin without leaving traces of
+her visit than she could have flown to the moon. It was midday. She
+had intended to rest when she reached the cabin, but her impatience to
+establish once for all the identity of the cunning prowler dispelled
+her weariness, and after a hurried luncheon, she was once more in the
+saddle. "We've both earned a good rest, old fellow," she confided to
+her horse, as he threaded the coulee she had marked 1 NW, "but it's
+only six or seven miles, and we simply must know who it is that has
+been calling on us so persistently. And when I find daddy's mine and
+have just oodles of money, I'm going to make it up to you for working
+you so hard. You're going to have a nice, big, light, roomy box stall,
+and a great big grassy pasture with a creek running through it, and
+you're going to have oats three times a day, and you're never going to
+have to work any more, and every day I'll saddle you myself and we'll
+take a ride just for fun."
+
+Having disposed of her horse's future in this eminently satisfactory
+manner, the girl fell to planning her own. She would build a big house
+and live in Middleton, and fairly flaunt her gold in the faces of
+those who had scoffed at her father--no, she _hated_ Middleton! She
+would go there once in a while, to visit Aunt Rebecca, but mainly to
+show the narrow, hide-bound natives what they had missed by not
+backing her father with a few of their miserable dollars. She would
+live in New York--in Washington--in Los Angeles. No, she would live
+right here in the hills--the hills, that daddy had loved, and whose
+secret he had wrested from their silent embrace. And when she tired of
+the hills she would travel. Not the slightest doubt as to her ability
+to locate her father's claim assailed her, now that she had learned
+to read his map.
+
+It was wonderfully good to be alive. Her glance traveled from the tiny
+creek whose shallow waters purled and burbled about her horse's feet,
+to the high-flung peaks of the mountains, their loftier reaches
+rearing naked and craggy above the dark green girdle of pines. Slowly
+and majestically, hardly more than a speck against the blue, an eagle
+soared. It was a good world--courage and perseverance made things work
+out right. It was cowardly to despair--to become disheartened. She
+would find her father's mine--but, first she would prove that Bethune
+was a scoundrel of the deepest dye. And she would prove, she admitted
+to herself she wanted to prove, that Vil Holland was all his friends
+believed him to be. But, she blushed with shame--what must he think of
+her? Of her defense of Bethune, of her deliberate rudeness, and worst
+of all, of her night ride with the horse-thieves? He knew she had
+suspected him--had even accused him. Would he ever regard her as other
+than a silly fool? Vividly she pictured him as he had looked lashing
+his way to her through the wildly crowding horse herd, determined,
+capable, masterful--and wondered vaguely what her answer would have
+been had he made love to her as Bethune had done? She smiled at the
+thought of Vil Holland, the unsmiling, the outspoken, the
+self-sufficient Vil Holland making love!
+
+Upon the summit of a high ridge she paused and gazed down into the
+little valley where she had located the false claim. A few moments
+more and she would know to a certainty the identity of the prowler who
+had repeatedly searched her cabin. Certain as she was whose stakes she
+would find marking the claim, it was with a rapidly beating heart that
+she urged her horse into the valley and across the creek toward the
+rock wall. Yes, there was a stake! And another! And there was the plot
+of ground she had laboriously broken at the foot of the wall. She
+swung from the saddle and examined the spot. The rock fragments she
+had selected from her father's samples were gone! And now to find the
+notice! As she turned to search for the other stakes, her glance
+rested upon an object that held her rooted in her tracks. For a moment
+her heart stopped beating as she stared at the little patch of gray
+buckskin that lay limp and neglected where it had fallen. Slowly she
+walked to it, stooped, and recovered it from the ground. It was a
+gauntleted riding glove--Vil Holland's. She could not be mistaken,
+she had seen that glove upon the hand of its owner too many times,
+with its deep buckskin fringe, and the horseshoe embroidered in red
+and green silk upon its back.
+
+For a long time she stared at the green and red horseshoe. So it was
+Vil Holland, after all, and not Monk Bethune, who had systematically
+searched her cabin. Vil Holland, who had watched continually from his
+notch in the hills. She had been right in the first place, and the
+others had been wrong. Everybody disliked Bethune, and disliking him,
+had attributed to him all the crookedness of the hill country, and all
+the time, under their very noses, Vil Holland was the real
+plotter--and they liked him! She could see it all, now--how, with
+Bethune for the scapegoat, he was enabled, unsuspected, to plan and
+carry out his various schemes, and with no possible chance of
+detection--for he himself was the confidential employee of the
+ranchmen--the man whose business it was to put an end to the
+lawlessness of the hill country.
+
+Patty was surprised that she was not angry. Indeed, she was not
+conscious of any emotion. She realized, as she stood there holding the
+gaily embroidered glove in her hand, that the rapture, the gladness
+of mere existence had left her, and that where only a few minutes
+before, her heart had throbbed with the very joy of living, it now
+seemed like a thing of weight, whose heaviness oppressed her. She felt
+strangely alone and helpless. She glanced about her. The sun still
+shone on the green pines and the sparkling waters of the creek, and
+above the high-tossed crags the eagle still circled, but the thrill of
+joy in these things was gone. Slowly she turned and, still holding the
+glove, mounted, and headed for the cabin on Monte's Creek.
+
+At the door she unsaddled her horse, hobbled him, and turned him
+loose. She realized that she was very tired, and threw herself down
+upon the bunk. When she awoke the cabin was in darkness. The door
+stood wide open as she had left it. For a moment she lay trying to
+collect her bewildered senses. Through the open door, dimly
+silhouetted against the starry sky, she made out the notch in the
+valley rim. Her sense rallied with a rush, and she started nervously
+as a pack rat scurried across the floor and paused upon the door sill
+to peer inquisitively at her with his beady eyes. Crossing the room,
+she closed and barred the door, and lighted the lamp. It was twelve
+o'clock. She peered at herself in the glass and with an exclamation of
+anger, dampened her wash-cloth and scrubbed furiously at her cheek
+where, in deep tracery appeared the perfect shape of a horseshoe.
+
+She was very hungry, and rummaging in the cupboard set out a cold
+lunch which she devoured to the last crumb. Then she blew out the lamp
+and, removing her riding boots, threw herself down upon the bunk to
+think. She was angry now, and the longer she thought the angrier she
+got. "I can see it all as plain as day," she muttered. "There isn't
+anything he wouldn't do! He _did_ cut that pack sack, and he ran the
+sheep man out of the hills because he knew it would be dangerous for
+him to have a neighbor that might talk. And the Samuelson horse raid!
+Of all the diabolical plotting! With his outlaw friends holding
+trusted positions on the ranch, and old Mr. Samuelson sick in bed! Oh,
+it was cleverly planned! And that Pierce was right in with them. No
+wonder he wanted to lock me in his cellar!
+
+"Who, then, was the man that lay sprawled by the side of the trail?"
+The girl shuddered at the memory of the cheap cotton shirt torn open
+at the throat, and the moonlight shining whitely upon the bare leg.
+"Some loyal rancher, probably, who dared to oppose the outlaws. It's
+murder!" she cried aloud. "And yesterday I thought he was watching up
+there in the hills to see that no harm came to me!" She laughed--a
+hard, bitter laugh that held as much of mirth as the gurgle of a tide
+rip. "But he's come to the end of his rope! I'll expose him! I'm not
+afraid of his lawless crew! He'll find out it will take more than
+rescuing me from that herd of wild horses to buy my silence! I'll ride
+straight to Samuelson's ranch in the morning, and from there to
+Thompson's, and I'll tell them about his part in the raid, and about
+his watching like a vulture from his notch in the hills, and about his
+stealing what he thought was daddy's map, and about his filing the
+claim. And did show 'em the glove and--" She paused abruptly: "What a
+fool I was to come away without the notice! That would have proved it
+beyond any doubt, even if he hasn't recorded the claim!" For a long
+time she lay in the darkness planning her course for the day. All
+thought of sleep had vanished, and her eyes continually sought the
+window for signs of approaching light.
+
+At the first faint glow of dawn the girl caught up her horse and
+headed for the false claim. It was but the work of a moment to locate
+the stake to which the notice was attached by means of a bit of twine.
+Removing the paper, she thrust it into her pocket and returned to the
+cabin where she ate breakfast before starting for the Samuelson ranch.
+Hurriedly washing the dishes, she picked up the glove and thrust it
+into the bosom of her shirt, and drawing the crumpled notice from her
+pocket, smoothed it out upon the table. Her glance traveled rapidly
+over the penciled words to the signature, and she stared like one in a
+dream. The blood left her face. She closed her eyes and passed her
+hand slowly over the lids. She opened them, and with a nerveless
+finger, touched the paper as if to make sure that it was real. Then,
+very slowly, she rose from her chair and crossing the room, stood in
+the doorway and gazed toward the notch in the hills until hot tears
+welled into her eyes and blurred the distant skyline. The next moment
+she was upon her bunk, where she lay shaken between fits of sobbing
+and hysterical laughter. She drew the glove, with its fringed gauntlet
+and its gaudily embroidered horseshoe from her shirt front and ran her
+fingers along its velvety softness. Impulsively, passionately, she
+pressed the horseshoe to her lips, and leaping to her feet, thrust the
+glove inside her shirt and stepping lightly to the table reread the
+penciled lines upon the crumpled paper, and over and over again she
+read the signature; RAOUL BETHUNE, known also as MONK BETHUNE.
+
+The atmosphere of the little cabin seemed stifling. Crumpling the
+paper into her pocket, she stepped out the door. She must do
+something--go some place--talk to someone! Her horse stood saddled
+where she had left him, and catching up the reins she mounted and
+headed him at a gallop for the ravine that led to the trampled notch
+in the hills. During the long upward climb the girl managed to collect
+her scattered wits. Where should she go? She breathed deeply of the
+pine-laden air. It was still early morning. A pair of magpies flitted
+in short flights from tree to tree along the trail, scolding
+incessantly as they waited to be frightened on to the next tree.
+Patches of sunlight flashed vivid contrasts in their black and white
+plumage, and set off in a splendor of changing color the green and
+purple and bronze of their iridescent feathering. A deer bounded away
+in a blur of tan and white, and a little farther on, a porcupine
+lumbered lazily into the scrub. It was good to be alive! What
+difference did it make which direction she chose? All she wanted this
+morning was to ride, and ride, and ride! She had her father's map with
+her but was in no mood to study out its intricacies, nor to ride
+slowly up and down little valleys, scrutinizing rock ledges. She would
+visit the Samuelson ranch, and find out about the horse raid, and
+inquire after Mr. Samuelson, and then--well, there would be plenty of
+time to decide what to do then. But first, she would swing around by
+the little tent beside the creek and see if Vil Holland had returned.
+Surely, he must have returned by this time, and she must tell him how
+it was she had been riding with the horses--and, she must give him
+back his glove. She blushed as she felt the pressure of its soft bulk
+where it rested just below her heart. Surely, he would need his
+glove--and maybe, if she were nice to him, he would tell her how it
+came to be there--and maybe he would explain--_this_. Her horse had
+stopped voluntarily after his steep climb, and she glanced down at the
+trampled grass, and from that to her own little cabin far below on
+Monte's Creek.
+
+She wondered, as she rode through the timber how it was she had been
+so quick to doubt this grave, unsmiling hillman upon such a mere
+triviality as the finding of a glove. And then she wondered at her
+changed attitude toward him. She had feared him at first, then
+despised him. And now--she recalled with a thrill, the lean ruggedness
+of him, the unwavering eyes and the unsmiling lips--now, at least, she
+respected him, and she no longer wondered why the people of the hills
+and the people of the town held him in regard. She knew that he had
+never sought to curry her favor--had never deviated a hair's breadth
+from the even tenor of his way in order to win her regard and, in
+their chance conversations, he had been blunt even to rudeness. And,
+yet, against her will, her opinion of him had changed. And this change
+had nothing whatever to do with her timely rescue from the horse
+herd--it had been gradual, so gradual that it had been an accomplished
+fact even before she suspected that any change was taking place.
+
+The huge rock behind which nestled the little tent loomed before her,
+and hastily removing the glove from its hiding place, she came
+suddenly upon his camp. A blackened coffee pot was nestled close
+against a tiny fire upon which a pair of trout and some strips of
+bacon sizzled in a frying pan. She glanced toward the creek, at the
+same moment that Vil Holland turned at the sound of her horse's
+footsteps, and for several seconds they faced each other in silence.
+The man was the first to speak:
+
+"Good mornin'. If you'll step back around that rock for a minute, I'll
+slip into my shirt."
+
+And suddenly Patty realized that he was stripped to the waist, but her
+eyes never left the point high on his upper arm, almost against the
+shoulder, where a blood-stained bandage dangled untidily.
+
+"You're hurt!" she cried, swinging from the saddle and running toward
+him.
+
+"Nothin' but a scratch. I got nicked a little, night before last, an'
+I just now got time to do it up again. It don't amount to
+anything--don't even hurt, to speak of. I can let that go, if you'll
+just----"
+
+"Well, I won't just go away--or just anything else, except just attend
+to that wound--so there!" She was at his side, examining the clumsy
+bandage. "Sit right down beside the creek, and I'll look at it. The
+first thing is to find out how badly you're hurt."
+
+"It ain't bad. Looks a lot worse than it is. It was an unhandy place
+to tie up, left-handed."
+
+Scooping up water in her hand Patty applied it to the bandage, and
+after repeating the process several times, began very gently to
+remove the cloth. "Why it's clear through!" she cried, as the bandage
+came away and exposed the wound.
+
+"Just through the meat--it missed the bone. That cold water feels
+good. It was gettin' kind of stiff."
+
+"What did you put on it?"
+
+"Nothin'. Didn't have anything along, an' wouldn't have had time to
+fool with it if I'd been packin' a whole drug-store."
+
+"Where's your whisky?"
+
+"I ain't got any."
+
+"Where's your jug? Surely there must be some in it--enough to wash out
+this wound."
+
+The man shook his head. "No, the jug's plumb empty an' dry. I ain't
+be'n to town for 'most a week."
+
+Patty was fumbling at her saddle for the little "first aid" kit that
+she faithfully carried, and until this moment, had never found use
+for. "Probably the only time in the world it would ever do you any
+good, you haven't got it!" she exclaimed, disgustedly, as she unrolled
+a strip of gauze from about a tiny box of salve.
+
+"I'm sorry there ain't any whisky in the jug. I never thought of
+keepin' it for accident."
+
+The girl smeared the wound full of salve and adjusted the bandage,
+"Now," she said, authoritatively, "you're going to eat your breakfast
+and then we're going to ride straight to Samuelson's ranch. The doctor
+will be there and he can dress this wound right."
+
+"It's all right, just the way it is," said Holland. "I've seen fellows
+done up in bandages, one way an' another, but not any that was better
+'tended to than that." He glanced approvingly at the neatly bandaged
+arm. "Anyhow, this is nothin' but a scratch an' it'll be all healed
+up, chances are, before we could get to Samuelson's."
+
+"No, it won't be all healed up before you get to Samuelson's either!
+Run along, now, and I'll stay here while you finish dressing, and when
+you're through, you call me. I've had breakfast but I can drink a cup
+of coffee, if you'll ask me."
+
+"You're asked," the man replied, gravely, "and while I go to the tent,
+you might take that outfit an' jerk a couple more trout out of the
+creek." He pointed to a light fishing pole with hook and line attached
+that leaned against a tree. "It ain't as fancy as the outfit Len
+Christie packs, but it works just as good, an' ain't any bother to
+take care of."
+
+A few minutes later Vil Holland emerged from the tent. "Sorry I ain't
+got a table," he apologized, "but a fryin' pan outfit's always suited
+me best--makes a fellow feel kind of free to pull stakes an' drift
+when the notion hits him."
+
+"But, you've camped here for a long time."
+
+The man glanced about him: "Yes, a long time. I guess I know every
+place in the hills for a hundred miles round an' this is the pick of
+'em all, accordin' to my notions. Plenty of natural pasture, plenty of
+timber, an' this little creek's the coldest, an' it always seems to
+me, its water is the sparklin'est of 'em all. An' then, away off there
+towards the big mountains, early in the mornin' an' late in the
+evenin', when it's all kind of dim down here, you can see the sunlight
+on the snow--purple, an' pink, an' sometimes it shines like silver an'
+gold. It lays fine for a ranch. Sometime, maybe, I'm goin' to
+homestead it. I'll build the cabin right there, close by the big rock,
+an' I'll build a porch on it so in the evenin's we could watch the
+lights way up there on the snow."
+
+Patty smiled: "Who is 'we'?" she asked, mischievously.
+
+The man regarded her gravely: "Things like that works themselves out.
+If there ain't any 'we', there won't be any cabin--so there's nothin'
+to worry about."
+
+"Did you catch the horse-thieves?"
+
+Vil Holland's face clouded. "Part of 'em. Not the main ones, though."
+
+Patty shuddered. "I saw one of them lying back there by the trail. It
+was horrible."
+
+"Yes, an' a couple of more went the same way, further on. We'd rather
+have got 'em alive, but they'd had their orders, an' they took their
+medicine. We got the horses, though."
+
+"I suppose you're wondering how I came to be in among those horses?"
+
+"I figured you'd got mixed up in it at Samuelson's, somehow. The boys
+didn't know nothin' about it--except Pierce--an' he guessed wrong."
+
+Patty laughed. "He accused me of being one of the gang, and even
+threatened to lock me in his cellar."
+
+"He won't again," announced the man, dryly.
+
+"I rode down there to get him to go for the doctor. Mr. Samuelson was
+worse, and there was no one else to go. And when I started on for
+town, the horses swept down on me and carried me along with them."
+
+"Was the doctor got?" asked Holland with sudden interest.
+
+"Yes, I rode on down to Thompson's, and Mr. Thompson sent a man to
+town. He was provoked with you for not letting him in on the raid."
+
+"He'll get over it. You see, I didn't want to call out the married
+men. I surmised there'd be gun-play an' there wasn't any use takin'
+chances with men that was needed, when there's plenty of us around the
+hills that it don't make any difference to anyone if we come back or
+not. I didn't figure on lettin' Pierce in."
+
+When they had finished washing the dishes the girl glanced toward the
+buckskin that was snipping grass in the clearing: "It's time we were
+going. The doctor may start for town this morning and we'll meet him
+on the trail."
+
+"This ain't a doctor's job," protested the man. "My arm feels fine."
+
+"It's so stiff you can hardly use it. It must feel fine. But it
+doesn't make a particle of difference how fine it feels. It needs
+attention. And, surely you won't refuse to do this for me, after I
+bandaged it all up? Because, if anything should go wrong it would be
+my fault."
+
+Without a word the man picked up his bridle and walking to the
+buckskin, slipped it over his head and led him in. He saddled the
+horse with one hand, and as he turned toward the girl she held out the
+glove.
+
+"Isn't this yours? I found it last evening--out in the hills."
+
+Holland thrust his hand into it: "Yes, it's mine. I'm sure obliged to
+you. I lost it a couple of days ago. I hate to break in new gloves.
+These have got a feel to 'em."
+
+"Do you know where I found it?"
+
+"No. Couldn't guess within twenty miles or so."
+
+Patty looked him squarely in the eyes: "I found it over where Monk
+Bethune has just staked a claim. And he staked that particular claim
+because it was the spot I had indicated on a map that I prepared
+especially for the benefit of the man who has been searching my cabin
+all summer."
+
+Holland nodded gravely, without showing the slightest trace of
+surprise. "Oh, that's where I dropped it, eh? I figured Monk thought
+he'd found somethin', the way he come out of your cabin the last time
+he searched it, so I followed him to the place you'd salted for him."
+He paused, and for the first time since she had known him, Patty
+thought she detected a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "He didn't
+waste much time there--just clawed around a few minutes where you'd
+pecked up the dirt, an' then sunk his stakes, an' wrote out his
+notice, an' high-tailed for the register's office. That was a pretty
+smart trick of yours but it wouldn't have fooled anyone that knows
+rock. Bethune's no prospector. He's a Canada crook--whisky runner, an'
+cattle rustler, an' gambler. Somehow, he'd got a suspicion that your
+father made a strike he'd never filed, an' he's been tryin' to get
+holt of it ever since. I looked your plant over after he'd hit for
+town to file, an' when I tumbled to the game, I let him go ahead."
+
+"But, suppose the rock had been right? Suppose, it had really been
+daddy's claim?"
+
+"Buck can run rings around that cayuse of his any old day. I expect,
+if the rock had be'n right, Monk Bethune would of met up with an
+adventure of some sort a long ways before he hit town."
+
+"You knew he was searching my cabin all the time?"
+
+"Yes, I knew that. But, I saw you was a match for 'em--him an' the
+fake Lord, too."
+
+"Is that the reason you threw Lord Clendenning into the creek, that
+day?"
+
+"Yes, that was the reason. I come along an' caught him at it. Comical,
+wasn't it? I 'most laughed. I saw you slip back into the brush, but
+I'd got so far along with it I couldn't help finishin'. You thought
+the wrong man got throw'd in."
+
+"You knew I thought that of you--and you didn't hate me?"
+
+"Yes, I knew what you thought. You thought it was me that was
+searchin' your cabin, too. An' of course I didn't hate you because you
+couldn't hardly help figurin' that way after you'd run onto the place
+in the rim-rocks where I watched from. If it wasn't for the trees I
+could have strung along in a different place each time, but that's the
+only spot that your cabin shows up from."
+
+"And you knew that they always followed me through the hills?"
+
+"Yes, an' they wasn't the only ones that followed. Clendenning ain't
+as bad as Bethune, for all he's throw'd in with him. The days Bethune
+followed you, I followed Bethune. An' when Clendenning followed you, I
+prospected, mostly."
+
+"You thought Bethune might have--have attacked me?"
+
+"I wasn't takin' any chances--not with him, I wasn't. One day, I
+thought for a minute he was goin' to try it. It was the day you an'
+him et lunch together--when he pretended to be so surprised at runnin'
+onto you. I laid behind a rock with a bead draw'd on him. He stopped
+just exactly one step this side of hell, that day."
+
+Patty regarded the cowboy thoughtfully: "And Bethune told me he had to
+go over onto the east slope to see about some horses. It was after we
+had met Pierce, and Bethune asked about Mr. Samuelson and Pierce
+snubbed him. I believe Bethune planned that raid. And seeing us
+together that day, Pierce jumped to the conclusion that I was in with
+him."
+
+"Yes, it was Monk's raid, all right, an' him an' Clendenning got away.
+He doped it all out that day. I followed him when he quit you there on
+the trail, an' watched him plan out the route they'd take with the
+horses. Then I done some plannin' of my own. That's why we was able to
+head 'em off so handy. We didn't get Bethune an' Clendenning but I'll
+get 'em yet."
+
+They had mounted and were riding toward Samuelson's. "Maybe he's made
+his escape across the line," ventured the girl, after a long silence.
+
+Holland shook his head: "No, he ain't across the line. He don't think
+we savvy he was in on the raid, an' he'll stick around the hills an'
+prob'ly put a crew to work on his claim." He relapsed into silence,
+and as they rode side by side, under the cover of her hat brim, Patty
+found opportunity to study the lean brown face.
+
+"Where's your gun?" The man asked the question abruptly, without
+removing his eyes from the fore-trail.
+
+"I left it home. I only carried it once or twice. It's heavy, and
+anyway it was silly to carry it, I don't even know how to fire it, let
+alone hit anything."
+
+"If it's too heavy on your belt you can carry it on your saddle horn.
+I'll show you how to use it--an' how to shoot where you hold it, too.
+Mrs. Samuelson ain't as husky as you are, an' she can wipe a gnat's
+eye with a six-gun, either handed. Practice is all it takes, an'----"
+
+"But, why should I carry it? Bethune would hardly dare harm me, and
+anyway, now that he thinks he has stolen my secret, he wouldn't have
+any object in doing so."
+
+"You're goin' to keep on huntin' your dad's claim, ain't you?"
+
+"Of course I am! And I'll find it, too."
+
+"An', in the meantime, what if Bethune finds out he's been tricked?
+These French breeds go crazy when they're mad--an' he'll either lay
+for you just to get even, or he'll see that he gets the right dope
+next time--an' maybe you know what that means, an' maybe you
+don't--but I do."
+
+The girl nodded, and as the horses scrambled up the steep slope of a
+low divide, her eyes sought the hundred and one hiding places among
+the loose rocks and scrub that might easily conceal a lurking enemy,
+and she shuddered. As they topped the divide, both reined in and sat
+gazing silently down the little valley before them. It was the place
+of their first meeting, when the girl, tired, and lost and
+discouraged, had dismounted upon that very spot and watched the
+unknown horseman with his six-shooter, and his brown leather jug
+slowly ascend the slope. She glanced at him now, as he sat, rugged and
+lean, with his eyes on the little valley. He was just the same, grave
+and unsmiling, as upon the occasion of their first meeting. She
+noticed that he held his Stetson in his hand, and that the wind
+rippled his hair. "Just the same," she thought--and yet--. She was
+aware that her heart was pounding strangely, and that instead of a
+fear of this man, she was conscious of a wild desire to throw herself
+into his arms and cry with her face against the bandage that bulged
+the shirt sleeve just below the shoulder.
+
+"I call this Lost Creek," said Holland, without turning his head. "I
+come here often--" and added, confusedly, "It's a short cut from my
+camp to the trail."
+
+Patty felt an overpowering desire to laugh. She tried to think of
+something to say: "I--I thought you were a desperado," she murmured,
+and giggled nervously.
+
+"An' I thought you was a schoolma'am. I guess I was the first to
+change my mind, at that."
+
+Patty felt herself blushing furiously for no reason at all: "But--I
+have changed my mind--or I wouldn't be here, now."
+
+Vil Holland nodded: "I expect I'll ride to town from Samuelson's. My
+jug's empty, an' I guess I might's well file that homestead 'fore
+someone else beats me to it. I've got a hunch maybe I'll be rollin' up
+that cabin--before snow flies."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+UNMASKED
+
+
+At the Samuelson's ranch they found not only the doctor but Len
+Christie. Mr. Samuelson's condition had taken a sudden turn for the
+better and it was a jubilant little group that welcomed Patty as she
+rode up to the veranda. Vil Holland had muttered an excuse and gone
+directly to the bunk house where the doctor sought him out a few
+minutes later and attended to his wound. From the top of "Lost Creek"
+divide, the ride had been made almost in silence. The cowboy's
+reference to his jug had angered the girl into a moody reserve which
+he made no effort to dispel.
+
+The news of Patty's rescue from the horse herd had preceded her,
+having been recounted by the Samuelson riders upon their return to the
+ranch, and Mrs. Samuelson blamed herself unmercifully for having
+allowed the girl to venture down the valley alone. Which
+self-accusation was promptly silenced by Patty, who gently forced the
+old lady into an arm chair, and called her Mother Samuelson, and
+seated herself upon the step at her feet, and assured her that she
+wouldn't have missed the adventure for the world.
+
+"We'll have a jolly little dinner party this evening," beamed Mrs.
+Samuelson, an hour later when the girl had finished recounting her
+part in the night's adventure, "there'll be you and Mr. Christie, and
+Doctor Mallory, and the boys from the bunk house, and Vil Holland, and
+it will be in honor of Mr. Samuelson's turn for the better, and your
+escape, and the successful routing of the horse-thieves."
+
+"Too late to count Vil Holland in," smiled the doctor, who had
+returned to the veranda in time to hear the arrangement, "said he had
+important business in town, and pulled out as soon as I'd got his arm
+rigged up." And, in the doorway, the Reverend Len Christie smiled
+behind a screen of cigarette smoke as he noted the toss of the head,
+and the decided tightening of the lips with which Patty greeted the
+announcement.
+
+"But, he's wounded!" protested Mrs. Samuelson. "In his condition,
+ought he attempt a ride like that?"
+
+The doctor laughed: "You can't hurt these clean-blooded young bucks
+with a flesh wound. As far as fitness is concerned, he can ride to
+Jericho if he wants to. Too bad he won't quit prospecting and settle
+down. He'd make some girl a mighty fine husband."
+
+Christie laughed. "I don't think Vil is the marrying kind. In the
+first place he's been bitten too deep with the prospecting bug. And,
+again, women don't appeal to him. He's wedded to his prospecting. He
+only stops when driven to it by necessity, then he only works long
+enough to save up a grub-stake and he's off for the hills again. I
+can't imagine that high priest of the pack horse and the frying pan
+living in a house!"
+
+And so the talk went, everyone participating except Patty, who sat and
+listened with an elaborate indifference that caused the Reverend Len
+to smile again to himself behind the gray cloud of his cigarette
+smoke.
+
+"You haven't forgotten about my school?" asked Patty next morning, as
+Christie and the doctor were preparing to leave for town.
+
+"Indeed, I haven't!" laughed the Bishop of All Outdoors. "School opens
+the first of September, and that's not very far away. But badly as we
+need you, somehow I feel that we are not going to get you."
+
+"Why?" asked the girl in surprise.
+
+"A whole lot may happen in ten days--and I've got a hunch that before
+that time you will have made your strike."
+
+"I hope so!" she exclaimed fervidly. "I know I shall just hate to
+teach school--and I'd never do it, either, if I didn't need a
+grub-stake."
+
+As she watched him ride away, Patty was joined by Mrs. Samuelson who
+stepped from the house and thrust her arm through hers. "My husband
+wants to meet you, my dear. He's so very much better this
+morning--quite himself. And I must warn you that that means he's rough
+as an old bear, apparently, although in reality he's got the tenderest
+heart in the world. He always puts his worst foot foremost with
+strangers--he may even swear."
+
+Patty laughed: "I'm not afraid. You seem to have survived a good many
+years of him. He really can't be so terrible!"
+
+"Oh, he's not terrible at all. Only, I know how much depends upon
+first impressions--and I do want you to like us."
+
+Patty drew the old lady's arm about her waist and together they
+ascended the stairs: "I love you already, and although I have never
+met him I am going to love Mr. Samuelson, too--you see, I have heard a
+good deal about him here in the hills."
+
+Entering the room, they advanced to the bed where a big-framed man
+with a white mustache and a stubble of gray beard lay propped up on
+pillows. Sickness had not paled the rich mahogany of the
+weather-seamed face, and the eyes that met Patty's from beneath their
+bushy brows were bright as a boy's. "Good morning! Good morning! So,
+you're Rod Sinclair's daughter, are you? An' a chip of the old block,
+by what mama's been tellin' me. I knew Rod well. He was a real
+prospector. Knew his business, an' went at it business fashion. Wasn't
+like most of 'em--makin' their rock-peckin' an excuse to get out of
+workin'. They tell me you ain't afraid to live alone in the hills, an'
+ain't afraid to make a midnight ride to fetch the doc for an old
+long-horn like me. That's stuff! Didn't know they bred it east of the
+Mizoo. The ones mama an' I've seen around the theaters an' restaurants
+on our trips East would turn a man's stomach. Why, damn it, young
+woman, if I ever caught a daughter of mine painted up like a Piute
+an' stripped to the waist smokin' cigarettes an' drinkin' cocktails in
+a public restaurant, I'd peel the rest of her duds off an' turn her
+over my knee an' take a quirt to her, if she was forty!"
+
+"Why, _papa_!"
+
+"I would too--an' so would you!" Patty saw the old eyes twinkling with
+mischief, and she laughed merrily:
+
+"And so would I," she agreed. "So there's no chance for any argument,
+is there?"
+
+"We must go, now," reminded Mrs. Samuelson. "The doctor said you could
+not see any visitors yet. He made a special exception of Miss
+Sinclair, for just a few minutes."
+
+"I wish you would call me Patty," smiled the girl. "Miss Sinclair
+sounds so--so formal----"
+
+"Me, too!" exclaimed the invalid. "I'll go you one better, an' call
+you Pat----"
+
+"If you do, I'll call you Pap--" laughed the girl.
+
+"That's a trade! An' say, they tell me you live over in Watts's sheep
+camp. If you should happen to run across that reprobate of a Vil
+Holland, you tell him to come over here. I want to see him about----"
+
+"There, now, papa--remember the doctor said----"
+
+"I don't care what the doctor said! He's finished his job an' gone,
+ain't he? It's bad enough to have to do what he says when you're
+sick--but, I'm all right now, an' the quicker he finds out I didn't
+hire him for a guardian, the better it'll be all round. As I was goin'
+to say, you tell Vil that Old Man Samuelson wants to see him _pronto_.
+Fall's comin' on, an' I'll have my hands full this winter with the
+horses. He's the only cowman in the hills I'd trust them white faces
+with, an' he's got to winter 'em for me. He's a natural born cowman
+an' there's big money in it after he gets a start. I'll give him his
+start. It's time he woke up, an' left off his damned rock-peckin', an'
+settled down. If he keeps on long enough he'll have these hills
+whittled down as flat as North Dakota, an' the wind'll blow us all
+over into the sheep country. Now, Pat, can you remember all that?"
+
+The girl turned in the doorway, and smiled into the bright old eyes:
+"Oh, yes, Pap, I'll tell him if I see him. Good-by!"
+
+"Good-by, an' good luck to you! Come to see us often. We old folks get
+pretty lonesome sometimes--especially mama. You see, I've got all the
+best of it--I've got her, an' she's only got me!"
+
+As Patty threaded the hills toward her cabin her thoughts followed the
+events of the past few days; the visit of Len Christie in the early
+morning, when he had inadvertently showed her how to read her father's
+map, the staking of the false claim, the visit to the Samuelson ranch,
+the horse raid, the finding of Vil Holland's glove and the bitter
+disappointment that followed, then the finding of the notice that
+disclosed the identity of the real thief, and her genuine joy in the
+discovery, her visit to Holland's camp, and their long ride together.
+"I tried to show him that all my distrust of him was gone, but he
+hardly seemed to notice--unless--I wonder what he _did_ mean about
+having a hunch that he would build that cabin before snow flies?"
+
+For some time she rode in silence, then she burst out vehemently: "I
+don't care! I could love him--so there! I could just adore him! And I
+don't wonder everybody likes him. He seems always so--so capable--so
+confident. You just can't help liking him. If it weren't for that old
+jug! He had to drag that in, even up there when he stood on the spot
+where we first met--and then at the Samuelsons' he wouldn't even wait
+for dinner he was so crazy to get his old whisky jug filled. It never
+seems to hurt him any," she continued. "But nobody can drink as much
+as he does and not be hurt by it. I just know he meant that the cabin
+was going to be for me--or, did he know that Mr. Samuelson was going
+to ask him to winter the cattle? He's a regular cave man--I don't know
+whether I've been proposed to, or not!"
+
+She crossed the trail for town and struck into a valley that should
+bring her out somewhere along the Watts fences. So engrossed was she
+in her thoughts that she failed to notice the horseman who slipped
+noiselessly into the scrub a quarter of a mile ahead. Slowly she rode
+up the valley: "If he comes to teach me how to shoot, I'll tell him
+that Mr. Samuelson wants to see him, and if he says any more about the
+cabin, or--or anything--I'll tell him he can choose between me and his
+jug. And, if he chooses the jug, and I don't find daddy's mine--it
+isn't long 'til school opens. I don't mind--he has to work to get his
+grub-stake, and so will I."
+
+Her horse snorted and shied violently, and when Patty recovered her
+seat it was to find her way blocked by a horseman who stood not ten
+feet in front of her and leered into her eyes. The horseman was Monk
+Bethune--a malignant, terrifying Bethune, as he sat regarding her with
+his sneering smile. The girl's first impulse was to turn and fly, but
+as if divining her thoughts, the man pushed nearer, and she saw that
+his eyes gleamed horribly between lids drawn to slits. Had he
+discovered that she had tricked him with a false claim? If not why the
+glare of hate and the sneering smile that told plainer than words that
+he had her completely in his power, and knew it.
+
+"So, my fine lady--we meet again! We have much to talk about--you and
+I. But, first, about the claim. You thought you were very wise with
+your lying about not having a map. You thought to save the whole loaf
+for yourself--you thought I was fool enough to believe you. If you had
+let me in, you would have had half--now you have nothing. The claim is
+all staked and filed, and the adjoining claims for a mile are staked
+with the stakes of my friends--and you have nothing! You were the
+fool! You couldn't have won against me. Failing in my story of
+partnership with your father, I had intended to marry you, and failing
+in that, I should have taken the map by force--for I knew you carried
+it with you. But I dislike violence when the end may be gained by
+other means, so I waited until, at last, happened the thing I knew
+would happen--you became careless. You left your precious map and
+photograph in plain sight upon your little table--and now you have
+nothing." So he had not discovered the deception, but, through
+accident or design, had seized this opportunity to gloat over her, and
+taunt her with her loss. His carefully assumed mask of suave
+courtliness had disappeared, and Patty realized that at last she was
+face to face with the real Bethune, a creature so degenerate that he
+boasted openly of having stolen her secret, as though the fact
+redounded greatly to his credit.
+
+A sudden rage seized her. She touched her horse with the spur: "Let me
+pass!" she demanded, her lips white.
+
+The man's answer was a sneering laugh, as he blocked her way: "Ho! not
+so fast, my pretty! How about the Samuelson horse raid--your part in
+it? Three of my best men are in hell because you tipped off that raid
+to Vil Holland! How you found it out I do not know--but women, of a
+certain kind, can find out anything from men. No doubt Clen, in some
+sweet secret meeting place, poured the story into your ear, although
+he denies it on his life."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Ha! Ha! Injured innocence!" He leered knowingly into her flashing
+eyes: "It seems that everyone else knew what I did not. But, I am of a
+forgiving nature. I will not see you starve. Leave the others and come
+to me----"
+
+"_You cur!_" The words cut like a swish of a lash, and again the man
+laughed:
+
+"Oh, not so fast, you hussy! I must admit it rather piqued me to be
+bested in the matter of a woman--and by a soul-puncher. I was on hand
+early that morning, to spy upon your movements, as was my custom. I
+speak of the morning following the night that the very Reverend
+Christie spent with you in your cabin. I should not have believed it
+had I not seen his horse running unsaddled with your own. Also later,
+I saw you come out of the cabin together. Then I damned myself for not
+having reached out before and taken what was there for me to take."
+
+With a low cry of fury, the girl drove her spurs into her horse's
+sides. The animal leaped against Bethune's horse, forcing him aside.
+The quarter-breed reached swiftly for her bridle reins, and as he
+leaned forward with his arm outstretched, Patty summoned all her
+strength and, whirling her heavy braided rawhide quirt high above her
+head, brought it down with the full sweep of her muscular arm. The
+feel of the blow was good as it landed squarely upon the inflamed
+brutish face, and the shrill scream of pain that followed, sent a wild
+thrill of joy to the very heart of the girl. Again, the lash swung
+high, this time to descend upon the flank of her horse, and before
+Bethune could recover himself, the frenzied animal shot up the valley,
+running with every ounce there was in him.
+
+The valley floor was fairly level, and a hundred yards away the girl
+shot a swift glance over her shoulder. Bethune's horse was getting
+under way in frantic leaps that told of cruel spurring, and with her
+eyes to the front, she bent forward over the horn and slapped her
+horse's neck with her gloved hand. She remembered with a quick gasp of
+relief that Bethune prided himself upon the fact that he never carried
+a gun. She had once taunted Vil Holland with the fact, and he had
+replied that "greasers and breeds were generally sneaking enough to be
+knife men." Again, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled grimly as
+she noted that the distance between the two flying horses had
+increased by half. "Good old boy," she whispered. "You can beat
+him--can 'run rings around him,' as Vil would say. It would be a long
+knife that could harm me now," she thought, as she pulled her Stetson
+tight against the sweep of the rushing wind. The ground was becoming
+more and more uneven. Loose rock fragments were strewn about in
+increasing numbers, and the valley was narrowing to an extent that
+necessitated frequent fording of the shallow creek. "He can't make any
+better time than I can," muttered the girl, as she noted the
+slackening of her horse's speed. She was riding on a loose rein,
+giving her horse his head, for she realized that to force him might
+mean a misstep and a fall. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the
+thoughts of a fall. A thousand times better had she fallen and been
+pounded to a pulp by the flying hoofs of the horse herd, than to fall
+now--and survive it. The ascent became steeper. Her horse was still
+running, but very slowly. His neck and shoulders were reeking with
+sweat, and she could hear the labored breath pumping through his
+distended nostrils.
+
+A sudden fear shot through her. Nine valleys in every ten, she knew,
+ended in surmountable divides; and she knew, also, that one valley in
+every ten did not. Suppose this one that she had chosen at random
+terminated in a cul-de-sac? The way became steeper. Running was out of
+the question, and her horse was forging upward in a curious
+scrambling walk. A noise of clattering rocks sounded behind her, and
+Patty glanced backward straight into the face of Bethune. Reckless of
+a fall, in the blind fury of his passion, the quarter-breed had forced
+his horse to his utmost, and rapidly closed up the gap until scarcely
+ten yards separated him from the fleeing girl.
+
+In a frenzy of terror she lashed her laboring horse's flanks as the
+animal dug and clawed like a cat at the loose rock footing of the
+steep ascent. White to the lips she searched the foreground for a
+ravine or a coulee that would afford a means of escape. But before her
+loomed only the ever steepening wall, its surface half concealed by
+the scattering scrub. Once more she looked backward. The breath was
+whistling through the blood-red flaring nostrils of Bethune's horse,
+and her glance flew to the face of the man. Never in her wildest
+nightmares had she imagined the soul-curdling horror of that face. The
+lips writhed back in a hideous grin of hate. A long blue-red welt
+bisected the features obliquely--a welt from which red blood flowed
+freely at the corner of a swollen eye. White foam gathered upon the
+distorted lips and drooled down onto the chin where it mingled with
+the blood in a pink meringue that dripped in fluffy chunks upon his
+shirt front. The uninjured eye was a narrow gleam of venom, and the
+breath swished through the man's nostrils as from the strain of great
+physical labor.
+
+"Oh, for my gun!" thought the girl. "I'd--I'd _kill_ him!" With a wild
+scramble her horse went down. "Vil! Vil!" she shrieked, in a frenzy of
+despair, and freeing herself from the floundering animal, she
+struggled to her feet and faced her pursuer with a sharp rock fragment
+upraised in her two hands.
+
+Monk Bethune laughed--as the fiends must laugh in hell. A laugh that
+struck a chill to the very heart of the girl. Her muscles went limp at
+the sound of it and she felt the strength ebbing from her body like
+sand from an upturned glass. The rock fragment became an insupportable
+weight. It crashed to the ground, and rolled clattering to Bethune's
+feet. He, too, had dismounted, and stood beside his horse, his fists
+slowly clenching and unclenching in gloating anticipation. Patty
+turned to run, but her limbs felt numb and heavy, and she pitched
+forward upon her knees. With a slow movement of his hand, Bethune
+wiped the pink foam from his chin, examined it, snapped it from his
+fingers, cleansed them upon the sleeve of his shirt--and again,
+deliberately, he laughed, and started to climb slowly forward.
+
+A rock slipped close beside the girl, and the next instant a voice
+sounded in her ear: "I don't reckon he's 'round yere, Miss. I hain't
+saw Vil this mo'nin'." Rifle in hand, Watts stepped from behind a
+scrub pine, and as his eyes fell upon Bethune, he stood fumbling his
+beard with uncertain fingers.
+
+"He--he'll kill me!" gasped the girl.
+
+"Sho', now, Miss--he won't hurt yo' none, will yo', Mr. Bethune?
+Gineral Jackson! Mr. Bethune, look at yo' face! Yo' must of rode
+again' a limb!"
+
+"Shut up, and get out of here!" screamed the quarter-breed. "And, if
+you know what's good for you, you'll forget that you've seen anyone
+this morning."
+
+"B'en layin' up yere in the gap fer to git me a deer. I heerd yo'-all
+comin', like, so's I waited."
+
+"Get out, I tell you, before I kill you!" cried Bethune, beside
+himself with rage. "Go!" The man's hand plunged beneath his shirt and
+came out with a glitter of steel.
+
+The mountaineer eyed the blade indifferently, and turned to the girl.
+"Ef yo' goin' my ways, ma'am, jest yo' lead yo' hoss on ahaid. They's
+a game trail runs slaunchways up th'ough the gap yender. I'll kind o'
+foller 'long behind."
+
+"You fool!" shrilled Bethune, as he made a grab for the girl's reins,
+and the next instant found himself looking straight into the muzzle of
+Watts's rifle.
+
+"Drap them lines," drawled the mountaineer, "thet hain't yo' hoss. An'
+what's over an' above, yo' better put up yo' whittle, an' tu'n 'round
+an' go back wher' yo' com' from."
+
+"Lower that gun!" commanded Bethune. "It's cocked!"
+
+"Yes, hit's cocked, Mr. Bethune, an' hit's sot mighty light on the
+trigger. Ef I'd git a little scairt, er a little riled, er my foot 'ud
+slip, yo'd have to be drug down to wher' the diggin's easy, an'
+buried."
+
+Bethune deliberately slipped the knife back into his shirt, and
+laughed: "Oh, come, now, Watts, a joke's a joke. I played a joke on
+Miss Sinclair to frighten her----"
+
+"Yo' done hit, all right," interrupted Watts. "An' thet's the end
+on't."
+
+The rifle muzzle still covered Bethune's chest in the precise region
+of his heart, and once more he changed his tactics: "Don't be a fool,
+Watts," he said, in an undertone, "I'm rich--richer than you, or
+anyone else knows. I've located Rod Sinclair's strike and filed it. If
+you just slip quietly off about your business, and forget that you
+ever saw anyone here this morning--and see to it that you never
+remember it again, you'll never regret it. I'll make it right with
+you--I'll file you next to discovery."
+
+"Yo' mean," asked Watts, slowly, "thet you've stoled the mine offen
+Sinclair's darter, an' filed hit yo'self, an' thet ef I go 'way an'
+let yo' finish the job by murderin' the gal, yo'll give me some of the
+mine--is thet what yo' tryin' to git at?"
+
+"Put it anyway you want to, damn you! Words don't matter, but for
+God's sake, get out! If she once gets through the gap----"
+
+"Bethune," Watts drawled the name, even more than was his wont, and
+the quarter-breed noticed that the usually roving eyes had set into a
+hard stare behind which lurked a dangerous glitter, "yo're a ornery,
+low-down cur-dog what hain't fitten to be run with by man, beast, or
+devil. I'd ort to shoot yo' daid right wher' yo' at--an' mebbe I will.
+But comin' to squint yo' over, that there damage looks mo' like a
+quirt-lick than a limb. Thet ort to hurt like fire fer a couple a
+days, an' when it lets up yo' face hain't a-goin' to be so purty as
+what hit wus. Ef she'd jest of drug the quirt along a little when hit
+landed she c'd of cut plumb into the bone--but hit's middlin' fair, as
+hit stands. I'm a-goin' to give yo' a chanct--an' a warnin', too. Next
+time I see yo' I'm a-going' to kill yo'--whenever, or wherever hit's
+at. I'll do hit, jest as shore as my name is John Watts. Yo' kin go
+now--back the way yo' come, pervidin' yo' go fast. I'm a-goin' to
+count up to wher' I know how to--I hain't never be'n to school none,
+but I counted up to nineteen, onct--an' whin I git to wher' I cain't
+rec'lec' the nex' figger, I'm a-goin' to shoot, an' shoot straight.
+An' I hain't a-goin' to study long about them figgers, neither. Le's
+see, one comes fust--yere goes, then: One ... Two...." For a single
+instant, Bethune gazed into the man's eyes and the next, he sprang
+into the saddle, and dashing wildly down the steep slope, disappeared
+into the scrub.
+
+"Spec' I'd ort to killed him," regretted the mountaineer, as he
+lowered the rifle, and gazed off down the valley, "but I hain't got no
+appetite fer diggin'."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+PATTY MAKES HER STRIKE
+
+
+It was noon, one week from the day she had returned from the Samuelson
+ranch, and Patty Sinclair stood upon the high shoulder of a butte and
+looked down into a rock-rimmed valley. Her eyes roved slowly up and
+down the depression where the dark green of the scrub contrasted
+sharply with the crinkly buffalo grass, yellowed to spun gold beneath
+the rays of the summer sun.
+
+She reached up and stroked the neck of her horse. "Just think, old
+partner, three days from now I may be teaching school in that horrid
+little town with its ratty hotel, and its picture shows, and its
+saloons, and you may be turned out in a pasture with nothing to do but
+eat and grow fat! If we don't find our claim to-day, or to-morrow,
+it's good-by hill country 'til next summer."
+
+The day following her encounter with Bethune, Vil Holland had
+appeared, true to his promise, and instructed her in the use of her
+father's six-gun. At the end of an hour's practice, she had been able
+to kick up the dirt in close proximity to a tomato can at fifteen
+steps, and twice she had actually hit it. "That's good enough for any
+use you're apt to have for it," her instructor had approved. "The main
+thing is that you ain't afraid of it. An' remember," he added, "a gun
+ain't made to bluff with. Don't pull it on anyone unless you go
+through with it. Only short-horns an' pilgrims ever pull a gun that
+don't need wipin' before it's put back--I could show you the graves of
+several of 'em. I'm leavin' you some extry shells that you can shoot
+up the scenery with. Always pick out somethin' little to shoot
+at--start in with tin cans and work down to match-sticks. When you can
+break six match-sticks with six shots at ten steps in ten seconds
+folks will call you handy with a gun." He had made no mention of his
+trip to town, of his filing a homestead, or of their conversation upon
+the top of Lost Creek divide. When the lesson was finished, he had
+refused Patty's invitation to supper, mounted his horse, and
+disappeared up the ravine that led to the notch in the hills. Although
+neither had mentioned it, Patty somehow felt that he had heard from
+Watts of her encounter with Bethune. And now a week had passed and she
+had seen neither Vil Holland nor the quarter-breed. It had been a week
+of anxiety and hard work for the girl who had devoted almost every
+hour of daylight to the unraveling of her father's map. Simple as the
+directions seemed, her inability to estimate distances had proven a
+serious handicap. But by dogged perseverance, and much retracing of
+steps, and correcting of false leads, she finally stood upon the rim
+of the valley she judged to lie two miles east of the humpbacked butte
+that she had figured to be the inverted U of her father's map.
+
+"If this isn't the valley, I'm through for this year," she said. "And
+I've got to-day and to-morrow to explore it." She wondered at her
+indifference--at her strange lack of excitement at this, the crucial
+moment of her long quest, even as she had wondered at her absence of
+fear, believing as she did, that Bethune was still in the hills. The
+feeling inspired by the outlaw had been a feeling of rage, rather than
+terror, and had rapidly crystallized in her outraged mind into an
+abysmal soul-hate. She knew that, should the man accost her again, she
+would kill him--and not for a single instant did she doubt her ability
+to kill him. Vaguely, as she stood looking out over the valley, she
+wondered if he were following her--if at that moment he were lying
+concealed, somewhere among the surrounding rocks or patches of scrub?
+Yet, she was conscious of no feeling of fear. She even attempted no
+concealment as, standing there upon the bare rock, she drew her
+father's map and photographs from her pocket and subjected them to a
+long and minute scrutiny. And then, still holding them in her hand,
+gazed once more over the valley. "To 'a,' to 'b,'" she repeated. "What
+is there that daddy would have designed as 'a,' and 'b?'" Suddenly,
+her glance became fixed upon a point up the valley that lay just
+within her range of vision. With puckered eyes and hat-brim drawn low
+upon her forehead, she stared steadily into the distance. She knew
+that she had never before seen this valley, and yet the place seemed,
+somehow, strangely familiar. With a low cry she bent over one of the
+photographs. Her hands trembled violently as her eyes once more flew
+to the valley. Yes, there it was, spread out before her just the way
+it was in the photograph--the rock-strewn ground--she could even
+identify the various rocks with the rocks in the picture. There was
+the lone tree, and the long rock wall, higher at its upper end,
+and--yes, she could just discern it--the zigzag crack in the rock
+ledge! Jamming the papers into her pocket she leaped into the saddle
+and dashed toward a fringe of scrub that marked the course of a coulee
+which led downward into the valley. Over its edge, and down its
+brush-choked course, slipping, sliding, scrambling, she urged her
+horse, reckless of safety, reckless of anything except that her weary,
+and at times it had seemed her hopeless, search was about to end. She
+had stood where her daddy had stood when he took that photograph--had
+seen with her own eyes--the jagged crack in the rock wall!
+
+In the valley the going was better, and with quirt and spur she urged
+her horse to his best, her eyes on the lone pine tree. At the rock
+wall beyond, she pulled up sharply and stared at the jagged crevice
+that bisected it from top to bottom. It was the crevice of the
+photograph! Very deliberately she began at the top and traced its
+course to the bottom. She noted the scraggly, stunted pines that
+fringed the rim of the wall and that the crack started straight, and
+then zigzagged to the ground. Producing the "close up" photograph, she
+compared it with the reality before her--an entirely superfluous and
+needless act, for each minute detail of the spot at which she stared
+was indelibly engraved upon her memory. For hours on end, she had
+studied those photographs, and now--she laughed aloud, and the sound
+roused her to action. Slipping from the horse, she fumbled at the pack
+strings of the saddle and loosened the canvas bag. She reached into
+it, and stood erect holding a light hand-axe. Once more she consulted
+her map. "Stake l. c.," she read. "That's lode claim--and then that
+funny wiggly mark, and then the word center." Her brows drew together
+as she studied the ground. Suddenly her face brightened. "Why, of
+course!" she exclaimed. "That mark represents the crack, and daddy
+meant to stake the claim with the crack for the center. Well, here
+goes!" She vehemently attacked a young sapling, and ten minutes later
+viewed with pride her four roughly hacked stakes. Picking up one of
+them and the axe, she paced off her distance, and as she reached the
+first corner point, stared in surprise at the ground. The claim had
+already been staked! Eagerly she stooped to examine the bit of wood.
+It had evidently been in place for some time--how long, the girl could
+not tell. Long enough, though, for its surface to have become
+weather-grayed and discolored. "Daddy's stakes," she breathed softly,
+and as her fingers strayed over the surface two big tears welled into
+her eyes and trickled unheeded down her cheeks. "If he staked the
+claim, I wonder why he didn't file," she puzzled over the matter for a
+moment, and dismissed it. "I don't know why. But, anyway, the thing
+for me to do is to get in my own stakes--only, I'll file, just as soon
+as I can get to the register's office."
+
+After considerable difficulty, she succeeded in planting her own stake
+close beside the other, which marked the southwest corner of the claim, a
+short time later the northwest corner was staked, and the girl stared again
+at the rock wall. "Why, I've got to put in my eastern boundary stakes up on
+top--three hundred feet back from the edge!" she exclaimed; "maybe I'll
+find his notice on one of those stakes." It required only a moment to
+locate a ravine that led to the top of the ledge which was not nearly so
+high as the one that formed the opposite side of the valley. She found the
+old stakes, but no sign of a notice. "The wind, and the snow, and the rain
+have destroyed it long ago," she muttered. "And, now for my own notice."
+Producing from her bag a pencil and a piece of paper, she wrote her
+description and affixed it to a stake by means of a bit of wire. Then,
+descending once more into the valley, she produced her luncheon and threw
+herself down beside the little creek. It was mid-afternoon, and she
+suddenly discovered that she was ravenously hungry. With her back against a
+rock fragment, she sat and feasted her eyes upon her claim--hers--HERS! Her
+thoughts flew backward to the enthusiasm of her father over this very
+claim. She remembered how his eyes had lighted as he told her of its hidden
+treasure. She remembered the jibes, and doubts, and covert sneers of the
+Middleton people, her father's death, her own anger and revolt, when she
+had suddenly decided, in the face of their council, entreaties, and
+commands to take up his work where he had left it. With kaleidoscopic
+rapidity her thoughts flew over the events of the ensuing months--the
+meeting with Vil Holland, her disappointment in the Watts ranch, her eager
+acceptance of the sheep camp, the long weary weeks of patiently riding
+along rock walls, taking each valley in turn, the growing fear of running
+out of funds before she could locate the claim. She shuddered as she
+thought of Monk Bethune, and of how nearly she had fallen a victim to his
+machinations. Her thoughts returned to Vil Holland, her "guardian devil of
+the hills," who had turned out to be in reality a guardian angel in
+disguise. "Very much in disguise," she smiled, "with his jug of whisky."
+Nobody who had helped make up her little world of people in the hill
+country was forgotten, the Thompsons, the Samuelsons, and the Wattses--she
+thought of them all. "Why, I--I love every one of them," she cried, as
+though the discovery surprised her. "They're all, every one of them, real
+friends--they're not like the others, the smug, sleek, best citizens of
+Middleton. And I'll not forget one of them. We'll file that whole vein from
+one end to the other!" Catching up her horse, she mounted, and sat for a
+moment irresolute. "I could make town, sometime to-night," she mused, and
+then her eyes rested for a moment upon her horse's neck where the white
+alkali dust lay upon the rough, sweat-dried hair. "No," she decided. "We'll
+go back to the cabin, and you can rest up, and to-morrow we'll start at
+daylight."
+
+"Mr. Christie was right," she smiled, as she took the back trail for
+Monte's Creek. "I don't have to teach school. But, I wonder how he
+could have gotten that 'hunch,' as he called it? When I've been
+searching for the claim for months?"
+
+In a little valley that ran parallel to Monte's Creek, Patty
+encountered Microby Dandeline. The girl was lying stretched at full
+length upon the ground and did not notice her approach until she was
+almost on her, then she leaped to her feet, regarded her for a moment,
+and, with a frightened cry, sprang into the bush and scrambled out of
+sight along the steep side of a ravine. In vain Patty called, but her
+only answer was the diminishing sounds of the girl's scrambling
+flight. "What in the world has got into her of late," she wondered, as
+she proceeded on her way. Certain it was that the girl avoided her,
+not only at the Watts ranch, but whenever they had chanced to meet in
+the hills. At first she had attributed it to anger or resentment over
+her own treatment of her when she had tried to get possession of the
+map. But, surely, even the dull-witted Microby must know that the
+incident had been forgotten. "No," she decided, "there is something
+else." Somehow, the girl no longer seemed the simple child-like
+creature of the wild. There was a furtiveness about her, and she had
+developed a certain crafty side glance, as though constantly seeking a
+means of escape from something. Her mother had noticed the change,
+and had confided to Patty that she was "gittin' mo' triflin' every
+day, a-rammin' 'round the hills a-huntin' her a mine." "There's
+something worrying her," muttered the girl. "Something that she don't
+dare tell anyone, and it's sapping what little wit she has."
+
+It was late that evening when Patty ate her solitary supper. The sun
+had long set, and the dusk of the late twilight had settled upon the
+valley of Monte's Creek as she wiped the last dish and set it upon the
+shelf of her tiny cupboard. Suddenly she looked up. A form darkened
+the doorway, and quick as a flash, her eyes sought the six-gun that
+lay in its holster upon the bunk.
+
+"You won't need that." The voice was reassuring. It was Vil Holland's
+voice; she had recognized him a second before he spoke and greeted him
+with a smile, even as she wondered what had brought him there. Only
+three times before had he come to her cabin, once to ascertain who was
+moving into the sheep camp, once when he had pitched Lord Clendenning
+into the creek, and again, only a few days before, when he had come to
+teach her to shoot. The girl noted that he seemed graver than usual,
+if that were possible. Certain it was that he appeared to be holding
+himself under restraint. She wondered if he had come to warn her of
+the proximity of Bethune.
+
+"I was in town, to-day," he came directly to the point. "An' Len
+Christie told me you're goin' to teach school." He paused and his eyes
+rested upon her face as if seeking confirmation.
+
+Patty laughed; she could afford to laugh, now that the necessity for
+teaching did not exist. "I asked him if he could find a school for me
+sometime ago," she replied, trying to fathom what was in his mind.
+
+There was a moment of silence, during which Patty saw the man's
+fingers tighten upon his hat brim. "I don't want you to do that. It
+ain't fit work--for you--teachin' other folks' kids."
+
+Patty stared at him in surprise. The words had come slowly, and at
+their conclusion he had paused.
+
+"Maybe you could suggest some work that is more fit?"
+
+The man ignored the hint of sarcasm. "Yes--I think I can." His head
+was slightly bowed, and Patty saw that it was with an effort he
+continued: "That is, I don't know if I can make you see it like I do.
+It's awful real to me--an' plain. Miss Sinclair, I can't make any fine
+speeches like they do in books. I wouldn't if I could--it ain't my
+way. I love you more than I could tell you if I knew all the words in
+the language, an' how to fit 'em together. I loved you that day I
+first saw you--back there on the divide at Lost Creek. You was afraid
+of me, an' you wouldn't show it, an' you wouldn't own up that you was
+lost--'til I'd made the play of goin' off an' leavin' you. An' I've
+loved you every minute since--an' every minute since, I've fought
+against lovin' you. But, it's no use. The more I fight it, the
+stronger it gets. It's stronger than I am. I can't down it. It's the
+first time I ever ran up against anything I couldn't whip." Again he
+paused. Patty advanced a step, and her eyes glowed softly as they
+rested upon the form that stood in her doorway silhouetted against the
+after-glow. She saw Buck rub his velvet nose affectionately up and
+down the man's sleeve, and into her heart leaped a great longing for
+this man who, with the unconscious dignity of the vast open places
+upon him, had told her so earnestly of his love. She opened her lips
+to speak but there was a great lump in her throat, and no words came.
+
+"That's why," he continued, "I know it ain't just a flash in the
+pan--this love of mine ain't. All summer I've watched you, an' the
+hardest thing I ever had to do was to set back an' let you play a
+lone hand against the worst devil that ever showed his face in the
+hills. But the way things stacked up, I had to. You had me sized up
+for the one that was campin' on your trail, an' anything I'd have done
+would have played into Bethune's hand. I know I ain't fit for you--no
+man is. But, I'll always do the best I know how by you--an' I'll
+always love you. As for the rest of it, I never saved any money. I
+know there's gold here in the hills, an' I've spent years huntin' it.
+I'll find it, too--sometime. But, I ain't exactly a pauper, either.
+I've got my two hands, an' I've got a contract with Old Man Samuelson
+to winter his cattle. I didn't want to do it first, but the figure he
+named was about twice what I thought the job was worth. I told him so
+right out, an' he kind of laughed an' said maybe I'd need it all, an'
+anyhow, them cattle was all grade Herefords, an' was worth more to
+winter than common dogies. So, you see, we could winter through, all
+right, an' next summer, we could prospect together. The gold's here,
+somewhere--your dad knew it--an' I know it."
+
+Receiving no answering pat, the buckskin left off his nuzzling of the
+man's sleeve, and turned from the doorway. As he did so the brown
+leather jug scraped lightly against the jamb. The girl's eyes flew to
+the jug, and swiftly back to the man who stood framed in the doorway.
+She loved him! For days and days she had known that she loved him, and
+for days and nights her thoughts had been mostly of him--this
+unsmiling knight of the saddle--her "guardian devil of the hills."
+Without exception, the people whose regard was worth having respected
+him, and liked him, even though they deplored his refusal to accept
+steady work. They're just like the people back home, she thought. They
+have no imagination. To their minds the cowpuncher who draws his forty
+dollars a month, year in and year out, is in some manner more
+dependable than the man whose imagination and love of the boundless
+open lead him to stake his time against millions. What do they know of
+the joys and the despairs of uncertainty? In a measure they, too, love
+the plains and the hills--but their love of the open is inextricably
+interwoven with their preconceived ideas of conduct. But, Vil Holland
+is bound by no such convention; his "outfit," a pack horse to carry
+it, and his home--all outdoors! Her father had imagination, and year
+after year, in the face of the taunts and jibes of his small town
+neighbors, he had steadfastly allowed his imagination full sway, and
+at last--he had won. She had adored her father from whom she had
+inherited her love of the wild. But--there was the jug! Always her
+thoughts of Vil Holland had led up to that brown leather jug until she
+had come to hate it with an unreasoning hatred.
+
+"I see you have not forgotten your jug."
+
+"No, I got it filled in town." The man's reply was casual, as he would
+have mentioned his gloves, or his hat.
+
+"You said you had never run up against anything you couldn't whip,
+except--except----"
+
+"Yes, except my love for you. That's right--an' I never expect to."
+
+"How about that jug? Can you whip that?"
+
+"Why, yes, I could. If there was any need. I never tried it."
+
+"Suppose you try it for a while, and see."
+
+The man regarded her seriously. "You mean, if I leave off packin' that
+jug, you'll----"
+
+"I haven't promised anything." The girl laughed a trifle nervously.
+"But, I will tell you this much. I utterly despise a drunkard!"
+
+Vil Holland nodded slowly. "Let's get the straight of it," he said.
+"I didn't know--I didn't realize it was really hurtin' me any. Can you
+see that it does? Have I ever done anything that you know of, or have
+heard tell of, that a sober man wouldn't do?"
+
+The girl felt her anger rising. "Nobody can drink as much as you do,
+and not be the worse for it. Don't try to defend yourself."
+
+"No, I wouldn't do that. You see, if it's hurtin' me, there wouldn't
+be any defense--an' if it ain't, I don't need any."
+
+For an instant Patty regarded the man who stood framed in the doorway.
+"Clean-blooded," the doctor had called him, and clean-blooded he
+looked--the very picture of health and rugged strength, clear of eye
+and firm of jaw, not one slightest hint or mark of the toper could she
+detect, and the realization that this was so, angered her the more.
+
+Abruptly, she changed the subject, and the moment the brown leather
+jug was banished from her mind, her anger subsided. In the doorway,
+Vil Holland noted the undercurrent of suppressed excitement in her
+voice as she said: "I have the most wonderful news! I--_I found
+daddy's mine!_" Seconds passed as the man stood waiting for her to
+proceed. "I found it to-day," she continued, without noting that his
+lean brown hand gripped the hat brim even more tightly than before,
+nor that his lips were pressed into a thin straight line. "And my
+stakes are all in, and in the morning I'm going to file."
+
+Vil Holland interrupted. "You--you say you located Rod Sinclair's
+strike? You really located it?" Somehow, his voice sounded different.
+
+The girl sensed the change without defining it. "Yes, I really found
+it!" she answered. "Do you want to know where?" Hastily she turned to
+the cupboard and taking a match from a box, lighted the lamp. "You
+see," she laughed, "I am not afraid to trust you. I'm going to show
+you daddy's map, and his photographs, and the samples. Oh, if you knew
+how I've hunted and hunted through these hills for that rock wall! You
+see, the map was like so much Greek to me, until I happened by
+accident to learn how to read it. Before that, I just rode up and down
+the valleys hunting for the wall with the broad crooked crack in it.
+Here it is." The man had advanced to the table, and was bending over
+the two photographs, examining them minutely. "And here's his map." He
+picked up the paper and for several minutes studied the penciled
+directions. Then he laid it down, and turned his attention to the
+samples.
+
+"High grade," he appraised, and returned them to the table beside the
+photographs. "So, you don't have to teach school," he said, speaking
+more to himself than to her. "An' you'll be goin' out of the hill
+country for good an' all. There's nothin' here for you, now that
+you've got what you come after. You'll be goin' back--East."
+
+Patty laughed, and as Vil Holland looked into her face he saw that her
+eyes held dancing lights. "I'm not going back East," she said. "I've
+learned to love--the hill country. I have learned that--perhaps--there
+is more here for me than--than even daddy's mine."
+
+Vil Holland shook his head. "There's nothin' for you in the hills," he
+repeated, slowly, and abruptly extended his hand. "I'm glad for your
+sake your luck changed, Miss Sinclair. I hope the gold you take out of
+there will bring you happiness. You've earnt it--every cent of it, an'
+you've got it, an' now, as far as the hill country goes--the books are
+closed. Good-night, I must be goin', now."
+
+Abruptly as he had offered his hand, he withdrew it, and turning,
+stepped through the door, mounted his horse, and rode out into the
+night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER
+
+
+Beside the little table Patty Sinclair listened to the sound of hoofs
+splashing through the shallows of the creek and thudding dully upon
+the floor of the valley beyond. When the sounds told her that the
+horseman had disappeared into the timber, she walked slowly to the
+door, and leaning her arm against the jamb, stared for a long time
+into the black sweep of woods that concealed the trail that led upward
+to the notch in the hills, just discernible against the sky where the
+stars showed through the last faint blush of after-glow in winking
+points of gold.
+
+"Nothing here for me," she repeated dully. "Nothing but trees, and
+hills--and gold. He loves me," she laughed bitterly. "And yet, between
+me, and his jug, he chose--the jug." She closed the door, slipped the
+bar into place, thrust the photographs and map into her pocket, and
+threw herself face downward upon the bunk. And, in the edge of the
+timber, Vil Holland turned his horse slowly about and headed him up
+the ravine. At the notch in the hills he slipped to the ground and,
+throwing an arm across the saddle, removed his Stetson and let the
+night wind ripple his hair. Standing alone in the night with his
+soul-hurt, he gazed far downward where a tiny square of yellow light
+marked the window of the cabin.
+
+"It's hell--the way things work out," he said, thoughtfully. "Yes,
+sir, Buck, it sure is hell. If Len had told me a week ago about her
+havin' to teach school, or even yesterday--she might have--But,
+now--she's rich. An' that cracked rock claim turnin' out to be
+_hers_--" He swung abruptly into the saddle and headed the buckskin
+for camp.
+
+Patty spent a miserable night. Brief periods of sleep were
+interspersed with long periods of wakefulness in which her brain
+traveled wearily over and over a long, long trail that ended always at
+a brown leather jug that swung by a strap from a saddle horn. She had
+found her father's claim--had accomplished the thing she had started
+out to accomplish--had vindicated her father's judgment in the eyes of
+the people back home--had circumvented the machinations of Bethune,
+and in all probability, the moment that she recorded her claim would
+be the possessor of more gold than she could possibly spend--and in
+the achievement there was no joy. There was a dull hurt in her heart,
+and the future stretched away, uninviting, heart-sickening,
+interminable. The world looked drab.
+
+She ate her breakfast by lamplight, and as objects began to take form
+in the pearly light of the new day, she saddled her horse and rode up
+the trail to the notch in the hills--the trail that was a short cut,
+and that would carry her past Vil Holland's little white tent,
+nestling close beside its big rock at the edge of the little plateau.
+"He will still be asleep, and I can take one more look at the far snow
+mountains from the spot that might have been the porch of--our cabin."
+
+Carefully keeping to the damp ground that bordered the little creek,
+she worked her way around the huge rock, and drew up in amazement. The
+little white tent was gone! Hastily, her eyes swept the plateau. The
+buckskin was gone, and the saddle was not hanging by its stirrup from
+its accustomed limb-stub. Crossing the creek, the girl stared at the
+row of packs, the blanket roll, and the neat tarpaulin-covered
+bundles that were ranged along the base of the rock.
+
+"He has gone," she murmured, as if trying to grasp the fact and then,
+again: "He has gone." Slowly, her eyes raised to the high-flung peaks
+that reared their snowy heads against the blue. And as she looked, the
+words of Vil Holland formed themselves in her brain. "If there ain't
+any 'we,' there won't be any cabin--so there's nothing to worry
+about." "Nothing to worry about," she repeated bitterly, and touching
+her horse with a spur, rode out across the plateau toward the head of
+a coulee that led to the trail for town. "Where has he gone?" she
+wondered, and pulled up sharply as her horse entered the coulee.
+Riding slowly down the trail ahead, mounted on the meditative Gee Dot,
+was Microby Dandeline. Urging her horse forward Patty gained her side,
+and realizing that escape was hopeless, the girl stared sullenly
+without speaking.
+
+"Why, Microby!" she smiled, ignoring the sullen stare, "you're miles
+from home, and it's hardly daylight! Where in the world are you
+going?"
+
+"Hain't a-goin' nowher'. I'm prospectin'."
+
+"Where's Vil Holland, have you seen him?"
+
+The girl nodded: "He's done gone to town. He's mad, an' he roden fas'
+as Buck kin run, an' he says, 'I'm gonna file one more claim, an' to
+hell with the hill country, tell yo' dad good-by!'"
+
+Patty sat for an instant as one stunned. "Gone to town! Mad! File one
+more claim!" What did it mean? Why was Vil Holland riding to town as
+fast as his horse could run? And what claim was he going to file? He
+had mentioned no claim--and if he had just made a strike, surely he
+would have mentioned it--last night. She knew that he already had a
+claim, and that he considered it worthless. He told her once that he
+hadn't even bothered to work out the assessments--it was no good. Was
+it possible that he was riding to file _her claim_? Was he no better
+than Bethune--only shrewder, more patient, richer in imagination?
+
+With a swish the quirt descended upon her horse's flanks. The animal
+shot forward and, leaving Microby Dandeline staring open-mouthed,
+horse and rider dashed headlong down the coulee. Into the long white
+trail they swept, through the canyon, and out among the foothills
+toward Thompsons'. "Why did I show him the map, and the pictures? Why
+did I trust him? Why did I trust anybody? I see it all, now! His
+continual spying, and his plausible explanation that he was watching
+Bethune. He asked me to marry him, and when, like the poor little fool
+I was, I showed him the location, he was only too glad to get the mine
+without being saddled with me."
+
+If Vil Holland reached town first--well, she could teach school.
+Scalding tears blinded her as with quirt and spur she crowded her
+horse to his utmost. Only one slender hope remained. With Thompson's
+fresh horse, Lightning, she might yet win the race. The chance was
+slim, but she would take it! Her own horse was laboring heavily, a
+solid lather of sweat, as his feet pounded the trail that wound white
+and hot through the foothills. "It's your last hard ride," she sobbed
+into his ear as she urged him on. "Win or lose, boy, it's your last
+hard ride--and we've got to make it!"
+
+She whirled into Thompson's lane and, in the dooryard, threw herself
+from her horse almost into the arms of the big ranchman who stared at
+her in surprise. "Must be somethin's busted loose in the hills, that
+folks is all takin' to the open!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Where's Lightning?" cried the girl. "Quick! I want him!"
+
+"Lightnin'?" repeated Thompson. "Why, Lightnin's gone--Vil Holland
+come along an hour or so ago, an' rode him on to town. Turned Buck
+into the corral, yonder--he was rode down almost as bad as yourn."
+
+Patty's brain reeled dizzily as from a blow. Lightning gone! Her one
+slim chance of saving her mine had vanished in a breath. She felt
+suddenly weak, and sick, and leaning against her saddle for support,
+she closed her eyes and buried her face in her arm.
+
+"What's the matter, Miss? Somethin' wrong?"
+
+The girl laughed, a dry hard laugh, and raising her head, looked into
+the man's face. "Oh, no!" she said. "Nothing's wrong--nothing except
+that I've lost my father's claim--lost it because I relied on your
+horse to carry me into town in time to file ahead of _him_."
+
+"Lost yer pa's claim?" cried Thompson. "What do you mean--lost? Has
+that devil dared to show his face after the horse raid?" He paused
+suddenly and smiled. "Now don't you go worryin' about that there
+claim. Vil Holland's on the job! I know'd there was somethin' in the
+wind when he come a-larrupin' in here an' jerked his kak offen Buck
+an' throw'd it on Lightnin' without hardly a word. Vil, he'll head
+him! An' when he does, Bethune'll be lucky if he lives long enough to
+git hung!"
+
+"Bethune! Bethune!" cried the girl bitterly. "Bethune's got nothing to
+do with it! It's Vil Holland himself that's going to file my claim.
+Have you got another horse here?" she cried. "If you have I want him.
+I'm not beaten yet! There's still a chance! Maybe Lightning will go
+down, or something. Quick--change my saddle!"
+
+Catching up a rope, Thompson ran to the corral and throwing his loop
+over the head of a horse led him out and transferred the girl's saddle
+and bridle.
+
+"I don't git the straight of it," he said, eying her with a puzzled
+frown. "But if it's a question of gittin' to town before Vil Holland
+kin beat you out of yer claim--you've got plenty of time--if you
+walk."
+
+Patty shot the man one glance of withering scorn. "You're all _crazy_!
+He's got you hypnotized! Everybody thinks he's a saint----"
+
+Thompson grinned. "No, Miss, Vil ain't no saint--an' he ain't no
+devil--neither. But somewheres between the two of 'em is the place
+where good men fits in--an' that's Vil. You're all het up needless,
+an' barkin' up the wrong tree, as folks used to say back where I come
+from. Just come and have a talk with Miz T. She'll straighten you
+around all right. I'll slip in an' tell her to set the coffee-pot on,
+an' you kin take yer time about gittin' to town." Thompson disappeared
+into the kitchen, and a moment later when he returned with his wife,
+the two stared in amazement at the flying figure that was just
+swinging from the lane into the long white trail.
+
+Hours later the girl crossed the Mosquito Flats, forded the river, and
+passed along the sandy street of the town. Her eyes felt hot and tired
+from continual straining ahead in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of
+a fallen horse, whose rider must continue his way on foot. But the
+plain was deserted, and the only evidence that anyone had proceeded
+her was an occasional glimpse of hoof prints in the white dust of the
+trail.
+
+A short distance up the street, standing "tied to the ground" before
+the hitching rail of a little false-front saloon, was Lightning. Patty
+noted as she passed that he showed signs of hard riding, and that the
+inevitable jug dangled motionless from the saddle horn. Her lips
+stiffened, and her hand tightened on the bridle reins, as she forced
+her eyes to the front. Farther on, she could see the little
+white-painted frame office of the register. She would pass it by--no
+use for her to go there. She must find Len Christie and tell him she
+had come to teach his school. A great wave of repugnance swept over
+her, engulfed her, as her eyes traveled over the rows of small wooden
+houses with their stiff, uncomfortable porches, their treeless yards,
+and their flaunting paintiness.
+
+"And to think, that I've got to _live_ in one of them!" she murmured,
+dully. "Nothing could be worse--except the hotel."
+
+Opposite the register's office she pulled up, and gazed in fascination
+at the open door. Then deliberately she reined her horse to the
+sidewalk and dismounted. The characteristic thoroughness that had
+marked the progress of her search for her father's claim, and had
+impelled her to return to the false claim and procure the notice, and
+that very morning had prompted her to ride against the slender chance
+of Vil Holland's meeting with a mishap, impelled her now to read for
+herself the entry of her father's strike.
+
+The register shoved his black skull-cap a trifle back upon his shiny
+head, adjusted his thick eyeglasses, and smiled into the face of the
+girl. "Things must be looking up out in the hills," he hazarded.
+"You're the second one to-day and it ain't noon yet."
+
+"I presume Mr. Holland has been here."
+
+"Yes, Vil come in. I guess he's around somewheres. He----"
+
+"Relinquished one claim and filed another?"
+
+"That's just what he done."
+
+Patty nodded wearily. She was gamely trying to appear disinterested.
+
+"Did you want to file?" asked the man, whirling a large book about,
+and pushing it toward her. "Just enter your description there, an'
+fill out the application fer a patent, an' file your field notes, and
+plat."
+
+The girl's glance strayed listlessly over the adjoining page, her eyes
+mechanically taking in the words. Suddenly, she became intensely
+alert. She leaned over the book and reread with feverish interest the
+written description. The location was filed in Vil Holland's
+name--but, _the description was not of her claim_!
+
+"Where--where is this claim?" she gasped.
+
+The old register turned the book and very deliberately proceeded to
+read the description. In her nervous excitement Patty felt that she
+must scream, and her fingers clutched the counter edge until the
+knuckles whitened. Finally the man looked up. "That must be somewheres
+over on the Blackfoot side," he announced. "Must be Vil's figuring on
+pulling over there. Too bad we won't be seeing him much no more." He
+swung the book back, as the import of his words dawned upon the girl
+she leaned weakly against the counter.
+
+"Ain't you feeling well?" asked the old man, eying her with concern.
+
+Without hearing him Patty picked up the pen, and as she wrote, her
+hand trembled so that she could scarcely form the letters. At last it
+was done, and the register once again swung the book and read the
+freshly penned words.
+
+"Well, I'll be darned!" he exclaimed, when he had finished.
+
+The blood had rushed back into the girl's face and she was regarding
+him with shining eyes. "What's the matter? Isn't it right? Because if
+it isn't you can show me how to do it, and I'll fix it."
+
+"Oh it's right--all right." He was eying her quizzically. "Only it's
+blamed funny. That there's the claim Vil Holland just relinquished."
+
+"_Just relinquished!_" gasped the girl, reaching out and shaking the
+old man's sleeve in her excitement. "What do you mean? Tell me!"
+
+"Mean just what I said--here's the entry."
+
+"Vil--Holland--just--relinquished," she repeated, in a dazed voice.
+"When did he file it?"
+
+"I don't recollect--it was back in the winter, or spring." The man
+began to turn the pages slowly backward. "Here it is, March, the
+thirteenth."
+
+"Why, that was before I came out here!"
+
+"How?"
+
+"Why did he relinquish?" The words rushed eagerly from her lips, and
+she awaited breathless, for the answer.
+
+"It wasn't no good, I guess, or he found a better one--that's most
+generally why they relinquish."
+
+"No good! Found a better one!" From the chaos of conflicting ideas the
+girl's thoughts began to take definite form. "The stakes in the ground
+were _his_ stakes. Her father had never staked--would never have
+staked until ready to file."
+
+Gradually it dawned upon her that, without knowing it was her
+father's, Vil Holland had staked and filed the claim. It was his. He
+did not know its value as her father had. He believed it to be
+worthless, but when he learned, only last night, back there in the
+cabin on Monte's Creek, that it was really of enormous value--that it
+was the claim Rod Sinclair had staked his reputation on, the claim
+for which Rod Sinclair's daughter had sought all summer--when he
+learned this he had relinquished--that she might come into her own!
+Hot tears filled her eyes and caused the objects in the little room to
+blur and swim together in hopeless jumble. She knew, now, the meaning
+of his furious ride, and why he had changed horses at Thompson's. And
+_this_ was the man she had doubted! She, alone of all who knew him,
+had doubted him. Her cheeks burned with the shame of it. Not once, but
+again and again, she had doubted him--she, who loved him! This was the
+man with whom she had quarreled because he had carried a jug. Suddenly
+she realized why he had turned away from her--there in the little
+cabin. She recalled the words that came slowly from his lips, as, for
+a brief moment he stood holding her hand. "There is nothing for you in
+the hills." "And now, he is going away--his outfit's all packed, and
+he's going away!" With a sob she dashed from the office. As she
+blotted the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief that had been her
+father's, a wild, savage joy surged up within her. He should _not_ go
+away! He was hers--_hers_! If he went, she would go too. He should
+never leave her! And never, never would she doubt him again!
+
+She glanced down the street and her eyes fell upon Lightning, standing
+as he had stood a few minutes before. Only a moment she hesitated, and
+her spurs clicked rapidly as she hurried down the sidewalk. The door
+of the saloon stood open and she walked boldly in. Vil Holland stood
+at the bar shaking dice with the bartender. The latter looked up
+surprised, and Vil followed his glance to the figure of the girl who
+had paused just inside the doorway. She beckoned to him and he
+followed her out onto the sidewalk, and stood, Stetson in hand,
+regarding her gravely, unsmiling as was his wont.
+
+"Vil--Vil Holland," she faltered, as a furious blush suffused her
+cheeks. "I've changed my mind."
+
+"You mean----"
+
+"I mean, I will marry you--I wanted to say it--last
+night--only--only----" her voice sounded husky, and far away.
+
+"But, now, it's too late. It was different--then. I didn't know you'd
+made your strike. I thought we were both poor--but, now, you've struck
+it rich."
+
+"Struck it rich!" flared the girl. "Who made it possible for me to
+strike it rich? Don't you suppose I know you relinquished that claim?
+Relinquished it so I could file it!"
+
+"Old Grebble talks too much," growled the man. "The claim wasn't any
+good to me. I never went far enough in to get samples like those of
+your dad's. I'd have relinquished it anyway, as soon as I'd located
+another."
+
+"But, you knew it was rich when you did relinquish it."
+
+"A man couldn't hardly do different, could he?"
+
+"Oh, Vil," there were tears in the girl's eyes, and she did not try to
+conceal them. The words trembled on her lips. "A man couldn't--your
+kind of a man! But--they're so hard to find. Don't--don't rob me of
+mine--now that I've found him!"
+
+A shrill whistle tore the words from her lips. She glanced up,
+startled, to see Vil Holland take his fingers from his teeth. She
+followed his gaze, and a block away, in front of the wooden
+post-office, saw the Reverend Len Christie whirl in his tracks. The
+cowboy motioned him to wait, and taking the girl gently by the arm,
+turned her about, and together they walked toward the "Bishop of All
+Outdoors," who awaited them with twinkling eyes.
+
+"It's about the school, I presume," he greeted. "Everything is all
+arranged, Miss Sinclair. You may assume your duties to-morrow."
+
+"If I was you, Len," replied Vil Holland, dryly, "I wouldn't go
+bettin' much on that presoomer of yours--it ain't workin' just right,
+an' Miss Sinclair has decided to assoom her duties to-day. So, havin'
+disposed of presoom, an' assoom, we'll rezoom, as you'd say if you was
+dealin' from the pulpit, an' if you ain't got anything more important
+on your mind, we'll just walk over to the church an' get married."
+
+The Reverend Len Christie regarded his friend solemnly. "I didn't
+think it of you, Vil--when I bragged to you yesterday about the
+excellent teacher I'd got--I didn't think you would slip right out and
+get her away from me!"
+
+"Oh, I'm so sorry! Really, Mr. Christie, I didn't mean to disappoint
+you in this way, at the last minute----"
+
+"Don't you go wastin' any sympathy on that old renegade," cut in Vil.
+
+"That's right," laughed Christie, noting the genuine concern in the
+girl's eyes. "As a matter of fact, I have in mind a substitute who
+will be tickled to death to learn that she is to have the regular
+position. Didn't I tell you out at the Samuelsons' that I had a hunch
+you'd make your strike before school time? Of course, everyone knows
+that Vil is the one who made the real strike, but you'll find that the
+claim you've staked isn't so bad, and that after you get down through
+the surface, you will run onto a whole lot of pure gold."
+
+Patty who had been regarding him with a slightly puzzled expression
+suddenly caught his allusion, and she smiled happily into the face of
+her cowboy. "I've already found pure gold," she said, "and it lies
+mighty close to the surface."
+
+In the little church after the hastily summoned witnesses had
+departed, the Reverend Len Christie stood holding a hand of each.
+"Never in my life have I performed a clerical office that gave me so
+much genuine happiness and satisfaction," he announced.
+
+"Me, neither," assented Vil Holland, heartily, and, then--"Hold on,
+Len. You're too blame young an' good lookin' for such tricks--an'
+besides, I've never kissed her, myself, yet----!"
+
+"Where will it be now?" asked Holland, when they found themselves once
+more upon the street.
+
+"Home--dear," whispered his wife. "You know we've got to get that
+cabin up before snow flies--our cabin, Vil--with the porch that will
+look out over the snows of the changing lights."
+
+"If the whole town didn't have their heads out the window, watchin' us
+I'd kiss you right here," he answered, and strode off to lead her
+horse up beside his own.
+
+Swinging her into the saddle, he was about to mount Lightning, when
+she leaned over and raised the brown leather jug on its thong. "Why,
+it's empty!" she exclaimed.
+
+"So it is," agreed Holland, with mock concern.
+
+"Really, Vil, I don't care--so much. If it don't hurt men any more
+than it has hurt you, I won't quarrel with it. I'll wait while you get
+it filled."
+
+"Maybe I'd better," he said, and swinging it from the saddle horn,
+crossed the street and entered the general store. A few minutes later
+he returned and swung the jug into place.
+
+"Why! Do they sell whisky at the store? I thought you got that at a
+saloon."
+
+"Whisky!" The man looked up in surprise. "This jug never held any
+whisky! It's my vinegar jug. I don't drink."
+
+Patty stared at him in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me you carry a
+jug of vinegar with you wherever you go?"
+
+For the first time since she had known him she saw that his eyes were
+twinkling, and that his lips were very near a smile. "No, not exactly,
+but, you see, that first time I met you I happened to be riding from
+town with this jug full of vinegar. I noticed the look you gave it,
+an' it tickled me most to death. So, after that, every time I figured
+I'd meet up with you I brought the jug along. I'd pour out the vinegar
+an' fill it up with water, an' sometimes I'd just pack it empty--then
+when I'd hit town, I'd get it filled again. I bet Johnson, over there,
+thinks I'm picklin' me a winter's supply of prickly pears. I must have
+bought close to half a barrel of vinegar this summer."
+
+"Vil Holland! You carried that jug--went to all that trouble, just
+to--to _tease_ me?"
+
+"That's about the size of it. An' Gosh! How you hated that jug."
+
+"It might have--it nearly did, make me hate _you_, too."
+
+"'Might have,' an' 'nearly,' an' 'if,' are all words about alike--they
+all sort of fall short of amountin' to anythin'. It 'might have'--but,
+somehow, things don't work out that way. The only thing that counts
+is, it didn't."
+
+Out on the trail they met Watts riding toward town. "Wher's Microby?"
+he asked, addressing Patty.
+
+"Microby! I haven't seen Microby since early this morning. She was
+riding down a coulee not far from Vil's camp."
+
+"Didn't yo' send for her?"
+
+"I certainly did not!"
+
+The man's hand fumbled at his beard. "Bethune was along last evenin'
+an' hed a talk with her, an' then he done tol' Ma yo' wanted Microby
+should come up to yo' place, come daylight. When I heern it, I
+mistrusted yo' wouldn't hev no truck with Bethune, so after I done the
+chores, I rode up ther'. They wasn't no one to hum." The simple-minded
+man looked worried. "Bethune, he could do anything he wants with her.
+She thinks he's grand--but, I know different. Then I met up with Lord
+Clendennin' in the canyon, an' he tol' me how Bethune wus headin' fer
+Canady. He said, had I lost anythin'. An' I said 'no,' an' he laffed
+an' says he guess that's right."
+
+As Vil Holland listened, his eyes hardened, and at the conclusion,
+something very like an oath ground from his lips. Patty glanced at him
+in surprise--never before had she seen him out of poise.
+
+"You go back home," he advised Watts, in a kindly tone, "to the wife
+and the kids. I'll find Microby for you!"
+
+When the man had passed from sight into the dip of a coulee, Vil
+leaned over and, drawing his wife close to his breast, kissed her lips
+again and again. "It's too bad, little girl, that our honeymoon's got
+to be broke into this way, but you remember I told you once that if I
+won you'd have to be satisfied with what you got. You didn't know what
+I meant, then, but you know, now--an' I'm goin' to win again! I'm
+goin' to find that child! The poor little fool!" Patty saw that his
+eyes were flashing, and his voice sounded hard:
+
+"You ride back to town and tell Len to get his white goods together
+an' ride back with you to Watts's. There's goin' to be a funeral--or
+better yet, a weddin' _an'_ a funeral in it for him by this time
+to-morrow, or my name ain't Vil Holland!" And then, abruptly, he
+turned and rode into the North.
+
+A wild impulse to overtake him and dissuade him from his purpose took
+possession of the girl. But the thought of Microby in the power of
+Bethune, and of the sorrowing face of poor Watts stayed her. She saw
+her husband hitch his belt forward and swiftly look to his six-gun,
+and as the sound of galloping hoofs grew fainter, she watched his
+diminishing figure until it was swallowed up in the distance.
+
+Impulsively she stretched out her arms to him: "Good luck to you, my
+knight!" she called, but the words ended in a sob, and she turned her
+horse and, with a vast happiness in her heart, rode back toward the
+town.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE TEXAN
+
+A Story of the Cattle Country
+
+By
+
+James B. Hendryx
+
+Author of "The Promise," etc.
+
+
+     A novel of the cattle country and of the mountains, by James
+     B. Hendryx, will at once commend itself to the host of
+     readers who have enthusiastically followed this brilliant
+     writer's work. Again he has written a red-blooded, romantic
+     story of the great open spaces, of the men who "do" things
+     and of the women who are brave--a tale at once turbulent and
+     tender, impassioned but restrained.
+
+
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+Now York London
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Gun-Brand
+
+By
+
+James B. Hendryx
+
+Author of "The Promise," etc.
+
+_12^o. Picture Wrapper and Color Frontispiece_
+
+_$1.50 net. By mail, $1.65_
+
+
+     A novel of the Northwest, where civilization and savagery
+     lock in the death struggle; where men of iron hearts are
+     molded by a woman's tenderness; where knave and knight cross
+     the barriers to confront each other in the great reckoning;
+     where nobility and courage throw down the gage to evil and
+     intrigue, and the gun-brand leaves its seared and indelible
+     impress upon the brow of a scoundrel. Here's a novel of love
+     and life, danger and daring.
+
+
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+New York London
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Untamed
+
+By
+
+Max Brand
+
+
+     A tale of the West, a story of the Wild; of three strange
+     comrades,--Whistling Dan of the untamed soul, within whose
+     mild eyes there lurks the baleful yellow glare of beast
+     anger; of the mighty black stallion Satan, King of the
+     Ranges, and the wolf devil dog, to whom their master's word
+     is the only law,--and of the Girl.
+
+     How Jim Silent, the "long-rider" and outlaw, declared feud
+     with Dan, how of his right-hand men one strove for the Girl,
+     one for the horse, and one to "'get' that black devil of a
+     dog," and their desperate efforts to achieve their ends,
+     form but part of the stirring action.
+
+     A tale of the West, yes--but a most unusual one, touched
+     with an almost weird poetic fancy from the very first page,
+     when over the sandy wastes sounds the clear sweet whistling
+     of Pan of the desert, to the very last paragraph when the
+     reader, too, hears the cry and the call of the wild geese
+     flying south.
+
+
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+New York London
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE MOON POOL
+
+BY
+
+A. MERRITT
+
+
+     Romance, real romance, and wonderful adventure,--absolutely
+     impossible, yet utterly probable! A story one almost regrets
+     having read, since one can then no longer read it for the
+     first time. Once in the proverbial blue moon there comes to
+     the fore an author who can conceive and write such a tale.
+     Here is one!
+
+     Few indeed will forget, who, with the Professor, watch the
+     mystic approach of the Shining One down the moon path,--who
+     follow with him and the others the path below the Moon Pool,
+     beyond the Door of the Seven Lights;--and would there were
+     more characters in fiction like Lakla the lovely and Larry
+     O'Keefe the lovable.
+
+     Perhaps you readers will know who were those weird and
+     awe-inspiring Silent Ones.
+
+
+G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
+
+NEW YORK LONDON
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gold Girl, by James B. Hendryx
+
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gold Girl, by James B. Hendryx
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Gold Girl
+
+Author: James B. Hendryx
+
+Release Date: July 15, 2008 [EBook #26061]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLD GIRL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, K. Nordquist, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+(This book was produced from scanned images of public
+domain material from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/image_01.jpg" width="500" height="722" alt="THE MAN WAS UPON HIS FEET, NOW, BENDING TOWARDS HER
+WITH ARMS OUTSTRETCHED. Drawing by Monahan."  />
+<span class="caption">THE MAN WAS UPON HIS FEET, NOW, BENDING TOWARDS HER
+WITH ARMS OUTSTRETCHED<br />
+Drawing by Monahan.</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>The Gold Girl</h1>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>By</h3>
+
+<h2>James B. Hendryx</h2>
+
+<h4>Author of
+"The Promise," "The Gun-Brand," "The Texan," etc.</h4>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 75px;">
+<img src="images/image_02.jpg" width="75" height="61" alt="Seal" />
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>G. P. Putnam's Sons</h3>
+
+<h4>New York and London</h4>
+
+<h3>The Knickerbocker Press</h3>
+
+<h3>1920</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1920</h5>
+
+<h5><span class="smcap">by</span></h5>
+
+<h4>JAMES B. HENDRYX</h4>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 75px;">
+<img src="images/image_03.jpg" width="75" height="127" alt="Seal" />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+<table summary="Contents">
+<tr><td class="tocch f1">CHAPTER</td>
+  <td></td>
+  <td></td><td class="tocpg f1">PAGE</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">I.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">&mdash;<span class="smcap">A Horseman of the Hills</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">II.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">&mdash;<span class="smcap">At the Watts Ranch</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">III.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Patty Goes To Town</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">IV.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Monk Bethune</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">V.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Sheep Camp</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">VI.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Bethune Pays a Call</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">VII.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">&mdash;<span class="smcap">In the Cabin</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">VIII.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Prospecting</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">IX.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Patty Takes Precautions</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">X.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Bishop of All Outdoors</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">XI.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Lord Clendenning Gets a Ducking</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">XII.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Bethune Tries Again</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">XIII.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Patty Draws a Map</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">XIV.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Samuelsons</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">XV.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Horse Raid</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">XVI.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Patty Finds a Glove</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">XVII.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Unmasked</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">XVIII.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Patty Makes her Strike</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_308">308</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tocch">XIX.</td>
+  <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Race for the Register</span></a></td>
+<td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_327">327</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<h2>The Gold Girl</h2>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<h2>A HORSEMAN OF THE HILLS</h2>
+
+
+<p>Patty Sinclair reined in her horse at the top of a low divide and
+gazed helplessly around her. The trail that had grown fainter and
+fainter with its ascent of the creek bed disappeared entirely at the
+slope of loose rock and bunch grass that slanted steeply to the
+divide. In vain she scanned the deeply gored valley that lay before
+her and the timbered slopes of the mountains for sign of human
+habitation. Her horse lowered his head and snipped at the bunch grass.
+Stiffly the girl dismounted. She had been in the saddle since early
+noon with only two short intervals of rest when she had stopped to
+drink and to bathe her fare in the deliciously cold waters of mountain
+streams&mdash;and now the trail had melted into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> hills, and the broad
+shadows of mountains were lengthening. Every muscle of her body ached
+at the unaccustomed strain, and she was very hungry. She envied her
+horse his enjoyment of the bunch grass which he munched with much
+tongueing of the bit and impatient shaking of the head. With bridle
+reins gripped tightly she leaned wearily against the saddle.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm lost," she murmured. "Just plain <i>lost</i>. Surely I must have come
+fifty miles, and I followed their directions exactly, and now I'm
+tired, and stiff, and sore, and hungry, and lost." A grim little smile
+tightened the corners of her mouth. "But I'm glad I came. If Aunt
+Rebecca could see me now! Wouldn't she just gloat? 'I told you so, my
+dear, just as I often told your poor father, to have nothing whatever
+to do with that horrible country of wild Indians, and ferocious
+beasts, and desperate characters.'" Hot tears blurred her eyes at the
+thought of her father. "This is the country he loved, with its
+mountains and its woods and its deep mysterious valleys&mdash;and I want to
+love it, too. And I <i>will</i> love it! I'll find his mine if it takes me
+all the rest of my life. And I'll show the people back home that he
+was right, that he did know that the gold was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> here, and that he
+wasn't just a visionary and a ne'er-do-well!"</p>
+
+<p>A rattle of loose stones set her heart thumping wildly and caused her
+to peer down the back trail where a horseman was slowly ascending the
+slope. The man sat loosely in his saddle with the easy grace of the
+slack rein rider. A roll-brim Stetson with its crown boxed into a peak
+was pushed slightly back upon his head, and his legs were encased to
+the thighs in battered leather chaps whose lacings were studded with
+silver <i>chonchas</i> as large as trade dollars. A coiled rope hung from a
+strap upon the right side of his saddle, while a leather-covered jug
+was swung upon the opposite side by a thong looped over the horn. All
+this the girl took in at a glance as the rangy buckskin picked his way
+easily up the slope. She noted, also, the white butt-plates of the
+revolver that protruded from its leather holster. Her first impulse
+was to mount and fly, but the futility of the attempt was apparent. If
+the man followed she could hardly hope to elude him upon a horse that
+was far from fresh, and even if she did it would be only to plunge
+deeper into the hills&mdash;become more hopelessly lost. Aunt Rebecca's
+words "desperate character" seemed suddenly to assume significance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
+The man was very close now. She could distinctly hear the breathing of
+his horse, and the soft rattle of bit-chains. Despite her defiant
+declaration that she was glad she had come, she knew that deep down in
+her heart, she fervidly wished herself elsewhere. "Maybe he's a
+ranchman," she thought, "but why should any honest man be threading
+unfrequented hill trails armed with a revolver and a brown leather
+jug?" No answer suggested itself, and summoning her haughtiest,
+coldest look, she met the glance of the man who drew rein beside her.
+His features were clean-cut, bronzed, and lean&mdash;with the sinewy
+leanness of health. His gray flannel shirt rolled open at the throat,
+about which was loosely drawn a silk scarf of robin's-egg blue, held
+in place by the tip of a buffalo horn polished to an onyx luster. The
+hand holding the bridle reins rested carelessly upon the horn of his
+saddle. With the other he raised the Stetson from his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Good evenin', Miss," he greeted, pleasantly. "Lost?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," she lied brazenly, "I came here on purpose&mdash;I&mdash;I like it here."
+She felt the lameness of the lie and her cheeks flushed. But the man
+showed no surprise at the statement, neither did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> he smile. Instead,
+he raised his head and gravely inspected the endless succession of
+mountains and valleys and timbered ridges.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a right nice place," he agreed. To her surprise the girl could
+find no hint of sarcasm in the words, nor was there anything to
+indicate the "desperate character" in the way he leaned forward to
+stroke his horse's mane, and remove a wisp of hair from beneath the
+headstall. It was hard to maintain her air of cold reserve with this
+soft-voiced, grave-eyed young stranger. She wondered whether a
+"desperate character" could love his horse, and felt a wild desire to
+tell him of her plight. But as her eyes rested upon the brown leather
+jug she frowned.</p>
+
+<p>The man shifted himself in the saddle. "Well, I must be goin'," he
+said. "Good evenin'."</p>
+
+<p>Patty bowed ever so slightly, as he replaced the Stetson upon his head
+and touched his horse lightly with a spur. "Come along, you Buck,
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>As the horse started down the steep descent on the other side of the
+divide a feeling of loneliness that was very akin to terror gripped
+the girl. The sunlight showed only upon the higher levels, and the
+prospect of spending the night alone in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> hills without food or
+shelter produced a sudden chilling sensation in the pit of her
+stomach.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Please&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The buckskin turned in his tracks, and once more the man was beside
+her upon the ridge.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>am</i> lost," she faltered. "Only, I hated to admit it."</p>
+
+<p>"Folks always do. I've be'n lost a hundred times, an' I never <i>would</i>
+admit it."</p>
+
+<p>"I started for the Watts's ranch. Do you know where it is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it's over on Monte's Creek."</p>
+
+<p>Patty smiled. "I could have told <i>you</i> that. The trouble is, someone
+seems to have removed all the signs."</p>
+
+<p>"They ought to put 'em up again," opined the stranger in the same
+grave tone with which he had bid her good evening.</p>
+
+<p>"They told me in town that I was to take the left hand trail where it
+forked at the first creek beyond the canyon."</p>
+
+<p>The man nodded. "Yes, that about fits the case."</p>
+
+<p>"But I did take the trail that turned to the left up the first creek
+beyond the canyon, and I haven't seen the slightest intimation of a
+ranch."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No, you see, this little creek don't count, because most of the time
+it's dry; an' this ain't a regular trail. It's an' old winter road
+that was used to haul out cord wood an' timber. Monte's Creek is two
+miles farther on. It's a heap bigger creek than this, an' the trail's
+better, too. Watts's is about three mile up from the fork. You can't
+miss it. It's the only ranch there."</p>
+
+<p>"How far is it back to the trail?" asked the girl wearily.</p>
+
+<p>"About two mile. It's about seven mile to Watts's that way around.
+There's a short cut, through the hills, but I couldn't tell you so
+you'd find it. There's no trail, an' it's up one coulee an' down
+another till you get there. I'm goin' through that way; if you'd like
+to come along you're welcome to."</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Patty hesitated but her eyes returned to the jug and she
+declined, a trifle stiffly. "No, thank you. I&mdash;I think I will go
+around by the trail."</p>
+
+<p>Either the man did not notice the curtness of the reply, or he chose
+to ignore it, for the next instant, noting the gasp of pain and the
+sudden tightening of the lips that accompanied her attempt to raise
+her foot to the stirrup, he swung<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> lightly to the ground, and before
+she divined what he was about, had lifted her gently into the saddle
+and pressed the reins into her hand. Without a word he returned to his
+horse, and with face flushed scarlet, the girl glared at the powerful
+gray shoulders as he picked up his reins from the ground. The next
+moment she headed her own horse down the back trail and rode into the
+deepening shadows. Gaining the main trail she urged her horse into a
+run.</p>
+
+<p>"He&mdash;he's awfully strong," she panted, "and just <i>horrid!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>From the top of the divide the man watched until she disappeared, then
+he stroked softly the velvet nose that nuzzled against his cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"What d'you reckon, Buck? Are they goin' to start a school for that
+litter of young Wattses? There ain't another kid within twenty
+mile&mdash;must be." As he swung into the saddle the leather covered jug
+bumped lightly against his knee. There was a merry twinkle of laughter
+in his blue eyes as, with lips solemn as an exhorter's, he addressed
+the offending object. "You brown rascal, you! If it hadn't be'n for
+you, me an' Buck might of made a hit with the lady, mightn't we, Buck?
+Scratch gravel, now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> you old reprobate, or we won't get to camp till
+midnight."</p>
+
+<p>"Anyway, she ain't no kin to the Wattses," he added reflectively, "not
+an' that clean, she ain't."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<h2>AT THE WATTS RANCH</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was with a decided feeling of depression that Patty Sinclair
+approached the Watts ranch. Long before she reached the buildings an
+air of shiftless dilapidation was manifest in the ill-lined barbed
+wire fences whose rotting posts sagged drunkenly upon loosely strung
+wire. A dry weed-choked irrigation ditch paralleled the trail, its
+wooden flumes, like the fence posts, rotting where they stood, and its
+walls all but obliterated by the wash of spring freshets. The
+depression increased as she passed close beside the ramshackle log
+stable, where her horse sank to his ankles in a filthy brown seepage
+of mud and rotting straw before the door. Two small, slouchily built
+stacks of weather-stained hay occupied a fenced-off enclosure, beside
+which, with no attempt to protect them from the weather, stood a
+dish-wheeled hay rake, and a rusty mowing machine, its cutter-bar
+buried in weeds.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Passing through a small clump of cottonwoods, in which three or four
+raw-boned horses had taken refuge from the mosquitoes, she came
+suddenly upon the ranch house, a squat, dirt-roofed cabin of unpeeled
+logs. So, <i>this</i> was the Watts ranch! Again and again in the delirium
+that preceded her father's death, he had muttered of Monte's Creek and
+the Watts ranch, until she had come to think of it as a place of cool
+halls and broad verandahs situated at the head of some wide mountain
+valley in which sleek cattle grazed belly-deep in lush grasses.</p>
+
+<p>A rabble of nondescript curs came snapping and yapping about her
+horse's legs until dispersed by a harsh command from the dark interior
+of the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>"Yere, yo' git out o' thet!"</p>
+
+<p>The dogs slunk away and their places were immediately taken by a
+half-dozen ill-kempt, bedraggled children. A tousled head was thrust
+from the doorway, and after a moment of inspection a man stepped out
+upon the hard-trodden earth of the dooryard. He was bootless and a
+great toe protruded from a hole in the point of his sock. He wore a
+faded hickory shirt, and the knees of his bleached-out overalls were
+patched with blue gingham.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Howdy," he greeted, in a not unkindly tone, and paused awkwardly
+while the protruding toe tried vainly to burrow from sight in the hard
+earth.</p>
+
+<p>"Is&mdash;is this the Watts ranch?" The girl suppressed a wild desire to
+burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mom, this is hit&mdash;what they is of hit." His fingers picked
+vaguely at his scraggly beard. An idea seemed suddenly to strike him,
+and turning, he thrust his head in at the door. "Ma!" he called,
+loudly, and again "Ma! <i>Ma!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>The opening of a door within was followed by the sound of a harsh
+voice. "Lawzie me, John Watts, what's ailin' yo' now&mdash;got a burr in
+under yo' gallus?" A tall woman with a broad, kindly face pushed past
+the man, wiping suds upon her apron from a pair of very large and very
+red hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Sakes alive, if hit hain't a lady! Hain't yo' done tol' her to git
+off an' come in? Looks like yer manners, what little yo' ever hed of
+'em, fell in the crick an' got drownded. Jest yo' climb right down
+offen thet cayuse, dearie, an' come on in the house. John, yo' oncinch
+thet saddle, an' then, Horatius Ezek'l, yo' an' David Golieth, taken
+the hoss to the barn an' see't he's hayed an' watered 'fore yo' come
+back. Microby Dandeline, yo' git a pot o' tea abilin' an' fry up a
+bate o'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> bacon, an' cut some bread, an' warm up the rest o' thet pone,
+an' yo', Lillian Russell, yo' finish dryin' them dishes an' set 'em
+back on the table. An' Abraham Lincoln Wirt, yo' fetch a pail o'
+water, an' wrinch out the worsh dish, an' set a piece o' soap by, an'
+a clean towel, an' light up the lamp."</p>
+
+<p>Under Ma Watts's volley of orders, issued without pause for breath,
+things began to happen with admirable promptitude.</p>
+
+<p>"Land sakes!" cried the woman, as Patty climbed painfully to the
+ground, "hain't yo' that sore an' stiff! Yo' must a-rode clean from
+town, an' hits fifty mile, an' yo' not use to ridin' neither, to tell
+by the whiteness of yo' face. I'll help yo' git off them hat an'
+gloves, an' thar sets the worsh dish on the bench beside the do'.
+Microby Dandeline 'll hev a bite for ye d'rec'ly an' I'll fix yo' up a
+shake-down. Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth kin go out an' crawl in
+the hay an' yo' c'n hev theirn." Words flowed from Ma Watts naturally
+and continuously without effort, as water flows from a spring. Patty
+who had made several unsuccessful attempts to speak, interrupted
+abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I couldn't think of depriving the boys of their bed. I&mdash;&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Now, honey, just yo' quit pesterin' 'bout thet. Them young-uns
+'druther sleep out'n in, any time. Ef I'd let 'em they'd grow up plumb
+wild. When yo've got worshed up come on right in the kitchen an' set
+by. Us Wattses is plain folks an' don't pile on no dog. We've et an'
+got through, but yo' take all the time yo're a mind to, an' me an'
+Microby Dandeline 'll set by an' yo' c'n tell us who yo' be, ef yo're
+a mind to, an' ef not hit don't make no difference. We hain't
+partic'lar out here, nohow&mdash;we've hed preachers an' horse-thieves, an'
+never asked no odds of neither. I says to Watts&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Again the girl made forcible entry into the conversation. "My name is
+Sinclair. Patty Sinclair, of Middleton, Connecticut. My father&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Land o' love! So yo're Mr. Sinclair's darter! Yo' do favor him a mite
+about the eyes, come to look; but yer nose is diff'rnt to hisn, an'
+so's yer mouth&mdash;must a be'n yer ma's was like that. But sometimes they
+don't favor neither one. Take Microby Dandeline, here, 'tain't no one
+could say she hain't Watts's, an' Horatius Ezek'l, he favors me, but
+fer's the rest of 'em goes, they mightn't b'long to neither one of
+us." Microby Dandeline placed the food upon the table and sank, quiet
+as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> a mouse into a chair beneath the glass bracket-lamp with her large
+dark eyes fixed upon Patty, who devoured the unappetizing food with an
+enthusiasm born of real hunger, while the older woman analyzed volubly
+the characteristics, facial and temperamental, of each and several of
+the numerous Watts progeny.</p>
+
+<p>Having exhausted the subject of offspring, Ma Watts flashed a direct
+question. "How's yer pa, an' where's he at?"</p>
+
+<p>"My father died last month," answered the girl without raising her
+eyes from her plate.</p>
+
+<p>"Fer the land sakes, child! I want to know!"</p>
+
+<p>"Watts! Watts!" The lank form appeared in the doorway. "This here's
+Mr. Sinclair's darter, an' he's up an' died."</p>
+
+<p>The man's fingers fumbled uncertainly at his beard, as his wife paused
+for the intelligence to strike home. "Folks does," he opined,
+judiciously after a profound interval.</p>
+
+<p>"That's so, when yo' come to think 'bout hit," admitted Ma Watts.
+"What did he die of?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cerebrospinal meningitis."</p>
+
+<p>"My goodness sakes! I should think he would! When my pa died&mdash;back in
+Tennessee, hit wus, the doctor 'lowed hit wus the eetch, but sho',
+he'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> hed thet fer hit wus goin' on seven year. 'Bout a week 'fore he
+come to die, he got so's 't he couldn't eat nothin', an' he wus thet
+het up with the fever he like to burnt up, an' his head ached him fit
+to bust, an' he wus out of hit fer four days, an' I mistrust thet-all
+mought of hed somethin' to do with his dyin'. The doctor, he come an'
+bled him every day, but he died on him, an' then he claimed hit was
+the eetch, or mebbe hit wus jest his time hed come, he couldn't tell
+which. I've wondered sence if mebbe we'd got a town doctor he mought
+of lived. But Doctor Swanky wus a mountain man an' we wus, too, so we
+taken him. But, he wus more of a hoss doctor, an' seems like, he never
+did hev no luck, much, with folks."</p>
+
+<p>Her nerves all a-jangle from trail-strain and the depressing
+atmosphere of the Watts ranch, it seemed to Patty she must shriek
+aloud if the woman persisted in her ceaseless gabble.</p>
+
+<p>"Yer pa wus a nice man, an' well thought of. We-all know'd him well.
+It wus goin' on three year he prospected 'round here in the hills, an'
+many a time he's sot right where yo're settin' now, an' et his meal o'
+vittles. Some said las' fall 'fore he went back East how he'd made his
+strike, an' hit wus quartz gold, an' how he'd gone back to git<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> money
+to work hit. Mr. Bethune thought so, an' Lord Clendenning. They must
+of be'n thicker'n thieves with yer pa, 'cordin' to their tell." The
+woman paused and eyed the girl inquisitively. "Did he make his strike,
+an' why didn't he record hit?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," answered the girl wearily.</p>
+
+<p>"An' don't yo' tell no one ef yo' do know. I b'lieve in folks bein'
+close-mouthed. Like I'm allus a-tellin' Watts. But yo' must be plumb
+wore out, what with ridin' all day, an' a-tellin' me all about
+yo'se'f. I'll slip in an' turn them blankets an' yo' kin jest crawl
+right into 'em an' sleep 'til yo' slep' out."</p>
+
+<p>Ma Watts bustled away, and Microby Dandeline began to clear away the
+dishes.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't I help?" offered Patty.</p>
+
+<p>The large, wistful eyes regarded her seriously.</p>
+
+<p>"No. I like yo'. Yo' hain't to worsh no dishes. Yo're purty. I like
+Mr. Bethune, an' Lord Clendenning, an' that Vil Holland. I like
+everybody. Folks is nice, hain't they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;yes," agreed Patty, smiling into the big serious eyes. "How old
+are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm seventeen, goin' on eighteen. Yo' come to live with us-uns?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;that is&mdash;I don't know exactly where I am going to live."</p>
+
+<p>"That Vil Holland, he's got a nice camp, an' 'tain't only him there.
+Why don't yo' live there? I want to live there an' I go to his camp on
+Gee Dot, but he chases me away, an' sometimes he gits mad."</p>
+
+<p>"What is Gee Dot?" Patty stared in amazement at this girl with the
+mind of a child.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he's my pony. I reckon Mr. Bethune wouldn't git mad, but I don't
+know where he lives."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you had better stay right here," advised Patty, seriously.
+"This is your home, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but they hain't much room. Me, an' Lillian Russell, an' David
+Golieth sleeps on a shake-down, an' they-all shoves an' kicks, an'
+sometimes when I want to sleep, Chattenoogy Tennessee sets up a
+squarkin' an' I cain't. Babies is a lot of bother. An' they's a lot of
+dishes an' chores an' things. Wisht I hed a dress like yo'n!" The girl
+passed a timid finger over the fabric of Patty's moleskin riding coat.
+Ma Watts appeared in the doorway connecting the two rooms.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, fer the lands sakes! Listen at that!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> Microby Dandeline Watts,
+where's yo' manners?" She turned to Patty. "Don't mind her, she's kind
+o' simple, an' don't mean no harm. Yo' shake-down's ready fer yo' an'
+I reckon yo' glad, bein' that wore out. Hit's agin the east wall. Jest
+go on right in, don't mind Watts. Hit's dark in thar, an' he's rolled
+in. We hain't only one bed an' me an' Watts an' the baby sleeps in
+hit, on 'tother side the room. Watts, he aims to put up some bunks
+when he gits time."</p>
+
+<p>Sick at heart, and too tired and sore of body to protest against any
+arrangement that would allow her to sleep the girl murmured her thanks
+and crossed to the door of the bedroom. Not at all sure of her
+bearings she paused uncertainly in the doorway until a sound of heavy
+breathing located the slumbering Watts, and turning toward the
+opposite side of the room, proceeded cautiously through the blackness
+until her feet came in contact with her "shake-down," which consisted
+of a pair of blankets placed upon a hay tick. The odor of the blankets
+was anything but fresh, but she sank to the floor, and with much
+effort and torturing of strained muscles, succeeded in removing her
+boots and jacket and throwing herself upon the bed. Almost at the
+moment her head touched the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> coarse, unslipped pillow, she fell into a
+deep sleep, from which hours later she was awakened by an insistent
+tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. "Someone has forgotten to pull up the
+canoe and the waves are slapping it against the side of the dock," she
+thought drowsily. "Did I have it last?" She stirred uneasily and the
+pain of movement caused her to gasp. She opened her eyes, and instead
+of her great airy chamber in Aunt Rebecca's mansion by the sea, she
+was greeted by the sight of the hot, stuffy room of the Watts cabin. A
+rumpled pile of blankets was mounded upon the bed against the opposite
+wall, and a shake-down similar to her own occupied a space beside the
+open door through which hot, bright sunlight streamed.</p>
+
+<p>Several hens pecked assiduously at some crumbs, and Patty realized
+that it was the sound of their bills upon the wooden floor that had
+awakened her. She succeeded after several painful attempts in pulling
+on her boots, and as she rose to her feet, Ma Watts thrust her head in
+at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Lawzie! Honey, did them hens wake yo' up? Sho'! ef I'd a thought o'
+thet, I'd o' fed 'em outside, an' yo' could of kep' on sleepin'. 'They
+ain't nothin' like a good long sleep when yo' tired,' Watts says, an'
+he ort to know. He aims to build<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> a house fer them hens when he gits
+time. Yo' know where the worsh dish is, jest make yo'se'f to home,
+dinner'll be ready d'rec'ly." The feel of the cold water was grateful
+as the girl dashed it over her face and hands from the little tin
+wash-basin on the bench beside the door. Watts sat with his chair
+resting upon its rear legs and its back against the shady west wall of
+the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>"Mo'nin'," he greeted. "Hit's right hot; I be'n studyin' 'bout fixin'
+them thar arrigation ditches."</p>
+
+<p>Patty smiled brightly. "All they need is cleaning out, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, mom. Thet an' riggin' up them flumes. But it's a right smart o'
+work, an' then the resevoy's busted, too. I be'n aimin' to fix 'em
+when I git time. They hain't had no water in 'em fer three year. Yo'
+see, two year ago hit looked like rain mos' every day. Hit didn't rain
+none to speak, but hit kep' a body hatin' to start workin' fer fear it
+would. An' las' year hit never looked like rain none, so hit wasn't no
+use fixin' 'em. An' this year I don't know jest what to do, hit might,
+an' then agin hit mightn't. Drat thet sun! Here hit is dinner time.
+Seems like hit never lets a body set in one place long 'nough to study
+out <i>whut</i> he'd ort to do." Watts rose slowly to his feet,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> and
+picking up his chair, walked deliberately around to the east side of
+the house, where he planted it with the precision born of long
+practice in the exact spot that the shadow would be longest at the
+conclusion of the midday meal.</p>
+
+<p>Patty entered the cabin and a few minutes later the sound of voices
+reached her ears. Ma Watts hurried to the window.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if hit ain't Mr. Bethune an' Lord Clendenning! Ef you see one
+you know the other hain't fer off. Hain't he good lookin' though&mdash;Mr.
+Bethune? Lord hain't so much fer looks, but he's some high up nobility
+like over to England where he come from, only over yere they call 'em
+remittance men, an' they don't do nothin' much but ride around an'
+drink whisky, an' they git paid for hit, too. Folks says how Mr.
+Bethune's gran'ma wus a squaw, but I don't believe 'em. Anyways, I
+allus like him. He's got manners, an' hit don't stan' to reason no
+breed would have manners."</p>
+
+<p>Patty could distinctly see the two riders as they lounged in their
+saddles. The larger, whose bulging blue eyes and drooping blond
+mustache gave him a peculiar walrus-like expression, she swept at a
+glance. The other was talking to Watts and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> the girl noted the slender
+figure with its almost feminine delicacy of mold, and the finely
+chiseled features dominated by eyes black as jet&mdash;eyes that glowed
+with a velvety softness as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"We have been looking over your upper pasture," he said. "A fellow
+named Schmidt over in the Blackfoot country will be delivering some
+horses across the line this summer and he wants to rent some pastures
+at different points along the trail. How about it?"</p>
+
+<p>Watts rubbed his beard uncertainly. "Them fences hain't hoss tight. I
+be'n studyin' 'bout fixin' 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you get at it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well they's the resevoy, an' the ditches&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind the ditches. All that fence needs is a few posts and some
+staples."</p>
+
+<p>"My ax hain't fitten to chop with no mo', an' I druv over the spade
+an' bruk the handle. I hain't got no luck."</p>
+
+<p>Reaching into his pocket, Bethune withdrew a gold piece which he
+tossed to Watts. "Maybe this will change your luck," he smiled. "The
+fact is I want that pasture&mdash;or, rather, Schultz does."</p>
+
+<p>"Thought yo' said Schmidt."</p>
+
+<p>"Did I? Those kraut names all sound alike to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> me. But his name is
+Schultz. The point is, he'll pay you five dollars a month to hold the
+pasture, and five dollars for every day or night he uses it. That ten
+spot pays for the first two months. Better buy a new ax and spade and
+some staples and get to work. The exercise will do you good, and
+Schultz may want to use that pasture in a couple of weeks or so."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I reckon I kin. Hit's powerful hot fer to work much, but that's
+a sight o' money. As I wus sayin' to Mr. Sinclair's darter&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sinclair's daughter! What do you mean? Is Sinclair back?"</p>
+
+<p>Patty noted the sudden flash of the jet black eyes at the mention of
+her father's name. It was as though a point of polished steel had
+split their velvet softness. Yet there was no hostility in the glance;
+rather, it was a gleam of intense interest. The girl's own interest in
+the quarter-breed had been casual at most, hardly more than that
+accorded by a passing glance until she had chanced to hear him refer
+to the man in the Blackfoot country in one breath as Schmidt, and in
+the next as Schultz. She wondered at that and so had remained standing
+beside Mrs. Watts, screened from the outside by the morning-glory
+vines that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> served as a curtain for the window. The trifling incident
+of the changed name was forgotten in the speculation as to why her
+father's return to the hill country should be a matter of evident
+import to this sagebrush cavalier. So intent had she become that she
+hardly noticed the cruel bluntness of Watts's reply.</p>
+
+<p>"He's dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, he died back East an' his darter's come."</p>
+
+<p>"Does she know he made a strike?" Patty noted the look of eagerness
+that accompanied the words.</p>
+
+<p>"I do'no." Watts wagged his head slowly. "Mebbe so; mebbe not."</p>
+
+<p>"Because, if she doesn't," Bethune hastened to add, "she should be
+told. Rod Sinclair was one of the best friends I had, and if he has
+gone I'm right here to see that his daughter gets a square deal. Of
+course if she has the location, she's all right." Patty wondered
+whether the man had purposely raised his voice, or was it her
+imagination?</p>
+
+<p>Ma Watts had started for the door. "Come on out, honey, an' I'll make
+yo' acquainted with Mr. Bethune. He wus a friend of yo' pa, an' Lord<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+too." As she followed the woman to the door, the girl was conscious of
+an indefinable feeling of distrust for the man. Somehow, his words had
+not rung true.</p>
+
+<p>As the two women stepped from the house the horsemen swung from their
+saddles and stood with uncovered heads.</p>
+
+<p>"This yere's Mr. Sinclair's darter, Mr. Bethune," beamed Ma Watts.
+"An' I'd take hit proud ef yo'd all stay to dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Miss Sinclair, I am most happy to know you. Permit me to present
+my friend Lord Clendenning."</p>
+
+<p>The Englishman bowed low. "The prefix is merely a euphonism Miss
+Sinclair. What you really behold in me is the decayed part of a
+decaying aristocracy."</p>
+
+<p>Patty laughed. "My goodness, what frankness!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, now, an' set by 'fore the vittles gits cold on us. Yere yo'
+Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth, yo' hay them hosses!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! Really, Mrs. Watts, we must not presume on your hospitality.
+Important business demands our presence elsewhere."</p>
+
+<p>"Lawzie, Mr. Bethune, there yo' go with them big words agin. Which I
+s'pose yo' mean yo'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> cain't stay. But they's a plenty, an' yo'
+welcome." Again Bethune declined and as the woman re-entered the
+house, he turned to the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"I only just learned of your father's untimely death. Permit me to
+express my sincerest sympathy, and to assure you that if I can be of
+service to you in any way I am yours to command."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," answered Patty, flushing slightly under the scrutiny of
+the black eyes. "I am here to locate my father's claim. I want to do
+it alone, but if I can't I shall certainly ask assistance of his
+friends."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. But, my dear Miss Sinclair, let me warn you. There are men
+in these hills who suspected that your father made a strike, who would
+stop at nothing to wrest your secret from you." The girl nodded. "I
+suppose so. But forewarned is forearmed, isn't it? I thank you."</p>
+
+<p>"Thet Vil Holland wus by yeste'day," said Watts.</p>
+
+<p>Bethune frowned. "What did he want?"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't want nothin'. Jest come a-ridin' by."</p>
+
+<p>"I should think you'd had enough of him after the way he ran your
+sheep man off."</p>
+
+<p>Watts rubbed his beard. "Well, I do'no. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> cattlemen pays me same as
+that sheep man done. Vil Holland tended to that."</p>
+
+<p>"That isn't the point. What right has Vil Holland and others of his
+ilk to tell you, or me, or anybody else who we shall, or shall not
+rent to? It is the principle of the thing. The running off of those
+sheep was a lawless act, and the sooner lawlessness, as exemplified by
+Vil Holland is stamped out of these hills, the better it will be for
+the community. He better not try to bulldoze me." Bethune turned to
+Patty. "That Vil Holland is the man I had in mind, Miss Sinclair, when
+I warned you to choose your friends wisely. He would stop at nothing
+to gain an end, even to posing as a friend of your father. In all
+probability he will offer to assist you, but if you have any map or
+description of your father's location do not under any circumstances
+show it to him."</p>
+
+<p>Patty smiled. "If any such paper exists I shall keep it to myself."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune returned the smile. "Good-by," he said. "I shall look forward
+to meeting you again. Shall you remain here?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have made no plans," she answered, and as she watched the two
+riders disappear down the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> creek trail her lips twisted into a smile.
+"May pose as a friend of your father ... and probably will offer to
+assist you;" she repeated under her breath. "Well, Mr. Bethune, I
+thank you again for the warning."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<h2>PATTY GOES TO TOWN</h2>
+
+
+<p>Ma Watts called loudly from the doorway and numerous small Wattses
+appeared as if by magic from the direction of the creek and the
+cottonwood thicket. Dinner consisted of flabby salt pork, swimming in
+its own grease, into which were dipped by means of fingers or forks,
+huge misshapen slices of sour white bread. There was also an abundance
+of corn pone, black molasses, and a vile concoction that Ma Watts
+called coffee. Flies swarmed above the table and settled upon the food
+from which they arose in clouds at each repetition of the dipping
+process.</p>
+
+<p>How she got through the meal Patty did not know, but to her surprise
+and disgust, realized that she had actually consumed a considerable
+portion of the unappetizing mess. Watts arose, stretched prodigiously,
+and sauntered to his chair which, true to calculation was already just
+within the shadow of the east side of the house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Baby on hip, Ma Watts, assisted by Microby Dandeline and Lillian
+Russell, attacked the dishes. All offers of help from Patty were
+declined.</p>
+
+<p>"Yo' welcome to stay yere jest as long as yo' want to, honey, an' yo'
+hain't got to work none neither. They's a old piece o' stack-cover
+somewheres around an' them young-uns kin rig 'em up a tent an' sleep
+in hit all summer, an' yo' kin hev their shake-down like yo' done las'
+night. I s'pose yo're yere about yo' pa's claim?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered the girl, "and I certainly appreciate your
+hospitality. I hope I can repay you some day, but I cannot think of
+settling myself upon you this way. My work will take me out into the
+hills and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Jest like yo' pa usta say. He wus that fond o' rale home cookin' thet
+he'd come 'long every onct in a month 'er so, an' git him a squr meal,
+an' then away he'd go out to his camp."</p>
+
+<p>"Where was his camp?" asked the girl eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Lawzie, his camp wus a tent, an' he moved hit around so they couldn't
+no one tell from one day to 'nother where he'd be at. But, he never
+wus no great ways from here, gen'ally within ten mile, one way er
+'nother. Hits out yonder in the barn&mdash;his tent an' outfit&mdash;pick an'
+pan an' shovel an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> dishes, all ready to throw onto his pack hoss
+which hits a mewl an' runnin' in the hills with them hosses of ourn.
+If hit wusn't fer the fences they'd be in the pasture. Watts aims to
+fix 'em when he gits time."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know much about tents, but I guess I'll have to use it, that
+is, if there isn't another ranch, or a&mdash;a house, or something, where I
+can rent a room all to myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Great sakes, child! They hain't another ranch within twenty-five
+mile, an' thet's towards town." As if suddenly smitten with an idea,
+she paused with her hand full of dishes and called loudly to her
+spouse:</p>
+
+<p>"Watts! Watts!"</p>
+
+<p>The chair was eased to its four legs, and the lank form appeared in
+the doorway. "Yeh?"</p>
+
+<p>"How about the sheep camp?"</p>
+
+<p>The man's fingers fumbled at his beard and he appeared plunged into
+deep thought. "What yo' mean, how 'bout hit?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not we-all leave Mr. Sinclair's darter live up there?"</p>
+
+<p>Again the thoughtful silence. At length the man spoke: "Why, shore,
+she kin stay there long as she likes, an' welcome."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Hit's a cabin four mile up the crick," explained Ma Watts, "what we
+built on our upper desert fer a man thet wanted to run a band o'
+sheep. He wus rentin' the range offen us, till they druv him off&mdash;the
+cattlemen claimed they wouldn't 'low no sheep in the hill country.
+They warned him an' pestered him a spell, an' then they jest up an'
+druv him off&mdash;thet Vil Holland wus into hit, an' some more."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is this Vil Holland you speak of, and why did he want to drive
+off the sheep?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he's a cowpuncher&mdash;they say they hain't a better cowpuncher in
+Montany, when he'll work. But he won't work only when he takes a
+notion&mdash;'druther hang around the hills an' prospeck. He hain't never
+made no strike, but he allus aims to, like all the rest. Ef he'd
+settle down, he could draw his forty dollars a month the year 'round,
+'stead of which, he works on the round-up, an' gits him a stake, an'
+then quits an' strikes out fer the hills."</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't think of occupying your cabin without paying for it. How
+much will you rent it to me for?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Tain't wuth nothin' at all," said Watts. "'Tain't doin' no good
+settin' wher' it's at, an' yo'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> won't hurt hit none a-livin' in hit.
+Jest move in, an' welcome."</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed! Now, you tell me, is ten dollars a month enough rent?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ten dollars a month!" exclaimed Watts. "Why, we-all only got fifteen
+fo' a herder an' a dog an' a band o' sheep! No, ef yo' bound to pay,
+I'll take two dollars a month. We-all might be po' but we hain't no
+robbers."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take it," said Patty. "And now I'll have to have a lot of things
+from town&mdash;food and blankets, and furniture, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's all furnished," broke in Ma Watts. "They's a bunk, an' a table,
+an' a stove, an a couple o' wooden chairs."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's fine!" cried the girl, becoming really enthusiastic over
+the prospect of having a cabin all her very own. "But, about the other
+things: Mr. Watts can you haul them from town?"</p>
+
+<p>Watts tugged at his beard and stared out across the hills. "Yes, mom,
+I reckon I kin. Le's see, the work's a-pilin' up on me right smart."
+He cast his eye skyward, where the sun shone hot from the cloudless
+blue. "Hit mought rain to-morrow, an' hit moughtn't. The front ex on
+the wagon needs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> fixin'&mdash;le's see, this here's a Wednesday. How'd next
+Sunday, a week do?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl stared at him in dismay. Ten days of Ma Watts's "home
+cooking" loomed before her.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, couldn't you <i>possibly</i> go before that?" she pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there's them fences. I'd orter hev' time to study 'bout how
+many steeples hit's a-goin' to tak' to fix 'em. An' besides, Ferd Rowe
+'lowed he wus comin' 'long some day to trade hosses an' I'd hate to
+miss him."</p>
+
+<p>"Why can't I go to town. I know the way. Will you rent me your horses
+and wagon? I can drive and I can bring out your tools and things,
+too." As she awaited Watts's reply her eyes met the wistful gaze of
+Microby Dandeline. She turned to Ma Watts. "And maybe you would let
+Microby Dandeline go with me. It would be loads of fun."</p>
+
+<p>"Lawzie, honey, yo' wouldn't want to be pestered with her."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I would really. Please let her go with me, that is, if Mr. Watts
+will let me have the team."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, shore, yo' welcome to 'em. They hain't sich a good span o'
+hosses, but they'll git yo' there, an' back, give 'em time."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"And can we start in the morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"My! Yo' in a sight o' hurry. They's thet front ex&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Is it anything very serious? Maybe I could help fix it. Do let me
+try."</p>
+
+<p>Watts rubbed his beard reflectively. "Well, no, I reckon it's mebbe
+the wheels needs greasin'. 'Twouldn't take no sight o' time to do, if
+a body could only git at hit. Reckon I mought grease 'em all 'round,
+onct I git started. The young-uns kin help, yo' jest stay here with
+Ma. Ef yo' so plumb sot on goin' we'll see't yo' git off."</p>
+
+<p>"I kin go, cain't I, Ma?" Microby Dandeline's eyes were big with
+excitement, as she wrung out her dish towel and hung it to dry in the
+sun.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, yas, I reckon yo' mought's well&mdash;but seem's like yo' allus
+a-wantin' to gad. Yo' be'n to town twict a'ready."</p>
+
+<p>"Twice!" cried Patty. "In how long?"</p>
+
+<p>"She's goin' on eighteen. Four years, come July she wus to town. They
+wus a circust."</p>
+
+<p>"I know Mr. Christie. He lives to town."</p>
+
+<p>"He's the preacher. He's a 'piscopalium preacher, an' one time that
+Vil Holland an' him come ridin' 'long, an' they stopped in fer dinner,
+an' that Vil Holland, he's allus up to some kind o'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> devilment er
+'nother, he says: 'Ma Watts, why don't yo' hev the kids all
+babitized?' I hadn't never thought much 'bout hit, but thar wus the
+preacher, an' he seemed to think mighty proud of hit, an' hit didn't
+cost nothin', so I tol' him to go ahead. He started in on Microby
+Dandeline&mdash;we jest called her Dandeline furst, bein' thet yallar with
+janders when she wus a baby, but when she got about two year, I wus a
+readin' a piece in a paper a man left, 'bout these yere little
+microbys thet gits into everywheres they shouldn't ort to, jest like
+she done, so I says to Watts how she'd ort to had two names anyways,
+only I couldn't think of none but common ones when we give her hern. I
+says, we'll name her Microby Dandeline Watts an' Watts, he didn't care
+one way er t'other." Ma Watts shifted the baby to the other hip.
+"Babitizin' is nice, but hit works both ways, too. Take the baby,
+yere. When we'd got down to the bottom of the batch it come her turn,
+an', lawzie, I wus that flustered, comin' so sudden, thet way, I
+couldn't think of no name fer her 'cept Chattenoogy Tennessee, where I
+come from near, an' the very nex' day I wus readin' in the almanac an'
+I found one I liked better. Watts, he hain't no help to a body, he
+hain't no aggucation to speak<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> of, an' don't never read none, an'
+would as soon I'd name his children John, like his ma done him. As I
+was sayin' there hit wus in the almanac the name 'twould of fitten the
+baby to a T. Vernal Esquimaux, hit said, March 21, 5:26 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> The baby
+was borned March the 21st, 'tween five an' six in the mornin'. Nex'
+time I wus to town I hunted up preacher Christie, but he said he
+couldn't onbabitize her, an' he reckoned Chatenoogy Tennessee wus as
+good as Vernal Esquimaux, anyhow, an' we could save Vernal Esquimaux
+fer the next one&mdash;jest's ef yo' could hev 'em like a time table!"</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon was assiduously devoted to overhauling the contents of a
+huge tin trunk in an effort to find a frock suitable for the momentous
+occasion of Microby Dandeline's journey. The one that had served for
+the previous visit, a tight little affair of pink gingham, proved
+entirely inadequate in its important dimensions, and automatically
+became the property of the younger and smaller Lillian Russell.
+Patty's suggestion of a simple white lawn that reposed upon the very
+bottom of the trunk was overruled in favor of a betucked and
+beflounced creation of red calico in which Ma Watts had beamed upon
+the gay panoply of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> long remembered "circust." An hour's work with
+scissors and needle reduced the dress to approximately the required
+size. When the task was completed Watts appeared with the information
+that he reckoned the wagon would run, and that the "young-uns" were
+out in the hills hunting the "hosses."</p>
+
+<p>At early dawn the following morning Patty was awakened by a timid hand
+upon her shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's daylight, an' Pa's hitchin' up the hosses." Arrayed in the red
+dress, her eyes round with excitement and anticipation, Microby
+Dandeline was bending over her whispering excitedly, "An' breakfus's
+ready, an' me an' Ma's got the lunch putten up, an' hit's a pow'ful
+long ways to town, an' we better git a-goin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Stay right clost an' don't go gittin' lost," admonished Ma watts, as
+she stood in the doorway and surveyed her daughter with approval born
+of motherly pride. The pink gingham sunbonnet that matched the tight
+little dress had required only a slight "letting out" to make it "do,"
+and taken in conjunction with the flaming red dress, made a study in
+color that would have delighted the heart of a Gros Ventre squaw.
+Thick, home-knit stockings, and a pair of stiff<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> cow-hide shoes
+completed the costume, and made Microby Dandeline the center of an
+admiring semi-circle of Wattses.</p>
+
+<p>"Yo' shore look right pert an' briggity, darter," admitted Watts.
+"Don't yo' give the lady no trouble, keep offen the railroad car
+tracks, an' don't go talkin' to strangers yo' don't know, an' ef yo'
+see preacher Christie tell him howdy, an' how's he gittin' 'long, an'
+we're doin' the same, an' stop in nex' time he's out in the hills." He
+handed Patty the reins. "An' mom, yo' won't fergit them steeples, an'
+a ax, an' a spade?"</p>
+
+<p>"I won't forget," Patty assured him, and as Microby Dandeline was
+saying good-by to the small brothers and sisters, the man leaned
+closer. "Ef they's any change left over I wisht yo'd give her about
+ten cents to spend jest as she pleases."</p>
+
+<p>The girl nodded, and as Microby Dandeline scrambled up over the wheel
+and settled herself beside her upon the board that served as a seat,
+she called a cheery good-by, and clucked to the horses.</p>
+
+<p>The trail down Monte's Creek was a fearsome road that sidled
+dangerously along narrow rock ledges, and plunged by steep pitches
+into the creek bed and out again. Partly by sheer luck, partly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> by
+bits of really skillful driving, but mostly because the horses,
+themselves knew every foot of the tortuous trail, the descent of the
+creek was made without serious mishap. It was with a sigh of relief
+that Patty turned into the smoother trail that lead down through the
+canyon toward town. In comparison with the bumping and jolting of the
+springless lumber wagon, she realized that the saddle that had racked
+and tortured her upon her outward trip had been a thing of ease and
+comfort. Released from her post at the brake-rope, Microby Dandeline
+immediately proceeded to remove her shoes and stockings. Patty
+ventured remonstrance.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit's hot an' them stockin's scratches. 'Tain't no good to wear 'em
+in the summer, nohow, 'cept in town, an' I kin put 'em on when we git
+there. Why does folks wear 'em in town?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, because it is nicer, and&mdash;and people couldn't very well go
+around barefooted."</p>
+
+<p>"I kin. I like to 'cept fer the prickly pears. Is they prickly pears
+in town?" Without waiting far a reply the girl chattered on, as she
+placed the offending stockings within her shoes and tossed them back
+upon the hay with which the wagon-box was filled. "I like to ride,
+don't you? We've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> got to ride all day an' then we'll git to town. We
+goin' to sleep in under the wagon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not! We will go to the hotel."</p>
+
+<p>"The hotel," breathed the girl, rapturously. "An' kin we eat there
+too?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, we will eat there, too."</p>
+
+<p>"An' kin I go to the store with yo'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>Patty's answers became shorter as her attention centered upon a
+horseman who was negotiating the descent of what looked like an
+impossibly steep ridge.</p>
+
+<p>"That's Buck!" exclaimed Microby Dandeline, as she followed the girl's
+gaze. The rider completed the descent of the ridge with an abrupt
+slide that obscured him in a cloud of dust from which he emerged to
+approach the trail at a swinging trot. Long before he was near enough
+for Patty to distinguish his features, she recognized him as her lone
+horseman of the hills. "If it is his intention to presume upon our
+chance meeting," she thought, "I'll&mdash;&mdash;" The threat was unexpressed
+even in thought, but her lips tightened and she flushed hotly as she
+remembered how he had picked her up as though she had been a child and
+placed her in the saddle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Who did you say he is?" she asked, with a glance toward the girl at
+her side.</p>
+
+<p>"He's Vil Holland, an' his hoss's name is Buck. I like him, only
+sometimes he chases me home."</p>
+
+<p>"Vil Holland!" she exclaimed aloud, and her lips pressed tighter. So
+this man was Vil Holland&mdash;<i>that</i> Vil Holland, everybody called him.
+The man who had chased an inoffensive sheep herder from the range, and
+whose name stood for lawlessness in the hill country! So Aunt
+Rebecca's allusion to desperate characters had not been so
+far-fetched, after all. He looked the part. Patty's glance took in the
+vivid blue scarf with its fastening of polished buffalo horn, the huge
+revolver that swung in its holster, and the brown leather jug that
+dangled from the horn of his saddle.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-mornin'!" He drew up beside the trail, and the girl reined in
+her horses, flushing slightly as she did so&mdash;she had meant to drive
+past without speaking. She acknowledged the greeting with a formal
+bow. The man ignored the frigidity.</p>
+
+<p>"I see you found Watts's all right."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, thank you."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if there ain't Microby Dandeline! An' rigged out for who
+throw'd the chunk! Goin' to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> town to take in the picture show, an all
+the sights, I expect."</p>
+
+<p>"We're goin' to the <i>hotel</i>," explained the girl proudly.</p>
+
+<p>"My ain't that fine!"</p>
+
+<p>"I got a red dress."</p>
+
+<p>"Why so you have. Seein' you mentioned it, I can notice a shade of red
+to it. An' that bonnet just sets it off right. That'll make folks set
+up an' take notice, I'll bet."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a-goin' to the store, too."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of that!" the man drew a half-dollar from his
+pockets. "Here, get you some candy an' take some home to the kids."</p>
+
+<p>Microby reached for the coin, but Patty drew back her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't touch that!" she commanded sharply, then, with a withering look
+that encompassed both the man and his jug, she struck the horses with
+her whip and started down the trail.</p>
+
+<p>"I could of boughten some candies," complained Microby Dandeline.</p>
+
+<p>"I will buy you all the candy you want, but you must promise me never
+to take any money from men&mdash;and especially from that man."</p>
+
+<p>Microby glanced back wistfully, and as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> wagon rumbled on her eyes
+closed and her head began to nod.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, child, you are sleepy!" exclaimed Patty, in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mom. I reckon I laid awake all night a-thinkin' about goin' to
+town."</p>
+
+<p>"If I were you I would lie down on the hay and take a nap."</p>
+
+<p>The girl eyed the hay longingly and shook her head. "I like to ride,"
+she objected, sleepily.</p>
+
+<p>"You will be riding just the same."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes but we might see somethin'. Onct we seen a nortymobile without no
+hosses an' hit squarked louder'n a settin' hen an' went faster'n what
+a hoss kin run."</p>
+
+<p>"You go to sleep and if there is anything to see I'll wake you up. If
+you don't sleep now you'll have to sleep when you get to town and I'm
+sure you don't want to do that."</p>
+
+<p>"No, mom. Mebbe ef I hurry up an' sleep fast they won't no
+nortymobiles come, but if they does, you wake me."</p>
+
+<p>"I will," promised Patty, and thus assured the girl curled up in the
+hay and in a moment was fast asleep.</p>
+
+<p>Hour after hour as the horses plodded along the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> interminable trail,
+Patty Sinclair sat upon the hard wooden seat, while her thoughts
+ranged from plans for locating her father's lost claim, to the
+arrangement of her cabin; and from Vil Holland to the welfare of the
+girl, a pathetic figure as she lay sprawled upon the hay, with her
+bare legs, and the gray dust settling thickly upon her red dress and
+vivid pink sunbonnet.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<h2>MONK BETHUNE</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the devil got well, the devil a monk was he."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p>Pippin Larue chanted tipsily, as he strummed softly the strings of a
+muffled banjo. And Raoul Bethune, with the flush of liquor upon his
+pale cheeks, joined in the laugh that followed, and replenished his
+glass from the black bottle he had contrived to smuggle from the
+hospital stores when he had been returned to his room in the
+dormitory. And "Monk" Bethune he was solemnly rechristened by the
+half-dozen admiring satellites who had foregathered to celebrate his
+recovery from an illness. All this was long ago. Monk Bethune's
+dormitory life had terminated abruptly&mdash;for the good of the school,
+but the name had fastened itself upon him after the manner of names
+that fit. It followed him to far places, and certain red-coated
+policemen, who knew and respected his father, the Hudson Bay Company's
+old factor on Lake o'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> God's Wrath, hated him for what he had become.
+They knew him for an inveterate gambler who spent money freely and
+boasted openly of his winnings. He was soft of voice and mild of
+manner and aside from his passion for gambling, his conduct so far as
+was known was irreproachable. But, there were wise and knowing ones
+among the officers of the law, who deemed it worth their while to make
+careful and unobtrusive comparison between the man's winnings and his
+expenditures. These were the men who knew that certain Indians were
+being systematically supplied with whisky, and that there were certain
+horses in Canada whose brands, upon close inspection, showed signs of
+having been skillfully "doctored," and which bore unmistakable
+evidence of having come from the ranges to the southward of the
+international boundary.</p>
+
+<p>But, try as they might, no slightest circumstance of evidence could
+they unearth against Bethune, who was wont to disappear from his usual
+haunts for days and weeks at a time, to reappear smiling and
+debonaire, as unexpectedly as he had gone. Knowing that the men of the
+Mounted suspected him, he laughed at them openly. Once, upon a street
+in Regina, Corporal Downey lost his temper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You'll make a mistake sometime, Monk, and then it will be our turn to
+laugh."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh-ho! So until I make a mistake, I am safe, eh? That is good news,
+Downey&mdash;good news! Skill and luck&mdash;luck and skill&mdash;the tools of the
+gamblers' trade! But, granted that sometime I shall make a
+mistake&mdash;shall lose for the moment, my skill; I shall still have my
+luck&mdash;and your mistakes. You are a good boy, Downey, but you'll be a
+glum one if you wait to laugh at my mistakes. If I were a chicken
+thief instead of a&mdash;gambler, I should fear you greatly."</p>
+
+<p>Downey recounted this jibe in the barracks, and the officers redoubled
+their vigilance, but the Indians still got their whisky, and new
+horses appeared from the southward.</p>
+
+<p>When Monk Bethune refused Ma Watts's invitation to dinner, and rode
+off down the creek followed by Lord Clendenning, the refusal did not
+meet the Englishman's unqualified approval, a fact that he was not
+slow in imparting when, a short time later, they made noonday camp at
+a little spring in the shelter of the hills.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Monk, what's this bally important business we've got on hand?"
+he asked, as he adjusted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> a refractory hobble strap. "Seems to me you
+threw away an excellent opportunity."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune grinned. "Anything that involves the loss of a square meal, is
+a lost opportunity. You're too beefy, Clen, a couple of weeks on pilot
+bread and tea always does you good."</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking more of the lady."</p>
+
+<p>"La, la, the ladies! A gay dog in your day&mdash;but, you've had your day.
+Forget 'em, Clen, you're fifty, and fat."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm forty-eight, and I weigh only fifteen stone as I stand,"
+corrected the Englishman solemnly. "But layin' your bloody jokes
+aside, this particular lady ought to be worth our while."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune nodded, as he scraped the burning ends of the little sticks
+closer about the teapot. "Yes, decidedly worth while, my dear Clen,
+and that's where the important business comes in. Those who live by
+their wits must use their wits or they will cease to live. I live by
+my wits, and you by your ability to follow out my directions. In the
+present instance, we had no plan. We could only have sat and talked,
+but talk is dangerous&mdash;when you have no plan. Even little mistakes are
+costly, and big ones are fatal. Let us go over the ground, now and
+check off our facts, and then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> we can lay our plans." As he talked,
+Bethune munched at his pilot bread, pausing at intervals for a swallow
+of scalding tea.</p>
+
+<p>"In the first place, we know that Rod Sinclair made a strike. And we
+know that he didn't file any claim. Why? Because he knew that people
+would guess he had made a strike, and that the minute he placed his
+location on record, there would be a stampede to stake the adjoining
+claims&mdash;and he was saving those claims for his friends."</p>
+
+<p>"His strike may be only a pocket," ventured Clendenning.</p>
+
+<p>"It is no pocket! Rod Sinclair was a mining man&mdash;he knows rock. If he
+had struck a pocket he would have staked and filed at once&mdash;and taken
+no chances. I tell you he went back East to let his friends in. The
+fool!"</p>
+
+<p>The Englishman finished his tea, rinsed out his tin cup in the spring,
+and filled his pipe. "And you think the girl has got the description?"</p>
+
+<p>Bethune shook his head. "No. A map, perhaps, or some photographs. If
+she had the description she would not have come alone. The friends of
+her father would have been with her, and they would have filed the
+minute they hit the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> country. It's either a map, or nothing but his
+word."</p>
+
+<p>"And in either case we've got a chance."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered Bethune, viciously. "And this time we are not going to
+throw away our chance!" He glanced meaningly at the Englishman, who
+puffed contentedly at his pipe.</p>
+
+<p>"Sinclair was too shrewd to have carried anything of importance, and
+there would have been blood on our hands. As it is, we sleep good of
+nights."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune gave a shrug of impatience. "And the gold is still in the
+hills, and we are no nearer to it than we were last fall."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, we are nearer. This girl will not be as shrewd as her father was
+in guarding the secret, if she has it. If she hasn't it our chance is
+as good as hers."</p>
+
+<p>"And so is Vil Holland's! He believes Sinclair made a strike, and now
+that Sinclair is out of the way, you may be sure he will leave no
+stone unturned to horn in on it. The gold is in these hills and I'm
+going to get it. If I can't get it one way, I will get it another."
+The quarter-breed glanced about him and unconsciously lowered his
+voice. "However, one could wish the girl had delayed her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> visit for a
+couple of weeks. A person slipped me the word he could handle about
+twenty head of horses."</p>
+
+<p>The Englishman's face lighted. "I thought so when you began to dicker
+with Watts for his pasture. We'll get him his bally horses, then. This
+horse game I like, it's a sportin' game, and so is the whisky runnin'.
+But I couldn't lay in the hills and shoot a man, cold blooded."</p>
+
+<p>"And you've never been a success," sneered Bethune. "You never had a
+dollar, except your remittance, until you threw in with me. And we'd
+have been rich now, if it hadn't been for you. I tell you I know
+Sinclair carried a map!"</p>
+
+<p>"If he had, we'll get it. And we can sleep good of nights!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're a fool, Clen, with your 'sleep good of nights!' I sleep good
+of nights, and I've&mdash;" he halted abruptly, and when he spoke again his
+words grated harsh. "I tell you this is a fang and claw existence&mdash;all
+life is fang and claw. The strong rip the flesh from the bones of the
+weak. And the rich rip their wealth from the clutch of a thousand
+poor. What a man has is his only so long as he can hold it. One man's
+gain is another man's loss, and that is life. And it makes no
+difference<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> in the end whether it was got at the point of the pistol
+in defiance of law, or whether it was got within the law under the
+guise of business. And I don't need you to preach to me about what is
+wrong, either."</p>
+
+<p>The Englishman laughed. "I'm not preaching, Monk. Anyone engaged in
+the business we're in has got no call to preach."</p>
+
+<p>"We're no worse than most of the preachers. They peddle out, for
+money, what they don't believe."</p>
+
+<p>"Heigh-ho! What a good old world you've painted it! I hope you're
+right, and I'm not as bad as I think I am."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune interrupted, speaking rapidly in the outlining of a plan of
+procedure, and it was well toward the middle of the afternoon when the
+two saddled up and struck off into the hills in the direction of their
+camp.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Twilight had deepened to dusk as Patty Sinclair pulled her team to a
+standstill upon the rim of the bench and looked down upon the
+twinkling lights of the little town that straggled uncertainly along
+the sandy bank of the shallow river.</p>
+
+<p>"Hain't it grand lookin'?" breathed Microby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> Dandeline who sat
+decorously booted and stockinged upon the very edge of the board seat.
+"You wouldn't think they wus so many folks, less'n you seen 'em
+yers'f. Wisht I lived to town, an' I wisht they'd be a circust."</p>
+
+<p>Patty guided the horses down the trail that slanted into the valley
+and crossed the half-mile of "flats" whose wire fences and long,
+clean-cut irrigation ditches marked the passing of the cattle country.
+A billion mosquitoes filled the air with an unceasing low-pitched
+drone, and settled upon the horses in a close-fitting blanket of gray.
+The girls tried to fight off the stinging pests that attacked their
+faces and necks in whirring clouds. But they fought in vain and in
+vain they endeavored to urge the horses to a quickening of their pace,
+for impervious alike to the sting of the insects and the blows of the
+whip, the animals plodded along in the unvarying walk they had
+maintained since early morning.</p>
+
+<p>"This yere's the skeeter flats," imparted Microby, between slaps.
+"They hain't no skeeters in the mountains, mebbe it's too fer, an'
+mebbe they hain't 'nough folks fer 'em to bite out there, they's only
+us-uns an' a few more." As the girl talked the horses splashed into
+the shallow water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> of the ford and despite all effort to urge them
+forward, halted in mid-stream, and sucked greedily of the
+crystal-clear water. It seemed an hour before they moved on and
+assayed a leisurely ascent of the opposite bank. The air became
+pungent with the smell of smoke. They were in town, now, and as the
+wagon wheels sank deeply into the soft sand of the principal street,
+Patty noted that in front of the doors of most of the houses, slow
+fires were burning&mdash;fires that threw off a heavy, stifling smudge of
+smoke that spread lazily upon the motionless air and hung thick and
+low to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Skeeter smudges," explained Microby proud of being the purveyor of
+information, "towns has 'em, an' then the skeeters don't bite. Oh,
+look at the folks! Lest hurry up! They might be a fight! Las' time
+they wus a fight an' a breed cut a man Pap know'd an' the man got the
+breed down an' stomped on his face an' the marshal come an' sp'ilt
+hit, an' the man says if he'd of be'n let be he'd of et the breed up."</p>
+
+<p>"My, what a shame! And now you may never see a man eat a breed,
+whatever a breed is."</p>
+
+<p>"A breed's half a Injun." Microby was standing up on the seat at the
+imminent risk of her neck,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> peering over the heads of the crowd that
+thronged the sidewalk.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down!" commanded Patty, sharply, as she noted the amused glances
+with which those on the outskirts of the crowd viewed the ridiculous
+figure in the red dress and the pink sunbonnet. "They are waiting for
+the movie to open.</p>
+
+<p>"Whut's a movie? Is hit like the circust? Kin I go?" The questions
+crowded each other, as the girl scrambled to her seat, her eyes were
+big with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"Looky, there's Buck!" Patty's eyes followed the pointing finger, and
+she frowned at sight of the rangy buckskin tied with half a dozen
+other horses to the hitching rail before the door of a saloon. It
+seemed as she glanced along the street that nearly every building in
+town was a saloon. Half a block farther on she drew to the sidewalk
+and stopped before the door of a two-story wooden building that
+flaunted across its front the words "<span class="smcap">Montana Hotel</span>." As Patty climbed
+stiffly to the sidewalk each separate joint and muscle shrieked its
+aching protest at the fifteen-hour ride in the springless, jolting
+wagon. Microby placed her foot upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> sideboard and jumped, her
+cow-hide boots thudding loudly upon the wooden planking.</p>
+
+<p>"Oughtn't you stay with the horses while I make the arrangements?"</p>
+
+<p>Microby shook her head in vigorous protest. "They-all hain't a-goin'
+nowheres less'n they has to. An' I want to go 'long."</p>
+
+<p>A thick-set man, collarless and coatless, who tilted back in his chair
+with his feet upon the window ledge, glanced up indifferently as they
+entered and crossed to the desk, and returned his gaze to the window,
+beyond which objects showed dimly in the gathering darkness. After a
+moment of awkward silence Patty addressed him. "Is the proprietor
+anywhere about?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm him," grunted the man, without looking around.</p>
+
+<p>The girl's face flushed angrily. "I want a room and supper for two."</p>
+
+<p>"Nawthin' doin'. Full up."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there another hotel in this town?" she flashed angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to say that there is no place where we can get
+accommodation for the night?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's about the size of it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Can't we get anything to eat, either?" It was with difficulty Patty
+concealed her rage at the man's insolence. "If you knew how hungry we
+are&mdash;we've been driving since daylight with only a cold lunch for
+food." She did not add that the cold lunch had been so unappetizing
+she had not touched it.</p>
+
+<p>"Supper's over a couple hours, an' the help's gone out."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll pay you well if you can only manage to get us something&mdash;we're
+starved." The girl's rage increased as she noticed the gleam that
+lighted the heavy eyes. That, evidently was what he had been waiting
+for.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he began, but she cut him short.</p>
+
+<p>"And a room, too."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm full up, I told you. The only way might be to pay someone to
+double up. An' with these here cowpunchers that comes high. I might&mdash;"
+The opening of the screen door drew all eyes toward the man who
+entered and stood just within the room. As Patty glanced at the
+soft-brimmed hat, the brilliant scarf, and noticed that the yellow
+lamplight glinted upon the tip of polished buffalo horn, and the ivory
+butt of the revolver, her lips tightened. But the man was not looking
+at her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>&mdash;seemed hardly aware of her presence. The burly proprietor
+smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Vil. Somethin' I kin do fer you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered the man. He spoke quietly, but there was that in his
+voice that caused the other to glance at him sharply. "You can stand
+up."</p>
+
+<p>The man complied without taking his eyes from the cowboy's face.</p>
+
+<p>"I happened to be goin' by an' thought I'd stop an' see if I could
+take the team over to the livery barn for my&mdash;neighbors, yonder. The
+door bein' open, I couldn't help hearin' what you said." He paused,
+and the proprietor grinned.</p>
+
+<p>"Business is business, an' a man's into it fer all he kin git."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose that's so. I suppose it's good business to lie an' cheat
+women, an'&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I hain't lied, an' I hain't cheated no one. An' what business is it
+of yourn if I did? All my rooms is full up, an' the help's all gone to
+the pitcher show."</p>
+
+<p>"An' there's about a dozen or so cowmen stoppin' here to-night&mdash;the
+ones you talked of payin' to double up&mdash;an' there ain't one of 'em
+that wouldn't be glad to double up, or go out an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> sleep on the street
+if he couldn't get nowhere else to sleep, if you even whispered that
+there was a lady needed his room. The boys is right touchy when it
+comes to bein' lied about."</p>
+
+<p>The proprietor's face became suddenly serious. "Aw looky here, Vil, I
+didn't know these parties was friends of yourn. I'll see't they gits
+'em a room, an' I expect I kin dig 'em out some cold meat an'
+trimmin's. I was only kiddin'. Can't you take a joke?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I can take a joke. I'm only kiddin', too&mdash;an' so'll the boys be,
+after I tell 'em&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"They hain't no use rilin' the boys up. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"An' about that supper," continued the cowboy, ignoring the protest,
+"I guess that cold meat'll keep over. What these ladies needs is a
+good hot supper. Plenty of ham <i>and</i>, hot Java, potatoes, an' whatever
+you got."</p>
+
+<p>"But the help's&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Get it yourself, then. It ain't so long since you was runnin' a short
+order dump. You ain't forgot how to get up a quick feed, an' to give
+the devil his due, a pretty good one."</p>
+
+<p>The other started surlily toward the rear. "I'll do it, if&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You won't do it <i>if</i> nothin'. You'll do it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>&mdash;that's all. An' you'll
+do it at the regular price, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Say, who's runnin' this here <i>hotel</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"You're runnin' it, an' I'm tellin you how," answered the tall
+hillman, without taking his eyes from the other's face.</p>
+
+<p>The man disappeared, muttering incoherently, and Vil Holland turned to
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to thank you," ventured Patty. "Evidently your word carries
+weight with mine host."</p>
+
+<p>"It better," replied the cowpuncher, dryly. "An' you're welcome. I'll
+take the team across to the livery barn." He spoke impersonally, with
+scarcely a glance in her direction, and as the screen door banged
+behind him the girl flushed, remembering her own rudeness upon the
+trail.</p>
+
+<p>"Lawless he may be, and he certainly looks and acts the part," she
+murmured to herself as the wagon rattled away from the sidewalk, "but
+his propensity for turning up at the right time and the right place is
+rapidly becoming a matter of habit." A door beside the desk stood
+ajar, and above it, Patty read the words "<span class="smcap">Wash Room</span>." Pushing it open
+she glanced into the interior which was dimly lighted by a murky oil
+lamp that occupied a sagging bracket beside a distorted mirror.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> Two
+tin wash basins occupied a sink-like contrivance above which a single
+iron faucet protruded from the wall. Beside the faucet was tacked a
+broad piece of wrapping paper upon which were printed in a laborious
+scrawl the following appeals:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap f5">NOtiss</span></p>
+
+<ul>
+<li>Ples DoNT LEEv THE WaTTer RUN ITS hAN</li>
+<li>Pumpt.</li>
+<li>PLes DONT Waist THE ToWL.</li>
+<li>Kome AN BREsh AN TOOTH BResH IS INto</li>
+<li>THR Rak BESIDS THE MiRRoW.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;PLeS PUT</li>
+<li>EM baCK.</li>
+<li>THes IS hoUSE RULes AN WANts TO be OBayD</li>
+<li>KINLY.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><span class="f6">F. RuMMEL, PROP.</span></p></div>
+
+<p>Removing the trail dust from their faces and hands, the girls returned
+to the office and after an interminable wait the proprietor appeared,
+red-faced and surly. "Grub's on, an' yer room'll be ready agin you've
+et," he growled, and waddled to his place at the window.</p>
+
+<p>A generous supply of ham and eggs, fried potatoes, bread and butter,
+and hot coffee awaited them in the dining-room, and it seemed to Patty
+that never before had food tasted so good. Twenty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> minutes later, when
+they returned to the office the landlord indicated the stairway with a
+jerk of his thumb. "First door to the right from the top of the
+stairs, lamp's lit, extry blankets in the closet, breakfast from five
+'till half-past-seven." The words rattled from his lips in a single
+breath as he sat staring into the outer darkness.</p>
+
+<p>"If Aunt Rebecca could see me, now," smiled Patty to herself, as she
+led the way up the uncarpeted stairs, with Microby Dandeline's
+cow-hide boots clattering noisily in her wake.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<h2>SHEEP CAMP</h2>
+
+
+<p>If Patty Sinclair had anticipated annoyance from the forced attention
+of her tall horseman of the hills, she was disappointed, for neither
+at meals, nor during the shopping tour that occupied the whole of the
+following day, nor yet upon the long homeward drive, did he appear.
+The return trip was slower and more monotonous even than the journey
+to town. The horses crawled along the interminable treeless trail with
+the heavily loaded wagon bumping and rattling in the choking cloud of
+its own dust.</p>
+
+<p>The expedition had been a disappointing one to Microby. The "pitcher
+show" did not compare in interest with the never forgotten "circust."
+There had been no "fight" to break the monotony of purchasing
+supplies. And they had encountered no "nortymobiles."</p>
+
+<p>Despite the fact that they had started from town<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> at daylight,
+darkness overtook them at the canyon and it was with fear and
+misgiving that Patty contemplated the devious trail up Monte's Creek.
+The descent of this trail by daylight had taxed the girl's knowledge
+of horsemanship to the limit, and now to attempt its ascent with a
+heavily loaded wagon in the darkness&mdash;Microby Dandeline seemed to read
+her thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>"We-all cain't git up the crick, I don't reckon," she hazarded, but
+even as she spoke there was a flicker of light flashed through the
+darkness and, lantern in hand, Watts rose from his comfortable seat in
+a niche of rock near the fork of the trail and greeted them with his
+kindly drawl. "I 'lowed yo' all ort to be 'long d'rec'ly. I'll take
+'em now, Miss; the trail's kind of roughish like, but ef yo'll jist
+take the lantern an' foller 'long ahead I reckon we'll make hit all
+right. I've druv hit afore in the dark, an' no lantern, neither."
+Taking turns with the lantern, the girls led the way, and an hour and
+a half later halted before the door of the Watts cabin, where they
+became the center of an admiring group of young Wattses who munched
+their candy soberly as they gazed in reverent awe at the homing
+argonauts.</p>
+
+<p>The three mile walk up the rough trail did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> wonders for Patty's
+stiffened muscles, and it was with a feeling of agreeable surprise
+that she rose from her shake-down the following morning with scarcely
+an ache or a pain in her body.</p>
+
+<p>"Yer gittin' bruk in to hit," smiled Ma Watts, approvingly, as the
+girl sat down to her belated breakfast. But the surprise at her fit
+condition was nothing to the surprise of Ma Watts's next words. "Pa,
+he taken yer stuff on up to the sheep camp. He 'lowed yo'd want to git
+settled like. They taken yer pa's outfit along, too, an' when they git
+yo' onloaded they're a-goin' to work on the upper pasture fence. When
+Pa gits sot on a thing he goes right ahead an' does hit. Some thinks
+he's lazy, but hit hain't thet. He's easy goin'&mdash;all the Wattses
+wus&mdash;but when they git sot on a thing all kingdom come cain't stop 'em
+a-doin' hit. Trouble with Pa is he's got sot on settin'." Ma Watts
+talked on and on, and at the conclusion of the meal Patty drew a bill
+from her purse. But the woman would have none of it. "No siree, we-all
+hain't a-runnin' no <i>hotel</i>. Folks is welcome to come when they like
+an' stay as long as they want to, an' we're glad to hev 'em. Yer
+cayuse is a-waitin' out yender. The boys saddled him up fer yo'. Come
+down an' take pot luck<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> whenever yo're a mind. Microby Dandeline, she
+ketched up Gee Dot an' went a-taggin' 'long fer to help yo' git
+settled. Ef she gits in the way jist send her home. Foller up the
+crick," she called, as Patty mounted her horse. "Yo' cain't miss the
+sheep camp, hit's about a mild 'bove the upper pasture."</p>
+
+<p>Watts and the boys were just finishing the unloading of her supplies
+when Patty slipped from her horse and surveyed the little cabin with
+its dark background of pines.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit hain't so big as some," apologized the man, as he climbed into
+the wagon and gathered up the reins. "But the chinkin's tol'ble, an'
+the roof's middlin' tight 'cept a couple places wher' it leaks."</p>
+
+<p>The girl's glance strayed from the little log building to the untidy
+litter of rusty tin cans and broken bottles that ornamented its
+dooryard, and the warped and broken panels of the abandoned corral
+that showed upon the weed-choked flat across the creek. Stepping to
+the door, she peered into the interior where Microby was industriously
+sweeping the musty hay from the bunk with the brand-new broom. Thumbed
+and torn magazines littered the floor, a few discarded garments hung
+dejectedly from nails driven into the wall, while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> from the sagging
+door of the rough board cupboard bulged a miscellaneous collection of
+rubbish. A sense of depression obsessed her; <i>this</i> was to be her
+home! She sneezed and drew back hastily from the cloud of dust raised
+by Microby's broom. As she dabbed at her eyes and nose with a small
+and ridiculously inadequate handkerchief, she was conscious of an
+uncomfortable lump in her throat, and the moisture that dampened the
+handkerchief could not all be accredited to the sneeze tears. "What if
+I have trouble locating the mine and have to stay here all summer?"
+she was thinking, and instantly recalling the Watts ranch with its air
+of shiftless decay, the smelly Watts blankets in the overcrowded
+sleeping room, the soggy meals, the tapping of chickens' bills upon
+the floor, and the never ending voice of Ma Watts, she smiled. It was
+a weak, forced little smile, at first, but it gradually widened into a
+real smile as her eyes swept the little valley with its long vista of
+pine-clad hills that reached upward to the sky, their mighty sides and
+shoulders gored by innumerable rock-rimmed coulees and ravines.
+Somewhere amid the silence of those mighty slopes and high-flung peaks
+her father had found Eldorado&mdash;had wrested nature's secret from the
+guardianship of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> the everlasting hills. Her heart swelled with the
+pride of him. She was ashamed of that sudden welling of tears. The
+feeling of depression vanished and her heart throbbed to the lure of
+the land of gold. The two small Wattses had scrambled into the
+wagon-box.</p>
+
+<p>"Yo' goin' to like hit," announced Watts, noticing the smile. "I
+'lowed, fust-off yo'&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to <i>love</i> it!" interrupted the girl vehemently. "My father
+loved these hills, and I shall love them. And, as for the cabin! When
+Microby and I get through with it, it's going to be the dearest little
+place imaginable."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit wus a good sheep camp," admitted Watts, his fingers fumbling
+judiciously at his head. "An' they's a heap o' good feed goin' to
+waste in this yere valley. But ef the cattlemen wants to pay fer what
+they hain't gittin' hit hain't none o' my business, I reckon."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did they drive the sheep out? Surely, there is room for all here
+in the hills."</p>
+
+<p>"Vil Holland, he claimed they cain't no sheeps stay in the hill
+country. He claims sheeps is like small-poxt. Onct they git a-goin'
+they spread, an' like's not, the hull country's ruint fer cattle
+range."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It seems that Vil Holland runs this little corner of Montana."</p>
+
+<p>"He kind o' looks after things fer the cattlemen, but the prospectin's
+got into his blood, an' he won't stick to the cattle, only on the
+round-up, 'til he gits him a grub-stake. He's a good man&mdash;Vil is&mdash;ef
+it wusn't fer foolin' 'round with the prospectin'."</p>
+
+<p>Instantly, the girl's eyes flashed. "If it wasn't for the
+prospecting!" she exclaimed, in sudden anger. "My father was a
+prospector&mdash;and there was never a better man lived than he! Why is it
+that everyone looks askance at a prospector? You talk like the people
+back home! But, I'll show you all. My father made a strike. He told me
+of it on his death-bed, and he gave me the map, and the photographs
+and his samples. Maybe when I locate this mine and begin taking out
+more gold every day than most of you ever saw, you won't talk of
+people 'fooling around' prospecting. I tell you prospectors are the
+finest men in the world! They must have imagination, and unending
+patience, and the heart to withstand a thousand disappointments&mdash;" She
+broke off suddenly as the soft rattle of bit-chains sounded from
+behind her, and whirled to face Vil Holland. The man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> regarded her
+gravely, unsmiling. A gauntleted hand raised the Stetson from his
+head. As her eyes took in every detail, from the inevitable leather
+jug, to the tip of polished buffalo horn, she flushed. How long had he
+stood there, listening?</p>
+
+<p>The cowpuncher seemed to divine her thoughts. "I just happened along,"
+he said regarding her with his steady blue eyes. "I couldn't help
+hearin' what you said about the prospectors. You're right in the
+main."</p>
+
+<p>"I was speaking of my father. I am Rodney Sinclair's daughter."</p>
+
+<p>The man nodded. "Yes, I know."</p>
+
+<p>Watts rubbed his chin apologetically. "We-all thought a right smart o'
+yo' pa, didn't we, Vil? I didn't aim to rile yo'."</p>
+
+<p>"I know you didn't!" the girl smiled. "And thank you so much for
+bringing my things up so early." She turned to the cowboy who sat
+regarding the outfit indifferently. "I hope you'll overlook my lack of
+hospitality, but really I must get to work and help Microby or she'll
+have the whole house cleaned before I get started."</p>
+
+<p>"I saw the team here, an' thought I'd swing down to find out if Watts
+was movin' in another sheep outfit."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I've heard about your driving away the sheep man," returned Patty,
+with more than a trace of sarcasm in her tone. "I am moving into this
+cabin&mdash;am taking up my father's work where he left off. I suppose I
+should ask your permission to prospect in the hill country."</p>
+
+<p>"No," replied the man, gravely. "Just help yourself, only don't get
+lost, an' remember yer dad knew enough to play a lone hand. I must be
+goin', now. Good day." He turned his horse to see Microby standing in
+the doorway. "Hello, Microby Dandeline! House cleanin', eh? I s'pect
+you took in the picture show in town?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but circusts is better. I got some yallar ribbon fer my hat, an'
+a awful lot o' candies."</p>
+
+<p>"My, that's fine! How's ma an' the baby?"</p>
+
+<p>"They stayed hum. The baby'd squall. Pa an' the boys is goin' to mend
+fence, an' I'm a-goin' to stay yere an' he'p her clean up the sheep
+camp."</p>
+
+<p>The cowpuncher turned to Watts. "What's the big hurry about the
+fences, Watts? You goin' to take over a bunch of stock?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hosses," answered Watts with an important jerk at his scraggly beard.
+"I done rented the upper pasture to a man name o' Schultz over in
+Blackfoot country. Five dollars a month, I git<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> fer hit, an' five
+dollars fer every day er night they's hosses in hit. He done paid two
+months' rent a'ready."</p>
+
+<p>Vil Holland's brows puckered slightly. "Schultz, you say? Over in the
+Blackfoot country?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, he's aimin' to trail hosses from there over into Canady an' he
+wants some pastures handy."</p>
+
+<p>"Did Schultz see you about it himself?" asked Vil, casually.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Monk Bethune; he come by this way, an' he taken the pasture for
+Schultz."</p>
+
+<p>Patty noted an almost imperceptible narrowing of the cowpuncher's
+eyes, an expression, slight as it was, that spoke disapproval. The
+man's attitude angered her. Here was poor Watts, about to undertake
+the first work he had done in years, judging by the condition of the
+ranch, under stimulus of the few dollars promised him by Bethune, and
+this cowboy disapproved. "Are horses under the ban, too?" she asked
+quickly. "Hasn't Mr. Watts the right to rent his land for a horse
+pasture?"</p>
+
+<p>The man's answer seemed studiously rude in its direct brevity. "No,
+horses ain't under the ban. Yes, Watts can rent his land where he
+wants to. Good day." Before the girl could reply he reined<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> his horse
+abruptly about, and disappeared in the timber upon the opposite side
+of the creek.</p>
+
+<p>"Reckon I better be gittin' 'long, too," said Watts. "Microby's
+welcome to stay an' he'p yo'-all git moved in, but please mom, to
+see't she gits started fer hum 'fore dark. Hit takes thet ol' pinto
+'bout a hour to make the trip."</p>
+
+<p>Patty promised, and unsaddling, picketed her horse, and joined the
+girl in the dusty interior of the cabin. The musty hay, the discarded
+garments, and the two bushels or more of odds and ends with which the
+pack rats had filled the cupboard made a smudgy, smelly bonfire beside
+which Patty paused with an armful of discarded magazines. "Wouldn't
+you like to take these home?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Which?" inquired Microby, deftly picking a small stick from the
+ground with her bare toes and tossing it into the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"These magazines. There are stories and pictures in them."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't want none. We-alls cain't read, 'cept Ma, an' she's got a
+book&mdash;an' a bible, too," she added, with a touch of pride. "Davey, he
+kin mos' read, an' he kin drawer pitchers, too. Reckon he'll be a
+preacher when he's grow'd up, like Preacher Christie. He done read
+outen a book<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> when he babitized us-uns. I don't like to read. Ma, she
+aimed to learn me onct, but I'd ruther shuck beans."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe you didn't keep at it long enough," suggested Patty.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, we did! We kep' at hit every night fer two nights 'til hit come
+bedtime. I cain't learn them letters&mdash;they's too many diffe'nt ones,
+an' all mixed up."</p>
+
+<p>Patty smiled, but she did not toss the magazines into the fire.
+Instead she laid them aside with the resolve that when opportunity
+afforded, she would carry on the interrupted education.</p>
+
+<p>Microby's literary delinquency in no wise impaired her willingness to
+work. She had inherited none of her father's predilection toward
+eternal rest, and all day, side by side with Patty, she scraped, and
+scoured, and scrubbed, and washed, until the little cabin and its
+contents fairly radiated cleanliness. The moving in was great fun for
+the mountain girl. Especially the unpacking of the two trunks that
+resisted all efforts to lift them until their contents had been
+removed. But at last the work was finished even to the arrangement of
+dishes and utensils, the stowing of supplies, and the blowing up of
+the air mattress that replaced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> the musty hay of the sheep herder. And
+as the long shadows of mountains crept slowly across the little valley
+and began to climb the opposite slope, Patty stood in the door of her
+cabin and watched Microby mount the superannuated Indian pony and
+proceed slowly down the creek, her bare feet swinging awkwardly in the
+loops of rope that served as stirrups of her dilapidated stock saddle.</p>
+
+<p>When horse and rider disappeared into a grove of cottonwoods, Patty's
+gaze returned to her immediate surroundings&mdash;her saddle-horse
+contentedly snipping grass, the waters of the shallow creek burbling
+noisily over the stones, the untidy scattering of tin cans, and the
+leaning panels of the old sheep corral. She frowned at the panels.
+"I'll just use you for firewood," she muttered. "And that reminds me
+that I've got to wake up to my responsibility as head of the
+household&mdash;even if the household does only consist of one bay cayuse,
+named Dan, and a tiny one-room cabin, and two funny little
+squirrel-tailed pack rats, and me." She reached for her brand new ax,
+and picking her way from stone to stone, crossed the creek, and
+attacked a sagging panel.</p>
+
+<p>Patty Sinclair was no hot-house flower, and the hand that gripped the
+ax was strong and brown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> and capable. Back home she had been known to
+the society reporters as "an out-door girl," by which it was
+understood that rather than afternoon auction at henfests, she
+affected tennis, golf, swimming, and cross-country riding. She could
+saddle her own horse, and paddle a canoe for hours on end. Even the ax
+was no stranger to her hand, for upon rare occasions when her father
+had returned during the summer months from his everlasting
+prospecting, he had taken her to camp in the mountains, and there from
+the quiet visionary whom she loved more than he ever knew, she learned
+the ax, and the compass, and a hundred tricks of camp lore that were
+to stand her well in hand. Partly inherited, partly acquired through
+association with her father upon those never-to-be-forgotten
+pilgrimages to the shrine of nature, her love of the vast solitudes
+shone from her uplifted eyes as she stood for a moment, ax in hand,
+and let her gaze travel slowly from the sun-gilded peaks of the
+mountains, down their darkening sides, to the dusk-enshrouded reaches
+of her valley. "He used to watch the sun go down, and he never wearied
+at the wonder of it," she breathed, softly. "And then, as the darkness
+deepened and the bull-bats came wheeling overhead, and the
+whip-poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>-wills began calling from the thickets, he would light his
+pipe, and I would cuddle up close to him, and the firelight would grow
+redder and brighter and the soft warm dark would grow blacker. The
+pine trees would lose their shapes and blend into the formless night
+and mysterious shadow shapes would dance to the flicker of the little
+flames. It was then he would talk of the things he loved; of quartz,
+and drift, and the mother lode; of storms, and bears, and the scent of
+pines; of reeking craters, parched deserts, ice-locked barrens, and
+the wind-lashed waters of lakes. 'And some day, little daughter,' he
+would say, 'some day you are going with daddy and see all these things
+for yourself&mdash;things whose grandeur you have never dreamed. It won't
+be long, now&mdash;I'm on the right track at last&mdash;only till I've made my
+strike.' Always&mdash;'it won't be long now.' Always&mdash;'I'm on the right
+track, at last.' Always&mdash;'just ahead is the strike'&mdash;that lure, that
+mocking chimera that saps men's lives! And now, he is&mdash;gone, and I am
+chasing the chimera." Salt tears stung her eyes and blurred the
+timbered slopes. "They said he was a&mdash;a ne'er-do-well. He became
+almost a joke&mdash;" the words ended in a dry sob, as the bright blade of
+the ax crashed viciously into the rotting panel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> A few moments later
+she picked up an armful of wood, and retracing her steps, piled it
+neatly behind the stove. She lighted the fire, fetched a pail of water
+from the spring, and moved the picketed cayuse to a spot beside the
+creek where the grass was green and lush. She had intended after
+supper to study her map and familiarize herself with the two small
+photographs that were pinned to it. But, when the meal was over and
+the dishes washed and put away she was too sleepy to do anything but
+drop the huge wooden bar that the sheep herder had contrived to insure
+himself against a possible night attack from his enemies into its
+place and crawl into her bunk. How good it felt, she thought,
+sleepily&mdash;the yielding air mattress, and the soft, clean blankets,
+after the straw tick on the floor, and the course sour blankets in the
+Wattses' stuffy room.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhere, way off in the hills, a wolf howled and almost before the
+sound had died away the girl was asleep.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<h2>BETHUNE PAYS A CALL</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was past noon when Patty sank into the chair beside her table and
+glanced about her with a sigh of satisfaction. Warm June sunlight
+streamed through the open door and lay in a bright oblique patch upon
+the scrubbed floor. The girl's glance strayed past the door and rested
+with approval upon the little flat across the creek where a neat pile
+of panels replaced the broken sheep corral. She had spent hours in
+untwisting the baling wire with which they had been fastened to the
+posts and dragging them to the pile, and other hours in chopping a
+supply of firewood, and picking up the cans and broken bottles and
+pitching them into the deep ravine of a side coulee. Also she had
+built a little reservoir of rocks about her spring, and had found time
+to add a few touches to the interior of the cabin. "It's just as homey
+and cozy as it can be," she murmured, as her eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> strayed from the
+little window where the colored chintz curtain stirred lightly in the
+breeze, to the neatly arranged "dressing table" that she had contrived
+with the aid of four light packing boxes and a bit of figured
+cretonne. Another packing case, covered to match, served as a stool,
+and upon the wall above the table hung a small mirror. Four or five
+prints, looking oddly out of place, hung upon the dark log
+walls&mdash;pictures that had always hung in her room at Aunt Rebecca's,
+and which she had managed to crowd into one of the trunks. A fond
+imagination had pictured them adorning the walls of her "apartment"
+which was to be located in a spacious wing of the great Watts ranch
+house. "I don't care, I'm glad there wasn't any big ranch house," she
+muttered. "It's lots nicer this way, and I'm absolutely independent.
+We prospectors can't hope to be regular in our habits&mdash;and I've always
+wanted a house of my very own. Ten times better!" she exclaimed
+vehemently. "There won't be anybody to ask me every day or two if I've
+made my strike yet? And how much gold I brought back to-day? And all
+the other fool questions that seem so humorous to questioners and
+hearers, but which hurt and sting and rankle when you're sick at heart
+with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> disappointment, and gritting your teeth to keep up your courage
+and your belief in yourself. Oh I know! Daddy didn't know I knew, but
+I did&mdash;how it hurt when the village wits would slyly wink at each
+other as they asked their cruel questions. Even when I was a little
+girl I knew, and I could have <i>killed</i> them!" Her glance rested upon
+the canvas covered pack that lay in the corner at the foot of the
+bunk. "There are his things&mdash;his outfit, they call it here. I'm going
+to examine it." The sack of stiff oiled canvas, with its contents, was
+heavy, but the girl dragged it to the middle of the floor and
+squatting beside it, stared in dismay at the stout padlock and the
+chain that threaded a set of grommets. She was about to search for the
+key among the contents of her father's pockets which she had placed in
+the tray of her trunk, when her eye fell upon a thin slit close along
+the edge of the hem that held the grommets&mdash;a slit that, pulled wide,
+disclosed an aperture through which the contents of the sack could be
+easily removed but withal so cunningly contrived as to escape casual
+inspection. With an angry exclamation the girl stared at the gaping
+hole. "Someone has cut it!" she cried. "He doesn't seem to have taken
+much, though. It's about as full as it can be."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> She began hurriedly
+to remove the contents, piling them about her upon the floor. "I
+wonder if&mdash;if he left any papers, or note books, or maps, or things
+that would enable anyone to locate the claim? If he did," she
+muttered, peering into the empty sack, "they're gone, now."</p>
+
+<p>One by one, she returned the belongings, handling them tenderly, now,
+and examining them lovingly, and many an article was returned to the
+sack, wet with its splash of hot tears. "Here's his coffee pot, and
+his plate, and frying pan, and his old pipe&mdash;" the pipe she did not
+replace, but put it with the other things in her trunk. "And
+here&mdash;why, it's a revolver and a belt of cartridges&mdash;like Vil
+Holland's! And a hat like his, too! And I thought he was a desperado
+because he wore them!" She jumped to her feet and, hurrying to the
+mirror, tried on the hat, pinching the crown into a peak, tilting it
+this way and that, and arranging and rearranging the soft roll brim.
+"It fits!" she cried, delighted as a child, and then with eyes
+sparkling, picked up the belt with its row of yellow cartridges and
+its ivory handled six gun dangling in the holster. Buckling the belt
+about her waist, she laughed aloud as the buckle tongue came to rest a
+full six inches beyond the last hole.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> "I'll look just as desperate as
+he does, now&mdash;except for his old jug. Daddy didn't have any jug, and
+I'm glad&mdash;that's where the difference is&mdash;it's the jug. But, I wish he
+had had one of those black horn effects for his scarf." She knotted
+the brilliant red scarf with its zigzag border of yellow, about her
+neck, and snatching a small pair of scissors from the dressing table,
+removed the heavy belt, and proceeded to bore a tongue hole at the
+point she had marked with her finger nail. So engrossed she became in
+the work, that she failed to hear the approach of horses' feet, and
+started violently at the sound of a voice from the doorway. "Permit
+me." The six shooter thudded to the floor, and sweeping the hat from
+his head, Monk Bethune crossed the room, and replaced it upon the
+table. He smiled as he noticed the scar left upon the thick leather by
+the scissor points; and repeated. "Permit me, please." He drew a
+penknife from his pocket, and picked up the belt. "A knife is so much
+better."</p>
+
+<p>Ashamed of having been startled, Patty smiled. "Yes, please do. I had
+no idea it was so tough, or that scissors could be so dull."</p>
+
+<p>Deftly twirling the penknife, Bethune bored a neat hole in the
+leather. "There should be several<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> holes," he smiled, "for there are
+occasions in the hill country when one fails to connect with the
+commissary, and then it is that the tightening of the belt answers the
+purpose of a meal." Drilling as he talked, he soon finished the task
+and held up the belt for inspection. "Rod Sinclair's gun," he
+commented, sorrowfully. "And Rod's scarf, and hat, too. Ah, there was
+a man, Miss Sinclair! I doubt if even you yourself knew him as I knew
+him. You must ride and work with a man, in fair weather and foul; you
+must share his hardships, and his disappointments, yes and his joys,
+too, to really know him." A look of genuine affection shone from the
+man's eyes as he stood drawing his fingers gently along the rims of
+the shiny cartridges. He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to
+the girl. His manner, the look in his eyes, the very tone of his
+voice, were so intrinsically honest in their expression of unbounded
+sympathy with his subject, and his mood fitted so thoroughly with her
+own, that the girl's heart suddenly warmed toward this man who spoke
+so feelingly of her father. She flushed slightly as she remembered
+that upon the occasion of their previous meeting, his words had
+engendered a feeling of distrust.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You knew him&mdash;well?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Like a brother. For two years we have worked together in our search
+for the mother lode that both believed lay concealed deep within the
+bosom of these hills. A dozen times during those two years our hopes
+have risen, as only the hopes can rise, of those who seek gold. A
+dozen times it seemed certain that at last we had reached our goal.
+But, always it was the same&mdash;a false lead&mdash;shattered hopes&mdash;and a
+fresh start. Those were the times, Miss Sinclair, that your father
+showed the stuff that was in him. He was a better man than I. It was
+his Spartan acceptance of disappointment, his optimism, and his
+unshaken faith in ultimate success, that kept me going. I suppose it
+is my French ancestry that is responsible for my lack of just the
+qualities that made your father the man he was. I lacked his
+stability&mdash;his balance. I had imagination&mdash;vision, possibly greater
+than his. And under the stimulus of apparent success, my spirits would
+rise to heights his never knew. But I paid for it&mdash;no one knows how
+bitterly I paid. For when apparent success turned into failure, mine
+were depths of despair he never descended to. At first, before I
+learned that his disappointment was as bitter as my own,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> his smiling
+acceptance of failure, used to goad me to fury. There were times I
+could have killed him with pleasure&mdash;but that was only at first.
+Before we had been long together God knows how I came to depend on
+those smiles. Then, at last, we struck it&mdash;and poor Rod&mdash;" The man's
+voice which had dropped very low, broke suddenly. He cleared his
+throat and turning abruptly, stared out the door toward the green
+sweep of pines on the mountain slopes.</p>
+
+<p>There was a long silence during which the words kept repeating
+themselves in the girl's brain. "<i>Then, at last, we struck it.</i>" What
+did he mean? His back was toward her, and she saw that the muscles of
+his neck worked slowly, as though he were swallowing repeatedly.</p>
+
+<p>When at last she spoke, her voice sounded strangely dull to her own
+ears. "Do you mean that you and my father were partners, and that you
+know the location of his mine?"</p>
+
+<p>Bethune faced her, laying the belt gently upon the table. "Partners?"
+He repeated the word as though questioning himself. "Hardly partners,
+I should say. We were&mdash;it is hard to define the exact relationship
+that existed between Rod Sinclair and me. There was never any
+agreement of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> partnership, rather a sort of tacit understanding, that
+when we struck the lode, we should work it together. Your father knew
+vastly more about rock than I, although I had long suspected the
+existence of this lode. But extensive interests to the northward
+prevented me from making any continued search for it. However, I found
+time at intervals to spend a month or six weeks in these hills, and it
+was upon one of these occasions that we struck up the acquaintance
+that ripened into a sort of mutuality of interest. Neighbors are few
+and far between in the hill country, and those not exactly of the type
+that attract men of education. I think each found in the other a man
+of his own stripe, and thus a friendship sprang up between us that
+gradually led to a merging of interests. His were by far the most
+valuable activities in the field, while I, from time to time, advanced
+certain funds for the carrying on of the work.</p>
+
+<p>"But let us not talk of business matters. Time enough for that." He
+stepped to the doorway and glanced down the creek. "Here comes Clen
+and we must be going. While he stopped at Watts's to reset a shoe I
+rode on to inquire if there is any way in which I may serve the
+daughter of my friend.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Oh-ho! I see Clen is carrying something very gingerly. He has
+prevailed upon the good Mrs. Watts to sell him some eggs. A great
+gourmand&mdash;but a good fellow at heart. I think a great deal of Clen,
+even though it was he who&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But tell me, before you go," interrupted the girl. "Do you know the
+location of my father's mine?"</p>
+
+<p>Bethune turned from the door, smiling. Patty noticed with surprise
+that the dark, handsome features looked almost boyish when he smiled.
+There had been no hint of boyishness before, in fact something of
+baffling inscrutability in the black eyes, gave the man an expression
+of extreme sophistication. "Do not call it a mine," he laughed. "At
+least, not yet. A mine is a going proposition. If your father actually
+succeeded in locating the lode, it is a strike. Had he filed, it would
+be a claim. Had he started operation it would be a proposition&mdash;but
+not until there is ore on the dump will it be a mine."</p>
+
+<p>"If he actually succeeded!" cried Patty. "I thought you said&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The man interrupted with a wave of the hand. "So I did, for I believe
+he did succeed. In fact, knowing Rod Sinclair as I did, I am certain
+of it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"But the location of the&mdash;the strike," she persisted, "do you know
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>Bethune shook his head sadly. "Had your father filed the claim, all
+would have been well. But, who am I to question Rod's judgment? For on
+the other hand, if he had filed, word of the strike would have spread
+broadcast, and the whole hill country would immediately have been
+overrun by stampeders&mdash;those vultures that can scent a gold strike for
+five thousand miles. No one knows where they come from, and no one
+knows where they go. It was to guard our secret from these that
+prompted your father not to file. We had planned to establish our
+friends on the adjoining claims, and thus build up a syndicate of our
+own choosing. So he did not file, but it was through no fault of his
+that I remain ignorant of the location, but rather it was the result
+of a combination of unforeseen circumstances. You shall judge for
+yourself.</p>
+
+<p>"I was deep in the wilds of British Columbia, upon another matter,
+when Rod unearthed the lode, and, not knowing this, he hastened at
+once to my camp. He found Clen there and after expressing
+disappointment at my absence, sat down and hurriedly sketched a map,
+and taking from his pocket a photograph, he wrapped both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> in a piece
+of oilskin, and handed them to Clen, with instructions to travel night
+and day until he had delivered the packet to me. He told him that he
+had located the lode and was hurrying East to procure the necessary
+capital and would return in the early spring for immediate operation."
+Bethune paused and, with his eyes upon the Englishman who was
+dismounting, continued:</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Clen! He did his best, and I do not hold his failure against
+him, for his was a journey of hardship and peril such as few men could
+have survived. Upon receiving the packet he started within the hour.
+That night he camped at the line, and that night, too, came the first
+snow of the season. He labored on next day to the railway and took a
+train to Edmonton, and from there, to Fort George, where he succeeded
+in procuring an Indian guide for the dash into the wilderness beyond
+the railway. The early months of last winter were among the most
+terrible in the history of the North. Storm after storm hurtled out of
+the Arctic, and between storms the bitter winds from the barrens to
+the eastward roared with unabated fury. Yet Clen and his guide pushed
+on, fighting the cold and the snow. Up over the Height of Land, to the
+Hudson Bay Post at the head of the Parsnip,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> where I was making my
+headquarters, and where I had lain snowbound for ten days. It was
+during the descent of Crooked River, a quick water, treacherous
+stream, whose thin ice was covered with snow, that the accident
+happened that cost me the loss of the location, and nearly cost Clen
+his life. The Indian guide was mushing before, bent low with the
+weight of his pack, and head lowered to the sweep of the wind. Clen
+followed. At the head of a newly frozen rapid, the Englishman suddenly
+broke through and was plunged into the icy waters. Grasping the ice,
+he managed to draw himself up so that his elbows rested upon the edge,
+and in this position he called again and again to the guide. But the
+Indian was far ahead, his ears were muffled in his fur cap, and the
+wind roared through the scrub, drowning Clen's voice. The icy waters
+numbed him and sucked at his body seeking to drag him to his doom. The
+heavy pack was dragging him slowly backward, and his hold upon the ice
+was slipping. Then, and not until then, Clen did what any other man
+who possessed the strength, would have done. He worked the knife from
+his belt and cut the straps of his pack sack. In an instant it
+disappeared beneath the ice, and with it the location of your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
+father's strike. Relieved of the weight upon his shoulders, Clen had a
+fighting chance for his life, but it is doubtful if he would have won
+had it not been that the Indian, missing him at last, returned in the
+nick of time, and with the aid of a loop of <i>babiche</i>, succeeded in
+drawing him from the water. The rest of the day was spent in drying
+Clen's clothing beside a miserable fire of brushwood, and the next day
+they made Fort McLeod, more dead than alive."</p>
+
+<p>"Lord" Clendenning had dismounted, deposited his precious basket of
+eggs upon the ground, and stood in the doorway as Bethune concluded
+his narrative. When the man ceased speaking the Englishman shook his
+head sadly. "Yes, yes, it seemed to me then, as I clung to the edge of
+the bloomin' ice, freezin' from my feet up, that my only chance was in
+bein' rid of the pack. But, I've thought since that maybe if I'd held
+on just a few minutes longer, the bloody Injun would have got there in
+time to save both me an' the pack to boot."</p>
+
+<p>"There you go again!" exclaimed Bethune, with a trace of impatience in
+his voice. "How many times have I told you to quit this
+self-accusation. A man who covered fifty miles on horseback, seven
+hundred on the train, and then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> nearly a hundred a-foot, under
+conditions such as you faced, has nothing to be ashamed of in the
+failure of his mission. It is your loss as well as mine, for you also
+were to have profited by the strike. It is possible, however, that all
+will be well&mdash;that Miss Sinclair has her father's original map, and a
+duplicate of the photograph, or better yet, the film from which the
+print was made."</p>
+
+<p>Pausing he glanced at the girl significantly, but she was gazing past
+him&mdash;past Clendenning, her eyes upon the giant up-sweep of the hills.
+He hurried on, "So now you have the whole story. I had not meant to
+speak of it, to-day. Really, we must be going. If I can be of service
+to you in any way, Miss Sinclair, I am yours to command. We will drop
+in again, after you have had time to get used to your surroundings,
+and lay our plans for the rediscovery of the mother lode." Smiling he
+pointed to the canvas bag upon the floor. "Your father's pack sack,"
+he said. "I should know it in a thousand. He devised it himself. It is
+a clever combination of the virtues of several of the standard packs,
+and an elimination of the evils of all." He stooped closer. "What's
+this? You should not have cut it! Couldn't you find the key? If not,
+it would have been a simple matter to file a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> link of the chain, and
+leave the sack undamaged." He laughed, shortly. "But, that, I suppose,
+is a woman's way."</p>
+
+<p>"I did not cut it. It was cut before it came here. My father left it
+in Mr. Watts's care and he stored it in the barn. Look at the edges,
+it is an old cut."</p>
+
+<p>"So it is!" exclaimed Bethune, as he and Lord Clendenning bent close
+to examine it. "So it is. I wonder who&mdash;" Suddenly he ceased speaking,
+and stood for a moment with puckered brows. "I wonder," he muttered.
+"I wonder if he would have dared? Yes, I think he would. He knew of
+Rod's strike, and he would stop at nothing to steal the secret."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe Mr. Watts, nor any of the Wattses cut that pack,"
+defended the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Neither do I. Watts has his faults, but dishonesty is not one of
+them. No. The man who cut that pack, was the man who carried it
+there&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Vil Holland!" exclaimed Lord Clendenning. "My word, d'ye think he'd
+dare? Yes, Watts told us that he brought in the pack because Sinclair
+was in a hurry. The bloody scamp! He should be jolly well trounced!
+I'll do it myself if I see him, so help me Bob, I will!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Bethune turned to the girl. "You have examined his effects. Was there
+evidence of their having been tampered with?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I don't know. If he left any papers or maps or things like
+that in there it most certainly has been tampered with, for they are
+not there now."</p>
+
+<p>The man smiled. "I think we are safe in assuming that there were no
+maps or papers of value in the outfit. Your father was far too shrewd
+to have left anything of the sort to the tender mercies of Vil
+Holland. By cutting the pack Vil merely gave evidence of his
+unscrupulous methods without in any way profiting by it. And, as for
+the map and photographs in your possession, I should advise you to
+find some good hiding place for them and not trust to carrying them
+about upon your person." Swiftly Patty glanced at the speaker. That
+last injunction, somehow, did not ring quite true. But he had turned
+to the door, and a moment later when he faced her to bid her adieu,
+the boyish smile was again curling his lips, and he mounted and rode
+away.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h2>IN THE CABIN</h2>
+
+
+<p>For a long time after the departure of her visitors, Patty Sinclair
+sat thinking. Was it true, all this man had told her? She remembered
+vividly the beautiful tribute he had paid her father and the emotion
+that had gripped him as he finished. Surely his words rang true. They
+were true, or else the man was a consummate actor as well as an
+unscrupulous knave. She recalled the boyish smile, the story of Lord
+Clendenning's terrible journey, and the impatience with which he had
+silenced the Englishman's self-criticism. What would be more natural
+than that two men thrown together in the middle of the hill country,
+as her father and Bethune had been thrown together, should have pooled
+their interests, especially if each possessed an essential that the
+other did not. There had been somehow a sincerity about the man that
+carried conviction. She liked his ready<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> admission that her father's
+knowledge of mining greatly exceeded his own. And the assertion that
+he had advanced sums of money for the carrying on of the work sounded
+plausible enough, for the girl knew that her father's income had been
+small&mdash;pitiably small, but enough, he had always insisted, for his
+meager needs. Unquestionably, up to that point the man's words had
+carried the ring of truth. Then came the false notes; the open
+accusation of Vil Holland, and the warning as to the concealment of
+the map and photos which she had twice purposely refused to admit that
+she possessed. This was the second time he had gone out of his way to
+warn her against Vil Holland. On occasion of their previous meeting,
+he had hinted that Holland might pose as a friend of her father&mdash;a
+pose Bethune, himself, boldly assumed. Perhaps Vil Holland had been a
+friend of her father. In the matter of the pack sack, to whom would a
+man intrust his belongings, if not to a friend? Surely not to an
+enemy, nor to one he had reason to suspect. And now Bethune openly
+accused him of cutting the pack sack, and intimated that he would not
+hesitate to rob her of her secret.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time she sat with her elbow on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> table and her chin
+resting in her palm, staring out at the overshadowing hills. "If there
+was only somebody," she muttered. "Somebody I could&mdash;" Suddenly she
+leaped to her feet. "No, I'm glad there isn't! I'll play the game
+alone! I came out here to do it, and I'll do it, in spite of forty Vil
+Hollands, and Bethunes, and Lord Clendennings! I'll find the mine
+myself&mdash;and I'll call it a mine, too, if I want to! And then, after I
+find it, if Mr. Monk Bethune can show me that he is entitled to a
+share in it, I'll give it to him&mdash;and not before. I'll stay right here
+till I find it, or till my money gives out, and when it does, I'll
+earn some more and come back again till that's gone!" Crossing the
+room, she stamped determinedly out the door, threw the saddle onto her
+cayuse, and rode rapidly down the creek. Horseback riding always
+exhilarated her, even back home where she had been obliged to keep to
+roads, or the well-worn courses of the hunt club. But here in the
+hills where the very air was a tonic that sent the blood coursing
+through her veins, and where tier after tier, the mighty mountains
+rolled away into the distance, as if flaunting a challenge to come and
+explore their secrets, and unscarred valleys gave glimpses of alluring
+vistas, the exhilaration<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> amounted almost to intoxication. As her
+horse's feet thudded the ground, and splashed in and out of the
+shallows of the creek, she laughed aloud for the very joy of living.
+She pulled her horse to a walk as she skirted the fence of Watts's
+upper pasture, and her eyes rested with approval upon the straightened
+posts and taut wire. "At last Mr. Watts has bestirred himself. I hope
+he will keep on, now, that he's got the habit, and fix up the rest of
+the ranch. I wonder why that Vil Holland disapproved when he mentioned
+that he had leased his pasture. It seems as though nothing can happen
+in this country unless Vil Holland is mixed up in it someway. And, now
+I'm down this far, I'll just find out whether Vil Holland did take
+that pack down here for daddy. And if he did I'll let him know mighty
+quick, the next time I see him, that I know all about it's being cut
+open."</p>
+
+<p>With her tubs on a bench, and the baby propped and tied securely in an
+old wooden rocker, Ma Watts was up to her elbows in her "week's
+worsh." Watts sat in his accustomed place, his chair tilted against
+the shady side of the house. "Laws sakes, ef hit hain't Mr. Sinclair's
+darter!" cried the woman, shaking the suds from her bare arms, "How be
+yo', honey? An' how's the sheep camp?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> Microby Dandeline tellen us how
+yo'-all scrubbed, an' scraped, an' cleaned 'til hit shined like a
+nigger's heel. Hit's nice to be clean, that-a-way ef yo' got time, but
+with five er six young-uns to take keer of, an' a passel of chickens
+a-runnin' in under foot all day, seems like a body cain't keep clean
+nohow. Microby says how yo' got a rale curtin' in yo' winder, an' all
+kinds of pert doin' an' fixin's. That's hit, git right down off yer
+horse. Land! I wus so busy hearin' 'bout yo' fixin' up the sheep camp,
+thet I plumb fergot my manners. Watts, get a cheer! An' 'pears like
+yo' could say 'Howdy' when anyone comes a visitin'."</p>
+
+<p>"I aimed to," mumbled Watts apologetically, as he dragged a chair from
+the kitchen, "I wus jest a-aidgin' 'round fer a chanct."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't stay but a minute, see, the shadows are already half way
+across the valley. I just thought I'd take a little ride before
+supper."</p>
+
+<p>"Law, yes, some folks likes to ride hossback, but fer me, I'd a heap
+ruther go in a jolt wagon. Beats all the dif'fence in folks. Seems
+like the folks out yere jist take to hit nachel. Yo' be'n huntin' yo'
+pa's location yet?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I've been getting things in shape around the cabin. I'm going to
+start prospecting to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>-morrow." She glanced back along the valley, "I
+suppose my father came along this way when he left his pack on his way
+East," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"No, mom," Watts rubbed his chin, reflectively. "Hit wus Vil Holland
+brung in his pack. Seems like yo' pa wus in a right smart of a hurry
+when he left, so Vil taken his pack down yere an' me an' the boys put
+hit in the barn fer to keep hit saft. Then Vil he rud on down the
+crick, hell bent fer 'lection&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Watts! Hain't yo' shamed a-cussin'?" cried his scandalized spouse.</p>
+
+<p>"Why was he in such a hurry?" asked the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"I dunno. He jes' turned the mewl loost an' says to keep the pack till
+yo' pa come back, an' larruped off."</p>
+
+<p>Patty rose from the chair and gathered up her bridle reins. "I must be
+going, really. You see, I've got my chores to do, and supper to get,
+and I want to go to bed early so I'll be fresh in the morning." She
+mounted, and turned to Ma Watts: "Can't you come up some day and bring
+the children? I'd love to have you. Let's arrange the day now, so I
+will be sure to be home."</p>
+
+<p>"Lawzie, I'd give a purty! Listen at thet, now, Watts. Cain't we fix
+to go?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Watts fumbled his beard: "Why, yas, I reckon, some day, mebbe."</p>
+
+<p>"What day can you come?" asked Patty.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, le's see, this yere's about a Tuesday." He paused, glanced up
+at the sky, and gave careful scrutiny to the horizon. "How'd Sunday a
+week suit yo'&mdash;ef hit don't rain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fine," agreed the girl, smiling. "And, by the way, I came down past
+the upper pasture. The fence looks grand. It didn't take long to fix
+it, did it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, hit tuk quite a spell&mdash;all day yeste'day, an' up 'til noon
+to-day. We only got one side an' halft another done, an' they's two
+sides an' a halft yet. But Mr. Bethune came by this noon, him an'
+Lord, an' 'lowed he worn't in no gret hurry fer hit, causen he heerd
+from Schultz thet the hoss business 'ud haf to wait over a spell&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"An' Lord, he come down an' boughten a lot of aigs offen me. Him an'
+Mr. Bethune is both got manners."</p>
+
+<p>"Women folks likes 'em better'n what men does, seems like," opined
+Watts, reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't men like them?" asked the girl eagerly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I dunno. Seems like they jes' nachelly mistrust 'em someways."</p>
+
+<p>"Did my father like him&mdash;Mr. Bethune?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Cordin' to Mr. Bethune they wus gret buddies, but when I'd run
+acrost yo' pa in the hills, 'pears like he wus allus alone er elsen
+Vil Holland was along. But, Mr. Bethune claims he set a heap by yo'
+pa, like the time he come an' 'lowed to take away his pack. I wouldn't
+let hit go, 'cause thet hain't the way Vil said, an' Mr. Bethune, he
+started in to git mad, but then he laffed, an' said hit didn't make no
+diff'ence, 'cause all he wanted wus to be shore hit wus saft kep."</p>
+
+<p>"An' Pa mos' hed to shoot him, though, 'fore he laffed. I done tol' Pa
+he hadn't ort to. Lessen yo' runnin' a still, yo' hain't no call to
+shoot folks comin' 'round."</p>
+
+<p>"Shoot him!" exclaimed Patty, staring in surprise at the easy-going
+Watts.</p>
+
+<p>"Yas, he aimed to take thet pack anyways. So I went in an' got down
+the ol' rifle-gun an' pintedly tole him I'd shoot him dead ef he laid
+holt o' thet pack, an' then he laffed an' rud off."</p>
+
+<p>"But, would you have shot him, really?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yas," answered the mountaineer, in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'd of hed
+to."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Patty rode home slowly and in silence&mdash;thinking. And that evening, by
+the light of her coal-oil lamp she puzzled over the roughly sketched
+map with its cryptic signs and notations. There were a half-dozen
+samples, too&mdash;chips of rough, heavy rock that didn't look a bit like
+gold. "High grade," her daddy had called them as he babbled
+incessantly upon his death-bed. But they looked dull and unpromising
+to the girl as they lay upon the table. She returned to the sketch.
+With the exception of a single small dot, placed beside what was
+evidently the principal creek of the locality, the map consisted only
+of lines and shadings which evidently indicated creeks and
+mountains&mdash;no cross, no letter, no number&mdash;nothing to indicate
+landmark or location, only a confusing network of creeks and feeders
+branching out like the limbs of a tree. Along the bottom of the paper
+the girl read the following line:</p>
+
+<p>"SC 1 S1 1/2 E 1 S &#8593; to &#8745; 2 W to a. to b. stake L.C. &#8721; centre."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose that was all clear as daylight to daddy, and maybe it would
+be to anyone who is used to maps, but as for doing me any good, he
+might as well have copied a line from the Chinese dictionary."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She stared hopelessly at the unintelligible line, and then at the two
+photographs. One, taken evidently from a point well up the side of a
+hill, showed a narrow valley, flanked upon the opposite side by a high
+rock wall. Toward the upper end of the wall an irregular crack or
+cleft split it from top to bottom. The other was a "close up" taken at
+the very base of the cleft, and showed only the narrow aperture in the
+rock, and the ground at its base. For a long time she sat studying the
+photographs, memorizing every feature and line of them; the
+conformation of the valley, the contour of the rock wall, the position
+and shapes of the trees and rock fragments. "That must be the mine,"
+she concluded, at length, "right there at the bottom of that crack."
+She closed her eyes and conjured a mental picture of the little
+valley, of the rock wall, and of the cleft that would mark the
+location. "I'd know it if I should see it," she muttered, "let's see:
+big broken rocks strewn along the floor of the valley, and a tiny
+creek, and then the rock cliff, it must be about as high as&mdash;about
+twice as tall as the trees that grow along the foot of it, and it's
+highest at the upper end, then there's a big tree standing alone
+almost in the middle of the valley, and the gnarled,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> scraggly trees
+that grow along the top of the rocks, and the valley must be as wide
+as from here to that clump of trees beyond my wood-pile&mdash;about a
+block, I guess. And there's the big crack in the cliff that starts
+straight," she traced the course of the crack with her finger upon the
+table top, "and then zigzags to the ground." Her glance returned to
+the map, and she frowned. "I don't think that's a bit of good to me.
+But I don't care as long as I have the photographs. I'll just ride,
+and ride, and ride through these hills till I find that valley, and
+then&mdash;" The little clock on the shelf beside the mirror ticked loudly.
+Her thoughts strayed far beyond the confines of the little cabin on
+Monte's Creek, as she planned how she would spend the golden stream
+that was to flow from the foot of the rock ledge.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually her vision became confused, the incessant ticking of the
+little clock sounded farther, and farther away, her head settled to
+rest upon her folded arms, and she was in the midst of a struggle of
+some kind, in which a belted cowboy and a suave, sloe-eyed
+quarter-breed were fighting to gain possession of her mine&mdash;or, were
+they trying to help her locate it? And what was it daddy was trying to
+tell her? She couldn't quite hear. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> wished he would talk
+louder&mdash;but it was something about the mine, and the men who were
+struggling.... She awoke with a start, and glanced swiftly about the
+cabin. The roots of her hair along the back of her neck tingled
+uncomfortably. She felt she was not alone&mdash;that somewhere eyes were
+watching her. The chintz curtain that screened the open window swayed
+lightly in the night breeze and she jumped nervously. "I'm a perfect
+fool!" she exclaimed, aloud: "As if any 'Jack the Peeper' would be
+prowling around these mountains! It's just nerves, that's all it is."</p>
+
+<p>Slipping the map and the photographs beneath a plate, she crossed to
+the door and made sure the bar was in place, took the white butted
+revolver from its holster, and with a determined tightening of the
+lips, stepped to the window, drew the curtain aside, and stood peering
+out into the dark. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock, and
+the purling of the water as it rushed among the stones of the shallow
+ford. Overhead the stars winked brightly, in sharp contrast to the
+velvet blackness of the pines. The sound of the water soothed her, and
+she laughed&mdash;a forced little laugh, but it made her feel better.
+Crossing to the table she blew out the lamp and, placing her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> revolver
+at the head of her bunk, undressed in the darkness. She raised the
+plate, took the map and the two precious photographs, placed them in
+their envelope, and slipped the chain about her neck.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time she lay between her blankets, wide awake, conscious
+that she was straining her ears to catch some faint sound. A half
+dozen times she caught herself listening with nerves on edge and
+muscles taut, and each time forced herself to relax. But always she
+came back to that horrible, tense listening. She charged herself with
+cowardice, and pooh-poohed her fears, but it was no use, and she wound
+up by covering her head with her blanket. "I don't care, there <i>was</i>
+somebody watching, but if he thinks he's going to find out where I
+keep these," her hand clutched the little oiled packet, "he'll have to
+come again, that's all."</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly an hour later that Monk Bethune quitted his post close
+against the cabin wall, at the point where the chinking had fallen
+away from the logs, and slipped silently into the timber.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<h2>PROSPECTING</h2>
+
+
+<p>The gray of early morning was just beginning to render objects in the
+little room indistinguishable when Patty awoke. She made a hasty
+toilet, lighted the fire, and while the water was heating for her
+coffee, delved into the pack sack and drew out a gray flannel shirt
+which she viewed critically from every conceivable angle. She tried it
+on, turning this way and that, before the mirror. "Daddy wasn't so
+much larger than I am," she smiled, "I can take a tuck in the sleeves,
+and turn back the collar and it will fit pretty well. Anyway, it will
+be better than that riding jacket. It will look less citified, and
+more&mdash;more prospecty." A few moments sufficed for the alteration and
+as the girl stood before the mirror and carefully knotted her
+brilliant scarf, she nodded emphatic approval.</p>
+
+<p>Breakfast over, she washed her dishes and as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> she put them on their
+shelf her glance rested upon the bits of broken rock fragments.
+Instantly, her thoughts flew to the night before, and the feeling that
+someone had been watching her. Rapidly her glance flashed about the
+cabin searching a place to hide them. "They're too heavy to carry,"
+she murmured. "And, yet," her eyes continued their search, lingering
+for a moment upon some nook or corner only to flit to another, and
+another, "every place I can think of seems as though it would be the
+very first place anyone would look." Her eyes fell upon the empty
+tomato can that she had forgotten to throw into the coulee after last
+night's supper. She placed the samples in the can. "I might put it
+with the others in the cupboard, but if anybody looked there they
+would be sure to see that it had been opened. Where do people hide
+things? I might go out and dig a hole and bury it, but if anyone were
+watching&mdash;" Suddenly her eyes lighted: "The very thing," she cried:
+"Nobody would think of looking among those old bottles and cars." And
+placing the can in the pan of dish-water, she carried it out and threw
+it onto the pile of rubbish in the coulee. Returning to the cabin, she
+put on her father's Stetson, slipped his revolver<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> into its holster,
+and buckling the belt about her waist, gave one last approving glance
+into the mirror, closed the door behind her, and saddled her horse.
+With the bridle reins in her hand she stood irresolute. In which
+direction should she start? Obviously, if she must search the whole
+country, she should begin somewhere and work systematically. She felt
+in the pocket of her skirt and reassured herself that the compass she
+had taken from the pack sack was there. Her eyes swept the valley and
+came to rest upon a deep notch in the hills that flanked it upon the
+west. A coulee sloped upward to the notch, and mounting, the girl
+crossed the creek and headed for the gap. It was slow and laborious
+work, picking her way among the loose rocks and fallen trees of the
+deep ravine that narrowed and grew steeper as she advanced. Loose
+rocks, disturbed by her horse's feet, clattered noisily behind her,
+and marks here and there in the soil told her that she was not the
+first to pass that way. "I wonder who it was?" she speculated. "Either
+Monk Bethune, or Vil Holland, or Lord Clendenning, I suppose. They all
+seem to be forever riding back and forth through the hills." At last
+she gained the summit, and pulled up to enjoy the view. Judging by
+the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> trampled buffalo grass that capped the divide, the rider who
+preceded her had also stopped. She glanced backward, and there,
+showing above the tops of the trees that covered the slope, stood her
+own cabin, looking tiny and far away, but with its every detail
+standing out with startling clearness. She could even see the ax
+standing where she had left it beside the door, and the box she had
+placed at the end of the log wall to take the place of the cupboard as
+a home for the pack rats. "Whoever it was could certainly keep track
+of my movements from here without the least risk of being discovered,"
+she thought, "and if he had field glasses!" She blushed, and turned
+her eyes to survey the endless succession of peaks and passes and
+valleys that lay spread out over the sea of hills. "How in the world
+am I ever going to find one tiny little valley among all these?" she
+wondered. Her heart sank at the vastness of it all, and at her own
+helplessness, and the utter hopelessness of her stupendous task. "Oh,
+I can never, never do it," she faltered, "&mdash;never." And, instantly
+ashamed of herself, clenched her small, gloved fist. "I will do it! My
+daddy found his mine, and he didn't have any pictures to go by either.
+He just delved and worked for years and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> years&mdash;and at last he found
+it. I'd find it if there were twice as many hills and valleys. It may
+take me years&mdash;and I may find it to-day&mdash;just think! This very day I
+may ride into that little valley&mdash;or to-morrow, or the next day. It
+can't be far away. Mrs. Watts said daddy was always to be found within
+ten miles of the ranch."</p>
+
+<p>She headed her horse down the opposite slope that slanted at a much
+easier gradient than the one she had just ascended. The trees on this
+side of the divide were larger and the hillside gradually flattened
+into a broad, tilted plateau. She gave her horse his head and breathed
+deeply of the pine-laden air as the animal swung in beside a tiny
+creek that flowed smooth and black through the dusky silence of the
+pines whose interlacing branches, high above, admitted the sunlight in
+irregular splashes of gold. There was little under-brush and the horse
+followed easily along the creek, where here and there, in the softer
+soil of damp places, the girl could see the hoof marks of the rider
+who had crossed the divide. "I wonder whether it was he who watched me
+last night? There was someone, I could feel it."</p>
+
+<p>The creek sheered sharply around an out-cropping shoulder of rock, and
+the next instant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> Patty pulled up short, and sat staring at a little
+white tent that nestled close against the side of the huge monolith
+which stood at the edge of a broad, grassed opening in the woods. The
+flaps were thrown wide and the walls caught up to allow free passage
+of air. Blankets that had evidently covered a pile of boughs in one
+corner, were thrown over the ridgepole from which hung a black leather
+binocular case, and several canvas bags formed an orderly row along
+one side. A kettle hung suspended over a small fire in front of the
+tent, and a row of blackened cooking utensils hung from a wooden bar
+suspended between two crotched stakes. Out in the clearing, a man was
+bridling a tall buckskin horse. The man was Vil Holland. Curbing a
+desire to retreat unobserved into the timber, the girl advanced boldly
+across the creek and pulled up beside the fire. At the sound the man
+whirled, and Patty noticed that a lean, brown hand dropped swiftly to
+the butt of the revolver.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't shoot!" she called, in a tone that was meant to be sarcastic,
+"I won't hurt you." Somehow, the sarcasm fell flat.</p>
+
+<p>The man buckled the throat-latch of his bridle and picking up the
+reins, advanced hat in hand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> leading the horse. "I beg your pardon,"
+he said, gravely, "I didn't know who it was, when your horse splashed
+through the creek."</p>
+
+<p>"You have enemies in the hills? Those you would shoot, or who would
+shoot you?"</p>
+
+<p>He dropped the bridle reins, allowing them to trail on the ground. "If
+some kinds of folks wasn't a man's enemy he wouldn't be fit to have
+any friends," he said, simply. "And here in the hills it's just as
+well to be forehanded with your gun. Won't you climb down? I suppose
+you've had breakfast?"</p>
+
+<p>Patty swung from the saddle and stood holding the bridle reins. "Yes,
+I've had breakfast, thank you. Don't let me keep you from yours."</p>
+
+<p>"Had mine, too. If you don't mind I'll wash up these dishes, though.
+Just drop your reins&mdash;like mine. Your cayuse will stand as long as the
+reins are hangin'. It's the way they're broke&mdash;'tyin' 'em to the
+ground,' we call it." He glanced at her horse's feet, and pointed to a
+place beneath the fetlock from which the hair had been rubbed: "Rope
+burnt," he opined. "You oughtn't to put him out on a picket rope. Use
+hobbles. There's a couple of pair in your dad's war-bag."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"War-bag?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yeh, it's down in Watts's barn, if he ain't hauled it up for you."</p>
+
+<p>"What are hobbles?"</p>
+
+<p>The man stepped to the tent and returned a moment later with two heavy
+straps fastened together by a bit of chain and a swivel. "These are
+hobbles, they work like this." He stooped and fastened the straps
+about the forelegs of the horse just above the fetlock. "He can get
+around all right, but he can't get far, and there is no rope to snag
+him."</p>
+
+<p>Patty nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'll try it. But how do you know
+there are hobbles in dad's pack?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where would they be? He had a couple of pair. All his stuff is in
+there. He always traveled light."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you leave my father's war-bag, as you call it, at Watts's?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yeh, he was in somethin' of a hurry and didn't want to go around by
+the trail, so he left his outfit here and struck straight through the
+hills."</p>
+
+<p>"Why was he in a hurry?"</p>
+
+<p>The man placed the dishes in a pan and poured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> water over them. "I've
+got my good guess," he answered, thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Which may mean anything, and tells me nothing."</p>
+
+<p>Holland nodded, as he carefully wiped his tin plate. "Yeh, that's
+about the size of it."</p>
+
+<p>His attitude angered the girl. "And I have heard he was not the only
+one in the hills that was in a hurry that day, and I suppose I can
+have my 'good guess' at that, and I can have my 'good guess' as to who
+cut daddy's pack sack, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeh, an' you can change your guess as often as you want to."</p>
+
+<p>"And every time I change it, I'd get farther from the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"You might, an' you might get nearer." The cowpuncher was looking at
+her squarely, now. "You ain't left-handed, are you?" he asked,
+abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not! Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because, if you ain't, you better change that belt around so the
+holster'll carry on yer right side&mdash;or else leave it to home."</p>
+
+<p>The coldly impersonal tone angered the girl. "Much better leave it
+home," she said, "so if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> anyone wanted to get my map and photographs,
+he could do it without risk."</p>
+
+<p>"If you had any sense you'd shut up about maps an' photos."</p>
+
+<p>"At least I've got sense enough not to tell whether I carry them with
+me, or keep them hidden in a safe place."</p>
+
+<p>"You carry 'em on you!" commanded the man, gruffly. "It's a good deal
+safer'n <i>cachin</i>' 'em." He laid his dishes aside, poured the water
+from the pan, wiped it, hung it in its place, and picking up his
+saddle blanket, examined it carefully.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder why my father entrusted his pack sack to you?" said Patty,
+eyeing him resentfully. "Were you and he such great friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"Knew one another tolerable well," answered Holland, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>"You weren't, by any chance&mdash;partners, were you?"</p>
+
+<p>He glanced up quickly. "Didn't I tell you once that yer dad played a
+lone hand?"</p>
+
+<p>"You knew he made a strike?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what folks think. But I suppose he told Monk Bethune all about
+it."</p>
+
+<p>The thinly veiled sneer goaded the girl to anger.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> "Yes, he did," she
+answered, hotly, "and he told me, too!"</p>
+
+<p>"Told Monk all about it, did he&mdash;location an' all, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"He intended to, yes," answered the girl, defiantly. "The day he made
+his strike, Mr. Bethune happened to be away up in British Columbia,
+and daddy told Lord Clendenning that he had made his strike, and he
+drew a map and sent it to Mr. Bethune by Lord Clendenning."</p>
+
+<p>Holland smoothed the blanket into place upon the back of the buckskin,
+and reached for his saddle. "An' of course, Monk, he wouldn't file
+till you come, so you'd be sure an' get a square deal&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"He never got the map or the photos. Lord Clendenning lost them in a
+river. And he nearly lost his life, and was rescued by an Indian."</p>
+
+<p>There was a sound very like a cough, and Patty glanced sharply at the
+cowpuncher, but his back was toward her, and he was busy with his
+cinch. "Tough luck," he remarked, as he adjusted the latigo strap.
+"An', you say, yer dad told you all about this partnership business?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, he didn't."</p>
+
+<p>"Who did?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Bethune."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh."</p>
+
+<p>Something in the tone made the girl feel extremely foolish. Holland
+was deliberately strapping the brown leather jug to his saddle horn,
+and gathering up her reins, she mounted. "At least, Mr. Bethune is a
+gentleman," she emphasized the word nastily.</p>
+
+<p>"An' they can't hang him for that, anyway," he flung back, and swung
+lightly into the saddle, "I must be goin'."</p>
+
+<p>"And you don't even deny cutting the pack?"</p>
+
+<p>He looked her squarely in the eyes and shook his head. "No. You kind
+of half believe Monk about the partnership. But you don't believe I
+cut that pack, so what's the use denying it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If you should happen to get lost, don't try to outguess your compass.
+Always pack a little grub an' some matches, an' if you need help,
+three shots, an' then three more, will bring anyone that's in hearin'
+distance."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope I shall never have to summon you for help."</p>
+
+<p>"It is quite a bother," admitted the other.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> "An' if you'll remember
+what I've told you, you prob'ly won't have to. So long."</p>
+
+<p>The cowboy settled the Stetson firmly upon his head, and with never a
+glance behind him, headed his horse down the little creek.</p>
+
+<p>The girl watched him for a moment with angry eyes, and then, urging
+her horse forward, crossed the plateau at a gallop, and headed up the
+valley. "Of all the&mdash;the <i>boors</i>! He certainly is the limit. And the
+worst of it is I don't know whether he deliberately tries to insult
+me, or whether it's just ignorance. Anyway, I wouldn't trust him as
+far as I could see him. And I do believe he cut daddy's pack sack, so
+there!" The heavy revolver dangling at her side attracted her
+attention, and she pulled up her horse and changed it to the opposite
+side. "I suppose I did look like a fool," she admitted, "but he
+needn't have told me so. And I bet I know as much about a compass as
+he does, anyway. And I'll tie my horse up with a rope if I want to."</p>
+
+<p>Beyond the plateau, the valley narrowed rapidly, and innumerable
+ravines and coulees led steeply upward to lose themselves among the
+timbered slopes of the mountain sides. Crossing a low divide at the
+head of the valley, she reined<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> in her horse and gazed with thumping
+heart into the new valley that lay before her. There, scarcely a mile
+away, stretched a rock ledge&mdash;and, yes, there were scraggly trees
+fringing its rim, and the valley was strewn with rock fragments! Her
+valley! The valley of the photographs! She laughed aloud, and urged
+her horse down the steep descent, heedless of the fact that upon the
+precarious, loose rock footing of the slope, a misstep would mean
+almost certain destruction.</p>
+
+<p>Directly opposite the face of the rock wall she pulled her horse to a
+stand. "Surely, this must be the place, but&mdash;where is the crack? It
+should be about there." Her eyes searched the face of the cliff for
+the zigzag crevice. "Maybe I'm too close to it," she muttered. "The
+picture was taken from a hillside across the valley. That must be the
+hill&mdash;the one with the bare patch half way up. That's right where he
+must have stood when he took the photograph." The hillside rose
+abruptly, and abandoning her horse, the girl climbed the steep ascent,
+pausing at frequent intervals for breath. At last, she stood upon the
+bare shoulder of the hill and gazed out across the valley, and as she
+gazed, her heart sank. "It isn't the place," she muttered. "There is
+no big<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> tree, and the rock cliff isn't a bit like the one in the
+picture&mdash;and I thought I had found it sure! I wonder how many of those
+rock walls there are in the hills? And will I ever find the right
+one?"</p>
+
+<p>Once more in the saddle, she crossed another divide and scanned
+another rock wall, and farther down, another. "I believe every single
+valley in these hills has its own rock ledge, and some of them three
+or four!" she cried disgustedly, as she seated herself beside a tiny
+spring that trickled from beneath a huge rock, and proceeded to devour
+her lunch. "I had no idea how hungry I could get," she stared ruefully
+at the paper that had held her two sandwiches. "Next time I'll bring
+about six."</p>
+
+<p>Producing her compass, she leveled a place among the stones. "Let's
+see if I can point to the north without its help." She glanced at the
+sun and carefully scanned the tumultuous skyline. "It is there," she
+indicated a gap between two peaks, and glanced at the compass. "I knew
+I wouldn't get turned around," she said, proudly. "I didn't miss it
+but just a mite&mdash;anyway it's near enough for all practical purposes.
+If that's north," she speculated, "then I must have started east and
+then turned south, and then west, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> then south again, and my cabin
+must be almost due north of me now." She returned the compass to her
+pocket. "I'll explore a little farther and then work toward home."</p>
+
+<p>Mounting, she turned northward, and emerging abruptly from a clump of
+trees, caught a glimpse of swift motion a quarter of a mile away,
+where her trail had dipped into the valley, as a horse and rider
+disappeared like a flash into the timber. "He's following me!" she
+cried angrily, "sneaking along my trail like a coyote! I'll tell him
+just what I think of him and his cowardly spying." Urging her horse
+into a run, she reached the spot to find it deserted, although it
+seemed incredible that anyone could have negotiated the divide
+unnoticed in that brief space of time. "I saw him plain as day," she
+murmured, as she turned her horse toward the opposite side of the
+valley. "I couldn't tell for sure that it was he&mdash;I didn't even see
+the color of the horse&mdash;but who else could it be? He knew I started
+out this way, and he knew that I carried the map and photos, and was
+hunting daddy's claim. I know, now who was watching the other night."
+She shuddered. "And I've got to stay here 'til I find that claim,
+knowing all the time that I am being watched! There's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> no place I can
+go that he will not follow. Even in my own cabin, I'll always feel
+that eyes are watching me. And when I do find the mine, he'll know it
+as soon as I do, and it will be a race to file." Drawing up sharply,
+she gritted her teeth, "And he knows the short cuts through the hills,
+and I don't. But I will know them!" she cried, "and when I do find the
+mine, Mr. Vil Holland is going to have the race of his life!"</p>
+
+<p>Another parallel valley, and another, she explored before turning her
+horse's head toward the high divide that she had reasoned separated
+her from Monte's Creek at a point well above her cabin. Comparatively
+low ridges divided these valleys, and as she topped each ridge, the
+girl swerved sharply into the timber and, concealing herself, intently
+watched the back trail&mdash;a maneuver that caused the solitary horseman
+who watched from a safe distance, to chuckle audibly as he carefully
+wiped the lenses of his binoculars.</p>
+
+<p>The sunlight played only upon the higher peaks when at last, weary and
+dispirited, she negotiated the steep descent to Monte's Creek at a
+point a mile above the sheep camp. "If he'd only photographed
+something besides a rock wall," she muttered, petulantly, "I'd stand
+some show of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> finding it." At the door of the cabin she slipped from
+her saddle, and pausing with her hand on the coiled rope, dropped her
+eyes to the rubbed place below her horse's fetlock. A moment later she
+knelt and fastened a pair of hobbles about the horse's ankles, and,
+removing the saddle, watched the animal roll clumsily in the grass,
+and shuffle awkwardly to the creek where he sucked greedily at the
+cold water. Entering the cabin, she lighted the lamp and stared about
+her. Her glance traveled one by one over the objects of the little
+room. Everything was apparently as she had left it&mdash;yet&mdash;an
+uncomfortable, creepy sensation stole over her. She knew that the room
+had been searched.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<h2>PATTY TAKES PRECAUTIONS</h2>
+
+
+<p>During the next few days Patty Sinclair paid scant attention to rock
+ledges. Each morning she saddled her cayuse and rode into the hills to
+the southward, crossing divides and following creeks and valleys from
+their sources down their winding, twisting lengths. After the first
+two or three trips she left her gun at home. It was heavy and
+cumbersome, and she realized, in her unskilled hand, useless. Always
+she felt that she was being followed, but, try as she would, never
+could catch so much as a fleeting glimpse of the rider who lurked on
+her trail. Nevertheless, during these long rides which she made for
+the sole purpose of familiarizing herself with all the short cuts
+through the hills, she derived satisfaction from the fact that, while
+the trips were of immense value to her, Vil Holland was having his
+trouble for his pains.</p>
+
+<p>Ascertaining at length that, after crossing the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> high divide at the
+head of Monte's Creek, any valley leading southward would prove a
+direct outlet onto the bench and thereby furnish a short cut to town,
+she returned once more to her prospecting&mdash;to the exploration of
+little valleys, and the examination of innumerable rock ledges.</p>
+
+<p>Accepting as part of the game the fact that her cabin was searched
+almost daily during her absence she derived grim enjoyment in
+contemplation of the searcher's repeated disappointment. Several
+attempts to surprise the marauder at his work proved futile, and she
+was forced to admit that in the matter of shrewdness and persistence,
+his ability exceeded her own. "The real test will come when I locate
+the mine," she told herself one evening, as she sat alone in her
+little cabin. "Then the prize will go to the fastest horse." She drew
+a small folding check-book from her pocket and frowningly regarded its
+latest stub. "A thousand dollars isn't very much, and&mdash;it's half
+gone."</p>
+
+<p>Next day she rode out of the hills and, following the trail for town,
+dismounted at Thompson's ranch which nestled in its coulee well out
+upon the bench, and waited for the rancher, who drove up beside a huge
+stack with a load of alfalfa, to unhitch his team.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Have you a good saddle horse for sale?" she asked, abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>Thompson released the tug chains, and hung the bridles upon the hames,
+whereupon the horses of their own accord started toward the stable,
+followed by a ranch hand who slid from the top of the stack. Without
+answering, he called to the man: "Take the lady's horse along an' give
+him a feed."</p>
+
+<p>"It's noon," he explained, turning to the girl. "You'll stay fer
+dinner." He pointed toward the house. "You'll find Miz T. in the
+kitchen. If you want to wash up, she'll show you."</p>
+
+<p>The ranch hand was leading her horse toward the barn. "But," objected
+Patty, "I didn't mean to run in like this just at meal time. Mrs.
+Thompson won't be expecting a guest, and I brought a lunch with me."</p>
+
+<p>Thompson laughed: "You must be a pilgrim in these parts," he said.
+"Most folks would ride half a day to git here 'round feedin' time. We
+always count on two or three extry, so I guess they'll be a-plenty."
+The man's laugh was infectious, and Patty found herself smiling. She
+liked him from the first. There was a ponderous heartiness about him,
+and she liked the way his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> little brown eyes sparkled from out their
+network of sun-browned wrinkles. "You trot along in, now, an' tell Miz
+T. she can begin dishin' up whenever she likes. We'll be 'long
+d'rectly. They'll be plenty time to talk horse after we've et. My work
+teams earns a good hour of noonin', an' I don't begrudge 'em an hour
+an' a half, hot days."</p>
+
+<p>Patty found Mrs. Thompson slight and quiet as her husband was big and
+hearty. But her smile was as engaging as his, and an indefinable
+something about her made the girl feel at home the moment she crossed
+the threshold. "I came to see Mr. Thompson about a horse, and he
+insisted that I stay to dinner," she apologized.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, of course you'll stay to dinner. But you must be hot an' tired.
+The wash dish is there beside the door. You better use it before
+Thompson an' the hands comes, they always slosh everything all
+up&mdash;they don't wash, they waller."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Thompson said to tell you you could begin to dish up whenever
+you're ready."</p>
+
+<p>The woman smiled. "Yes, an' have everythin' set an' git cold, while
+they feed the horses an' then like's not, stand 'round a spell an'
+size up the hay stack, er mebbe mend a piece of harness or somethin'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
+I guess you ain't married, er you wouldn't expect a man to meals 'til
+you see him comin'. Seems like no matter how hungry they be, if they's
+some little odd job they can find to do just when you get the grub set
+on, they pick that time to do it. 'Specially if it's somethin' that
+don't 'mount to anythin', an' like's not's b'en layin' 'round in plain
+sight a week."</p>
+
+<p>Patty laughingly admitted she was not married. "But, I'd teach 'em a
+lesson," she said. "I'd put the things on and let them get cold."</p>
+
+<p>The older woman smiled, and at the sound of voices, peered out the
+door: "Here they come now," she said, and proceeded to carry heaping
+vegetable dishes and a steaming platter of savory boiled meat from the
+stove to the table. There was a prodigious splashing outside the door
+and a moment later Thompson appeared, followed by his two ranch hands,
+hair wet and shining, plastered tightly to their scalps, and faces
+aglow from vigorous scrubbing. "You mind Mr. Sinclair, that used to
+prospect in the hills," introduced Mrs. Thompson; "this is his
+daughter."</p>
+
+<p>Her husband bowed awkwardly: "Glad to know you. We know'd yer
+paw&mdash;used to stop now an' again on his way to town. He was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> smart
+man. Liked to talk to him. He'd be'n all over." The man turned his
+attention to his plate and the meal proceeded in solemn silence to its
+conclusion. The two ranch hands arose and disappeared through the
+door, and tilting back in his chair Thompson produced a match from his
+pocket, and proceeded to whittle it into a toothpick. "I heard in town
+how you was out in the hills," he began. "They said yer paw went back
+East&mdash;" he paused as if uncertain how to proceed.</p>
+
+<p>Patty nodded: "Yes, he went back home, and this spring he died. He
+told me he had made a strike and I came out here to locate it."</p>
+
+<p>The kindly brown eyes regarded her intently: "Ever do any
+prospectin'?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. This is my first experience."</p>
+
+<p>"I never, either. But, if I was you I'd kind of have an eye on my
+neighbors."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean&mdash;the Wattses?" asked the girl in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>The brown eyes were twinkling again: "No, Watts, he's all right! Only
+trouble with Watts is he sets an' herds the sun all day. But, they's
+others besides Watts in the hills."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered the girl, quickly, "I know.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> And that is the reason I
+came to see you about a horse."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with the one you got?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing at all. He seems to be a good horse. He's fast too, when I
+want to crowd him. But, I need another just as good and as fast as he
+is. Have you one you will sell?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll sell anything I got, if the price is right," smiled the man.</p>
+
+<p>Patty regarded him thoughtfully: "I haven't very much money," she
+said. "How much is he worth?"</p>
+
+<p>Thompson considered: "A horse ain't like a cow-brute. There ain't no
+regular market price. Horses is worth just as much as you can get
+folks to pay fer 'em. But it looks like one horse ort to be enough to
+prospect 'round the hills on."</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't that," explained the girl. "If I buy him I shall try to
+arrange with you to leave him right here where I can get him at a
+moment's notice. I shall probably never need him but once, but when I
+do, I shall need him badly." She paused, but without comment the man
+waited for her to proceed: "I believe I am being followed, and if I
+am, when I locate the claim, I am going to have to race for the
+register's office."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Thompson leaned forward upon the table and chewed his toothpick
+rapidly: "By Gosh, an' you want to have a fresh horse here for a
+change!" he exclaimed, his eyes beaming approval.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. Have you got the horse?"</p>
+
+<p>The man nodded: "You bet I've got the horse! I've got a horse out
+there in the corral that'll run rings around anythin' in this country
+unless it's that there buckskin of Vil Holland's&mdash;an' I guess you
+ain't goin' to have no call to race him."</p>
+
+<p>Patty was on the point of exclaiming that the buckskin was the very
+horse she would have to race, but instead she smiled: "But, if your
+horse started fresh from here, and even Vil Holland's horse had run
+clear from the mountains, this one could beat him to town, couldn't
+he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Could do it on three legs," laughed the man.</p>
+
+<p>"How much do you ask for him?" The girl waited breathless, thinking of
+her diminishing bank account.</p>
+
+<p>Thompson's brow wrinkled: "I hold Lightnin' pretty high," he said,
+after a pause. "You see, some of us ranchers is holdin' a fast horse
+handy, a-waitin' fer word from the hills&mdash;an' when it comes, they's
+goin' to be the biggest horse-thief round-up the hill country ever
+seen. An' unless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> I miss my guess they'll be some that's carried their
+nose pretty high that's goin' to snap down on the end of a tight one."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Thompson, what's the use of talkin' like that? Them things is
+bad enough to have to do, let alone set around an' talk about 'em.
+Anyone'd think you took pleasure in hangin' folks."</p>
+
+<p>"I would&mdash;some folks."</p>
+
+<p>The little woman turned to Patty: "He's just a-talkin'. Chances is, if
+it come to hangin', Thompson would be the one to try an' talk 'em out
+of it. Why, he won't even brand his own colts an' calves&mdash;makes the
+hands do it."</p>
+
+<p>"That's different," defended the man. "They're little an' young an'
+they ain't never done nothin' ornery."</p>
+
+<p>"But you haven't told me how much you want for your horse," persisted
+the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Now just you listen to me a minute. I don't want to sell that horse,
+an' there ain't no mortal use of you buyin' him. He's always
+here&mdash;right in the corral when he ain't in the stable, an' either
+place, all you got to do is throw yer kak on him an' fog it."</p>
+
+<p>The girl stared at him in surprise: "You mean&mdash;&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I mean that you're plumb welcome to use Lightnin' whenever you need
+him. An' if they's anything else I can do to help you beat out any
+ornery cuss that'd try an' hornswaggle you out of yer claim, you can
+count on me doin' it! An' whether you know it 'er not, I ain't the
+only one you can count on in a pinch neither." The man waved her
+thanks aside with a sweep of a big hand, and rose from the table. "Miz
+T. an' me'd like fer you to stop in whenever you feel like&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed, we would," seconded the little woman. "Couldn't you come
+over an' bring yer sewin' some day?"</p>
+
+<p>Patty laughed: "I'm afraid I haven't much sewing to bring, but I'll
+come and spend the day with you some time. I'd love to."</p>
+
+<p>The girl rode homeward with a lighter heart than she had known in some
+time. "Now let him follow me all he wants to," she muttered. "But I
+wonder why Mr. Thompson said I wouldn't have to race the buckskin. And
+who did he mean I could count on in a pinch&mdash;Watts, I guess, or maybe
+he meant Mr. Bethune."</p>
+
+<p>As she saddled her horse next morning, Bethune presented himself at
+the cabin. "Where away?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> he smiled as he rode close, and swung
+lightly to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Into the hills," she answered, "in search of my father's lost mine."</p>
+
+<p>The man's expression became suddenly grave: "Do you know, Miss
+Sinclair, I hate to think of your riding these hills alone."</p>
+
+<p>Patty glanced at him in surprise: "Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"There are several reasons. For instance, one never knows what will
+happen&mdash;a misstep on a dangerous trail&mdash;a broken cinch&mdash;any one of a
+hundred things may happen in the wilds that mean death or serious
+injury, even to the initiated. And the danger is tenfold in the case
+of a tender-foot."</p>
+
+<p>The girl laughed: "Thank you. But, if anything is going to happen,
+it's going to happen. At least, I am in no danger from being run down
+by a street car or an automobile. And I can't be blown up by a gas
+explosion, or fall into a coal hole."</p>
+
+<p>"But there are other dangers," persisted the man. "A woman, alone in
+the hills&mdash;especially you."</p>
+
+<p>"Why 'especially me'? Plenty of women have lived alone before in
+places more dangerous than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> this, and have gotten along very well,
+too. You men are conceited. You think there can be no possible safety
+unless members of your own sex are at the helm of every undertaking or
+enterprise. But you are wrong."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune shook his head: "But I have reason to believe that there is at
+least one person in these hills who believes you possess the secret of
+your father's strike&mdash;and who would stop at nothing to obtain that
+secret."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you mean Vil Holland. I agree that he does seem to take
+more than a passing interest in my comings and goings. But he doesn't
+seem very fierce. Anyhow, I am not in the least afraid of him."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean that he seems to take an interest in your comings
+and goings?" The question seemed a bit eager. "Surely he has not been
+following you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hasn't he? Then possibly you can tell me who has?"</p>
+
+<p>"The scoundrel! And when you discover the lode he'll wait 'til you
+have set your stakes and posted your notice, and have gotten out of
+sight, and then he'll drive in his own stakes, stick up his own notice
+beside them and beat you to the register."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Patty laughed: "Race me, you mean. He won't beat me. Remember, I shall
+have at least a half-hour's start."</p>
+
+<p>"A half-hour!" exclaimed Bethune. "And what is a half-hour in a
+fifty-mile race against that buckskin. Why, my dear girl, with all due
+respect for that horse of yours, Vil Holland's horse could give you
+two hours' start and beat you to the railroad."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe," smiled the girl. "But he's going to have to do it&mdash;that is,
+if I ever locate the lode."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, that is the point, exactly. It is that that brings me here. Not
+that alone," he hastened to add. "For I would ride far any day to
+spend a few moments with so charming a lady&mdash;and indeed, I should not
+have delayed my visit this long but for some urgent business to the
+northward. At all events, I'm here, and here I shall stay until,
+together, we have solved our mystery of the hills."</p>
+
+<p>The girl glanced into the face alight with boyish enthusiasm, and felt
+irresistibly impelled to take this man into her confidence&mdash;to enlist
+his help in the working out of her unintelligible map, and to admit
+him to full partnership in her undertaking. There would be enough for
+both if they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> succeeded in uncovering the lode. Her father had
+intended that he should share in his mine. She recalled his eulogy of
+her father, and his frank admission that there had been no agreement
+of partnership. If anyone ever had the appearance of perfect sincerity
+and candor this man had. She remembered her seriously depleted bank
+account. Bethune had money, and in case the search should prove
+long&mdash;Suddenly the words of Vil Holland flashed into her brain with
+startling abruptness: "Remember yer dad knew enough to play a lone
+hand." And again. "Did yer dad tell you about this partnership?" And
+the significant emphasis he placed upon the "Oh," when she had
+answered in the negative.</p>
+
+<p>Bethune evidently had taken her silence for assent. He was speaking
+again: "The first thing to do is to find the starting point on the map
+and work it out step by step, then when we locate the lode, you and
+Clen and I will file the first three claims, and we'll file all the
+Wattses on the adjoining claims. That will give us absolute control of
+a big block of what is probably a most valuable property."</p>
+
+<p>Again Bethune had referred directly to the map which she had never
+admitted she possessed. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> had not said, "If you have a map." The
+man's assumption angered her: "You still persist in assuming that I
+have a map," she answered. "As a matter of fact, I'm depending
+entirely upon a photograph. I am riding blindly through the hills
+trying to find the spot that tallies with the picture."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune frowned and shook his head doubtfully: "You might ride the
+hills for years, and pass the spot a dozen times and never recognize
+it. If you do not happen to strike the exact view-point you might
+easily fail to recognize it. Then, too, the landscape changes with the
+seasons of the year. However," his face brightened and the smile
+returned to his lips; "we have at least something to go on. We are not
+absolutely in the dark. Who knows? If the goddess of luck sits upon
+our shoulders, I myself may know the place well&mdash;may recognize it
+instantly! For years I have ridden these hills and I flatter myself
+that no one knows their hidden nooks and byways better than I. Even if
+I should not know the exact spot, it may be that I can tell by the
+general features its approximate locality, and thus limit our search
+to a comparatively small area."</p>
+
+<p>Patty knew that her refusal to show the photograph<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> could not fail to
+place her in an unfavorable position. Either she would appear to
+distrust this man whom she had no reason to distrust, or her action
+would be attributed to a selfish intention to keep the secret to
+herself, even though she knew she could only file one claim. The man's
+argument had been entirely reasonable&mdash;in fact, it seemed the sensible
+thing to do. Nevertheless, she did refuse, and refuse flatly: "I
+think, Mr. Bethune, that I would rather play a lone hand. You see, I
+started in on this thing alone, and I want to see it through&mdash;for the
+present, at least. After a while, if I find that I cannot succeed
+alone, I shall be glad of your assistance. I suppose you think me a
+fool, but it's a matter of pride, I guess."</p>
+
+<p>Was it fancy, or did the black eyes flash a gleam of hate&mdash;a glitter
+of rage beneath their long up-curving lashes? And did the swarthy face
+flush a shade darker beneath its tan? Patty could not be sure, for the
+next moment he was speaking in a voice under perfect control: "I can
+well understand your feeling in the matter, Miss Sinclair, and I have
+nothing of reproach. I do think you are making a mistake. With Vil
+Holland knowing what he does of your father's operations, time may be
+a vital factor in the success of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> your undertaking. Let me caution you
+again against carrying the photograph upon your person."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I keep that safely hidden where no one would ever think of
+searching for it," smiled the girl, and Bethune noted that her eyes
+involuntarily swept the cabin with a glance.</p>
+
+<p>The man mounted: "I will no longer keep you from your work," he said.
+"I have arranged to spend the summer in the hills where I shall carry
+on some prospecting upon my own account. If I can be of any assistance
+to you&mdash;if you should need any advice, or help of any kind, a word
+will procure it. I shall stop in occasionally to see how you fare.
+Good-bye." He waved his hand and rode off down the creek where, in a
+cottonwood thicket he dismounted and watched the girl ride away in the
+opposite direction, noted that Lord Clendenning swung stealthily, into
+the trail behind her, and swinging into his saddle rode swiftly toward
+the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>In his high notch in the hills, Vil Holland chuckled audibly, and
+catching up his horse, headed for his camp.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<h2>THE BISHOP OF ALL OUTDOORS</h2>
+
+
+<p>The days slipped into weeks, as Patty Sinclair, carefully and
+methodically traced valleys to their sources, and explored innumerable
+coulees and ravines that twisted and turned their tortuous lengths
+into the very heart of the hills. Rock ledges without number she
+scanned, many with deep cracks and fissures, and many without them.
+But not once did she find a ledge that could by any stretch of the
+imagination be regarded as the ledge of the photograph. Disheartened,
+but not discouraged, the girl would return each evening to her
+solitary cabin, eat her solitary meal, and throw herself upon her bunk
+to brood over the apparent hopelessness of her enterprise, or to read
+from the thumbed and tattered magazines of the dispossessed sheep
+herder. She rode, now, with a sort of dogged persistence. There was
+none of the wild thrill that, during the first days of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> search,
+she experienced each time she topped a new divide, or entered a new
+valley.</p>
+
+<p>Three times since she had informed him she would play a lone hand in
+the search for her father's strike, Bethune had called at the cabin.
+And not once had he alluded to the progress of her work. She was
+thankful to him for that&mdash;she had not forgotten the hurt in her
+father's eyes as the taunting questions of the scoffers struck home.
+Always she had known of the hurt, but now, with the disheartening days
+of her own failure heaping themselves upon her, she was beginning to
+understand the reason for the hurt. And, guessing this, Bethune
+refrained from questioning, but talked gaily of books, and sunsets,
+and of life, and love, and the joy of living. A supreme optimist, she
+thought him, despite the half-veiled cynicism that threaded his
+somewhat fatalistic view of life, a cynicism that but added the
+necessary <i>sauce piquante</i> to so abandoned an optimism.</p>
+
+<p>Above all, the man was a gentleman. His speech held nothing of the
+abrupt bluntness of Vil Holland's. He would appear shortly after her
+early supper, and was always well upon his way before the late
+darkness began to obscure the contours of her little valley. An hour's
+chat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> upon the doorstep of the cabin and he was gone&mdash;riding down the
+valley, singing as he rode some old <i>chanson</i> of his French forebears,
+with always a pause at the cottonwood grove for a farewell wave of his
+hat. And Patty would turn from the doorway, and light her lamp, and
+proceed to enjoy the small present which he never failed to leave in
+her hand&mdash;a box of bon-bons of a kind she had vainly sought for in the
+little town&mdash;again, a novel, a woman's novel written by a man who
+thought he knew&mdash;and another time, just a handful of wild flowers
+gathered in the hills. She ate the candy making it last over several
+days. She read the book from cover to cover as she lay upon her air
+mattress, tucked snugly between her blankets. And she arranged the
+wild flowers loosely in a shallow bowl and watered them, and talked to
+them, and admired their beauty, and when they were wilted she threw
+them out, but she did not gather more flowers to fill the bowl,
+instead she wiped it dry and returned it to its shelf in the
+cupboard&mdash;and wondered when Bethune would come again. She admitted to
+herself that he interested&mdash;at least, amused her&mdash;helped her to throw
+off for the moment the spirit of dull depression that had fastened
+itself upon her like a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> tangible thing, bearing down upon her,
+threatening to crush her with its weight.</p>
+
+<p>Always, during these brief visits, her lurking distrust of him
+vanished in the frank boyishness of his personality. The incidents
+that had engendered the distrust&mdash;the substitution of the name Schultz
+for Schmidt in the matter of the horse pasture, his abrupt warning
+against Vil Holland, and his attempt to be admitted into her
+confidence as a matter of right, were for the moment forgotten in the
+spell of his presence&mdash;but always during her lonely rides in the
+hills, the half-formed doubt returned. Pondering the doubt, she
+realized that the principal reason for its continued existence was not
+so much in the incidents that had awakened it, as in the simple
+question asked by Vil Holland: "You say your dad told you all about
+this partnership business?" And in the "Oh," with which he had greeted
+the reply that she had it from the lips of Bethune. With the
+realization, her dislike for Vil Holland increased. She characterized
+him as a "jug-guzzler," a "swashbuckler," and a "ruffian"&mdash;and smiled
+as she recalled the picturesque figure with the clean-cut, bronzed
+face. "Oh, I don't know&mdash;I hate these hills! Nobody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> seems sincere
+excepting the Wattses, and they're&mdash;impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>She had borrowed Watts's team and made a second trip to town for
+supplies, and the check that she drew in payment cut her bank account
+in half. As before she had offered to take Microby Dandeline, but the
+girl declined to go, giving as an excuse that "pitcher shows wasn't as
+good as circusts, an' they wasn't no fights, an' she didn't like
+towns, nohow."</p>
+
+<p>Upon her return from town Patty stopped at the Thompsons' for dinner
+where she was accorded a royal welcome by the genial rancher and his
+wife, and where also, she met the Reverend Len Christie, the most
+picturesque, and the most un-clerical minister of the gospel she had
+ever seen. To all appearances the man might have been a cowboy. He
+affected chaps of yellow hair, a dark blue flannel shirt, against
+which flamed a scarf of brilliant crimson caught together by means of
+a vivid green scarab. He wore a roll brimmed Stetson, and carried a
+six-gun at his belt. A pair of high-heeled boots added a couple of
+inches to the six feet two that nature had provided him with, and he
+shook hands as though he enjoyed shaking hands. "I've heard of you,
+Miss Sinclair,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> back in town and have looked forward to meeting you on
+my first trip into the hills. How are my friends, the Wattses, these
+days? And that reprobate, Vil Holland?" He did not mention that it was
+Vil Holland who had spoken of her presence in the hills, nor that the
+cowboy had also specified that she utterly despised the ground he rode
+on.</p>
+
+<p>To her surprise Patty noticed that there was affection rather than
+disapprobation in the word reprobate, and she answered a trifle
+stiffly: "The Wattses are all well, I think: but, as for Mr. Holland,
+I really cannot answer."</p>
+
+<p>The parson appeared not to notice the constraint but turned to
+Thompson: "By the way, Tom, why isn't Vil riding the round-up this
+year? Has he made his strike?"</p>
+
+<p>Thompson grinned: "Naw, Vil ain't made no strike. Facts is, they's
+be'n some considerable horse liftin' goin' on lately, an' the
+stockmen's payin' Vil wages fer to keep his eye peeled. He's out in
+the hills all the time anyhow with his prospectin', an' they figger
+the thieves won't pay no 'tention to him, like if a stranger was to
+begin kihootin' 'round out there."</p>
+
+<p>"Have they got a line on 'em at all?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well," considered Thompson. "Not as I know of&mdash;exactly. Monk Bethune
+an' that there Lord Clendennin' is hangin' 'round the hills&mdash;that's
+about all I know."</p>
+
+<p>The parson nodded: "I saw Bethune in town the other day. Do you know,
+Tom, I believe there's a bad Injun."</p>
+
+<p>"Indian!" cried the girl. "Mr. Bethune is not an Indian!"</p>
+
+<p>Thompson laughed: "Yup, that is, he's a breed. They say his
+gran'mother was a Cree squaw&mdash;daughter of a chief, or somethin'.
+Anyways, this here Monk, he's a pretty slick article, I guess."</p>
+
+<p>"They're apt to be worse than either the whites or the Indians,"
+Christie explained. "And this Monk Bethune is an educated man, which
+should make him doubly dangerous. Well, I must be going. I've got to
+ride clear over onto Big Porcupine. I heard that old man Samuelson's
+very sick. There's a good man&mdash;old Samuelson. Hope he'll pull
+through."</p>
+
+<p>"You bet he's a good man!" assented Thompson, warmly. "He seen Bill
+Winters through, when they tried to prove the murder of Jack Bronson
+onto him, an' it cost him a thousan' dollars. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> districk attorney
+had it in fer Bill, count of him courtin' his gal."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and I could tell of a dozen things the old man has done for
+people that nobody but I ever knew about&mdash;in some instances even the
+people themselves didn't know." He turned to Patty: "Good-by, Miss
+Sinclair. I'm mighty glad to have met you. I knew your father very
+well. If you see the Wattses, tell them I shall try and swing around
+that way on my return." The parson mounted a raw-boned, Roman-nosed
+pinto, whose vivid calico markings, together with the rider's
+brilliant scarf gave a most unministerial, not to say bizarre effect
+to the outfit. "So long, Tom," he called.</p>
+
+<p>"So long, Len! If they's anything we can do, let us know. An' be sure
+an' stop in comin' back." Thompson watched the man until he vanished
+in a cloud of dust far out on the trail.</p>
+
+<p>"Best doggone preacher ever was born," he vouchsafed. "He can ride,
+an' shoot, an' rope, an' everything a man ort to. An' if anyone's
+sick! Well, he's worth all the doctors an' nurses in the State of
+Montany. He'll make you git well just 'cause he wants you to. An' they
+ain't nothin' too much trouble&mdash;an' they ain't no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> work too hard for
+him to tackle. There ain't no piousness stickin' out on him fer folks
+to hang their hat on, neither. He'll mix with the boys, an' listen to
+the natural cussin' an' swearin' that goes on wherever cattle's
+handled, an' enjoy it&mdash;but just you let some shorthorn start what you
+might call vicious or premeditated cussin'&mdash;somethin' special wicked
+or vile, an' he'll find out there's a parson in the crowd right quick,
+an' if he don't shut up, chances is, he'll be spittin' out a couple of
+teeth. There's one parson can fight, an' the boys know it, an' what's
+more they know he <i>will</i> fight&mdash;an' they ain't one of 'em that
+wouldn't back up his play, neither. An' preach! Why he can tear loose
+an' make you feel sorry for every mean trick you ever done&mdash;not for
+fear of any punishment after yer dead&mdash;but just because it wasn't
+playin' the game. That's him, every time. An' he ain't always
+hollerin' about hell&mdash;hearin' him preach you wouldn't hardly know they
+was a hell. 'The Bishop of All Outdoors,' they call him&mdash;an' they say
+he can go back East an' preach to city folks, an' make 'em set up an'
+take notice, same as out here. He's be'n offered three times what he
+gets here to go where he'd have it ten times easier&mdash;but he laughs at
+'em.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> He sure is one preacher that ain't afraid of work!"</p>
+
+<p>As Watts's team plodded the hot miles of the interminable trail
+Patty's brain revolved wearily about its problem. "I've made almost a
+complete circle of the cabin, and I haven't found the rock ledge with
+the crack in it yet&mdash;and as for daddy's old map&mdash;I've spent <i>hours</i>
+trying to figure out what that jumble of letters and numbers mean,
+I'll just have to start all over again and keep reaching farther and
+farther into the hills on my rides. Mr. Bethune said I might not
+recognize the place when I come to it!" she laughed bitterly. "If he
+knew how that photograph has burned itself into my brain! I can close
+my eyes and see that rock wall with its peculiar crack, and the
+rock-strewn valley, and the lone tree&mdash;<i>recognize</i> it! I would know it
+in the dark!"</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes rested upon the various packages of her load of supplies.
+"One more trip to town, and my prospecting is done, at least, until I
+can earn some more money. The prices out here are outrageous. It's the
+freight, the man told me. Five cents' freight on a penny's worth of
+food! But what in the world can I do to make money? What can anybody
+do to make money in this Godforsaken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> country? I can't punch cattle,
+nor herd sheep. I don't see why I had to be a <i>girl</i>!" Resentment
+against her accident of birth cooled, and her mind again took up its
+burden of thought. "There is one way," she muttered. "And that is to
+admit failure and take Mr. Bethune into partnership. He will advance
+the money and help with the work&mdash;and, surely there will be enough for
+two. And, I'm not so sure but that&mdash;" She broke off shortly and felt
+the hot blood rise in a furious blush, as she glanced guiltily about
+her&mdash;but in all the vast stretch of plain was no human being, and she
+laughed aloud at the antics of the prairie dogs that scolded and
+barked saucily and then dove precipitously into their holes as a lean
+coyote trotted diagonally through their "town."</p>
+
+<p>What was it they had said at Thompson's about Mr. Bethune? Despite
+herself she had approved the outlandishly dressed preacher with the
+smiling blue eyes. He was so big, and so wholesome! "The Bishop of All
+Outdoors," Thompson had called him. She liked that&mdash;and somehow the
+name seemed to fit. Looking into those eyes no one could doubt his
+sincerity&mdash;his every word, his every motion spoke unbounded enthusiasm
+for his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> work. What was it he had said? "Do you know, Tom, I believe
+there's a bad Injun." And Thompson had referred to Bethune as "a
+pretty slick article." Surely, Thompson, whole-souled, generous
+Thompson, would not malign a man. Here were two men whom the girl knew
+instinctively she could trust, who stood four-square with the world,
+and whose opinions must carry weight. And both had spoken with
+suspicion of Bethune and both had spoken of Vil Holland as one of
+themselves. "I don't understand it," she muttered. "Everybody seems to
+be against Mr. Bethune, and everybody seems to like Vil Holland, in
+spite of his jug, and his gun, and his boorishness. Maybe it's because
+Mr. Bethune's a&mdash;a breed," she speculated. "Why, they even hinted that
+he's a&mdash;a horse-thief. It isn't fair to despise him for his Indian
+blood. Why should he be made to suffer because his grandmother was an
+Indian&mdash;the daughter of a Cree chief? It sounds interesting and
+romantic. The people of some of our very best families point with
+pride to the fact that they are descendants of Pocahontas! Poor
+fellow, everybody seems down on him&mdash;everybody that is, but Ma Watts
+and Microby. And, as a matter of fact, he appears to better advantage
+than any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> of them, not excepting the very militant and unorthodox
+'Bishop of All Outdoors.'"</p>
+
+<p>The result of the girl's cogitations left her exactly where she
+started. She was no nearer the solution of her problem of the hills.
+And her lurking doubt of Bethune still remained despite the excuses
+she invented to account for his unpopularity, nor had her opinion of
+Vil Holland been altered in the least.</p>
+
+<p>Upon arriving at her cabin she was not at all surprised to find that
+it had been thoroughly searched, albeit with less care than the
+searcher had been in the habit of bestowing upon the readjustment of
+the various objects of the room exactly as she had left them. Canned
+goods and dishes were disarranged upon their shelves, and the loose
+section of floor board beneath her bunk that had evidently served as
+the secret <i>cache</i> of the sheep herder, had been fitted clumsily into
+its place. The evident boldness, or carelessness of this latest
+outrage angered her as no previous search had done. Heretofore each
+object had been returned to its place with painstaking accuracy so
+that it had been only through the use of fine-spun cobwebs and
+carefully arranged bits of dust that she had been able<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> to verify her
+suspicion that the room had really been searched&mdash;and there had been
+times when even the dust and the cobwebs had been replaced. Whoever
+had been searching the cabin had proven himself a master of detail,
+and had at least, paid her the compliment of possessing imagination,
+and a shrewdness equaling his own. Was it possible that the searcher,
+emboldened by her repeated failure to spy upon him at his work, had
+ceased to care whether or not she knew of his visits? The girl
+recalled the three weary days she had spent watching from the
+hillside. And how she had decided to buy a lock for her door, until
+the futility of it had been brought home to her by the discovery that
+her trunks were being searched along with her other belongings, and
+their locks left in perfect condition. So far, he might well scorn her
+puny attempts at discovery. Or, had a new factor entered the game? Had
+someone of cruder mold undertaken to discover her secret? The thought
+gave her a decided uneasiness. Tired out by her trip, she did not
+light the fire, and after disposing of the cold lunch Mrs. Thompson
+had put up for her, affixed the bar, and went to bed, with her six-gun
+within reach of her hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>For a long time she lay in the darkness, thinking. "The way it was
+before, I haven't been in any physical danger. Mr. Vil Holland knows
+that if what he is searching for is not here I must carry it on my
+person. The obvious way to get it would be to take it away from me. Of
+course the only way he could do that without my seeing him would be to
+kill me. He hesitates at murder. Either there are depths of moral
+turpitude into which he will not descend&mdash;or, he fears the
+consequences. He has imagination. He assumes that sometime I'll leave
+that packet at home&mdash;either through carelessness, or because I have
+learned its contents by heart and don't need it. In the meantime, in
+addition to his patient searching of the cabin, he is taking no
+chances, and while he waits for the inevitable to happen he is
+following me so if I do succeed in locating the claim, he can beat me
+to the register. It's a pretty game&mdash;no violence&mdash;only patience and
+brains. But this other," she shuddered, "there is something positively
+brutal in the crude awkwardness of his work. If he thinks I carry what
+he wants with me, would he hesitate at murder? I guess I'll have to
+carry that gun again&mdash;and I better practice with it, too. If I can
+only get rid of this last one, I believe I've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> got a scheme for
+catching the other!" She sat bolt upright in bed. "Oh, if I only
+could! If I could only beat him at his own game&mdash;and I believe I can!"
+For several minutes she sat thinking rapidly, and as she lay back upon
+her pillow, she smiled.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<h2>LORD CLENDENNING GETS A DUCKING</h2>
+
+
+<p>Patty awoke at dawn and dressed hurriedly. Shivering in the chill air,
+she lighted a match and pushed back a lid of the little cast iron cook
+stove. Instead of the "cold fire" of neatly arranged wood and
+kindlings that she had built before leaving for town a pile of gray
+ashes and blackened ends of charcoal greeted her.</p>
+
+<p>"Whoever it was knew he had plenty of time at his disposal so he
+helped himself to a meal," she muttered angrily. "He might, at least,
+have cut me some kindlings. I'm surprised that he had the good grace
+to wash up his dirty dishes." A few moments later, as the fire
+crackled merrily in the stove, she picked up the water pail and
+stepping through the door, threw back her head and breathed deeply of
+the crisp mountain air. "Oh, it's wonderful just to be alive!" she
+whispered. "Even if everybody is against you. It's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> just like a great
+big game and, oh, I want to win! I've got to win!" she added, grimly,
+as her thoughts flew to her depleted bank account.</p>
+
+<p>At the spring she paused in the act of filling her pail and stared at
+a mark in the mud at the edge of the tiny rill formed by the overflow
+from the catch basin. She leaned over and examined the mark more
+closely. It was the track of a bare foot. Then, for the first time in
+many days, the girl threw back her head and laughed. "Microby
+Dandeline!" she cried. "And I was picturing some skulking murderer
+lying in wait to pounce on me at the first opportunity. And here it
+was only poor little Microby who happened along, and with her natural
+curiosity pawed over everything in the cabin, and then decided it
+would be a grand stunt to cook herself a meal and eat it at my
+table&mdash;and I haven't the least doubt that she arrayed herself in one
+of my dresses when she did it." Patty hummed a light tune as, water
+pail in hand, she made her way up the path to the cabin. "Whee! but
+it's a relief to feel that I won't have to ride these hills peering
+behind every tree and rock for a lurking assassin. And I won't have to
+carry that horrid heavy old gun, either."</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast she saddled her horse and headed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> up the ravine that
+she had followed upon the morning of her first ride. At the top of the
+divide she pulled up her horse and gazed downward at the little cabin.
+As before she was impressed by the startling distinctness with which
+each object was visible. "Anyway, I'm glad my window is not on this
+side," she muttered, as her eyes strayed to the ground at her horse's
+feet. For yards around, the buffalo grass had been trampled and pawed
+until scarcely a spear remained. "Here's where he watches me start out
+each morning, then he follows me until he's sure I'm well away from
+the valley, then he slips back and searches the cabin, and then takes
+up my trail again. The miserable sneak!" she cried, angrily. "If Mr.
+Thompson, and Watts, and that cowboy preacher knew what I knew about
+him, they wouldn't seem so impressed with him. Anyway," she added,
+defiantly, "Mr. Bethune and Lord Clendenning know him for what he
+is-and so do I."</p>
+
+<p>It was in a very wrathful mood that she turned her horse's head and
+struck into the timber, being careful to avoid Vil Holland's camp by a
+wide margin. Crossing the timbered plateau, she topped a low divide
+and found herself at the head<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> of a deep, rocky valley, whose course
+she could trace for miles as it wound in and out among the far hills.
+Giving her horse his head, she began the descent of the valley,
+scanning its sides carefully as the animal picked his way slowly among
+the rock fragments and patches of scrub timber that littered its
+floor. She had proceeded for perhaps an hour when, in passing the
+mouth of a ravine that slanted sharply into the hills, she was
+startled by a rattling of loose stones, and a horse and rider emerged
+almost directly into her path. The next moment Vil Holland raised the
+Stetson from his head and addressed her gravely: "Good mornin' Miss
+Sinclair, I sure didn't mean to come out on you sudden, that way, but
+Buck slipped on the rocks an' we come mighty near pilin' up."</p>
+
+<p>"It is about the first slip you've made, isn't it?" Patty answered,
+acidly. "Possibly if you'd left your jug at home you wouldn't have
+made that."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no. We've slipped before. Fact is, we've been into about every
+kind of a jack-pot the hills can deal. We rolled half way down a
+mountain once, an' barrin' a little skinnin' up, we come out of it all
+to the good. But it ain't the jug. Buck don't drink. It's surprisin'
+what a good habited<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> horse he is. He's a heap better'n most folks."
+The man spoke gravely, with no hint of sarcasm in his tone, and Patty
+sniffed. He appeared not to notice. "How you comin' on with the
+prospectin'? Found yer dad's claim yet?"</p>
+
+<p>"You ought to know whether I have or not," she retorted, hotly.</p>
+
+<p>"That's so. If you had, you wouldn't still be huntin' it, would you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. And if I had, I'd have had a nice little race on my hands to file
+it, wouldn't I?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I expect maybe you would. But that horse of yours is pretty
+handy on his feet. Used to belong to Bob Smith&mdash;that's his brand&mdash;that
+KN on the left shoulder."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered the girl, meaningly. "I understand there is only one
+horse in the hills that could outrun him."</p>
+
+<p>"Buck can. I won ten dollars off Bob one time. We run a mile, an' Buck
+won, easy. But the best thing about Buck, he's a distance horse. He's
+got the wind&mdash;an' he don't know what it means to quit. He could run
+all day if he had to, couldn't you, Buck?" The man stroked the
+buckskin's neck affectionately as he talked.</p>
+
+<p>Patty's eyes glinted angrily: "The stakes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> would have to be pretty
+high for you to run him, say, fifty miles, wouldn't they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Pretty high," he repeated, and changed the subject abruptly.
+"Must find it kind of lonesome out here in the hills, after livin' in
+the East where there's lots of folks around all the time."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, not at all," answered the girl, quickly. "Some of my neighbors
+are good enough to call on me once in a while&mdash;<i>when I am at home</i>.
+And there is at least <i>one</i> that calls very regularly when I am not at
+home. He is a genius for detail&mdash;that one. Sharp eyes, and a light
+touch. He's something of an expert in the matter of duplicate keys,
+too. In any large city he should make a grand success&mdash;as a burglar.
+It is really too bad that he's wasting his talents, here in the
+hills."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe he figures that the stakes are higher, and the risk less&mdash;here
+in the hills."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," sneered Patty. "And I must say his reasoning does him
+credit. If he should succeed in burglarizing even the biggest bank in
+the richest city, he could not expect to carry off a gold mine. And,
+here in the hills, instead of burglar-proof devices and armed
+policemen, he has only an unlocked cabin, and a woman to contend<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
+with. Yes, the risk is far less here in the hills. His location speaks
+well for his reasoning&mdash;if not for his courage."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose he figures that plenty of brutes have got courage, but only
+humans can reason," answered the man, blandly. "But, ridin' out in the
+hills this way&mdash;that must be a lonesome job."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," she answered, in a voice that masked the anger against
+the man who sat calmly baiting her. "In fact, I never ride alone. I
+have an unseen escort, who accompanies me wherever I go. 'My guardian
+devil of the hills' I call him, and even when I'm at home I know that
+he is watching from his notch in the rim of the hills."</p>
+
+<p>"Guardian devil," the man repeated. "That's pretty good." He did not
+smile, in fact, Patty recalled, as she sat looking squarely into his
+eyes, that she had never seen him smile&mdash;had never seen him express
+any emotion. Without a trace of anger in tone or expression he had
+ordered the grasping hotel-keeper about&mdash;and had been obeyed to the
+letter. And without the slightest evidence of annoyance or displeasure
+he had listened, upon several occasions to her own sarcastic outbursts
+against him. Here was a man as devoid of emotion as a fish, or one
+whose complete self-mastery was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> astounding. "Pretty good," he
+repeated. "And does he know that you call him your 'guardian devil?'"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think he does&mdash;now," she answered, dryly. "By the way, Mr.
+Holland, you do a good deal of riding about the hills, yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeh, prospectors are apt to. Then, there's other little matters of
+interest here, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Such as horse-thieving?" suggested the girl. "I heard you were paid
+to run down a gang of horse-thieves. I was wondering when you found
+time to earn your money."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeh, there's some hair artists loose in the hills, an' some of the
+outfits kind of wanted me to keep an eye out for 'em."</p>
+
+<p>An old saw flashed into the girl's mind, and the comers of her mouth
+drew into a sarcastic smile.</p>
+
+<p>"'Settin' a thief to catch a thief,' is what you're thinkin'. We ain't
+so well acquainted yet as what we will be&mdash;when you get your eye teeth
+cut."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose our real acquaintance will begin when the game we are
+playing comes to a show-down?" she sneered. "But let me tell you this,
+if I win, our acquaintance will end, right where you think it will
+begin!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The cowboy nodded: "That's fair an' square. An' if I win&mdash;<i>you'll have
+to be satisfied with what you get</i>. Good-day, I've fooled away time
+enough already." And, with a word to his horse, Vil Holland
+disappeared up the valley in the direction from which the girl had
+come.</p>
+
+<p>When her anger had cooled sufficiently, Patty smiled, a rather grim,
+tight-lipped little smile. "If he wins I'll have to be satisfied with
+what I get," she muttered. "At least, he's candid about it. I think,
+now, Mr. Vil Holland and I understand each other perfectly."</p>
+
+<p>Late in the afternoon she emerged from the mouth of her valley and,
+crossing a familiar tongue of bench, found herself upon the trail near
+the point of its intersection with Monte's Creek. Turning up the
+creek, she stopped for a few minutes' chat with Ma Watts.</p>
+
+<p>"Law sakes! Climb right down an' set a while. I wus sayin' to Watts
+las' night how we-all hain't see nawthin' of yo' fer hit's goin' on a
+couple of weeks 'cept yo' hirein' the team, an' not stoppin' in to
+speak of, comin' er goin'. How be yo'? An' I 'spect yo' hain't found
+yer pa's claim yet. I saved yo' up a dozen of aigs. Hed to mighty near
+fight off that there Lord Clendennin' he wanted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> 'em so bad. But I
+done tol' him yo' wus promised 'em, an' yo'd git 'em not nary nother.
+So there they be, honey, all packed in a pail with hay so's they won't
+break. No sir, I tol' him how he couldn't hev' 'em if he wus two
+lords. An' all the time we wus a-augerin', Mr. Bethune an' Microby
+Dandeline sot out yonder a-talkin' an' laughin', friendly as yo'
+please." Ma Watts paused for breath and her eye fell upon her spouse,
+who stood meekly beside the kitchen door. "Watts, where's yer manners?
+Cain't yo' say 'howdy' to Mr. Sinclair's darter&mdash;an' her a-payin' yo'
+good money fer rent an' fer team hire. Yo' ort to be 'shamed, standin'
+gawpin' like a mud turkle. Folks 'ud think yo' hain't got good sense."</p>
+
+<p>"I aimed to say 'howdy' first chanct I got." He shoved a chair toward
+the girl. "Set down an' take hit easy a spell."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is Microby?" she asked, refusing the proffered seat with a
+smile, and leaning lightly against her saddle.</p>
+
+<p>"Land sakes, I don't know! She's gittin' that no 'count, she goes
+pokin' off somewhere's in the hills on Gee Dot. Says she's
+a-prospectin'&mdash;like they all says when they're too lazy to do reg'lar
+work."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"My father was a prospector," answered the girl, quickly, "and there
+wasn't a lazy bone in his body. And I'm a prospector, and I'm sure I'm
+not lazy."</p>
+
+<p>"Law, there I went an' done hit!" exclaimed Ma Watts, contritely. "I
+didn't mean no real honest-to-Gawd, reg'lar prospectors like yo' pa
+wus, an' yo', an' Mr. Bethune. But there's that Vil Holland, he's a
+cowpuncher, when he works, and a prospector when he don't. An' there's
+Lord Clendennin', he's a prospector all the time, 'cause he don't
+never work&mdash;an' that's the way hit goes. An' Microby Dandeline's
+a-gittin' as triflin' as the rest. Mr. Bethune, he tellin' her how
+she'd git rich ef she could find a gol' mind, an' how she could buy
+her some fine clos' like yourn, an' go to the city to live like the
+folks in the pitchers. Mr. Bethune, he's done found minds. He's rich.
+An' he's got manners, too. Watts, he's allus makin' light of
+manners&mdash;says they don't 'mount to nawthin'. But thet's 'cause he
+hain't quality. Quality's got 'em, an' they're nice to hev."</p>
+
+<p>"Gre't sight o' quality&mdash;him," growled Watts. "He's part Injun."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit don't make no diff'ence what he's part!" defended the woman.
+"He's rich, an' he's purty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> lookin', an' he's got manners like I done
+tol' yo'. Ef I wus you I'd marry up with him, an&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Mrs. Watts! What do you mean?" exclaimed the girl flushing with
+annoyance.</p>
+
+<p>"Jest what I be'n aimin' to tell yo' fer hit's goin' on quite a spell.
+Yo'n him 'ud step hit off right pert. Yo' pretty, an' yo' rich, er yo'
+will be when yo' find yo' pa's mind, an' yo' manners is most as good
+as his'n."</p>
+
+<p>The humor of the mountain woman's serious effort at match-making
+struck Patty, and she interrupted with a laugh: "There are several
+objections to that arrangement," she hastened to say. "In the first
+place Mr. Bethune has never asked me to marry him. He may have serious
+objections, and as for me, I'm not ready to even think of marrying."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't take long to git ready, onct yo' git in the notion. An' I bet
+Mr. Bethune hain't abuzzin' 'round up an' down this yere crick fer
+nawthin'. Law sakes, child, when I tuk a notion to take Watts, come a
+supper time I wusn't no more a mind to git married than yo' be, an',
+by cracky! come moonrise me an' Watts had forked one o' pa's mewels
+with nothin' on but a rope halter, an' wus headin' down the branch
+with pa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> an' my brother Lafe a-cuttin' through the lau'ls with their
+rifle-guns fer to head us off."</p>
+
+<p>"Yo' didn't take me fer looks ner manners, neither," reminded Watts.</p>
+
+<p>"Law, I'd a be'n single yet, ef I hed. No sir, I tuk yo' to save a
+sight o' killin' that's what I done. Yo' see, Miss, my pa wus sot on
+me not marryin' no Watts&mdash;not that I aimed to, 'til he says I dasn't.
+But Watts hed be'n a pesterin' 'round right smart, nights, an' pa
+lowed he'd shore kill him daid ef he didn't mind his own
+business&mdash;so'd my brothers, they wus five of 'em, an' nary one that
+wusn't mighty handy with his rifle-gun.</p>
+
+<p>"So Watts, he quit a-comin' to the cabin, but me an' him made hit up
+thet he'd hide out on t'other side o' the branch an' holler like a
+owl, an' then I'd slip out the back do'&mdash;an' that's the way we done
+our co'tin'. My folks didn't hev no truck with the Wattses thet lived
+on t'other side the mountain, 'count of them killin' two Strunkses a
+way back, the Strunkses bein' my pa's ma's folks, over a hawg. Even
+then I didn't hev no notion o' marryin' Watts, jest done hit to be
+a-doin' like, ontil pa an' the boys ketched on to whut we wus up to.
+After thet, hit got so't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> every time they heerd a squinch owl holler,
+they'd begin a-shootin' into the bresh with their rifle guns. Watts
+lowed they was comin' doggone clust to him a time er two, an' how he
+aimed to bring along his own gun some night, an' start a shootin'
+back.</p>
+
+<p>"Law knows wher it would ended, whut one with another, the Biggses an'
+the Strunkses, an' the Rawlins, an' the Craborchards would hev be'n
+drug into hit, along of the Wattses an' the Scrogginses. So I tuk
+Watts, an' we went to live with his folks, an' we sent back the mewel
+with Job Swenky, who they wouldn't nobody kill 'cause he wus a daftie.
+An' pa brung back the mewel hisself, come alone, an' 'thouten his
+rifle-gun. He says seem' how Watts hed got me fair an' squr, an' we
+wus reg'lar married, he reckoned the ol' grudge wus dead, the
+Strunkses wasn't no count much, nohow, an' we wus welcome to keep the
+mewel to start on. So Watts's pa killed a shoat, an' brung out a big
+jug o' corn whisky, an' we-all et an' drunk all we could hold, an'
+from then on 'til whut time we come away from ther, they wusn't a man,
+outside a couple o' revenoos, killed on B'ar Track.</p>
+
+<p>"So yo' see," the woman continued, with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> smile. "Hit don't take no
+time to git ready, onct yo' git in the notion."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I haven't the same provocation," Patty laughed, as she
+picked up her pail of eggs and swung into the saddle. "Good-by, and be
+sure and tell Microby Dandeline to come up and see me. Maybe she'd
+like to come up on Sunday. I never ride on Sunday."</p>
+
+<p>"She'll come fast enough," promised Ma Watts, and watched the
+retreating girl until a bend of the creek carried her out of sight.</p>
+
+<p>The long shadows of the mountains were slowly climbing the opposite
+wall of the valley, as the girl rode leisurely up Monte's Creek. And
+as she rode, she smiled: "Why is it that every married woman&mdash;and
+especially the older ones, thinks it is her bounden duty to pounce
+upon and marry off every single one? It is not one bit different out
+here in the heart of the hills, than it is in Middleton, or New York.
+And, it isn't because they're all so happy in their own marriages,
+either. Look at old Mrs. Stratford, who was bound and determined that
+I must marry that Archie Smith-Jones; she's been married four times,
+and divorced three. And Archie never will amount to a row of pins. He
+looks like a tailor's model, and acts like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> a Rolls-Royce. And, I
+don't see any supreme bliss about Mrs. Watts's married existence,
+although she's perfectly satisfied, I guess, poor thing. I love the
+subtle finesse with which she tried to arrange a match between me and
+Mr. Bethune. ''Ef I wus yo' I'd marry up with him'&mdash;just like that!
+Shades of Mrs. Stratford who spent two whole months trying to get
+Archie and me into the same canoe! And when she did, the blamed thing
+tipped over and ruined the only decent summer things I had, all
+because that fool Archie thought he had to stand up to fend the canoe
+off the pier.... At least, Mr. Bethune has got some sense, and he is
+good looking, and he seems to have money, and there is a certain dash
+and verve about him that one would hardly expect to find here in the
+hills&mdash;and yet&mdash;there's something&mdash;it isn't his Indian blood, I don't
+care a cent about that&mdash;but sometimes, there's something about him
+that makes me wonder if he's genuine."</p>
+
+<p>She passed through the cottonwood grove and emerged into the open only
+a few hundred yards below the sheep camp. A moment later she halted
+abruptly and stared toward the cabin. Two saddled horses stood before
+the door, reins hanging loosely, and upon the edge of a low cut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>-bank,
+just below the shallow waters of the ford, two men were struggling,
+locked in each other's embrace. Hastily the girl drew back into the
+cover of the grove and watched with intense interest the two forms
+that weaved precariously above the deep pool formed by a sudden bend
+in the creek. The horses she recognized as Vil Holland's buckskin, and
+the big, blaze-faced bay ridden by Lord Clendenning. In the gathering
+dusk she could not make out the faces of the two men, but by their
+heaving, circling, swaying figures she knew that mighty muscles were
+being strained to their utmost, and that soon one or the other must
+give in. A dozen questions flashed through the girl's brain. What were
+they doing there? Why were they fighting at the very door of her
+cabin? And, above all, what would be the outcome? Would one of them
+kill the other? Would one of them be left maimed and bleeding for her
+to bind up and coax back to life?</p>
+
+<p>The men were on the very verge of the cut-bank, now, and it seemed
+inevitable that both must go crashing into the creek. "Serve 'em right
+if they would," muttered Patty, "I'd like to give 'em a push." With
+the words on her lips, she saw a blur of motion, one of the forms
+leaped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> lightly back, and the other poised for a second, arms waving
+wildly in a vain effort to regain his balance, then fell suddenly
+backward and toppled headlong into the creek. Patty could distinctly
+hear the mighty splash with which he struck the water, as the other
+advanced to the edge and peered downward. She knew that this other was
+Vil Holland, and a moment later he turned away and catching up the
+reins of the buckskin, swung into the saddle, splashed through the
+ford, and disappeared into the scrub timber of the opposite side of
+the valley.</p>
+
+<p>Patty urged her horse forward, at the imminent risk of injury to her
+pail of eggs. When she had almost reached the cabin, a grotesque,
+dripping form crawled heavily from the creek bed, gave one hurried
+glance in her direction, mounted his horse, and disappeared in a
+thunder of galloping hoofs.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<h2>BETHUNE TRIES AGAIN</h2>
+
+
+<p>For several days following the incident of the two struggling
+horsemen, Patty rode, extending her quest farther and farther into the
+hills, and thus widening the circle of her exploration. She had
+overhauled her father's photographic outfit and found it contained
+complete supplies for the development and printing of his own
+pictures, and having brought several rolls of films from town, she
+proceeded to amuse herself by photographing the more striking bits of
+scenery she encountered upon her daily rides.</p>
+
+<p>It was mid-summer, now, the sun shone hot and brassy from a cloudless
+sky, and the buffalo grass was beginning to exchange its fresh
+greenness for a shade of dirty tan. Only the delicious coolness of the
+short nights made bearable the long, hot, monotonous days during which
+the girl stuck doggedly to her purpose. Upon these rides she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> met no
+one. It was as if human beings had entirely forsaken the world and
+left it to the prairie dogs, the coyotes, and the lazily coiled
+rattle-snakes that lay basking upon the rocks in the hot glare of the
+sun. Even the occasional bunches of range cattle did not eye her with
+their accustomed interest, but lay in straggling groups close beside
+the cold waters of tiny streams.</p>
+
+<p>And it was upon one of these hot days, long past the noon hour, that
+Patty dismounted in a narrow valley near the head of a cold mountain
+stream and, affixing the hobbles to her horse's legs, threw off the
+saddle and bridle, and spread the sweat-dampened blanket to dry in the
+sun. Freed of his accouterments, the horse shook himself, shuffled to
+the stream, and burying his muzzle to the eyes, sucked up great gulps
+of the cold water, and playfully thrashing his head, sent volleys of
+silver drops flying from side to side, as he churned the tiny pool
+into a veritable mud wallow. Tiring of that, he rolled luxuriously,
+the crisping buffalo grass scratching the irking saddle-feel from his
+back and sides: and as the girl spread her luncheon upon a clean white
+napkin in the shade of a stunted cottonwood, fell to grazing
+contentedly.</p>
+
+<p>As Patty chipped at the shell of a hard-boiled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> egg she glanced toward
+the horse, which had stopped grazing and stood facing down stream with
+ears nervously alert. A few moments later the soft rattle of
+bit-chains and the low shuffling of hoofs told her that a rider was
+approaching at a walk. "Probably my guardian devil, ostensibly paying
+strict attention to his own business of prospecting, or trying to
+strike the trail of the horse-thieves, but in reality hot on the trail
+of little me. I just wish I could find the mine. He'll have to stop
+and drive his stakes and fix his notice, and if his old buckskin is as
+good as he thinks he is, he'll just about overtake me at Thompson's.
+And then on a fresh horse&mdash;I just want one good look into his face
+when I pass him, that's all!"</p>
+
+<p>The horseman came suddenly into view a few yards distant, and the girl
+looked up into the black eyes of Monk Bethune.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, my dear Miss Sinclair!" The quarter-breed's tone was one
+of glad surprise, as he dismounted and advanced, hat in hand. "This is
+indeed an unexpected pleasure. La, la, la, the luck of it! Shall we
+say, the romance? Hot and saddle-weary from a long ride, to come
+suddenly upon the fairest of ladies, at luncheon alone in the most
+charming of little valleys. It is a situation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> to be dreamed of. And,
+am I not to be asked to share your repast?"</p>
+
+<p>Patty laughed. The light whimsicality of the man's mood amused her:
+"Yes, you may consider yourself invited."</p>
+
+<p>"And be assured that I accept, that is, upon condition that I be
+allowed to contribute my just share toward the feast." As he talked,
+Bethune fumbled at his pack-strings, and brought forth a small canvas
+bag, from which he drew sandwiches of fried trout and bacon thrust
+between two slabs of doubtful looking baking-powder bread. "No dainty
+lunch prepared by woman's hand," he apologized, "but we of the hills,
+no matter how exotic or &aelig;sthetic our tastes may be, must of stern
+necessity descend to the common level of cowboys and offscourings in
+the matter of our eating. See, beside your own palatable food, this
+rough fare of mine presents an appearance unappetizing almost to
+repugnance."</p>
+
+<p>"At least, it looks eminently satisfying," said Patty, eyeing the
+thick sandwiches.</p>
+
+<p>"Satisfying, I grant you. Satisfying to the beast that is in man, in
+that it stays the pangs of hunger. So is the blood-dripping carcass of
+the fresh-killed calf satisfying to the wolf, and carrion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> satisfying
+to the buzzard. But, not at all satisfying to the unbestial ego&mdash;to
+the thing that makes man, man."</p>
+
+<p>"You should have been a poet," smiled the girl. "But come, even poets
+must eat."</p>
+
+<p>"God help the man who has no poetry in his soul&mdash;no imagination!"
+exclaimed Bethune, a trifle sententiously, thought the girl, as she
+resumed the chipping of her egg. "Imagination," the word hovered
+elusively in her brain&mdash;she had applied that word only recently to
+someone&mdash;oh, yes, the man whose habit it was to search her cabin. She
+smiled ever so slightly as she glanced sidewise at Bethune who was
+nibbling at one of his own sandwiches.</p>
+
+<p>"Please try one of mine," she urged, "and there are some pickles, and
+an olive or two. I have loads of them at home, and really I believe I
+should like that other sandwich of yours. I haven't tasted fish for
+ages."</p>
+
+<p>"Take it and welcome," smiled the man. "But do not deny yourself the
+pleasure of eating all the fish you want. Why, with a bent pin, a bit
+of thread, and housefly, you can catch yourself a mess of trout any
+morning without venturing a hundred yards from your own door. Monte's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+Creek is alive with them, and taken fresh from the water and fried to
+a crisp in butter, they make a breakfast fit for a king, or in the
+present instance, I should have said, a queen."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me," asked Patty, abruptly. "Has Vil Holland imagination?"</p>
+
+<p>"Imagination! My dear lady, Vil Holland is the veriest clod! Too lazy
+to do the honest work for which he is fitted, he roams the hills under
+pretense of prospecting."</p>
+
+<p>"But, how does he make a living?"</p>
+
+<p>Bethune shrugged. "Who can tell? I know for a certainty that he has
+never made a cent out of his alleged prospecting. It is true he rides
+the round-up for a couple of months in the spring and fall, but four
+months' work at forty dollars a month will hardly suffice for a man's
+yearly needs." He unconsciously lowered his voice, and continued:
+"Several ranchers have complained of losing horses and only a few days
+ago, up near the line, my good friend Corporal Downey, of the Mounted,
+told me that a number of American horses, with brands skillfully
+doctored, had been regularly making their appearance in Canada. It is
+an ugly suspicion, and I am making no open accusation, but&mdash;one may
+wonder."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The man finished his sandwich, dipped his fingers into the creek, wiped
+them upon his handkerchief, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. "Speaking of
+Vil Holland, why did you ask whether he had&mdash;imagination?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know," replied the girl, lightly. "I just wondered."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune regarded her steadily. "Has he been,&mdash;er, interfering in any
+way with your attempt to locate your father's strike?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hardly interfering, I should say."</p>
+
+<p>"You believe he still follows you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"You do not fear him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"That is because you do not know him! I tell you he is a dangerous
+man!" Bethune puffed shortly at his cigarette, hurled it from him, and
+faced the girl with glowing eyes: "Ah, Miss Sinclair, why don't you
+end this uncertainty? Why do you continue every day to jeopardize your
+interests&mdash;yes, your very life&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean," interrupted the girl, "why don't I form a partnership
+with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"A partnership! Ah, no, not a&mdash;and, yet&mdash;yes, a partnership. A
+partnership of life, and love, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> happiness!" The man moved close,
+and the black eyes seemed, in the intensity of their gaze to devour
+her very soul. "There I have said it&mdash;the thing I have been wanting to
+say, yet have feared to say." Patty's lips moved, as if to speak, but
+the man forestalled the words with a gesture. "Before you answer, let
+me tell you how, since you first came into the hills, I have lived in
+the shadow of a mighty fear&mdash;I, who have lived my life among men, and
+have never known the meaning of fear, have been harassed by a
+multitude of fears. From the moment of our first meeting I have loved
+you. And, by all the saints, I swear you are the only woman I have
+ever loved! And, yet, I feared to tell you of that love. Twice the
+words have trembled on my tongue, and remained unspoken, because I
+feared that you might spurn me. Then in my heart rose another fear,
+and I cursed myself for a craven. I feared that chance might favor you
+in locating your father's strike, and then people would say, 'he loves
+her for her wealth.' I even thought that you, yourself, might
+doubt&mdash;might ask yourself why he waited until I became rich before he
+told me of his love? But, believe me, my dear lady, for your wealth, I
+care not the snap of my fingers&mdash;so!" He snapped his fingers loudly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
+and continued: "But say the word, and we will go far from the hill
+country, and leave your father's secret to the guardianship of his
+beloved mountains. For I am rich. I own mines, mines, mines! What is
+one mine more or less to me?"</p>
+
+<p>Patty Sinclair felt herself drifting under the spell of his compelling
+ardor. "Why not?" she asked herself. "Why not marry this man and give
+up the hopeless struggle?" She thought of her depleted bank account.
+At best, she could not hope to hold out much longer. Bethune had taken
+her hand as he talked, and she had not withdrawn it from his palm.
+Swiftly he bent his head and pressed the brown hand passionately to
+his lips. She felt his grip tighten as the burning kisses covered her
+hand&mdash;her wrist. She drew the hand away.</p>
+
+<p>"But, I do not want to leave the hill country," she said, quite
+calmly. "I shall never leave it until I have vindicated my father's
+course in the eyes of the people back home&mdash;the men who scoffed at
+him, and called him a ne'er-do-well, and a dreamer&mdash;who refused to
+back his judgment with their miserable dollars&mdash;who killed him with
+their cruelty, and their doubt!"</p>
+
+<p>"I hoped you would say that!" exclaimed Bethune,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> his eyes alight with
+approval. "I knew you would say it! The daughter of your father could
+not do otherwise. I knew him well, and loved him as a son should love.
+And I, too, would see his judgment vindicated in the eyes of all the
+world. Listen, together we will remain, and together we will locate
+the lost strike, if it takes every cent I own." The man's voice
+gripped in its intensity, and Patty's eyes returned from the distance
+where the summer haze bathed far mountain tops in soft purple, and
+looked into the eyes of velvet black.</p>
+
+<p>"But, why should you want to marry me?" she inquired, a puzzled little
+frown wrinkling her forehead. "You hardly know me. You have not always
+lived in the hills. You have met many women."</p>
+
+<p>"A man meets many women. He marries but one. You ask me why I want to
+marry you. I cannot tell you why. Many times since we first met I have
+asked myself why. I, who have openly scoffed at the yoke, and boasted
+proudly of my freedom. I do not know why, unless it is that to me you
+are the embodiment of all womanhood&mdash;of all that is desirable and
+worth while, or maybe the reason is in the fact that while I am with
+you I am supremely happy, and while I am absent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> from you I am
+restless and unhappy&mdash;a prey to my fears. I suppose it all sums up in
+the reason&mdash;world-old, but ever new&mdash;because I love you." The man was
+upon his feet, now, bending toward her with arms outstretched. For
+just an instant Patty hesitated, then shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"No!" she cried and struggling to her feet, faced him across the
+remains of the luncheon. "No, it would not be playing the game. I have
+my work to do, and I'll do it alone. It would be like quitting&mdash;like
+calling for help before I am beaten. This is my work&mdash;not yours, this
+vindication of my father!"</p>
+
+<p>"But think," interrupted Bethune, "you will not let such Quixotic
+ideals stand between us and happiness! You have your right to
+happiness, and so have I, and in the end 'twill be the same, your
+father's name will be cleared of any suspicion of unworthiness."</p>
+
+<p>"It is my work," Patty repeated, stubbornly, "and besides, I do not
+think I love you. I do not know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but you will love me!" cried Bethune. "Such love as mine will not
+be denied!" The black eyes glowed, and he took a step toward her, but
+the girl drew away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Not now&mdash;not yet! Stop!" At the command Bethune recoiled slightly,
+and the arms that had been about to encircle the girl, fell slowly to
+his sides. Patty had suddenly drawn herself erect and looked him eye
+for eye: and as she looked, from behind the soft glow of the velvet
+eyes, leaped a wolfish gleam&mdash;a glint of baffled rage, a flash of
+hate. In a moment it was gone and the man's lips smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon," he said, "for the moment I forgot I have not the right." The
+voice had lost its intense timbre, and sounded dull, as if held under
+control only by a mighty effort of will. And in that moment a strange
+fear of him took possession of the girl, so that her own voice
+surprised her with its calm.</p>
+
+<p>"I must be going, now."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune bowed. "I will saddle your horse, while you clear up the
+table." He nodded toward the napkin spread upon the grass with the
+remains of the luncheon upon it. "My way takes me within a short
+distance of your cabin; may I ride with you?" he asked a few moments
+later, as he led her horse, bridled and saddled, to his own.</p>
+
+<p>"Why certainly. I should be glad to have you. And we can talk."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Of love?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl laughed: "No, not of love. Surely there are other things&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, for instance, I may again warn you that you are in danger."</p>
+
+<p>"Danger?" she glanced up quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"From Vil Holland." They had mounted, and turned their horses toward a
+long divide.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, from Vil Holland," she repeated slowly, as she drew in
+beside him. "I had almost forgotten Vil Holland."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to God I could forget him," retorted the man, viciously. "But,
+as long as you remain unprotected in these hills I shall never for one
+moment forget him. Your secret is not safe. Your person is not safe.
+He dogs your footsteps. He visits your cabin during your absence. He
+is bad&mdash;<i>bad!</i> And here I must tell you of an incident&mdash;or rather
+explain an incident, the unfortunate conclusion of which you saw with
+your own eyes. Poor Clen! He is beside himself with mortification at
+the sorry spectacle he presented when you rode up and saw him crawl
+dripping from the creek.</p>
+
+<p>"I was away to the northward, on important business, and knowing that
+it had become my custom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> to ride over occasionally to see how you
+fared, he decided to do the same during my absence. Arriving at the
+cabin, he was surprised to see Vil Holland's horse before the door. He
+rode boldly up, dismounted, and caught the scoundrel in the act of
+searching among your effects. The sight, together with the memory of
+the cut pack sack, enraged him to such an extent that, despite the
+fact that the other was armed, he attacked him with his fists. In the
+fighting that ensued, Holland, being much the younger and more agile,
+succeeded in pitching Clen over the edge of the bank into the creek.
+Whereupon, he leaped into the saddle and vanished.</p>
+
+<p>"When Clen finally succeeded in reaching the bank and drawing himself
+over the top, he was horrified to see you approaching. Above all
+things Clen is a gentleman, and rather than appear before you in his
+bedraggled condition, he fled. Upon my return he insisted that I see
+you and explain the awkward situation to you in person. I beg of you
+never to refer to the incident in Clen's presence, especially not in
+levity, for he has, more strongly than anyone I ever knew, the
+Englishman's horror of appearing ridiculous."</p>
+
+<p>Patty smiled: "It was too funny for words.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> The way he gave one
+horrified glance in my direction and then scrambled into his saddle
+and dashed away, with the water flowing from him in rivulets. But of
+course, I shall never mention it to Lord Clendenning, and I wish you
+would thank him for his valiant championship of my cause."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune shot her a swift sidewise glance. Was there just a trace of
+mockery in the tone? If so, her expression masked it perfectly.</p>
+
+<p>They rode in silence for a time, following down the course of a broad
+valley, and presently came out onto the trail. A rider approached them
+at a walk, the low-hung white dust cloud in his wake marking the
+course of the long, hot trail. Bethune scrutinized the man intently.
+"Jack Pierce," he announced. "He runs a little yak outfit, a few head
+of horses, and some cattle over on Big Porcupine." A moment later
+Bethune drew up and greeted the rider with a great show of cordiality.
+"Hello, Pierce, old hand! How's everything over on Porcupine?"</p>
+
+<p>The rancher returned the greeting with a curt nod, and a level stare:
+"Things on Porky's all right, I guess&mdash;so far."</p>
+
+<p>"I hear old man Samuelson's sick?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"How's he getting on?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't heard. So long." He touched his horse with a quirt and the
+animal continued down the trail at a brisk trot.</p>
+
+<p>"Surly devil," growled Bethune, as he gazed for a moment at the
+retreating horseman, and this time Patty was sure she detected the
+snake-like gleam in the black eyes. He dug his horse viciously with
+his spurs and jerked him in, dancing and fighting the bit. He laughed,
+shortly. "These little ranchers&mdash;bah!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Christie rode over to see Mr. Samuelson the other day. I met him
+at Thompson's."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, so you know the soul-puncher, do you? Makes a big play with his
+yellow chaps and six-gun. Suppose he had to be there to see that old
+Samuelson gets a ring-side seat if he happens to cash in."</p>
+
+<p>"He said he was going over to see if there was anything he could do,"
+answered the girl, ignoring the venom of the man's words.</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty slick graft&mdash;preaching. Educated for it myself. Old
+Samuelson's rich. Christie goes over and pulls a long face, and sends
+up a hatful of prayers, and if he gets well Samuelson will hand him a
+nice fat check for the church. If he don't, the old woman kicks in.
+And you know, and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> know how much of it the church ever sees. Did the
+soul-puncher have anything to say about me?"</p>
+
+<p>"About you?" asked the girl in apparent surprise. "Why should he say
+anything about you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because they all take a crack at me!" said Bethune in an injured
+tone. "You just saw how Pierce answered a civil question. They all
+hate me because I have made money. They never made any, and they never
+will, and they're jealous of my success. They never lose a chance to
+malign and injure me in every way possible&mdash;but I'll show them! Damn
+them! I'll show them all!" They rode for a short distance in silence,
+then Bethune laughed. It was the ringing boyish laugh that held no
+hint of bitterness or sneer. "I hope you will pardon my outburst. I
+have my moments of irascibility, for which I am heartily ashamed.
+But&mdash;poof! Like a summer cloud, they are gone as quickly as they come.
+Why should I care what they say of me. They betray their own meanness
+of soul in their envy of my success. We part here for the time. I must
+ride over onto the east slope&mdash;a little matter of some horses." Again
+he laughed: "In a few days I shall return&mdash;I give you fair
+warning&mdash;return to win your love. And I will win&mdash;I am Monk Bethune&mdash;I
+always win!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> Without waiting for a reply, the man drove his spurs
+into his horse's sides and, swerving abruptly from the trail,
+disappeared down a narrow rock chasm that led directly into the heart
+of the hills.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<h2>PATTY DRAWS A MAP</h2>
+
+
+<p>That evening after supper, Patty sat upon her doorstep and watched the
+slowly fading opalescent glow in which the daylight surrendered to
+encroaching darkness. "How wonderful it all is, and how beautiful!"
+she breathed. "The indomitable ruggedness of the hills&mdash;rough and
+forbidding, but never ugly. Always beckoning, always challenging, yet
+always repulsing. Guarding their secrets well. Their rock walls and
+mighty precipices frowning displeasure at the presumptuous meddling of
+the intruder, and their valleys gaping in sardonic grins at the puny
+attempts to wrest their secret from them. Always, the mountains mock,
+even as they stimulate to greater effort with their wonderful air, and
+soothe bitter disappointment with the soft caress of twilight's
+after-glow. I love it&mdash;and yet, how I hate it all! I can't hold out
+much longer. I'm like a general who has to withdraw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> his forces, not
+because he is beaten, but because he has run short of ammunition. It
+is August, and by the end of September I'll be done." She clenched her
+fists until the nails dug into her palms. "But I'll come back," she
+cried, defiantly. "I'll work&mdash;I'll find some way to earn some money,
+and I'll come back year after year, if I have to, until I have
+explored every single one of these mountains from the littlest
+foothill to the top of the highest peak. And someday, I'll win!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Bethune is rich." She started. The thought flashed upon her
+brain, vivid as whispered words. Involuntarily, she shuddered at the
+memory of his burning eyes, the hot touch of his lips upon her
+hand&mdash;her arm. She remembered the short, curt answers of the hard-eyed
+Pierce. And the thinly veiled distrust of Bethune, voiced by Vil
+Holland, Thompson, and the preacher whom he had affectionately
+referred to as "The Bishop of All Outdoors." Could it be possible&mdash;was
+it reasonable, that these were all so mean and contemptible of soul
+that their words were actuated by jealousy of Bethune's success? Patty
+thought not. Somehow, the characters did not fit the r&ocirc;le. "If he'd
+have explained their dislike upon the grounds of his Indian blood, it
+might have carried the ring of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> truth&mdash;at least, it would have been
+reasonable. But, jealousy&mdash;as Mr. Vil Holland would say, 'I don't grab
+it.'"</p>
+
+<p>She recalled the wolfish gleam that flashed into Bethune's eyes, and
+the malicious hatred expressed in his insinuations and accusations
+against these men. Could it be possible that her distrust of Vil
+Holland was unfounded? But no, there was the repeated searching of her
+cabin&mdash;and had not Lord Clendenning caught him in the act? There was
+the trampled grass of the notch in the hills from which he was
+accustomed to spy upon her. And the cut pack sack&mdash;somehow, she was
+not so sure about that cut pack sack. But, anyway&mdash;there is the jug!
+"I don't trust him!" she exclaimed, "and I don't trust Monk Bethune,
+now. I'm glad I found him out before it was&mdash;too late. He's bad&mdash;I
+could see the evil glitter in his eyes. And, how do I know that he
+told the truth about Lord Clendenning and Vil Holland?" Darkness
+settled upon the valley and Patty sought her bunk where, for a
+restless hour, she tossed about thinking.</p>
+
+<p>The following morning the girl paused, coffee pot in hand, in the act
+of preparing breakfast, and listened. Distinct and clear above the
+sound of sizzling bacon, floated the words of an old ballad:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I'll be in Sco'lan' afore ye;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, oh, my true love I'll never meet again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomon'.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Hastening to the open door she peered down the valley. The song
+ceased, and presently from the cottonwood thicket emerged a horse and
+rider. The rider wore a roll-brimmed hat and brilliant yellow chaps,
+and he was mounted upon a fantastically spotted pinto. "It's&mdash;'The
+Bishop of All Outdoors'," she smiled, as she returned to the stove.
+"He certainly has a voice. I don't blame Mr. Thompson for being crazy
+about him. Anybody that can sing like that! And he loves it, too."</p>
+
+<p>A hearty "Good morning" brought her once more to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Just in time for breakfast," she smiled up into the eyes of the man
+on the pinto.</p>
+
+<p>"Breakfast! Bless you, I didn't stop for breakfast. I figured on
+breakfasting with my friend, The Villain, over across the ridge."</p>
+
+<p>"The Villain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Vil Holland," laughed the man. "His name, I believe is, Villiers. I
+shortened it to Villain, and the natives hereabouts have bobbed it
+down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> to Vil. But he'll have to breakfast alone this morning, as
+usual. I've changed my mind. You see, I share the proverbial weakness
+of the clergy for a good meal. And against so charming a hostess, old
+Vil hasn't a chance in the world." Dismounting, the Reverend Len
+Christie removed his saddle and bridle and, with a resounding slap on
+the flank turned the pinto loose. "Get along, old Paint, and lay in
+some of this good grass!" he laughed as the pinto, cavorting like a
+colt, galloped across the creek to join Patty's hobbled cayuse.</p>
+
+<p>"My, that bacon smells good," he said, a moment later, as he stood in
+the doorway and watched the girl turn the thin strips in the pan. "Do
+let me furnish part of the breakfast," he cried, eagerly and began
+swiftly to loosen from behind the cantle of his saddle a slender case,
+from which he produced and fitted together a two-ounce rod. "I'll take
+it right from your own dooryard in just about two jiffies." He affixed
+a reel, threaded a cobweb line, and selected a fly. "Just save that
+bacon fry for a few minutes and we'll have some speckled beauties in
+the pan before you know it."</p>
+
+<p>Pushing the frying pan to the back of the stove, Patty accompanied him
+to the bank of the stream where she watched enthusiastically as, one
+after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> another, he pulled four glistening trout from the water.</p>
+
+<p>"That's enough," he said, as the fourth fish lay squirming upon the
+grass. And in what seemed to the girl an incredibly short time, he had
+them cleaned, washed, and ready for the pan. While she fried them he
+busied himself with his outfit, wiping his rod and carefully returning
+it to its case, and spreading his line to dry. And a few moments later
+the two sat down to a breakfast of hot biscuits, coffee, bacon, and
+trout, crisp and brown, smoking from the pan.</p>
+
+<p>"You must have ridden nearly all night to have reached here so early,"
+ventured the girl as she poured a cup of steaming coffee.</p>
+
+<p>"No," laughed Christie, "I spent the night at the Wattses'. I had some
+drawing paper and pencils for David Golieth. Do you know, I've a
+notion to send that kid to school some place. He's wild about drawing.
+Takes me all over the hills for a mile or two around the ranch and
+shows me pictures he has drawn with charcoal wherever there is a piece
+of flat rock. He's as shy and sensitive as a girl, until he begins to
+talk about his drawing, then his big eyes fairly glow with enthusiasm
+as he points out the good points of some of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> creations, and the
+defects of others. All of them, of course, are crude as the pictorial
+efforts of the Indians, but it seems to me that here and there I can
+see a flash of real genius."</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't it be wonderful if he should become a famous artist!"
+exclaimed the girl. "And wouldn't you feel proud of having discovered
+him? And I guess lots of them do come from just as unpromising
+parentage."</p>
+
+<p>"It wouldn't be so remarkable," smiled the man. "Watts, himself is a
+genius&mdash;for inventing excuses to rest."</p>
+
+<p>"How is the sick man?" asked Patty. "The one you went to see, over on
+Big Porcupine, wasn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, old man Samuelson. Fine old fellow&mdash;Samuelson. I sure hope he'll
+pull through. Doc Mallory came while I was there, and he told me he's
+got a good fighting chance. And a fighting chance is all that old
+fellow asks&mdash;even against pneumonia. He's a man!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if there is anything I could do?" asked the girl.</p>
+
+<p>Christie's face brightened. "Why, yes, if you would. It's a long ride
+from here&mdash;thirty miles or so. There's nothing you could take them,
+they're<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> very well fixed&mdash;capital Chinese cook and all that. But I've
+an idea that just the fact that you called would cheer them immensely.
+They lost a daughter years ago who would be about your age, I think.
+They've got a son, but he's up in Alaska, or some place where they
+can't reach him. Decidedly I think it would do those old people a
+world of good. You'll find Mrs. Samuelson different from&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ma Watts?" interrupted Patty.</p>
+
+<p>The man laughed, "Yes, from Ma Watts. Although she's a well meaning
+soul. She's going over and 'stay a spell' with the Samuelsons, just as
+soon as she can 'fix to go.' Mrs. Samuelson is a really superior old
+lady, refined and lovable in every way. You'll like her immensely. I'm
+sure. And I know she will enjoy you."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," Patty bowed elaborately. "Poor thing, she must be
+frightfully lonely."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Of course, the neighbors do all they can. But neighbors are few
+and far between. Vil Holland has been over a couple of times, and Jack
+Pierce stopped work right in the middle of his upland haying to go to
+town for some medicine. I tell you, Miss Sinclair, a person soon
+learns who's who in the mountains."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Christie pushed back his chair. "I must be going. I hate to hurry off,
+but I want to see Vil and caution him to have an eye on the old man's
+stock&mdash;you see, there are some shady characters in the hills, and old
+man Samuelson runs horses as well as cattle. It is very possible they
+may decide to get busy while he is laid up.</p>
+
+<p>"By the way, Miss Sinclair, may I ask if you are making satisfactory
+headway in your own enterprise?"</p>
+
+<p>Patty shook her head. "No. I'm afraid I'm making no headway at all.
+Sometimes, I think&mdash;I'm afraid&mdash;" she stumbled for words.</p>
+
+<p>"Is there anything in the world I can do to help you?" asked the man,
+eagerly. "If there is, just mention it. I knew your father, and
+admired him very much. I'm satisfied he made a strike, and I do hope
+you can locate it."</p>
+
+<p>The girl shook her head. "No, nothing, thank you," she answered and
+then suddenly looked up, "That is&mdash;wait, maybe there is something&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Name it." Christie waited eagerly for her to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"It just occurred to me&mdash;maybe you could help me&mdash;find a school."</p>
+
+<p>"A school!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a school to teach. You see, I have used nearly all my money. By
+the end of next month it will be gone, and I must get a job." The man
+noticed that the girl was doing her best to meet the situation
+bravely.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed I will help you!" he exclaimed. "In fact, I think I can right
+now promise that whenever you get ready to accept it, there will be a
+position waiting."</p>
+
+<p>"Even if it is only a country school&mdash;just so I can make enough money
+this winter to come back next summer."</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't think of letting a country school get you. We need you
+right in town. You see, I happen to be president of the school board,
+and if I were to let a perfectly good teacher get away, I'd deserve to
+lose my job." Stepping to the door, he whistled shrilly, and a moment
+later the piebald cayuse trotted to his side. When the horse stood
+saddled and bridled, the man turned to Patty: "Oh, about the
+Samuelsons&mdash;do you know how to get to Big Porcupine?"</p>
+
+<p>Patty shook her head. "No, but I guess I can find it."</p>
+
+<p>"Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I'll show you in a
+minute." Leaning over the table,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> the man sketched rapidly upon the
+paper. "We'll say this is the Watts ranch, and mark it R. That's our
+starting point. Then you follow down the creek to the ford&mdash;here, at
+F. Then, instead of following the trail, you turn due east, and follow
+up a little creek about ten miles. This arrow pointing upward means up
+the creek. When you come to a sharp pinnacle that divides your
+valley&mdash;we'll mark that &#8896; so&mdash;you take the right hand branch, and
+follow it to the divide. That leads, let's see, southeast&mdash;we'll mark
+it S. E. 3 to D; it runs about three miles to the divide which you
+cross. Then you follow down another creek four or five miles until it
+empties into Big Porcupine, 4 E. to P., and from there it's easy. Just
+turn up Porcupine, pass Jack Pierce's ranch, and about five miles
+farther on you come to Samuelson's. Do you get it?"</p>
+
+<p>Patty watched every move of the pencil, as she listened to the
+explanation. And when, a few moments later, the big "Bishop of All
+Outdoors" crossed the ford and rode out of sight up the coulee that
+led to the trampled notch in the hills, she threw herself down at the
+table and with eyes big with excitement, drew her father's map from
+its silk envelope and spread it out beside Christie's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> roughly
+sketched one. "What a fool I am not to have guessed that those letters
+must stand for the points of the compass!" she cried. "It ought to be
+plain as day, now." Carefully, she read the cabalistic line at the
+bottom of the map. "SC 1 S 1 1/2 E 1 S &#8593; to &#8745; 2 W to a.
+to b. Stake L. C. &#8721; center." Her brow drew into a puzzled
+frown "SC," she repeated. "S stands for south, but what does SC mean?
+SW or SE would be southwest, or southeast, but SC&mdash;?" She glanced at
+the other map. "Let's see, Mr. Christie's first letter is R&mdash;that
+stands for Watts' Ranch. SC must represent daddy's starting point, of
+course! But, SC? Let's see, South Corner&mdash;south corner of <i>what?</i> I
+wish he'd put his letters right on the map like this one, instead of
+all in a row at the bottom, then I might figure out what he was
+driving at. SC, SC, SC, SC," she repeated over and over again, until
+the letters became a mere jumble of meaningless sounds. "S must stand
+for South," she insisted, "and C could stand for creek, or cave, only
+there are no caves around here that I've seen, or camp&mdash;South
+Camp&mdash;that don't do me any good, I don't know where any of his camps
+were. And he'd hardly say Creek, that would be too indefinite. Let's
+see, C&mdash;cottonwood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>&mdash;south cottonwood&mdash;short cottonwood, scarred
+cottonwood, well if I have to hunt these hills over for a short
+cottonwood or a scarred cottonwood, when there are millions of both, I
+might better keep on hunting for the crack in the rock wall."</p>
+
+<p>For a long time she sat staring at the paper. "If I could only get the
+starting point figured out, the rest would be easy. It says one mile
+south, one and one half miles east, one mile south, then the arrowhead
+pointing up, must mean up a creek or a mountain to something that
+looks like an inverted horseshoe, then, two miles west to a. to b.
+whatever a. and b. are. There are no letters on the map, then it says
+to stake L. C.&mdash;L. C., is lode claim, at least, I know that much, and
+it can be 1500 feet long along the vein, and 300 feet each way from
+the center. But what does he mean by the wiggly looking mark before
+the word center? I guess it isn't going to be quite as easy as it
+looks," she concluded, "even when I know that the letters stand for
+the points of the compass. If I could only figure out where to start
+from I could find my way at least to the a. b. part&mdash;and that would be
+something.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyway, I know how to make a map, now, and that is just exactly what
+I needed to know in order to set my trap for the prowler who is
+continually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> searching this cabin. It's all ready but the map, and I
+may as well finish up the job to-day as any time." From the pocket of
+her shirt she drew a photograph and examined it critically. "It looks
+a good deal like the close-up of one of daddy's," she said
+approvingly, "and it certainly looks as if it might have been carried
+for a year." Returning the picture to her pocket, she folded the
+preacher's map with her father's and replaced them in the envelope,
+then making her way to the coulee, extracted from the tin can two or
+three of her father's ore samples. These, together with a light
+miner's pick, she placed in an empty flour sack which she secured to
+her saddle and struck out northwestward into the hills.</p>
+
+<p>At the top of the first divide she stopped, carefully studied the back
+trail, and producing paper and pencil made a rough sketch which she
+marked 1 NW. She rode on, mapping her trail and adding letters and
+figures to denote distance and direction.</p>
+
+<p>Her continued scrutiny of the back trail satisfied her that she was
+not followed. Two hours brought her to her journey's end, a rock wall
+some seven miles from her cabin. Producing the photograph, she
+verified the exact location, and with her pick, proceeded to stir up
+the ground and loose rocks at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> the base of the ledge. For an hour she
+worked steadily, then carefully replaced the dirt and small fragments,
+taking care to leave the samples from her sack where they would appear
+to have been tossed with the other fragments. Indicating the spot by a
+dot on the photograph she rode back to her cabin and spent the entire
+afternoon covering sheets of paper with trail maps, and letters, and
+figures, in an endeavor to produce a sketch that would pass as a
+prospector's hastily prepared field map. At last she produced several
+that compared favorably with her father's and taking a blank leaf from
+an old notebook she found in the pack sack, drew a very creditable
+rough sketch.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, for putting in the letters and figures," she said, as she held
+the paper up for inspection. "Let's see, where would daddy have
+started from? Watts's ranch, maybe, or he could have started from
+here. This cabin was here then, and that would make it seem all the
+more reasonable that I should have chosen this for my home. C stands
+for cabin, or, let's see, what did they call this place. The sheep
+camp, here goes SC&mdash;Why! SC&mdash;SC! That's the starting point on daddy's
+map! And here I sat right in this chair and nearly went crazy trying
+to figure out what SC meant! And, if it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> weren't so late, I'd start
+right out now to find my mine! If it weren't for that a. b. part I
+could ride right to it, and snap my fingers at the prowler. But, it
+may take me a long time to blunder onto the meaning of these letters,
+and anyway, I want to know 'who's who,' as Mr. Christie says." She
+continued her work, and a half-hour later examined the result
+critically. "SC 1 NW 1 N &#8593; to &#8745; 2 E to a. Stake L. C.
+center at dot," she read, "and just to make it easier for him, I put
+the a. down on the map." With a sigh of satisfaction the girl
+carefully placed the new map and photograph in the silk envelope, and
+placing the others in the pocket of her shirt, fastened it with a pin.
+Whereupon, she gathered up all the practice sketches and burned them.</p>
+
+<p>Glancing out of the window, she saw Microby Dandeline approaching the
+cabin, her dejected old Indian pony, ears a-flop, placing one foot
+before the other with the extreme deliberation that characterized his
+every movement. Patty smiled as her eyes took in the details of the
+grotesque figure; the old harness bridle with patched reins and one
+blinder dangling, the faded gingham sunbonnet hanging at the back of
+the girl's neck, held in place by the strings knotted tightly beneath
+her chin,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> the misshapen calico dress caught over the saddle-horn in a
+manner that exposed the girl's bare legs to the knees, and the thick
+bare feet pressed uncomfortably into the chafing rope stirrups&mdash;truly,
+a grotesque, and yet, Patty frowned&mdash;a pitiable figure, too. The pony
+halted before the door, and Patty greeted the girl who scrambled
+clumsily to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, if it isn't Microby Dandeline! You haven't been to see me
+lately. The last time you were here I was not at home."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit wasn't me."</p>
+
+<p>"What!" exclaimed Patty, remembering the barefoot track at the spring.</p>
+
+<p>"I wasn't yere las' time."</p>
+
+<p>Patty curbed a desire to laugh. The girl was deliberately lying&mdash;but
+why? Was it because she feared displeasure at the invasion of the
+cabin. Patty thought not, for such was the established custom of the
+country. The girl did not look at her, but stood boring into the dirt
+with her bare toe.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you're here now, anyway," smiled Patty. "Come on in and help me
+get supper, and then we'll eat. You get the water, while I build the
+fire."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>When the girl returned from the spring, Patty tried again: "While I
+was in town somebody came here and cooked a meal, and when they got
+through they washed all the dishes and put them away so nicely I
+thought sure it was you, and I was glad, because I like to have you
+come and see me."</p>
+
+<p>"Hit wasn't me," repeated the girl, stubbornly.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder who it could have been?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mebbe hit was Mr. Christie. He was to our house las' night. He brung
+Davy some pencils an' a lot o' papers fer to draw pitchers. Pa 'lowed
+how Davy'd git to foolin' away his time on 'em, an' Mr. Christie says
+how ef he learnt to drawer good, folks buys 'em, an' then Davy'll git
+rich. Pa says, whut's folks gonna pay money fer pitchers they kin git
+'em fer nothin'? But ef folks gits pitchers they does git rich, don't
+they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, yes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You got pitchers, an' yo' rich."</p>
+
+<p>Patty laughed. "I'm afraid I'm not very rich," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Will yo' give me a pitcher?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, yes." She glanced at the few prints that adorned the log wall,
+trying to make up her mind which she would part with, and deciding
+upon a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> mysterious moonlight-on-the-waves effect, lifted it from the
+wall and placed it in the girl's hands.</p>
+
+<p>Microby Dandeline stared at it without enthusiasm: "I want a took
+one," she said, at length.</p>
+
+<p>"A what?"</p>
+
+<p>"A one tooken with that," she pointed at the camera that adorned the
+top of the little cupboard.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," smiled Patty, "you want me to take your picture! All right, I'd
+love to take your picture. You can get on Gee Dot, and I'll take you
+both. But we'll have to wait till there is more light. The sun has
+gone down and it's too dark this evening."</p>
+
+<p>The girl shook her head, "Naw, I don't want none like that. That
+hain't no good. I want one like yo' pa tookened of his mine. Then I'll
+git rich too."</p>
+
+<p>"So that's it," thought Patty, busying herself with the biscuit dough.
+And instantly there flashed into her mind the words of Ma Watts, "Mr.
+Bethune tellin' her how she'd git rich ef she could fin' a gol' mine,
+an' how she could buy her fine clos' like yourn an' go to the city an'
+live." And she remembered that the woman had said that all the time
+she and Lord Clendenning had been wrangling over the eggs, Bethune and
+Microby had "talked an' laughed, friendly as yo' please."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"How do you know my father took any pictures of his mine?" asked
+Patty, cautiously.</p>
+
+<p>"'Cause he did."</p>
+
+<p>"What would you do with the picture if I gave it to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd git rich."</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Cause I would."</p>
+
+<p>Patty whirled suddenly upon the girl and grasping her shoulder with a
+doughy hand shook her smartly: "Who told you that? What do you mean?
+Who are you trying to get that picture for? Come! Out with it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Le' me go," whimpered the girl, frightened by the unexpected attack.</p>
+
+<p>"Not 'til you tell me who told you about that picture. Come
+on&mdash;speak!" The shaking continued.</p>
+
+<p>"Hit&mdash;wu-wu-wus&mdash;V-V-Vil Hol-Holland!" she sniffled readily&mdash;all too
+readily to be convincing, thought Patty, as she released her grip on
+the girl's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it was Vil Holland, was it? And what does he want with it?"</p>
+
+<p>"He&mdash;he&mdash;s-says h-how h-him an' m-me'd g-git r-r-rich!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Who told you to say it was Vil Holland?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hit wus Vil Holland&mdash;an' that's whut I gotta say," she repeated,
+between sobs. "An' now yo' mad&mdash;an'&mdash;an' Mr. Bethune he'll&mdash;he'll kill
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Bethune? What has Mr. Bethune got to do with it?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl leaped to her feet and faced Patty in a rage: "An' he'll kill
+yo', too&mdash;an' I'll be glad! An' he says he's gonna By God git that
+pitcher ef he's gotta kill yo', an' Vil Holland, an' everyone in these
+damn hills&mdash;an' I'm glad of hit! I don't like yo' no more&mdash;an' pitcher
+shows <i>hain't</i> as good as circusts&mdash;an' I don't like towns&mdash;an' I
+hain't a-gonna wear no shoes an' stockin's&mdash;an' I'm a-gonna tell ma
+yo' shuck me&mdash;an' she'll larrup yo' good&mdash;an' pa'll make yo' git out
+o' ar sheep camp&mdash;an' I'm glad of hit!" She rushed from the cabin, and
+mounting her pony, headed him down the creek, turning in the saddle
+every few steps to make hateful mouths at the girl who stood watching
+from the doorway.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<h2>THE SAMUELSONS</h2>
+
+
+<p>Patty retired that night with her thoughts in a whirl. So, it was Monk
+Bethune who, all along, had been plotting to steal the secret of her
+father's strike? Monk Bethune, with his suave, oily manner, his
+professed regard for her father, and his burning words of love! Fool
+that she couldn't have penetrated his thin mask of deceit! It all
+seemed so ridiculously plain, now. She remembered the flash of
+distrust that her first meeting with him engendered. And, step, by
+step, she followed the course of his insidious campaign to instill
+himself into her good graces. She thought of the blunt warning of Vil
+Holland when he told her that her father always played a lone hand,
+and his almost scornful question as to whether her father had told her
+of his partnership with Bethune. And she remembered her defiance of
+Holland, and her defense of Bethune. And, with a shudder, she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
+recollected the moments when, in the hopelessness of her repeated
+failures, she had trembled upon the point of surrendering to his
+persuasive eloquence.</p>
+
+<p>With the villainous scheming of Bethune exposed, her thoughts turned
+to the other, to her "guardian devil of the hills." What of Vil
+Holland? Had she misjudged this man, even as she had so nearly become
+the dupe of Bethune? She realized now, that nearly everyone with whom
+she had come into contact, distrusted Bethune, and that they trusted
+Vil Holland. She realized that her own distrust of him rested to a
+great extent upon the open accusations of Bethune, and the fact that
+he was blunt to rudeness in his conversations with her. If he were to
+be taken at his neighbors' valuation, why was it that he watched her
+comings and goings from his notch in the hills? Why did he follow her
+about upon her rides? And why did he carry that disgusting jug? She
+admitted that she had never seen him the worse for indulgence in the
+contents of the jug, but if he were not a confirmed drunkard, why
+should he carry it? She knew Bethune hated him&mdash;and that counted a
+point in his favor&mdash;now. But it did not prove that he was not as bad
+as Bethune. But why had Bethune told Microby that he would get that
+picture<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> if he had to kill her and Vil Holland? What had Vil Holland
+to do with his getting the picture! Surely, Bethune did not believe
+that Vil Holland shared her secret! Vil Holland <i>must</i> be lawless&mdash;the
+running of the sheep herder out of the hills was a lawless act. Why,
+then, were such men as Thompson and the Reverend Len Christie his
+friends? This question had puzzled her much of late, and not finding
+the answer, she realized her own dislike of the man had waned
+perceptibly. Instinctively, she knew that Len Christie was genuine.
+She liked this "Bishop of All Outdoors," who could find time to ride a
+hundred miles to cheer a sick old man; who would think to bring
+pencils and drawing paper to a little boy who roamed over the
+hillsides with a piece of charcoal, searching for flat rocks upon
+which to draw his pictures; and who sang deep, full-throated ballads
+as he rode from one to the other of his scattered hill folk, upon his
+outlandish pinto. Surely, such men as he, and the jovial,
+whole-hearted Thompson&mdash;men who had known Vil Holland for
+years,&mdash;could not be deceived.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it possible I've misjudged him?" she asked herself. And when at
+last she dropped to sleep it was to plunge into a confused jumble of
+dreams<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> whose dominant figure was her lone horseman of the hills.</p>
+
+<p>Patty resolved to keep her promise to Christie and ride over to the
+Samuelson ranch, before she started to work out the directions of her
+father's map. "I may be weeks doing it if I continue to be as dumb as
+I have been," she laughed. "And when I get started I know I'll never
+want to stop 'til I've worked it out."</p>
+
+<p>Immediately after breakfast she saddled her horse and returning to the
+cabin, picked up the little oiled silk packet that contained
+photograph and map. Where should she hide it? Her glance traveled from
+the locked trunks to the loose board in the floor. Each had been
+searched time and again. "Whoever he is, he'd think it was funny that
+I decided all at once to hide the map, when I've been carrying it with
+me so persistently," she muttered. Her eyes rested upon the little
+dressing table. "The very thing!" she cried. "I'll leave it right out
+in plain sight, and he'll think I forgot it." Her first impulse was to
+remove the thin gold chain but she shook her head: "No, it will look
+more as if I'd just slipped it off for the night if I leave the chain
+on. And besides," she smiled, "he ought to get some gold for his
+pains." With<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> a last glance of approval at the little packet lying as
+if forgotten upon the dressing table, she closed the door and headed
+down the creek.</p>
+
+<p>It was evident to Patty, upon reaching the Watts ranch that Microby
+Dandeline had not carried out her threat to "tell ma" about the
+shaking. For the mountain woman was loquaciously cordial as usual:
+"Decla'r ef hit hain't yo', up an' a-ridin' fo' sun-up! Yo' shore
+favor yo' pa. He wus the gittin'est man&mdash;Yo'd a-thought he wus ridin'
+fer wages, 'stead o' jest prospectin'. Goin' down the crick, to-day,
+eh? Well, I don't reckon yo' pa's claim's down the crick, but yo'
+cain't never tell. He wus that clost-mouthed&mdash;I've heard him an' Watts
+set a hour, an' nary word between the two of 'em. 'Pears like they's
+jest satisfied to be a-lightin' matches an' a-puffin' they pipes.
+Wimmin folks hain't like thet. They jest nachelly got to let out a
+word now an' then, 'er bust&mdash;one."</p>
+
+<p>"Microby Dandeline!" there was a sudden rush of bare feet upon the
+wooden floor, and Patty caught a flick of calico and a flash of bare
+legs as the girl disappeared around the corner of the barn.</p>
+
+<p>"Land sakes! Thet gal acts like she's p'ssessed! She tellin' whut a
+nice time she had to yo' place las' evenin', an' then a-runnin' away
+like she's wild as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> a hawrk. Seems like she's a-gittin' mo' triflin'
+every day&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sence Monk Bethune's tuk to ha'ntin' this yere crick so reg'lar,"
+interrupted Watts, who stood leaning against the door jamb.</p>
+
+<p>"'T'aint nothin' agin Mr. Bethune, 'cause he's nice to Microby,"
+retorted the woman; "I s'pose 'cordin' to yo' idee, he'd ort to cuss
+her an' kick her aroun'."</p>
+
+<p>"Might be better in the long run, an' he did," opined the man,
+gloomily.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's yo' manners at? Not sayin' 'howdy'?" reminded his wife.</p>
+
+<p>"I be'n a-fixin' to," he apologized, "yo' lookin' mighty peart this
+mawnin'." A cry from the baby brought a torrent of recrimination upon
+the apathetic husband: "Watts! Watts! Looks like yo' ort to could look
+after Chattenoogy Tennessee, that Microby Dandeline run off an' left
+alone. Like's not she's et a nail thet yo' left a han'ful of on the
+floor thet day yo' aimed fer to fix me a shelft."</p>
+
+<p>"She never et no nail," confided the man, as he returned a moment
+later carrying the infant. "She done fell out the do' an' them hens
+wus apeckin' her. She's scairt wuss'n hurt."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Well," smiled Patty. "I must go. Tell Microby to come up to my cabin
+right soon. I'd like to have a talk with her."</p>
+
+<p>"Might an' yo' pa's claim 'ud be som'ers up the no'th branch,"
+suggested the woman. "He rid that-a-way sometimes, didn't he, Watts?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not prospecting to-day. I'm going over to see the Samuelsons. Mr.
+Samuelson is sick."</p>
+
+<p>"Law, yes! I be'n a-aimin' fer to git to go, this long while. I heern
+it a spell back, an' Mr. Christie done tol' us over again. They do say
+he's bad off. But yo' cain't never tell, they's hopes of 'em gittin'
+onto they feet agin right up 'til yo' hear the death rattle. Yo' tell
+Miz Samuelson I aim to git over soon's I kin. I'll bring along the
+baby an' a batch o' sourdough bread, an' fix to stay a hull week.
+Watts'll hev to make out with Microby an' the rest. Yo' tell Miz
+Samuelson I say not to git down in the mouth. They all got to die
+anyhow. An' 'taint so bad, onct it's over an' done. But lots of 'em
+gits well, too. So they hain't no call to do no diggin' right up to
+the death rattle&mdash;an' even then they don't allus die. Ol' man Rink,
+over on Tom's Hope, back in Tennessee, he rattled twict, an' come to
+both times, an' then, couple days later, he up an' died on 'em 'thout
+nary rattle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> So yo' cain't never tell&mdash;men's thet ornery, even the
+best of 'em."</p>
+
+<p>Christie's prediction that Patty would like Mrs. Samuelson proved to
+be conservative in the extreme. From the moment the slight gray-haired
+little woman greeted her, the girl felt as though she were talking to
+an old friend. There was something pathetic in the old lady's cheerful
+optimism, something profoundly pathetic in the endeavor to transform
+her bit of wilderness into some semblance to the far-away home she had
+known in the long ago. And she had succeeded admirably. To cross the
+Samuelson threshold was to step from the atmosphere of the cow-country
+and the mountains into a region of comfort and quiet that contrasted
+sharply with the rough and ready air of the neighboring ranches. The
+house itself was not large, but it was built of lumber, not logs. The
+long living room was provided with tastefully curtained casement
+windows, and rugs of excellent quality took the place of the
+inevitable carpet upon the floor. A baby grand piano projected into
+the room from its niche beside the huge log fireplace, and bookcases,
+guiltless of glass fronts, occupied convenient spaces along the wall,
+their shelves supporting row upon row of good editions. It was in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
+this room, looking as though she had stepped from an ivory miniature,
+that the mistress of the house greeted Patty.</p>
+
+<p>"You are very welcome, my dear. Mr. Samuelson and I were deeply
+grieved to hear the sad news of your father. We used to enjoy his
+occasional brief visits."</p>
+
+<p>"How is Mr. Samuelson?" asked Patty, as she pressed the little woman's
+thin, blue-veined hand.</p>
+
+<p>"He seems better to-day."</p>
+
+<p>The girl noted the hopeful tone of voice. "Is there anything I can
+do?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a thing, thank you. Mr. Samuelson sleeps a good part of the time,
+and Wong Yie is a wonderful nurse. But, come, you must have luncheon.
+I know you will want to refresh yourself after your long ride. The
+bathroom is at the head of the stairs. I'll take a peep at my invalid
+and when you are ready we'll see what Wong Yie has for us."</p>
+
+<p>Patty looked hungrily at the porcelain tub&mdash;"A real bathroom!" she
+breathed, "out here in the mountains&mdash;and books, and a piano!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Samuelson awaited her at the foot of the stair and led the way to
+the dining room. When she was seated at the round mahogany<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> table she
+smiled across at the old lady in frank appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems like stepping right into fairyland," she said. "Like the old
+stories when the heroes and heroines rubbed magic lamps, or stepped
+onto enchanted carpets and were immediately transported from their
+miserable hovels to castles of gold inhabited by beautiful princes and
+princesses."</p>
+
+<p>The old lady's eyes beamed: "I'm glad you like it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Like it! That doesn't express it at all. Why, if you'd lived in an
+abandoned sheep camp for months and prepared your own meals on a
+broken stove, and eaten them all alone on a bumpy table covered with a
+piece of oilcloth, and taken your bath in an icy cold creek and then
+only on the darkest nights for fear someone were watching, and read a
+few magazines over and over 'til you knew even the advertisements by
+heart&mdash;then suddenly found yourself seated in a room like this, with
+real china and silver, and comfortable chairs and a <i>luncheon
+cloth</i>&mdash;you'd think it was heaven."</p>
+
+<p>Patty was aware that the old lady was smiling at her across the table.
+"If I had lived like that for months, did you say? My dear girl, we
+lived for years in that little shack&mdash;you can see it from where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> you
+sit&mdash;it's the tool house, now. Mr. Samuelson built it with his own
+hands when there weren't a half-dozen white men in the hills, and
+until it was completed we lived in a tepee!"</p>
+
+<p>"You've lived here a long time."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a long, long time. I was the first white woman to come into this
+part of the hill country to live. This was the first ranch to be
+established in the hills, but we have a good many neighbors now&mdash;and
+such nice neighbors! One never really appreciates friends and
+neighbors until a time&mdash;like this. Then one begins to know. A long
+time ago, before I knew, I used to hate this place. Sometimes I used
+to think I would go crazy, with the loneliness&mdash;the vastness of it
+all. I used to go home and make long visits every year, and then&mdash;the
+children came, and it was different." The woman paused and her eyes
+strayed to the open window and rested upon the bold headland of a
+mighty mountain that showed far down the valley.</p>
+
+<p>"And&mdash;you love it, now?" Patty asked, softly, as she poured French
+dressing over crisp lettuce leaves.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;I love it, now. After the children came it was all different. I
+never want to leave the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> valley, now. I never shall leave it. I am an
+old woman, and my world has narrowed down to my home, and my
+valley&mdash;my husband, and my friends and neighbors." She looked up
+guiltily, with a tiny little laugh. "Do you know, during those first
+years I must have been an awful fool. I used to loathe it all&mdash;loathe
+the country&mdash;the men, who ate in their shirt sleeves and blew into
+their saucers, and their women. It was the uprising that brought me to
+a realization of the true worth of these people&mdash;" The little woman's
+voice trailed off into silence, and Patty glanced up from her salad to
+see that the old eyes were once more upon the far blue headland, and
+the woman's thoughts were evidently very far away. She came back to
+the present with an apology: "Why bless you, child, forgive me! My old
+wits were back-trailing, as the cowboys would say. You have finished
+your salad, come, let's go out onto the porch, where we can get the
+afternoon breeze and be comfortable." She led the way through the
+living-room where she left the girl for a moment, to tiptoe upstairs
+for a peep at the sick man. "He's asleep," she reported, as they
+stepped out onto the porch and settled themselves in comfortable
+wicker rockers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"What was the uprising?" asked Patty. "Was it the Indians? I'd love to
+hear about it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, the Indians. That was before they were on reservations and they
+were scattered all through the hills."</p>
+
+<p>A cowboy galloped to the porch, drew up sharply, and removed his hat.
+"We rode through them horses that runs over on the east slope an'
+they're all right&mdash;leastways all the markers is there, an' the bunches
+don't look like they'd be'n any cut out of 'em. But, about them white
+faces&mdash;Lodgepole's most dried up. Looks like we'd ort to throw 'em
+over onto Sage Crick."</p>
+
+<p>The little woman looked thoughtful. "Let's see, there are about six
+hundred of the white faces, aren't there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yessum."</p>
+
+<p>"And how long will the water last in Lodgepole?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not more'n a week or ten days, if we don't git no rain."</p>
+
+<p>"How long will it take to throw them onto Sage Creek?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, they hadn't ort to be crowded none this time o' year. The four
+of us had ort to do it in three or four days."</p>
+
+<p>The old lady shook her head. "No, the cattle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> will have to wait. I
+want you boys to stay right around close 'til you hear from Vil
+Holland. Keep your best saddle horses up and at least one of you stay
+right here at the ranch all the time. The rest of you might ride
+fences, and you better take a look at those mares and colts in the big
+pasture."</p>
+
+<p>The cowboy's eyes twinkled: "I savvy, all right. Guess I'll take the
+bunk-house shift myself this afternoon. Got a couple extry guns to
+clean up an' oil a little."</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever you do, you boys be careful," admonished the woman. "And in
+case anything happens and Vil Holland isn't here, send one of the boys
+after him at once."</p>
+
+<p>The other laughed: "Guess they ain't much danger, if anything happens
+he won't be a-ridin' right on the head of it." The cowboy gathered up
+his reins, dropped them again, and his gloved fingers fumbled with his
+leather hat band. The smile had left his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Anything else, Bill?" asked Mrs. Samuelson, noting his evident
+reluctance to depart.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, ma'am, how's the Big Boss gittin' on?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's doing as well as could be expected, the doctor says."</p>
+
+<p>The cowboy cleared his throat nervously:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> "You know, us boys thinks a
+heap of him, an' we'd like fer him to git a square deal."</p>
+
+<p>"A square deal!" exclaimed the woman. "Why, what in the world do you
+mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"About that there doc&mdash;d'you s'pect he savvys his business?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he does! He's considered one of the best doctors in the
+State. Why do you ask?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's this way. When he was goin' back to town yesterday I laid
+for him. You see, the Old Man&mdash;er, I mean&mdash;you know, ma'am, the Big
+Boss, he's a pretty sick man&mdash;an' it looks to us boys like things had
+ort to break pretty quick, one way er another. So, I says, 'Doc, how's
+he gittin' on?' an' the doc he says, jest like you done, 'good as
+could be expected.' When you come right down to cases, that don't tell
+you nothin'. So I says, 'that's 'cordin' to who's doin' the expectin'.
+What we want to know,' I says, 'is he goin' to git well, er is he
+goin' to die?' 'I confidently hope we're going to pull him through,'
+he comes back. 'Meanin', he's goin' to git well?' I says. 'Yes,' he
+says. 'Fer how much?' I asks him. I didn't have but thirty-five
+dollars on me, but I shook that in under his nose. You see, I wanted
+to find out if the fellow would back his own self up with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> money.
+'What do you mean?' he says. 'I mean,' I informs him, 'that money
+talks. Here's the Missus payin' you good wages fer to cure up the Old
+Man. You goin' to do it, an' earn them wages, or ain't you? Here's
+thirty-five dollars that says you can't cure him.'"</p>
+
+<p>The corners of the old lady's mouth were twitching behind the
+handkerchief she held to her lips: "What did the doctor say?" she
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Tried to laugh it off," declared the cowboy in disgust. "But I
+reminds him that this here ain't no laughin' matter. 'D'you s'pose,' I
+says, 'if the Old Man told me: "Bill, there's a bad colt to bust," or
+"Bill, go over onto Monte's Crick, an' bring back them two-year-olds,"
+do you s'pose I wouldn't bet I could do it? They's plenty of us here
+to do all the "confidently hopin'" that's needed. What you got to do
+is to git busy with them pills an' make him well,' I says, 'or quit
+an' let someone take holt that kin.'" The man paused and regarded the
+woman seriously. "What I'm gittin' at is this: If this here doc ain't
+got confidence enough in his own dope to back it with a bet, it's time
+we got holt of one that will. Now, ma'am, you better let me send one
+of Jack Pierce's kids to town to see Len Christie an' tell him to git
+the best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> doc out here they is. I'll write a note to Len on the side
+an' tell him to tell the doc he kin about double his wages, 'cause the
+rest of the boys feels just like I do, an' we'll all bet agin him so't
+it'll be worth his while to make a good job of it." He paused,
+awaiting permission to carry out his plan.</p>
+
+<p>The little woman explained gravely: "Doctors never bet on their cases,
+Bill. It isn't that they won't back their judgment. But because it
+isn't considered proper. Doctor Mallory is doing all any mortal man
+can do. He's a wonderfully good doctor, and it was Len Christie,
+himself, that recommended him."</p>
+
+<p>The cowboy's eyes lighted: "It was? Well, then, mebbe he's all right.
+I never had no time fer preachers 'til I know'd Len. But, what he says
+goes with me&mdash;he's square. I don't go much on no doctor, though.
+They're all right fer women, mebbe, an' kids. I believe all the Old
+Man needs right now to fix him up good as ever is a big stiff jolt of
+whisky an' bitters." The cowboy rode away, muttering and shaking his
+head, but not until he was well out of sight round the corner of the
+house did the little woman with the gray hair smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope Doctor Mallory will understand," she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> said, a trifle
+anxiously, "I have some rather trying experiences with my boys, and if
+Bill has gone and insulted the doctor I'll have to get Jack Pierce to
+go to town and explain."</p>
+
+<p>"This Bill seems to just adore Mr. Samuelson," ventured Patty. "Why
+his voice was almost&mdash;almost reverent when he said 'the Old Man.'"</p>
+
+<p>The little lady nodded: "Yes, Bill thinks there's no one like him. You
+see, Bill shot a man, one day when&mdash;he was not quite himself. Over in
+the Blackfoot country, it was, and Vil Holland knew the facts in the
+case, and he rode over and told Mr. Samuelson all about it, and they
+both went and talked it over with the prosecuting attorney, and with
+old Judge Nevers, with the result that they agreed to give the boy a
+chance. So Mr. Samuelson brought him here. That was five years ago.
+Bill is foreman of this outfit now, and our other three riders are
+boys that were headed the same way Bill was. Vil Holland brought one
+of them over, and Bill and Mr. Samuelson picked up the other two&mdash;and,
+if I do say it myself," she declared, proudly, "there isn't an outfit
+in Montana that can boast a more capable or loyal, or a straighter
+quartet of riders than this one."</p>
+
+<p>As Patty listened she understood something of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> what was behind the
+words of Thompson and Len Christie, when they had spoken that day of
+"Old Man" Samuelson. But, there was something she did not understand.
+And that something was&mdash;Vil Holland. Everybody liked him, everybody
+spoke well of him, and apparently everybody but herself trusted him
+implicitly. And yet, to her own certain knowledge, he did carry a jug,
+he did follow her about the hills, and he did tell her to her face
+that when she found her father's claim she would have a race on her
+hands, and that if she were beaten she would have to be satisfied with
+what she would get.</p>
+
+<p>But Vil Holland, his comings and his goings were soon forgotten in the
+absorbing interest with which Patty listened as her little gray-haired
+hostess recounted incidents and horrors of the Indian uprising, the
+first sporadic depredations, the coming of the troops, and finally the
+forcing of the belligerent tribes onto their reservations.</p>
+
+<p>It had been Patty's intention to ride back to her cabin in the
+evening, but Mrs. Samuelson would not hear of it. And, indeed the girl
+did not insist, for despite the fact that she had become thoroughly
+accustomed to her surroundings, the anticipation of a dinner prepared
+and served by the highly efficient<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> Wong Yie, in the tastefully
+appointed dining room, with its real silver and china, proved
+sufficiently attractive to overcome even her impatience to begin the
+working out of her father's map. And the realization fully justified
+the anticipation. When the meal was finished the two women had talked
+the long evening away before the cheerful blaze of the wood fire, and
+when at last she was shown to her room, the girl retired to luxuriate
+in a real bed of linen sheets and a box mattress.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<h2>THE HORSE RAID</h2>
+
+
+<p>Patty did not know how long she had slept when she awoke, tense and
+listening, sitting bolt upright in bed. Moonlight flooded the room
+through the windows thrown wide to admit the chill night air. Beyond
+the valley floor, green with the luxuriant second crop of alfalfa, she
+could see the mountains looming dim and mysterious in the half-light.</p>
+
+<p>The whole world seemed silent as the grave&mdash;and yet, something must
+have awakened her. She shuddered, partly at the chill that struck at
+her thinly clad shoulders, and partly at the recollection of some of
+the scenes those selfsame mountains had witnessed, during the
+uprisings, and which her hostess had so vividly recounted. The girl
+smiled, and gazing toward the mountains, pictured long lines of naked
+horsemen stealing silently into the valley. She started violently.
+Through the open window came sounds, the muffled thud of hoofs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> upon
+the soft ground, the low rattle of bit-chains and spur-rowels, and the
+creak of saddle leather. There <i>were</i> horsemen in the valley, and the
+horsemen were passing almost beneath her windows&mdash;and they were moving
+stealthily.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment her heart raced madly&mdash;the fancy of those conjured
+horsemen, and then the mysterious sounds from the night that were not
+fancy, combined in just the right proportion to overcome her with a
+momentary terror. She realized that the sounds were passing&mdash;growing
+fainter, and leaping from the bed, rushed to the window and peered
+out. Only silence&mdash;profound, unbroken silence, and the moonlight. In
+vain she strained her ears to catch a repetition of the faint sounds,
+and in vain she peered into the dark shadows cast by the bunk house
+and the pole horse-corral. Her windows commanded the eastern wall of
+the valley, and its upper reaches. Had there actually been horsemen,
+or were the sounds part of her vivid vision of the long ago? "No," she
+muttered, "those sounds were real," and she leaned far out of the
+window in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of the trail that led down
+the creek toward Pierce's.</p>
+
+<p>For some time she remained at the window and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> then, shivering, crept
+back to bed, where she lay speculating upon the identity of these
+horsemen who passed in the night. She knew that a horse raid had been
+expected. Could these raiders have had the audacity to pass through
+the very dooryard of the ranch, knowing as they must have known, that
+four armed and determined cowboys occupied the bunk house?</p>
+
+<p>And who were these raiders? At Thompson's she had heard Monk Bethune's
+name mentioned in connection with possible horse-thieving. Bethune had
+spoken of hurried trips, "to the northward." She remembered that upon
+the occasion of their first meeting, she had heard him dickering with
+Watts for the rent of his horse pasture, and she recollected the
+incident of the changed name. Then, again, only a few days before, she
+had parted with him when he struck off the trail to the eastward with
+the excuse that he was going over onto the east slope on a matter
+having to do with some horses. Bill had mentioned, in talking to Mrs.
+Samuelson, that he had been riding through the horses on the east
+slope. Could it be possible that the suave Bethune was a horse-thief?
+On the other hand, Bethune had openly hinted that Vil Holland was a
+horse-thief&mdash;and yet, these other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> people all believed that he was
+persistently on the trail of the horse-thieves.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time she lay thinking, guessing, trying to recall little
+scraps of evidence that would bear upon the case. Again, a slight
+sound brought her to a sitting posture. This time it was the opening
+of a door across the hall from her room. The sound was followed by the
+soft padding of slippered feet in the hall, the low tapping, evidently
+at another door, a few low-voiced words, and a return of the padding
+steps. A few moments later other steps hurried along the hall past her
+door and rapidly descended the stairs. Patty heard the opening of an
+outside door, and once more stealing to the window she saw the
+Chinaman hurry across the moonlit yard to the bunk house and throw
+open the door. He entered to emerge a moment later and rush to the
+horse-corral, where he peered between the poles for a moment and then
+made his way swiftly back to the house.</p>
+
+<p>Without lighting the lamp Patty dressed hurriedly. Was the Samuelson
+ranch a place of mystery? What was the meaning of the light
+sounds&mdash;the soft tramp of horses, and the padding of feet upon the
+stairs? The footsteps paused at the door across the hall. There
+followed a whispered colloquy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> and the steps retreated rapidly to the
+lower regions. Patty opened her door to see Mrs. Samuelson, her face
+expressing the deepest agitation, and one thin hand catching together
+the folds of a lavender kimono.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter?" asked the girl. "What has happened?"</p>
+
+<p>The old lady closed the door from beyond which came sounds of heavy
+breathing. "I am afraid he is worse," she whispered. "Wong Yie went to
+the bunk house to send the boys for the doctor and for Mrs. Pierce,
+and he says they are gone! Their horses are not in the corral. I don't
+understand it," she cried. "I told them not to go away. They know,
+that with my husband sick, we are in momentary danger from the
+horse-thieves, and they know that their place is right here."</p>
+
+<p>"You told Bill to stay until he heard from Vil Holland," reminded
+Patty. "Maybe they heard from him, and left without disturbing you."</p>
+
+<p>"That's it, of course!" cried the woman. "I ought to have known I
+could trust them. But, for a moment it seemed that&mdash;" She stopped
+abruptly and glanced anxiously into the girl's face, "But what in the
+world will we do? Wong Yie can't ride a step, and if he could, I need
+him here&mdash;&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I'll ride to Pierce's!" exclaimed Patty. "And get Mr. Pierce to go
+for the doctor, and bring Mrs. Pierce back with me. My horse is in the
+corral, and I can get down there in no time."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, can you? Will you? And you are not afraid&mdash;alone at night in the
+hills? Under any other circumstances I wouldn't think of letting you
+do it, child&mdash;especially with the horse-thieves about. But, it seems
+the only way&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course it's the only way! And I'm not a bit afraid."</p>
+
+<p>Hurrying to the corral, Patty saddled her horse, and a few moments
+later swung into the trail that led down the creek. She glanced at her
+watch; it was one o'clock. The moon floated high in the heavens and
+the valley was almost as light as day. Urging her horse into a run,
+she found a wild exhilaration in riding through the night, splashing
+across shallows and shooting across short level stretches to plunge
+through the water again.</p>
+
+<p>After what seemed an interminable wait, Pierce himself appeared at the
+door in answer to her persistent pounding. Patty thought he eyed her
+curiously as he stood aside and motioned her into the kitchen. Very
+deliberately he lighted the lamp and listened in silence until she had
+finished.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> Then, coolly, he eyed her from top to toe: "'Pears to me
+I've saw you before," he announced. "Over on the trail, a while back.
+An' you was a-ridin' with&mdash;Monk Bethune."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" asked the girl, angered by the man's tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," mocked Pierce. "So to-night's the night yer figgerin' on
+pullin' the raid, is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm figuring on pulling the raid! What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean you, an' Bethune, an' yer gang. You be'n up a-spottin' the
+lay, so's to tip 'em off, an' now you come down here an' tell me the
+Old Man's worst so's I'll take out to town fer the doc&mdash;an' one less
+posse-man in the hills. Yer a pretty slick article, Miss, but it
+hain't a-goin' to work."</p>
+
+<p>Patty listened, speechless with rage. When the man finished she found
+her tongue. "You&mdash;you accuse me of being a&mdash;a horse-thief?" she
+choked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yup," answered the man. "That's it&mdash;an' not so fur off, neither.
+Don't you s'pose I know that if the Old Man was worst one of his own
+boys would of be'n a foggin' it fer town hisself? I'd ort to take an'
+lock you up in the root cellar an' turn you over to Vil Holland, but I
+guess if we get all the he ones<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> out of yer gang we kin leave you
+loose. 'Tain't likely you could run off no horses single-handed."</p>
+
+<p>A woman whose appearance showed an evident hasty toilet had stepped
+from an inner room, and stood listening to the man. Patty was about to
+appeal to her when, from the outside came a thunder of hoofs, and
+suddenly a man burst into the room. Patty recognized him as Bill, of
+the Samuelson ranch. "Come on, Jack, quick! Git yer gun, while I slam
+the kak on yer cayuse. The raid's on, they've cut out a bunch of them
+three an' four-year-olds offen the east slope an' they're a-foggin'
+'em off."</p>
+
+<p>"Bill! Oh, Bill!" cried the girl, in desperation. But the man had
+plunged toward the corral, followed by Pierce, buckling on his
+cartridge belt as he ran. A moment later both men were in the saddle,
+and the sound of pounding hoofs grew far away.</p>
+
+<p>In tears, Patty turned to the woman. "Oh, why couldn't he have
+believed me?" she cried. "He thinks I'm one of that detestable gang of
+thieves! But, you&mdash;surely you don't think I'm a horse-thief?" In
+broken sentences she related the facts to the woman, and finished by
+begging her to go up to the Samuelson ranch. "I'll ride on to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> town
+for the doctor myself!" she exclaimed. "And surely you can do that
+much for your neighbor."</p>
+
+<p>"Do that much fer 'em!" the woman exclaimed. "I reckon they ain't
+nothin' I wouldn't do fer <i>them</i>. Mebbe Jack's right, an' mebbe he's
+wrong. I've saw him be both, 'fore now. Anyways, it ain't a-goin' to
+do Samuelsons no harm, nor the horse-thieves no good fer me to go up
+there. You hit the trail fer town, an' I'll ride up the crick." The
+woman cut short the girl's thanks. "You better take straight on down
+Porky 'til it crosses the trail," she advised. "It's a little longer
+but you won't git lost that way, an' chances is you would if I tried
+to tell you the short cut. Thompsons is great friends with
+Samuelsons," called the woman, as Patty mounted. "Better change horses
+there! Or, mebbe Thompson'll go on to town fer you."</p>
+
+<p>Below the Pierce ranch the trail was not so good but, unheeding, the
+girl held her horse to his pace. In her heart now was no wild
+exhilaration of moonlight, nor was there any lurking fear of unknown
+horsemen, only a mighty rage&mdash;a rage engendered by Pierce's
+accusation, but which expanded with each leap of her horse until it
+included Vil Holland, Bethune, the Samuelson cowboys, and even Len<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
+Christie and the Samuelsons themselves&mdash;a senseless, consuming rage
+that caused the blood to throb hotly to her temples and found vicious
+expression in driving the rowels into her horse's sides until the
+animal tore down the rough, half-lit trail at a pace that sent the
+loose stones flying from beneath his hoofs in rattling volleys.</p>
+
+<p>Possibly, it was the rattling of loose stones, possibly her anger
+dulled her sensibilities to the point where they were incapable of
+taking note of her surroundings, but the fact remains that as she
+approached the mouth of a wide coulee that gave into the valley from
+the eastward, she did not hear the rumble of hundreds of pounding
+hoofs that each second grew louder and more ominous, until as she
+reached the mouth of the coulee a rider swept into the valley, his
+horse straining every muscle to keep ahead of the herd that thundered
+in his wake.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently the horseman did not notice her, and the next moment Patty
+was engulfed in the herd. The girl lived one wild moment of terror. In
+front, behind, upon each side were madly plunging horses, eyes
+staring, mouths agape exposing long white teeth that flashed wickedly
+in the moonlight, manes tossing wildly, and air whistling through
+wide-flaring nostrils. On and on they swept down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> the valley. The roar
+of hoofs rose to a mighty crescendo of thunder, above which, now and
+then, the terrified girl caught fierce yells from the flank of the
+herd. So close were the terrorized horses running that it was
+impossible for the girl to see the ground before her. Sweating,
+plunging bodies surged against her legs threatening each moment to
+scrape her feet from the stirrups. Gripping the horn with both hands
+she rode in a sort of daze.</p>
+
+<p>Glancing over her shoulder, she caught an occasional flash of white as
+the men on the flanks waved sheets above their heads, whose flapping,
+fluttering folds urged the maddened horses into a perfect frenzy of
+action.</p>
+
+<p>In front, and a little to one side of Patty, a horse went down, a big
+roan colt, and she got one horrible glimpse of a grotesquely twisted
+neck, and a tangle of thrashing hoofs as another horse plunged onto
+his fallen comrade. A horrible scream split the air as he, too, went
+down, and the sudden side-surge of the herd all but unseated the
+clinging girl. In a second it was over and the herd thundered on.
+Patty closed her eyes, and with white, tight-pressed lips, wondered
+when her horse would go down. She pictured the bloody, battered
+<i>thing</i> that had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> been herself, lying flattened and gruesome, in the
+moonlight when the pounding hoofs swept past.</p>
+
+<p>Time and distance ceased to be. Patty was carried helplessly on, a
+part of that frenzied flood of flesh, muscles rigid, brain
+tense&mdash;waiting for the inevitable moment&mdash;the horrible moment that was
+to mark the climax of this ride of horrors. She wondered if it would
+hurt, or would merciful unconsciousness come with the first impact of
+the fall.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she opened her eyes. She sensed a change in the rumble of
+hoofs. Horses surged together and the pace slackened from a wild rush
+to a wilder thrashing of uncertainty. In the forefront a thin red
+spurt of flame leaped forth and above the pounding hoofs rang the
+report of a shot. The leaders seemed to have stopped and the main body
+of the herd pressed and struggled against the unyielding front. Other
+spurts of flame pierced the night, and shots rang viciously from all
+sides. The horses were milling, churning, about in a huge maelstrom,
+in which Patty found herself being slowly forced to the outside as the
+unencumbered free horses crowded to the center away from the
+terrifying stabs of flame and the crack of guns. She could see a
+mounted form before her. Evidently it was the man who had ridden in
+the forefront<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> of the herd. The rider was very close, now, his horse
+keeping pace with her own which had nearly reached the outer rim of
+the churning mass of animals. The brim of his hat shadowed his face
+but Patty could see that the gauntleted hand held a six-gun. A shift
+of position brought the moonlight full upon the man's front&mdash;upon a
+scarf of robin's-egg blue caught together at the throat with the
+polished tip of buffalo horn. No other horsemen were in sight, but an
+occasional sharp report sounded from the opposite side of the herd.
+"Vil!" she screamed. "Vil Holland!" The form stiffened in the saddle
+and the girl caught the flash of his eyes beneath the hat brim. The
+next instant the gun had given place to a heavy quirt in his hand, his
+tall, rangy horse plunged straight toward her, the wild horses,
+crowding frenziedly to escape the blows as the rider lashed furiously
+to the right and to the left as he forced his mount to her side.</p>
+
+<p>"Good God! Girl, what are you doing here? I thought you were one of
+them&mdash;and I nearly&mdash;" The man leaned suddenly forward and grasped the
+bit-chain of her bridle. As if knowing exactly what was expected of
+them, side by side the two horses fought their way free of the herd,
+the big<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> buckskin with ears laid back, snapping viciously at the
+crowding horses. A six-gun roared twice. Patty felt a sudden brush of
+air against her cheek and the next instant the two horses plunged down
+the steep side of a narrow ravine. In the bottom the man released her
+bridle. "You stay here!" he commanded gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>"But, the Samuelsons! Mr. Samuelson is&mdash;" The words were drowned in a
+shower of gravel as the rangy buckskin scrambled up the bank and
+disappeared over the top. The rapid transition from anger to terror,
+and from terror to relief, proved too much for the girl's nerves and
+she burst into a violent fit of sobbing. The tears enraged her and she
+shouted at the top of her voice. "I won't stay here!" but the words
+sounded puny and weak, and she knew that they had not penetrated
+beyond the rim of the ravine. "I won't do it! I won't stay here!" she
+kept repeating, the sentences broken by the hysterical sobbing.
+Nevertheless, stay there she did, until with a mighty rumble of hoofs
+and a scattering volley of shots, the horse herd swept northward, and
+when finally she succeeded in gaining the upper level, the sounds came
+to her ears faint and far away.</p>
+
+<p>Hurriedly she glanced about her. What was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> that stretching to the
+southward, a long ribbon of white in the moonlight? "The trail!" she
+cried. "The trail to town&mdash;and to Thompson's!" Just beyond the trail,
+upon the brown-yellow buffalo grass a dark object lay motionless.
+Patty stared at it in horror. It was the body of a man. Her first
+impulse was to put spurs to her horse and fly down that long white
+ribbon of trail&mdash;to place distance between herself and the thing that
+lay sprawled upon the grass. Then a thought flashed into her brain.
+Suppose it were he? Vil Holland, the man whom everybody trusted&mdash;the
+man who had calmly braved the shots of the horse-thieves to rescue her
+from that churning maelstrom of horror.</p>
+
+<p>Unconsciously, but surely, under the influence of those upon whose
+judgment she knew she could rely, her suspicion and distrust of him
+had weakened. She had half-realized the fact days ago, when at thought
+of him she found herself forced to enumerate his apparent offenses
+over and over again to keep the distrust alive. She thought of him now
+as he had fought his way to her, lashing the infuriated horses from
+his path. He had appeared, somehow&mdash;different. She closed her eyes and
+clean cut as though chiseled upon her brain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> was the picture of him as
+he forced his way to her side. Like a flash the detail of difference
+broke upon her&mdash;The jug was missing! And close upon the heels of the
+discovery came the memory of the strange thrill that had shot through
+her as his leg pressed hers when their horses had been forced together
+by the milling herd, and the sense of security and well being that
+replaced the terror in her heart from the moment she had called his
+name. A sudden indescribable pain gripped her breast, as though icy
+fingers reached up and slowly clutched her heart. With staring eyes
+and breath coming heavily between parted lips, she rode toward the
+thing on the ground. As she drew near, her horse stopped, sniffing
+nervously. She attempted to urge him forward, but he quivered, shied
+sidewise, and, snorting his fear, circled the sprawling object with
+nostrils a-quiver.</p>
+
+<p>Fighting a terrible dread, the girl forced her eyes to focus upon the
+gruesome form, and the next instant she uttered a quick little cry of
+relief. The man's hat had fallen off and lay at some distance from the
+body. She could see a shock of thick black hair, and noticed that he
+wore a cheap cotton shirt that had once been white. There were no
+chaps. One leg of his blue overalls had rolled up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> and exposed six
+inches of bare skin which gleamed whitely in the moonlight above the
+top of his shoe. The sight sickened, disgusted her, and whirling her
+horse she dashed southward along the trail forgetting for the moment
+the Samuelsons, the doctor, and everything else in a wild desire to
+put distance between herself and that awful thing on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Not until her horse's hoofs rang upon the hard rock of the canyon
+floor, did Patty slacken her pace. Thompson's was only a few miles
+farther on. It was dark in the high walled canyon and she slowed her
+horse to a walk. He stopped to drink in the shallow creek and the girl
+glanced over the back trail. Where was he now! Thundering along with
+the recaptured horse herd, or following the thieves in a mad flight
+through the devious fastnesses of the mountains. Was it possible that
+even at this moment he was lying upon the yellow-brown grass, or among
+the broken rock fragments of some coulee, twisted, and shapeless, and
+still&mdash;like that other who lay repulsive and ugly, with his bare leg
+shining white in the moonlight? She shuddered. "No, no, no!" she cried
+aloud, "they can't kill him. They're cowards&mdash;and he is brave!" Her
+voice rang hollow and thin in the rocky chasm,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> and she started at the
+sound of it. Her horse moved on, tongueing the bit contentedly. "They
+were right, and I was wrong," she muttered. "And&mdash;and, I'm <i>glad</i>."</p>
+
+<p>The canyon was left behind and before her the trail wound among the
+foothills that rolled away to the open bench. She noticed that the
+moon had sunk behind the mountains, yet it was not dark. Glancing
+toward the east, she realized that it was morning. She urged her horse
+into a lope, and reached Thompson's just as the ranchman and his two
+hands were starting for the barn.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, dog my cats, if it ain't Miss Sinclair!" exclaimed the man, and
+stood silent for a second as if trying to remember something. He
+rushed toward her excitedly. "You want that horse?" he cried, and
+without waiting for an answer, turned to the astonished ranch hands:
+"You, Mike, throw the shell onto Lightnin', an' git him out here, an'
+don't lose no time about it, neither!</p>
+
+<p>"Pete, git that rifle an' lay along the trail! An' if anyone comes
+a-foggin' along towards town shoot his horse out from in under him!
+Never mind chawin'&mdash;you git! Shoot his horse, an' I'll pay the bill.
+Any skunk that would try fer to beat a lady out of her claim ain't
+a-goin' to expect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> nothin' but what he gits around this outfit. An'
+say, Pete&mdash;if it should be Monk Bethune&mdash;an' you happen to shoot a
+leetle high fer to hit the horse&mdash;don't worry none&mdash;git, now!</p>
+
+<p>"You come right along of me, an' git a snack from Miz T. while Mike's
+a-saddlin' up. It's a long drag to town, even on Lightnin', an' you
+ain't et yet. If the coffee ain't hot, you can wait a couple o'
+minutes&mdash;that there Pete&mdash;he won't let nothin' git by&mdash;he kin cut a
+sage hen's head off twenty rod with that rifle!" Patty had made
+several unsuccessful attempts to speak&mdash;attempts to which Thompson
+paid no attention whatever. At last, she managed to make him
+understand. "No, no! It isn't the claim, Mr. Thompson&mdash;but, let him
+saddle the horse just the same. Mr. Samuelson is worse and I'm riding
+for the doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"You!" exclaimed the astonished Thompson. "What's the matter with Bill
+or some of Samuelson's riders?"</p>
+
+<p>"They're after the horse-thieves. They ran off a lot of Mr.
+Samuelson's horses last night, and they're after them. And they caught
+them, and had a battle, and I was in it, and there is a dead man lying
+back there beside the trail." Patty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> talked rapidly, and Thompson
+stared open-mouthed.</p>
+
+<p>"Run off Samuelson's horses&mdash;battle&mdash;dead man&mdash;you was in it!" he
+repeated, in bewilderment. "Who run 'em off? Where's Vil Holland?
+Who's dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know who's dead. A horse-thief, I guess. And Vil Holland's
+with them&mdash;with the Samuelson cowboys and that horrid Pierce, and
+that's why I had to ride for the doctor&mdash;because the cowboys were with
+Vil Holland, and Pierce thought I was one of the horse-thieves."</p>
+
+<p>"If you know what you're talkin' about it's more'n what I do," sighed
+Thompson, resignedly, as the girl concluded the somewhat muddled
+explanation. "If the raid's come off, why wasn't I in on it&mdash;an' me
+keepin' Lightnin' up an' ready fer it's goin' on three months? They's
+a thing or two I do know, though. For one, you've rode fer enough." He
+called to Pete, who, rifle in hand, was making for the trail. "Hey,
+Pete, come back here with that gun, an' quick as Mike gits the hull
+cinched onto Lightnin', you fork him an' hightail fer town an' fetch
+Doc Mallory out to Samuelson's. Tell him the Old Man's worse. Better
+fetch Len Christie along, too. If there's a dead man, even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> if he's a
+horse-thief, it's better he was buried accordin' to the book. Take
+Miss Sinclair's horse to the stable an' tell Mike to onsaddle him an'
+give him a feed." He turned to Patty: "You come along in an' rest up
+'til Miz T. gits breakfast ready. Then when you've et, you kin begin
+at the beginnin' an' tell what's be'n a-goin' on in the hills."</p>
+
+<p>A couple of hours later when Patty concluded her detailed narrative,
+Thompson leaned back in his chair. "I got a crow to pick with Vil
+Holland, all right, fer not lettin' me in on that there raid."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe he didn't have time," suggested the girl, and suppressed a
+desire to smile at the readiness with which she sprang to the defense
+of her "guardian devil of the hills."</p>
+
+<p>Protesting that she needed no rest after her night of wild adventure,
+Patty refused the pressing invitation of the Thompsons to remain at
+the ranch, and mounting her horse, headed for the cabin on Monte's
+Creek.</p>
+
+<p>Once through the canyon, she turned abruptly into the hills and as her
+horse, unguided, topped low divides, and threaded mile after mile of
+narrow valleys, her thoughts wandered from the all-absorbing topic of
+her father's location, to the man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> for whom she had so recently
+experienced such a signal revulsion of feeling. "How could I ever have
+been deceived by that disgusting Monk Bethune?" she muttered.
+"Especially after he warned me against him. It's a wonder I couldn't
+have seen him for the sleek oily devil that he is. I must have been
+crazy." She shuddered at the recollection of that day in the little
+valley when he boldly made love to her. "It's just blind luck
+that&mdash;that something <i>awful</i> didn't happen. I could see the lurking
+devil in his eyes! And I saw it again, when he sneered at Mr.
+Christie. And when Pierce showed very plainly what he thought of him,
+he cursed everybody in the hills, and then offered his glaringly false
+explanation as to why people hate and distrust him." At the top of a
+low divide, she turned her horse into a valley that was not, by any
+means, the most direct route to the little cabin on Monte's Creek. A
+half hour later she came out onto the plateau, upon the edge of which
+Vil Holland's little tent nestled against its towering rock fragment.</p>
+
+<p>For just an instant she hesitated, then, blushing, rode boldly across
+the open space toward the little patch of white that showed through
+the scrub timber. Pulling up before the tent door the girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> glanced
+about her. Everything was in its place. Her eyes rested approvingly
+upon the well-scoured cooking utensils that hung in an orderly row.
+Evidently the camp had not been used the night before. She drew off
+her glove and, leaning over, felt the blankets that were thrown over
+the ridgepole. They were still wet with the heavy dew, and the
+dampened ashes showed that no fire had been built that morning. "Oh,
+where is he?" whispered the girl, glancing wildly about, "Surely, he
+has had time to reach here&mdash;if he's&mdash;all right." After a few moments
+of silence she laughed nervously: "He's all right," she assured
+herself with forced cheerfulness. "Of course, he wouldn't return here
+right away. He probably had to help drive those horses back, or&mdash;or
+help bury that man, or something. I wonder what he thinks of me?
+Pierce will tell him his suspicions, and then&mdash;finding me mixed in
+with those horses&mdash;he'll think I've 'thrown in' with Bethune, as he
+would say. I must see him. I must!"</p>
+
+<p>Deciding to return later in the day, Patty headed her horse for the
+divide and soon found herself at the much trampled notch in the hills.
+For some moments she sat staring down at the ground. She glanced
+toward the cabin that showed so distinctly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> in the valley below. "He
+certainly watches from here," she mused. "And not just occasionally
+either." Suddenly, she straightened in her saddle, and her eyes
+glowed: "I wonder if&mdash;if he has been watching&mdash;Monk Bethune? Watching
+to see that no harm comes to&mdash;me? Oh, if I only knew&mdash;if I only knew
+the real meaning of this trampled grass!" Resolutely, she gathered up
+her reins. "I <i>will know</i>!" she muttered. "And I'll know before very
+long, too. That is, I <i>hope</i> I will," she qualified, as the bay cayuse
+began to pick his way carefully down the steep descent to Monte's
+Creek.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<h2>PATTY FINDS A GLOVE</h2>
+
+
+<p>Dismounting before her cabin, Patty dropped her reins, pushed open the
+door, and entered. Her eyes flew to the little dressing table. The
+packet was gone! With a thrill of exultation she carefully inspected
+the room. Everything was exactly as she had left it. No blundering
+Microby had been here during her absence, for well she knew that
+Microby could no more have invaded the cabin without leaving traces of
+her visit than she could have flown to the moon. It was midday. She
+had intended to rest when she reached the cabin, but her impatience to
+establish once for all the identity of the cunning prowler dispelled
+her weariness, and after a hurried luncheon, she was once more in the
+saddle. "We've both earned a good rest, old fellow," she confided to
+her horse, as he threaded the coulee she had marked 1 NW, "but it's
+only six or seven miles, and we simply must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> know who it is that has
+been calling on us so persistently. And when I find daddy's mine and
+have just oodles of money, I'm going to make it up to you for working
+you so hard. You're going to have a nice, big, light, roomy box stall,
+and a great big grassy pasture with a creek running through it, and
+you're going to have oats three times a day, and you're never going to
+have to work any more, and every day I'll saddle you myself and we'll
+take a ride just for fun."</p>
+
+<p>Having disposed of her horse's future in this eminently satisfactory
+manner, the girl fell to planning her own. She would build a big house
+and live in Middleton, and fairly flaunt her gold in the faces of
+those who had scoffed at her father&mdash;no, she <i>hated</i> Middleton! She
+would go there once in a while, to visit Aunt Rebecca, but mainly to
+show the narrow, hide-bound natives what they had missed by not
+backing her father with a few of their miserable dollars. She would
+live in New York&mdash;in Washington&mdash;in Los Angeles. No, she would live
+right here in the hills&mdash;the hills, that daddy had loved, and whose
+secret he had wrested from their silent embrace. And when she tired of
+the hills she would travel. Not the slightest doubt as to her ability
+to locate her father's claim<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> assailed her, now that she had learned
+to read his map.</p>
+
+<p>It was wonderfully good to be alive. Her glance traveled from the tiny
+creek whose shallow waters purled and burbled about her horse's feet,
+to the high-flung peaks of the mountains, their loftier reaches
+rearing naked and craggy above the dark green girdle of pines. Slowly
+and majestically, hardly more than a speck against the blue, an eagle
+soared. It was a good world&mdash;courage and perseverance made things work
+out right. It was cowardly to despair&mdash;to become disheartened. She
+would find her father's mine&mdash;but, first she would prove that Bethune
+was a scoundrel of the deepest dye. And she would prove, she admitted
+to herself she wanted to prove, that Vil Holland was all his friends
+believed him to be. But, she blushed with shame&mdash;what must he think of
+her? Of her defense of Bethune, of her deliberate rudeness, and worst
+of all, of her night ride with the horse-thieves? He knew she had
+suspected him&mdash;had even accused him. Would he ever regard her as other
+than a silly fool? Vividly she pictured him as he had looked lashing
+his way to her through the wildly crowding horse herd, determined,
+capable, masterful&mdash;and wondered vaguely what her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> answer would have
+been had he made love to her as Bethune had done? She smiled at the
+thought of Vil Holland, the unsmiling, the outspoken, the
+self-sufficient Vil Holland making love!</p>
+
+<p>Upon the summit of a high ridge she paused and gazed down into the
+little valley where she had located the false claim. A few moments
+more and she would know to a certainty the identity of the prowler who
+had repeatedly searched her cabin. Certain as she was whose stakes she
+would find marking the claim, it was with a rapidly beating heart that
+she urged her horse into the valley and across the creek toward the
+rock wall. Yes, there was a stake! And another! And there was the plot
+of ground she had laboriously broken at the foot of the wall. She
+swung from the saddle and examined the spot. The rock fragments she
+had selected from her father's samples were gone! And now to find the
+notice! As she turned to search for the other stakes, her glance
+rested upon an object that held her rooted in her tracks. For a moment
+her heart stopped beating as she stared at the little patch of gray
+buckskin that lay limp and neglected where it had fallen. Slowly she
+walked to it, stooped, and recovered it from the ground. It was a
+gauntleted riding glove&mdash;Vil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> Holland's. She could not be mistaken,
+she had seen that glove upon the hand of its owner too many times,
+with its deep buckskin fringe, and the horseshoe embroidered in red
+and green silk upon its back.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time she stared at the green and red horseshoe. So it was
+Vil Holland, after all, and not Monk Bethune, who had systematically
+searched her cabin. Vil Holland, who had watched continually from his
+notch in the hills. She had been right in the first place, and the
+others had been wrong. Everybody disliked Bethune, and disliking him,
+had attributed to him all the crookedness of the hill country, and all
+the time, under their very noses, Vil Holland was the real
+plotter&mdash;and they liked him! She could see it all, now&mdash;how, with
+Bethune for the scapegoat, he was enabled, unsuspected, to plan and
+carry out his various schemes, and with no possible chance of
+detection&mdash;for he himself was the confidential employee of the
+ranchmen&mdash;the man whose business it was to put an end to the
+lawlessness of the hill country.</p>
+
+<p>Patty was surprised that she was not angry. Indeed, she was not
+conscious of any emotion. She realized, as she stood there holding the
+gaily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> embroidered glove in her hand, that the rapture, the gladness
+of mere existence had left her, and that where only a few minutes
+before, her heart had throbbed with the very joy of living, it now
+seemed like a thing of weight, whose heaviness oppressed her. She felt
+strangely alone and helpless. She glanced about her. The sun still
+shone on the green pines and the sparkling waters of the creek, and
+above the high-tossed crags the eagle still circled, but the thrill of
+joy in these things was gone. Slowly she turned and, still holding the
+glove, mounted, and headed for the cabin on Monte's Creek.</p>
+
+<p>At the door she unsaddled her horse, hobbled him, and turned him
+loose. She realized that she was very tired, and threw herself down
+upon the bunk. When she awoke the cabin was in darkness. The door
+stood wide open as she had left it. For a moment she lay trying to
+collect her bewildered senses. Through the open door, dimly
+silhouetted against the starry sky, she made out the notch in the
+valley rim. Her sense rallied with a rush, and she started nervously
+as a pack rat scurried across the floor and paused upon the door sill
+to peer inquisitively at her with his beady eyes. Crossing the room,
+she closed and barred the door, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> lighted the lamp. It was twelve
+o'clock. She peered at herself in the glass and with an exclamation of
+anger, dampened her wash-cloth and scrubbed furiously at her cheek
+where, in deep tracery appeared the perfect shape of a horseshoe.</p>
+
+<p>She was very hungry, and rummaging in the cupboard set out a cold
+lunch which she devoured to the last crumb. Then she blew out the lamp
+and, removing her riding boots, threw herself down upon the bunk to
+think. She was angry now, and the longer she thought the angrier she
+got. "I can see it all as plain as day," she muttered. "There isn't
+anything he wouldn't do! He <i>did</i> cut that pack sack, and he ran the
+sheep man out of the hills because he knew it would be dangerous for
+him to have a neighbor that might talk. And the Samuelson horse raid!
+Of all the diabolical plotting! With his outlaw friends holding
+trusted positions on the ranch, and old Mr. Samuelson sick in bed! Oh,
+it was cleverly planned! And that Pierce was right in with them. No
+wonder he wanted to lock me in his cellar!</p>
+
+<p>"Who, then, was the man that lay sprawled by the side of the trail?"
+The girl shuddered at the memory of the cheap cotton shirt torn open
+at the throat, and the moonlight shining whitely upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> the bare leg.
+"Some loyal rancher, probably, who dared to oppose the outlaws. It's
+murder!" she cried aloud. "And yesterday I thought he was watching up
+there in the hills to see that no harm came to me!" She laughed&mdash;a
+hard, bitter laugh that held as much of mirth as the gurgle of a tide
+rip. "But he's come to the end of his rope! I'll expose him! I'm not
+afraid of his lawless crew! He'll find out it will take more than
+rescuing me from that herd of wild horses to buy my silence! I'll ride
+straight to Samuelson's ranch in the morning, and from there to
+Thompson's, and I'll tell them about his part in the raid, and about
+his watching like a vulture from his notch in the hills, and about his
+stealing what he thought was daddy's map, and about his filing the
+claim. And did show 'em the glove and&mdash;" She paused abruptly: "What a
+fool I was to come away without the notice! That would have proved it
+beyond any doubt, even if he hasn't recorded the claim!" For a long
+time she lay in the darkness planning her course for the day. All
+thought of sleep had vanished, and her eyes continually sought the
+window for signs of approaching light.</p>
+
+<p>At the first faint glow of dawn the girl caught up her horse and
+headed for the false claim. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> was but the work of a moment to locate
+the stake to which the notice was attached by means of a bit of twine.
+Removing the paper, she thrust it into her pocket and returned to the
+cabin where she ate breakfast before starting for the Samuelson ranch.
+Hurriedly washing the dishes, she picked up the glove and thrust it
+into the bosom of her shirt, and drawing the crumpled notice from her
+pocket, smoothed it out upon the table. Her glance traveled rapidly
+over the penciled words to the signature, and she stared like one in a
+dream. The blood left her face. She closed her eyes and passed her
+hand slowly over the lids. She opened them, and with a nerveless
+finger, touched the paper as if to make sure that it was real. Then,
+very slowly, she rose from her chair and crossing the room, stood in
+the doorway and gazed toward the notch in the hills until hot tears
+welled into her eyes and blurred the distant skyline. The next moment
+she was upon her bunk, where she lay shaken between fits of sobbing
+and hysterical laughter. She drew the glove, with its fringed gauntlet
+and its gaudily embroidered horseshoe from her shirt front and ran her
+fingers along its velvety softness. Impulsively, passionately, she
+pressed the horseshoe to her lips, and leaping to her feet, thrust the
+glove<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> inside her shirt and stepping lightly to the table reread the
+penciled lines upon the crumpled paper, and over and over again she
+read the signature; <span class="smcap">Raoul Bethune</span>, known also as <span class="smcap">Monk Bethune</span>.</p>
+
+<p>The atmosphere of the little cabin seemed stifling. Crumpling the
+paper into her pocket, she stepped out the door. She must do
+something&mdash;go some place&mdash;talk to someone! Her horse stood saddled
+where she had left him, and catching up the reins she mounted and
+headed him at a gallop for the ravine that led to the trampled notch
+in the hills. During the long upward climb the girl managed to collect
+her scattered wits. Where should she go? She breathed deeply of the
+pine-laden air. It was still early morning. A pair of magpies flitted
+in short flights from tree to tree along the trail, scolding
+incessantly as they waited to be frightened on to the next tree.
+Patches of sunlight flashed vivid contrasts in their black and white
+plumage, and set off in a splendor of changing color the green and
+purple and bronze of their iridescent feathering. A deer bounded away
+in a blur of tan and white, and a little farther on, a porcupine
+lumbered lazily into the scrub. It was good to be alive! What
+difference did it make which direction she chose? All she wanted this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
+morning was to ride, and ride, and ride! She had her father's map with
+her but was in no mood to study out its intricacies, nor to ride
+slowly up and down little valleys, scrutinizing rock ledges. She would
+visit the Samuelson ranch, and find out about the horse raid, and
+inquire after Mr. Samuelson, and then&mdash;well, there would be plenty of
+time to decide what to do then. But first, she would swing around by
+the little tent beside the creek and see if Vil Holland had returned.
+Surely, he must have returned by this time, and she must tell him how
+it was she had been riding with the horses&mdash;and, she must give him
+back his glove. She blushed as she felt the pressure of its soft bulk
+where it rested just below her heart. Surely, he would need his
+glove&mdash;and maybe, if she were nice to him, he would tell her how it
+came to be there&mdash;and maybe he would explain&mdash;<i>this</i>. Her horse had
+stopped voluntarily after his steep climb, and she glanced down at the
+trampled grass, and from that to her own little cabin far below on
+Monte's Creek.</p>
+
+<p>She wondered, as she rode through the timber how it was she had been
+so quick to doubt this grave, unsmiling hillman upon such a mere
+triviality as the finding of a glove. And then she wondered at her
+changed attitude toward him. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> had feared him at first, then
+despised him. And now&mdash;she recalled with a thrill, the lean ruggedness
+of him, the unwavering eyes and the unsmiling lips&mdash;now, at least, she
+respected him, and she no longer wondered why the people of the hills
+and the people of the town held him in regard. She knew that he had
+never sought to curry her favor&mdash;had never deviated a hair's breadth
+from the even tenor of his way in order to win her regard and, in
+their chance conversations, he had been blunt even to rudeness. And,
+yet, against her will, her opinion of him had changed. And this change
+had nothing whatever to do with her timely rescue from the horse
+herd&mdash;it had been gradual, so gradual that it had been an accomplished
+fact even before she suspected that any change was taking place.</p>
+
+<p>The huge rock behind which nestled the little tent loomed before her,
+and hastily removing the glove from its hiding place, she came
+suddenly upon his camp. A blackened coffee pot was nestled close
+against a tiny fire upon which a pair of trout and some strips of
+bacon sizzled in a frying pan. She glanced toward the creek, at the
+same moment that Vil Holland turned at the sound of her horse's
+footsteps, and for several<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> seconds they faced each other in silence.
+The man was the first to speak:</p>
+
+<p>"Good mornin'. If you'll step back around that rock for a minute, I'll
+slip into my shirt."</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly Patty realized that he was stripped to the waist, but her
+eyes never left the point high on his upper arm, almost against the
+shoulder, where a blood-stained bandage dangled untidily.</p>
+
+<p>"You're hurt!" she cried, swinging from the saddle and running toward
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothin' but a scratch. I got nicked a little, night before last, an'
+I just now got time to do it up again. It don't amount to
+anything&mdash;don't even hurt, to speak of. I can let that go, if you'll
+just&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I won't just go away&mdash;or just anything else, except just attend
+to that wound&mdash;so there!" She was at his side, examining the clumsy
+bandage. "Sit right down beside the creek, and I'll look at it. The
+first thing is to find out how badly you're hurt."</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't bad. Looks a lot worse than it is. It was an unhandy place
+to tie up, left-handed."</p>
+
+<p>Scooping up water in her hand Patty applied it to the bandage, and
+after repeating the process<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> several times, began very gently to
+remove the cloth. "Why it's clear through!" she cried, as the bandage
+came away and exposed the wound.</p>
+
+<p>"Just through the meat&mdash;it missed the bone. That cold water feels
+good. It was gettin' kind of stiff."</p>
+
+<p>"What did you put on it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothin'. Didn't have anything along, an' wouldn't have had time to
+fool with it if I'd been packin' a whole drug-store."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's your whisky?"</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't got any."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's your jug? Surely there must be some in it&mdash;enough to wash out
+this wound."</p>
+
+<p>The man shook his head. "No, the jug's plumb empty an' dry. I ain't
+be'n to town for 'most a week."</p>
+
+<p>Patty was fumbling at her saddle for the little "first aid" kit that
+she faithfully carried, and until this moment, had never found use
+for. "Probably the only time in the world it would ever do you any
+good, you haven't got it!" she exclaimed, disgustedly, as she unrolled
+a strip of gauze from about a tiny box of salve.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry there ain't any whisky in the jug. I never thought of
+keepin' it for accident."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The girl smeared the wound full of salve and adjusted the bandage,
+"Now," she said, authoritatively, "you're going to eat your breakfast
+and then we're going to ride straight to Samuelson's ranch. The doctor
+will be there and he can dress this wound right."</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right, just the way it is," said Holland. "I've seen fellows
+done up in bandages, one way an' another, but not any that was better
+'tended to than that." He glanced approvingly at the neatly bandaged
+arm. "Anyhow, this is nothin' but a scratch an' it'll be all healed
+up, chances are, before we could get to Samuelson's."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it won't be all healed up before you get to Samuelson's either!
+Run along, now, and I'll stay here while you finish dressing, and when
+you're through, you call me. I've had breakfast but I can drink a cup
+of coffee, if you'll ask me."</p>
+
+<p>"You're asked," the man replied, gravely, "and while I go to the tent,
+you might take that outfit an' jerk a couple more trout out of the
+creek." He pointed to a light fishing pole with hook and line attached
+that leaned against a tree. "It ain't as fancy as the outfit Len
+Christie packs, but it works just as good, an' ain't any bother to
+take care of."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later Vil Holland emerged from the tent. "Sorry I ain't
+got a table," he apologized, "but a fryin' pan outfit's always suited
+me best&mdash;makes a fellow feel kind of free to pull stakes an' drift
+when the notion hits him."</p>
+
+<p>"But, you've camped here for a long time."</p>
+
+<p>The man glanced about him: "Yes, a long time. I guess I know every
+place in the hills for a hundred miles round an' this is the pick of
+'em all, accordin' to my notions. Plenty of natural pasture, plenty of
+timber, an' this little creek's the coldest, an' it always seems to
+me, its water is the sparklin'est of 'em all. An' then, away off there
+towards the big mountains, early in the mornin' an' late in the
+evenin', when it's all kind of dim down here, you can see the sunlight
+on the snow&mdash;purple, an' pink, an' sometimes it shines like silver an'
+gold. It lays fine for a ranch. Sometime, maybe, I'm goin' to
+homestead it. I'll build the cabin right there, close by the big rock,
+an' I'll build a porch on it so in the evenin's we could watch the
+lights way up there on the snow."</p>
+
+<p>Patty smiled: "Who is 'we'?" she asked, mischievously.</p>
+
+<p>The man regarded her gravely: "Things like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> that works themselves out.
+If there ain't any 'we', there won't be any cabin&mdash;so there's nothin'
+to worry about."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you catch the horse-thieves?"</p>
+
+<p>Vil Holland's face clouded. "Part of 'em. Not the main ones, though."</p>
+
+<p>Patty shuddered. "I saw one of them lying back there by the trail. It
+was horrible."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, an' a couple of more went the same way, further on. We'd rather
+have got 'em alive, but they'd had their orders, an' they took their
+medicine. We got the horses, though."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you're wondering how I came to be in among those horses?"</p>
+
+<p>"I figured you'd got mixed up in it at Samuelson's, somehow. The boys
+didn't know nothin' about it&mdash;except Pierce&mdash;an' he guessed wrong."</p>
+
+<p>Patty laughed. "He accused me of being one of the gang, and even
+threatened to lock me in his cellar."</p>
+
+<p>"He won't again," announced the man, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>"I rode down there to get him to go for the doctor. Mr. Samuelson was
+worse, and there was no one else to go. And when I started on for
+town, the horses swept down on me and carried me along with them."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Was the doctor got?" asked Holland with sudden interest.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I rode on down to Thompson's, and Mr. Thompson sent a man to
+town. He was provoked with you for not letting him in on the raid."</p>
+
+<p>"He'll get over it. You see, I didn't want to call out the married
+men. I surmised there'd be gun-play an' there wasn't any use takin'
+chances with men that was needed, when there's plenty of us around the
+hills that it don't make any difference to anyone if we come back or
+not. I didn't figure on lettin' Pierce in."</p>
+
+<p>When they had finished washing the dishes the girl glanced toward the
+buckskin that was snipping grass in the clearing: "It's time we were
+going. The doctor may start for town this morning and we'll meet him
+on the trail."</p>
+
+<p>"This ain't a doctor's job," protested the man. "My arm feels fine."</p>
+
+<p>"It's so stiff you can hardly use it. It must feel fine. But it
+doesn't make a particle of difference how fine it feels. It needs
+attention. And, surely you won't refuse to do this for me, after I
+bandaged it all up? Because, if anything should go wrong it would be
+my fault."</p>
+
+<p>Without a word the man picked up his bridle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> and walking to the
+buckskin, slipped it over his head and led him in. He saddled the
+horse with one hand, and as he turned toward the girl she held out the
+glove.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't this yours? I found it last evening&mdash;out in the hills."</p>
+
+<p>Holland thrust his hand into it: "Yes, it's mine. I'm sure obliged to
+you. I lost it a couple of days ago. I hate to break in new gloves.
+These have got a feel to 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know where I found it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Couldn't guess within twenty miles or so."</p>
+
+<p>Patty looked him squarely in the eyes: "I found it over where Monk
+Bethune has just staked a claim. And he staked that particular claim
+because it was the spot I had indicated on a map that I prepared
+especially for the benefit of the man who has been searching my cabin
+all summer."</p>
+
+<p>Holland nodded gravely, without showing the slightest trace of
+surprise. "Oh, that's where I dropped it, eh? I figured Monk thought
+he'd found somethin', the way he come out of your cabin the last time
+he searched it, so I followed him to the place you'd salted for him."
+He paused, and for the first time since she had known him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> Patty
+thought she detected a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "He didn't
+waste much time there&mdash;just clawed around a few minutes where you'd
+pecked up the dirt, an' then sunk his stakes, an' wrote out his
+notice, an' high-tailed for the register's office. That was a pretty
+smart trick of yours but it wouldn't have fooled anyone that knows
+rock. Bethune's no prospector. He's a Canada crook&mdash;whisky runner, an'
+cattle rustler, an' gambler. Somehow, he'd got a suspicion that your
+father made a strike he'd never filed, an' he's been tryin' to get
+holt of it ever since. I looked your plant over after he'd hit for
+town to file, an' when I tumbled to the game, I let him go ahead."</p>
+
+<p>"But, suppose the rock had been right? Suppose, it had really been
+daddy's claim?"</p>
+
+<p>"Buck can run rings around that cayuse of his any old day. I expect,
+if the rock had be'n right, Monk Bethune would of met up with an
+adventure of some sort a long ways before he hit town."</p>
+
+<p>"You knew he was searching my cabin all the time?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I knew that. But, I saw you was a match for 'em&mdash;him an' the
+fake Lord, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that the reason you threw Lord Clendenning into the creek, that
+day?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that was the reason. I come along an' caught him at it. Comical,
+wasn't it? I 'most laughed. I saw you slip back into the brush, but
+I'd got so far along with it I couldn't help finishin'. You thought
+the wrong man got throw'd in."</p>
+
+<p>"You knew I thought that of you&mdash;and you didn't hate me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I knew what you thought. You thought it was me that was
+searchin' your cabin, too. An' of course I didn't hate you because you
+couldn't hardly help figurin' that way after you'd run onto the place
+in the rim-rocks where I watched from. If it wasn't for the trees I
+could have strung along in a different place each time, but that's the
+only spot that your cabin shows up from."</p>
+
+<p>"And you knew that they always followed me through the hills?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, an' they wasn't the only ones that followed. Clendenning ain't
+as bad as Bethune, for all he's throw'd in with him. The days Bethune
+followed you, I followed Bethune. An' when Clendenning followed you, I
+prospected, mostly."</p>
+
+<p>"You thought Bethune might have&mdash;have attacked me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wasn't takin' any chances&mdash;not with him, I wasn't. One day, I
+thought for a minute he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> goin' to try it. It was the day you an'
+him et lunch together&mdash;when he pretended to be so surprised at runnin'
+onto you. I laid behind a rock with a bead draw'd on him. He stopped
+just exactly one step this side of hell, that day."</p>
+
+<p>Patty regarded the cowboy thoughtfully: "And Bethune told me he had to
+go over onto the east slope to see about some horses. It was after we
+had met Pierce, and Bethune asked about Mr. Samuelson and Pierce
+snubbed him. I believe Bethune planned that raid. And seeing us
+together that day, Pierce jumped to the conclusion that I was in with
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it was Monk's raid, all right, an' him an' Clendenning got away.
+He doped it all out that day. I followed him when he quit you there on
+the trail, an' watched him plan out the route they'd take with the
+horses. Then I done some plannin' of my own. That's why we was able to
+head 'em off so handy. We didn't get Bethune an' Clendenning but I'll
+get 'em yet."</p>
+
+<p>They had mounted and were riding toward Samuelson's. "Maybe he's made
+his escape across the line," ventured the girl, after a long silence.</p>
+
+<p>Holland shook his head: "No, he ain't across the line. He don't think
+we savvy he was in on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> the raid, an' he'll stick around the hills an'
+prob'ly put a crew to work on his claim." He relapsed into silence,
+and as they rode side by side, under the cover of her hat brim, Patty
+found opportunity to study the lean brown face.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's your gun?" The man asked the question abruptly, without
+removing his eyes from the fore-trail.</p>
+
+<p>"I left it home. I only carried it once or twice. It's heavy, and
+anyway it was silly to carry it, I don't even know how to fire it, let
+alone hit anything."</p>
+
+<p>"If it's too heavy on your belt you can carry it on your saddle horn.
+I'll show you how to use it&mdash;an' how to shoot where you hold it, too.
+Mrs. Samuelson ain't as husky as you are, an' she can wipe a gnat's
+eye with a six-gun, either handed. Practice is all it takes, an'&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But, why should I carry it? Bethune would hardly dare harm me, and
+anyway, now that he thinks he has stolen my secret, he wouldn't have
+any object in doing so."</p>
+
+<p>"You're goin' to keep on huntin' your dad's claim, ain't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I am! And I'll find it, too."</p>
+
+<p>"An', in the meantime, what if Bethune finds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> out he's been tricked?
+These French breeds go crazy when they're mad&mdash;an' he'll either lay
+for you just to get even, or he'll see that he gets the right dope
+next time&mdash;an' maybe you know what that means, an' maybe you
+don't&mdash;but I do."</p>
+
+<p>The girl nodded, and as the horses scrambled up the steep slope of a
+low divide, her eyes sought the hundred and one hiding places among
+the loose rocks and scrub that might easily conceal a lurking enemy,
+and she shuddered. As they topped the divide, both reined in and sat
+gazing silently down the little valley before them. It was the place
+of their first meeting, when the girl, tired, and lost and
+discouraged, had dismounted upon that very spot and watched the
+unknown horseman with his six-shooter, and his brown leather jug
+slowly ascend the slope. She glanced at him now, as he sat, rugged and
+lean, with his eyes on the little valley. He was just the same, grave
+and unsmiling, as upon the occasion of their first meeting. She
+noticed that he held his Stetson in his hand, and that the wind
+rippled his hair. "Just the same," she thought&mdash;and yet&mdash;. She was
+aware that her heart was pounding strangely, and that instead of a
+fear of this man, she was conscious of a wild desire to throw herself
+into his arms and cry with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> her face against the bandage that bulged
+the shirt sleeve just below the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"I call this Lost Creek," said Holland, without turning his head. "I
+come here often&mdash;" and added, confusedly, "It's a short cut from my
+camp to the trail."</p>
+
+<p>Patty felt an overpowering desire to laugh. She tried to think of
+something to say: "I&mdash;I thought you were a desperado," she murmured,
+and giggled nervously.</p>
+
+<p>"An' I thought you was a schoolma'am. I guess I was the first to
+change my mind, at that."</p>
+
+<p>Patty felt herself blushing furiously for no reason at all: "But&mdash;I
+have changed my mind&mdash;or I wouldn't be here, now."</p>
+
+<p>Vil Holland nodded: "I expect I'll ride to town from Samuelson's. My
+jug's empty, an' I guess I might's well file that homestead 'fore
+someone else beats me to it. I've got a hunch maybe I'll be rollin' up
+that cabin&mdash;before snow flies."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<h2>UNMASKED</h2>
+
+
+<p>At the Samuelson's ranch they found not only the doctor but Len
+Christie. Mr. Samuelson's condition had taken a sudden turn for the
+better and it was a jubilant little group that welcomed Patty as she
+rode up to the veranda. Vil Holland had muttered an excuse and gone
+directly to the bunk house where the doctor sought him out a few
+minutes later and attended to his wound. From the top of "Lost Creek"
+divide, the ride had been made almost in silence. The cowboy's
+reference to his jug had angered the girl into a moody reserve which
+he made no effort to dispel.</p>
+
+<p>The news of Patty's rescue from the horse herd had preceded her,
+having been recounted by the Samuelson riders upon their return to the
+ranch, and Mrs. Samuelson blamed herself unmercifully for having
+allowed the girl to venture down the valley alone. Which
+self-accusation was promptly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> silenced by Patty, who gently forced the
+old lady into an arm chair, and called her Mother Samuelson, and
+seated herself upon the step at her feet, and assured her that she
+wouldn't have missed the adventure for the world.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll have a jolly little dinner party this evening," beamed Mrs.
+Samuelson, an hour later when the girl had finished recounting her
+part in the night's adventure, "there'll be you and Mr. Christie, and
+Doctor Mallory, and the boys from the bunk house, and Vil Holland, and
+it will be in honor of Mr. Samuelson's turn for the better, and your
+escape, and the successful routing of the horse-thieves."</p>
+
+<p>"Too late to count Vil Holland in," smiled the doctor, who had
+returned to the veranda in time to hear the arrangement, "said he had
+important business in town, and pulled out as soon as I'd got his arm
+rigged up." And, in the doorway, the Reverend Len Christie smiled
+behind a screen of cigarette smoke as he noted the toss of the head,
+and the decided tightening of the lips with which Patty greeted the
+announcement.</p>
+
+<p>"But, he's wounded!" protested Mrs. Samuelson. "In his condition,
+ought he attempt a ride like that?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The doctor laughed: "You can't hurt these clean-blooded young bucks
+with a flesh wound. As far as fitness is concerned, he can ride to
+Jericho if he wants to. Too bad he won't quit prospecting and settle
+down. He'd make some girl a mighty fine husband."</p>
+
+<p>Christie laughed. "I don't think Vil is the marrying kind. In the
+first place he's been bitten too deep with the prospecting bug. And,
+again, women don't appeal to him. He's wedded to his prospecting. He
+only stops when driven to it by necessity, then he only works long
+enough to save up a grub-stake and he's off for the hills again. I
+can't imagine that high priest of the pack horse and the frying pan
+living in a house!"</p>
+
+<p>And so the talk went, everyone participating except Patty, who sat and
+listened with an elaborate indifference that caused the Reverend Len
+to smile again to himself behind the gray cloud of his cigarette
+smoke.</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't forgotten about my school?" asked Patty next morning, as
+Christie and the doctor were preparing to leave for town.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, I haven't!" laughed the Bishop of All Outdoors. "School opens
+the first of September, and that's not very far away. But badly as we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
+need you, somehow I feel that we are not going to get you."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" asked the girl in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"A whole lot may happen in ten days&mdash;and I've got a hunch that before
+that time you will have made your strike."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so!" she exclaimed fervidly. "I know I shall just hate to
+teach school&mdash;and I'd never do it, either, if I didn't need a
+grub-stake."</p>
+
+<p>As she watched him ride away, Patty was joined by Mrs. Samuelson who
+stepped from the house and thrust her arm through hers. "My husband
+wants to meet you, my dear. He's so very much better this
+morning&mdash;quite himself. And I must warn you that that means he's rough
+as an old bear, apparently, although in reality he's got the tenderest
+heart in the world. He always puts his worst foot foremost with
+strangers&mdash;he may even swear."</p>
+
+<p>Patty laughed: "I'm not afraid. You seem to have survived a good many
+years of him. He really can't be so terrible!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he's not terrible at all. Only, I know how much depends upon
+first impressions&mdash;and I do want you to like us."</p>
+
+<p>Patty drew the old lady's arm about her waist<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> and together they
+ascended the stairs: "I love you already, and although I have never
+met him I am going to love Mr. Samuelson, too&mdash;you see, I have heard a
+good deal about him here in the hills."</p>
+
+<p>Entering the room, they advanced to the bed where a big-framed man
+with a white mustache and a stubble of gray beard lay propped up on
+pillows. Sickness had not paled the rich mahogany of the
+weather-seamed face, and the eyes that met Patty's from beneath their
+bushy brows were bright as a boy's. "Good morning! Good morning! So,
+you're Rod Sinclair's daughter, are you? An' a chip of the old block,
+by what mama's been tellin' me. I knew Rod well. He was a real
+prospector. Knew his business, an' went at it business fashion. Wasn't
+like most of 'em&mdash;makin' their rock-peckin' an excuse to get out of
+workin'. They tell me you ain't afraid to live alone in the hills, an'
+ain't afraid to make a midnight ride to fetch the doc for an old
+long-horn like me. That's stuff! Didn't know they bred it east of the
+Mizoo. The ones mama an' I've seen around the theaters an' restaurants
+on our trips East would turn a man's stomach. Why, damn it, young
+woman, if I ever caught a daughter of mine painted up like a Piute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
+an' stripped to the waist smokin' cigarettes an' drinkin' cocktails in
+a public restaurant, I'd peel the rest of her duds off an' turn her
+over my knee an' take a quirt to her, if she was forty!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, <i>papa</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"I would too&mdash;an' so would you!" Patty saw the old eyes twinkling with
+mischief, and she laughed merrily:</p>
+
+<p>"And so would I," she agreed. "So there's no chance for any argument,
+is there?"</p>
+
+<p>"We must go, now," reminded Mrs. Samuelson. "The doctor said you could
+not see any visitors yet. He made a special exception of Miss
+Sinclair, for just a few minutes."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you would call me Patty," smiled the girl. "Miss Sinclair
+sounds so&mdash;so formal&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Me, too!" exclaimed the invalid. "I'll go you one better, an' call
+you Pat&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If you do, I'll call you Pap&mdash;" laughed the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a trade! An' say, they tell me you live over in Watts's sheep
+camp. If you should happen to run across that reprobate of a Vil
+Holland, you tell him to come over here. I want to see him about&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There, now, papa&mdash;remember the doctor said&mdash;&mdash;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I don't care what the doctor said! He's finished his job an' gone,
+ain't he? It's bad enough to have to do what he says when you're
+sick&mdash;but, I'm all right now, an' the quicker he finds out I didn't
+hire him for a guardian, the better it'll be all round. As I was goin'
+to say, you tell Vil that Old Man Samuelson wants to see him <i>pronto</i>.
+Fall's comin' on, an' I'll have my hands full this winter with the
+horses. He's the only cowman in the hills I'd trust them white faces
+with, an' he's got to winter 'em for me. He's a natural born cowman
+an' there's big money in it after he gets a start. I'll give him his
+start. It's time he woke up, an' left off his damned rock-peckin', an'
+settled down. If he keeps on long enough he'll have these hills
+whittled down as flat as North Dakota, an' the wind'll blow us all
+over into the sheep country. Now, Pat, can you remember all that?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl turned in the doorway, and smiled into the bright old eyes:
+"Oh, yes, Pap, I'll tell him if I see him. Good-by!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by, an' good luck to you! Come to see us often. We old folks get
+pretty lonesome sometimes&mdash;especially mama. You see, I've got all the
+best of it&mdash;I've got her, an' she's only got me!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As Patty threaded the hills toward her cabin her thoughts followed the
+events of the past few days; the visit of Len Christie in the early
+morning, when he had inadvertently showed her how to read her father's
+map, the staking of the false claim, the visit to the Samuelson ranch,
+the horse raid, the finding of Vil Holland's glove and the bitter
+disappointment that followed, then the finding of the notice that
+disclosed the identity of the real thief, and her genuine joy in the
+discovery, her visit to Holland's camp, and their long ride together.
+"I tried to show him that all my distrust of him was gone, but he
+hardly seemed to notice&mdash;unless&mdash;I wonder what he <i>did</i> mean about
+having a hunch that he would build that cabin before snow flies?"</p>
+
+<p>For some time she rode in silence, then she burst out vehemently: "I
+don't care! I could love him&mdash;so there! I could just adore him! And I
+don't wonder everybody likes him. He seems always so&mdash;so capable&mdash;so
+confident. You just can't help liking him. If it weren't for that old
+jug! He had to drag that in, even up there when he stood on the spot
+where we first met&mdash;and then at the Samuelsons' he wouldn't even wait
+for dinner he was so crazy to get his old whisky jug filled. It never
+seems to hurt him any," she continued. "But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> nobody can drink as much
+as he does and not be hurt by it. I just know he meant that the cabin
+was going to be for me&mdash;or, did he know that Mr. Samuelson was going
+to ask him to winter the cattle? He's a regular cave man&mdash;I don't know
+whether I've been proposed to, or not!"</p>
+
+<p>She crossed the trail for town and struck into a valley that should
+bring her out somewhere along the Watts fences. So engrossed was she
+in her thoughts that she failed to notice the horseman who slipped
+noiselessly into the scrub a quarter of a mile ahead. Slowly she rode
+up the valley: "If he comes to teach me how to shoot, I'll tell him
+that Mr. Samuelson wants to see him, and if he says any more about the
+cabin, or&mdash;or anything&mdash;I'll tell him he can choose between me and his
+jug. And, if he chooses the jug, and I don't find daddy's mine&mdash;it
+isn't long 'til school opens. I don't mind&mdash;he has to work to get his
+grub-stake, and so will I."</p>
+
+<p>Her horse snorted and shied violently, and when Patty recovered her
+seat it was to find her way blocked by a horseman who stood not ten
+feet in front of her and leered into her eyes. The horseman was Monk
+Bethune&mdash;a malignant, terrifying Bethune, as he sat regarding her with
+his sneering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> smile. The girl's first impulse was to turn and fly, but
+as if divining her thoughts, the man pushed nearer, and she saw that
+his eyes gleamed horribly between lids drawn to slits. Had he
+discovered that she had tricked him with a false claim? If not why the
+glare of hate and the sneering smile that told plainer than words that
+he had her completely in his power, and knew it.</p>
+
+<p>"So, my fine lady&mdash;we meet again! We have much to talk about&mdash;you and
+I. But, first, about the claim. You thought you were very wise with
+your lying about not having a map. You thought to save the whole loaf
+for yourself&mdash;you thought I was fool enough to believe you. If you had
+let me in, you would have had half&mdash;now you have nothing. The claim is
+all staked and filed, and the adjoining claims for a mile are staked
+with the stakes of my friends&mdash;and you have nothing! You were the
+fool! You couldn't have won against me. Failing in my story of
+partnership with your father, I had intended to marry you, and failing
+in that, I should have taken the map by force&mdash;for I knew you carried
+it with you. But I dislike violence when the end may be gained by
+other means, so I waited until, at last, happened the thing I knew
+would happen&mdash;you became careless. You left<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> your precious map and
+photograph in plain sight upon your little table&mdash;and now you have
+nothing." So he had not discovered the deception, but, through
+accident or design, had seized this opportunity to gloat over her, and
+taunt her with her loss. His carefully assumed mask of suave
+courtliness had disappeared, and Patty realized that at last she was
+face to face with the real Bethune, a creature so degenerate that he
+boasted openly of having stolen her secret, as though the fact
+redounded greatly to his credit.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden rage seized her. She touched her horse with the spur: "Let me
+pass!" she demanded, her lips white.</p>
+
+<p>The man's answer was a sneering laugh, as he blocked her way: "Ho! not
+so fast, my pretty! How about the Samuelson horse raid&mdash;your part in
+it? Three of my best men are in hell because you tipped off that raid
+to Vil Holland! How you found it out I do not know&mdash;but women, of a
+certain kind, can find out anything from men. No doubt Clen, in some
+sweet secret meeting place, poured the story into your ear, although
+he denies it on his life."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ha! Ha! Injured innocence!" He leered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> knowingly into her flashing
+eyes: "It seems that everyone else knew what I did not. But, I am of a
+forgiving nature. I will not see you starve. Leave the others and come
+to me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>You cur!</i>" The words cut like a swish of a lash, and again the man
+laughed:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, not so fast, you hussy! I must admit it rather piqued me to be
+bested in the matter of a woman&mdash;and by a soul-puncher. I was on hand
+early that morning, to spy upon your movements, as was my custom. I
+speak of the morning following the night that the very Reverend
+Christie spent with you in your cabin. I should not have believed it
+had I not seen his horse running unsaddled with your own. Also later,
+I saw you come out of the cabin together. Then I damned myself for not
+having reached out before and taken what was there for me to take."</p>
+
+<p>With a low cry of fury, the girl drove her spurs into her horse's
+sides. The animal leaped against Bethune's horse, forcing him aside.
+The quarter-breed reached swiftly for her bridle reins, and as he
+leaned forward with his arm outstretched, Patty summoned all her
+strength and, whirling her heavy braided rawhide quirt high above her
+head, brought it down with the full sweep of her muscular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> arm. The
+feel of the blow was good as it landed squarely upon the inflamed
+brutish face, and the shrill scream of pain that followed, sent a wild
+thrill of joy to the very heart of the girl. Again, the lash swung
+high, this time to descend upon the flank of her horse, and before
+Bethune could recover himself, the frenzied animal shot up the valley,
+running with every ounce there was in him.</p>
+
+<p>The valley floor was fairly level, and a hundred yards away the girl
+shot a swift glance over her shoulder. Bethune's horse was getting
+under way in frantic leaps that told of cruel spurring, and with her
+eyes to the front, she bent forward over the horn and slapped her
+horse's neck with her gloved hand. She remembered with a quick gasp of
+relief that Bethune prided himself upon the fact that he never carried
+a gun. She had once taunted Vil Holland with the fact, and he had
+replied that "greasers and breeds were generally sneaking enough to be
+knife men." Again, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled grimly as
+she noted that the distance between the two flying horses had
+increased by half. "Good old boy," she whispered. "You can beat
+him&mdash;can 'run rings around him,' as Vil would say. It would be a long
+knife that could harm me now," she thought,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> as she pulled her Stetson
+tight against the sweep of the rushing wind. The ground was becoming
+more and more uneven. Loose rock fragments were strewn about in
+increasing numbers, and the valley was narrowing to an extent that
+necessitated frequent fording of the shallow creek. "He can't make any
+better time than I can," muttered the girl, as she noted the
+slackening of her horse's speed. She was riding on a loose rein,
+giving her horse his head, for she realized that to force him might
+mean a misstep and a fall. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the
+thoughts of a fall. A thousand times better had she fallen and been
+pounded to a pulp by the flying hoofs of the horse herd, than to fall
+now&mdash;and survive it. The ascent became steeper. Her horse was still
+running, but very slowly. His neck and shoulders were reeking with
+sweat, and she could hear the labored breath pumping through his
+distended nostrils.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden fear shot through her. Nine valleys in every ten, she knew,
+ended in surmountable divides; and she knew, also, that one valley in
+every ten did not. Suppose this one that she had chosen at random
+terminated in a cul-de-sac? The way became steeper. Running was out of
+the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> question, and her horse was forging upward in a curious
+scrambling walk. A noise of clattering rocks sounded behind her, and
+Patty glanced backward straight into the face of Bethune. Reckless of
+a fall, in the blind fury of his passion, the quarter-breed had forced
+his horse to his utmost, and rapidly closed up the gap until scarcely
+ten yards separated him from the fleeing girl.</p>
+
+<p>In a frenzy of terror she lashed her laboring horse's flanks as the
+animal dug and clawed like a cat at the loose rock footing of the
+steep ascent. White to the lips she searched the foreground for a
+ravine or a coulee that would afford a means of escape. But before her
+loomed only the ever steepening wall, its surface half concealed by
+the scattering scrub. Once more she looked backward. The breath was
+whistling through the blood-red flaring nostrils of Bethune's horse,
+and her glance flew to the face of the man. Never in her wildest
+nightmares had she imagined the soul-curdling horror of that face. The
+lips writhed back in a hideous grin of hate. A long blue-red welt
+bisected the features obliquely&mdash;a welt from which red blood flowed
+freely at the corner of a swollen eye. White foam gathered upon the
+distorted lips and drooled down onto the chin where it mingled with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>
+the blood in a pink meringue that dripped in fluffy chunks upon his
+shirt front. The uninjured eye was a narrow gleam of venom, and the
+breath swished through the man's nostrils as from the strain of great
+physical labor.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, for my gun!" thought the girl. "I'd&mdash;I'd <i>kill</i> him!" With a wild
+scramble her horse went down. "Vil! Vil!" she shrieked, in a frenzy of
+despair, and freeing herself from the floundering animal, she
+struggled to her feet and faced her pursuer with a sharp rock fragment
+upraised in her two hands.</p>
+
+<p>Monk Bethune laughed&mdash;as the fiends must laugh in hell. A laugh that
+struck a chill to the very heart of the girl. Her muscles went limp at
+the sound of it and she felt the strength ebbing from her body like
+sand from an upturned glass. The rock fragment became an insupportable
+weight. It crashed to the ground, and rolled clattering to Bethune's
+feet. He, too, had dismounted, and stood beside his horse, his fists
+slowly clenching and unclenching in gloating anticipation. Patty
+turned to run, but her limbs felt numb and heavy, and she pitched
+forward upon her knees. With a slow movement of his hand, Bethune
+wiped the pink foam from his chin, examined it, snapped it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> from his
+fingers, cleansed them upon the sleeve of his shirt&mdash;and again,
+deliberately, he laughed, and started to climb slowly forward.</p>
+
+<p>A rock slipped close beside the girl, and the next instant a voice
+sounded in her ear: "I don't reckon he's 'round yere, Miss. I hain't
+saw Vil this mo'nin'." Rifle in hand, Watts stepped from behind a
+scrub pine, and as his eyes fell upon Bethune, he stood fumbling his
+beard with uncertain fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"He&mdash;he'll kill me!" gasped the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"Sho', now, Miss&mdash;he won't hurt yo' none, will yo', Mr. Bethune?
+Gineral Jackson! Mr. Bethune, look at yo' face! Yo' must of rode
+again' a limb!"</p>
+
+<p>"Shut up, and get out of here!" screamed the quarter-breed. "And, if
+you know what's good for you, you'll forget that you've seen anyone
+this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"B'en layin' up yere in the gap fer to git me a deer. I heerd yo'-all
+comin', like, so's I waited."</p>
+
+<p>"Get out, I tell you, before I kill you!" cried Bethune, beside
+himself with rage. "Go!" The man's hand plunged beneath his shirt and
+came out with a glitter of steel.</p>
+
+<p>The mountaineer eyed the blade indifferently,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> and turned to the girl.
+"Ef yo' goin' my ways, ma'am, jest yo' lead yo' hoss on ahaid. They's
+a game trail runs slaunchways up th'ough the gap yender. I'll kind o'
+foller 'long behind."</p>
+
+<p>"You fool!" shrilled Bethune, as he made a grab for the girl's reins,
+and the next instant found himself looking straight into the muzzle of
+Watts's rifle.</p>
+
+<p>"Drap them lines," drawled the mountaineer, "thet hain't yo' hoss. An'
+what's over an' above, yo' better put up yo' whittle, an' tu'n 'round
+an' go back wher' yo' com' from."</p>
+
+<p>"Lower that gun!" commanded Bethune. "It's cocked!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, hit's cocked, Mr. Bethune, an' hit's sot mighty light on the
+trigger. Ef I'd git a little scairt, er a little riled, er my foot 'ud
+slip, yo'd have to be drug down to wher' the diggin's easy, an'
+buried."</p>
+
+<p>Bethune deliberately slipped the knife back into his shirt, and
+laughed: "Oh, come, now, Watts, a joke's a joke. I played a joke on
+Miss Sinclair to frighten her&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yo' done hit, all right," interrupted Watts. "An' thet's the end
+on't."</p>
+
+<p>The rifle muzzle still covered Bethune's chest in the precise region
+of his heart, and once more he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> changed his tactics: "Don't be a fool,
+Watts," he said, in an undertone, "I'm rich&mdash;richer than you, or
+anyone else knows. I've located Rod Sinclair's strike and filed it. If
+you just slip quietly off about your business, and forget that you
+ever saw anyone here this morning&mdash;and see to it that you never
+remember it again, you'll never regret it. I'll make it right with
+you&mdash;I'll file you next to discovery."</p>
+
+<p>"Yo' mean," asked Watts, slowly, "thet you've stoled the mine offen
+Sinclair's darter, an' filed hit yo'self, an' thet ef I go 'way an'
+let yo' finish the job by murderin' the gal, yo'll give me some of the
+mine&mdash;is thet what yo' tryin' to git at?"</p>
+
+<p>"Put it anyway you want to, damn you! Words don't matter, but for
+God's sake, get out! If she once gets through the gap&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bethune," Watts drawled the name, even more than was his wont, and
+the quarter-breed noticed that the usually roving eyes had set into a
+hard stare behind which lurked a dangerous glitter, "yo're a ornery,
+low-down cur-dog what hain't fitten to be run with by man, beast, or
+devil. I'd ort to shoot yo' daid right wher' yo' at&mdash;an' mebbe I will.
+But comin' to squint yo' over, that there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> damage looks mo' like a
+quirt-lick than a limb. Thet ort to hurt like fire fer a couple a
+days, an' when it lets up yo' face hain't a-goin' to be so purty as
+what hit wus. Ef she'd jest of drug the quirt along a little when hit
+landed she c'd of cut plumb into the bone&mdash;but hit's middlin' fair, as
+hit stands. I'm a-goin' to give yo' a chanct&mdash;an' a warnin', too. Next
+time I see yo' I'm a-going' to kill yo'&mdash;whenever, or wherever hit's
+at. I'll do hit, jest as shore as my name is John Watts. Yo' kin go
+now&mdash;back the way yo' come, pervidin' yo' go fast. I'm a-goin' to
+count up to wher' I know how to&mdash;I hain't never be'n to school none,
+but I counted up to nineteen, onct&mdash;an' whin I git to wher' I cain't
+rec'lec' the nex' figger, I'm a-goin' to shoot, an' shoot straight.
+An' I hain't a-goin' to study long about them figgers, neither. Le's
+see, one comes fust&mdash;yere goes, then: One ... Two...." For a single
+instant, Bethune gazed into the man's eyes and the next, he sprang
+into the saddle, and dashing wildly down the steep slope, disappeared
+into the scrub.</p>
+
+<p>"Spec' I'd ort to killed him," regretted the mountaineer, as he
+lowered the rifle, and gazed off down the valley, "but I hain't got no
+appetite fer diggin'."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<h2>PATTY MAKES HER STRIKE</h2>
+
+
+<p>It was noon, one week from the day she had returned from the Samuelson
+ranch, and Patty Sinclair stood upon the high shoulder of a butte and
+looked down into a rock-rimmed valley. Her eyes roved slowly up and
+down the depression where the dark green of the scrub contrasted
+sharply with the crinkly buffalo grass, yellowed to spun gold beneath
+the rays of the summer sun.</p>
+
+<p>She reached up and stroked the neck of her horse. "Just think, old
+partner, three days from now I may be teaching school in that horrid
+little town with its ratty hotel, and its picture shows, and its
+saloons, and you may be turned out in a pasture with nothing to do but
+eat and grow fat! If we don't find our claim to-day, or to-morrow,
+it's good-by hill country 'til next summer."</p>
+
+<p>The day following her encounter with Bethune, Vil Holland had
+appeared, true to his promise, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> instructed her in the use of her
+father's six-gun. At the end of an hour's practice, she had been able
+to kick up the dirt in close proximity to a tomato can at fifteen
+steps, and twice she had actually hit it. "That's good enough for any
+use you're apt to have for it," her instructor had approved. "The main
+thing is that you ain't afraid of it. An' remember," he added, "a gun
+ain't made to bluff with. Don't pull it on anyone unless you go
+through with it. Only short-horns an' pilgrims ever pull a gun that
+don't need wipin' before it's put back&mdash;I could show you the graves of
+several of 'em. I'm leavin' you some extry shells that you can shoot
+up the scenery with. Always pick out somethin' little to shoot
+at&mdash;start in with tin cans and work down to match-sticks. When you can
+break six match-sticks with six shots at ten steps in ten seconds
+folks will call you handy with a gun." He had made no mention of his
+trip to town, of his filing a homestead, or of their conversation upon
+the top of Lost Creek divide. When the lesson was finished, he had
+refused Patty's invitation to supper, mounted his horse, and
+disappeared up the ravine that led to the notch in the hills. Although
+neither had mentioned it, Patty somehow felt that he had heard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> from
+Watts of her encounter with Bethune. And now a week had passed and she
+had seen neither Vil Holland nor the quarter-breed. It had been a week
+of anxiety and hard work for the girl who had devoted almost every
+hour of daylight to the unraveling of her father's map. Simple as the
+directions seemed, her inability to estimate distances had proven a
+serious handicap. But by dogged perseverance, and much retracing of
+steps, and correcting of false leads, she finally stood upon the rim
+of the valley she judged to lie two miles east of the humpbacked butte
+that she had figured to be the inverted U of her father's map.</p>
+
+<p>"If this isn't the valley, I'm through for this year," she said. "And
+I've got to-day and to-morrow to explore it." She wondered at her
+indifference&mdash;at her strange lack of excitement at this, the crucial
+moment of her long quest, even as she had wondered at her absence of
+fear, believing as she did, that Bethune was still in the hills. The
+feeling inspired by the outlaw had been a feeling of rage, rather than
+terror, and had rapidly crystallized in her outraged mind into an
+abysmal soul-hate. She knew that, should the man accost her again, she
+would kill him&mdash;and not for a single instant did she doubt her ability
+to kill<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> him. Vaguely, as she stood looking out over the valley, she
+wondered if he were following her&mdash;if at that moment he were lying
+concealed, somewhere among the surrounding rocks or patches of scrub?
+Yet, she was conscious of no feeling of fear. She even attempted no
+concealment as, standing there upon the bare rock, she drew her
+father's map and photographs from her pocket and subjected them to a
+long and minute scrutiny. And then, still holding them in her hand,
+gazed once more over the valley. "To 'a,' to 'b,'" she repeated. "What
+is there that daddy would have designed as 'a,' and 'b?'" Suddenly,
+her glance became fixed upon a point up the valley that lay just
+within her range of vision. With puckered eyes and hat-brim drawn low
+upon her forehead, she stared steadily into the distance. She knew
+that she had never before seen this valley, and yet the place seemed,
+somehow, strangely familiar. With a low cry she bent over one of the
+photographs. Her hands trembled violently as her eyes once more flew
+to the valley. Yes, there it was, spread out before her just the way
+it was in the photograph&mdash;the rock-strewn ground&mdash;she could even
+identify the various rocks with the rocks in the picture. There was
+the lone tree, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> long rock wall, higher at its upper end,
+and&mdash;yes, she could just discern it&mdash;the zigzag crack in the rock
+ledge! Jamming the papers into her pocket she leaped into the saddle
+and dashed toward a fringe of scrub that marked the course of a coulee
+which led downward into the valley. Over its edge, and down its
+brush-choked course, slipping, sliding, scrambling, she urged her
+horse, reckless of safety, reckless of anything except that her weary,
+and at times it had seemed her hopeless, search was about to end. She
+had stood where her daddy had stood when he took that photograph&mdash;had
+seen with her own eyes&mdash;the jagged crack in the rock wall!</p>
+
+<p>In the valley the going was better, and with quirt and spur she urged
+her horse to his best, her eyes on the lone pine tree. At the rock
+wall beyond, she pulled up sharply and stared at the jagged crevice
+that bisected it from top to bottom. It was the crevice of the
+photograph! Very deliberately she began at the top and traced its
+course to the bottom. She noted the scraggly, stunted pines that
+fringed the rim of the wall and that the crack started straight, and
+then zigzagged to the ground. Producing the "close up" photograph, she
+compared it with the reality before her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>&mdash;an entirely superfluous and
+needless act, for each minute detail of the spot at which she stared
+was indelibly engraved upon her memory. For hours on end, she had
+studied those photographs, and now&mdash;she laughed aloud, and the sound
+roused her to action. Slipping from the horse, she fumbled at the pack
+strings of the saddle and loosened the canvas bag. She reached into
+it, and stood erect holding a light hand-axe. Once more she consulted
+her map. "Stake l. c.," she read. "That's lode claim&mdash;and then that
+funny wiggly mark, and then the word center." Her brows drew together
+as she studied the ground. Suddenly her face brightened. "Why, of
+course!" she exclaimed. "That mark represents the crack, and daddy
+meant to stake the claim with the crack for the center. Well, here
+goes!" She vehemently attacked a young sapling, and ten minutes later
+viewed with pride her four roughly hacked stakes. Picking up one of
+them and the axe, she paced off her distance, and as she reached the
+first corner point, stared in surprise at the ground. The claim had
+already been staked! Eagerly she stooped to examine the bit of wood.
+It had evidently been in place for some time&mdash;how long, the girl could
+not tell. Long enough, though, for its surface to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> have become
+weather-grayed and discolored. "Daddy's stakes," she breathed softly,
+and as her fingers strayed over the surface two big tears welled into
+her eyes and trickled unheeded down her cheeks. "If he staked the
+claim, I wonder why he didn't file," she puzzled over the matter for a
+moment, and dismissed it. "I don't know why. But, anyway, the thing
+for me to do is to get in my own stakes&mdash;only, I'll file, just as soon
+as I can get to the register's office."</p>
+
+<p>After considerable difficulty, she succeeded in planting her own stake
+close beside the other, which marked the southwest corner of the claim, a
+short time later the northwest corner was staked, and the girl stared again
+at the rock wall. "Why, I've got to put in my eastern boundary stakes up on
+top&mdash;three hundred feet back from the edge!" she exclaimed; "maybe I'll
+find his notice on one of those stakes." It required only a moment to
+locate a ravine that led to the top of the ledge which was not nearly so
+high as the one that formed the opposite side of the valley. She found the
+old stakes, but no sign of a notice. "The wind, and the snow, and the rain
+have destroyed it long ago," she muttered. "And, now for my own notice."
+Producing from her bag a pencil and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> piece of paper, she wrote her
+description and affixed it to a stake by means of a bit of wire. Then,
+descending once more into the valley, she produced her luncheon and threw
+herself down beside the little creek. It was mid-afternoon, and she
+suddenly discovered that she was ravenously hungry. With her back against a
+rock fragment, she sat and feasted her eyes upon her claim&mdash;hers&mdash;<span class="smcap">Hers</span>! Her
+thoughts flew backward to the enthusiasm of her father over this very
+claim. She remembered how his eyes had lighted as he told her of its hidden
+treasure. She remembered the jibes, and doubts, and covert sneers of the
+Middleton people, her father's death, her own anger and revolt, when she
+had suddenly decided, in the face of their council, entreaties, and
+commands to take up his work where he had left it. With kaleidoscopic
+rapidity her thoughts flew over the events of the ensuing months&mdash;the
+meeting with Vil Holland, her disappointment in the Watts ranch, her eager
+acceptance of the sheep camp, the long weary weeks of patiently riding
+along rock walls, taking each valley in turn, the growing fear of running
+out of funds before she could locate the claim. She shuddered as she
+thought of Monk Bethune, and of how nearly she had fallen a victim<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> to his
+machinations. Her thoughts returned to Vil Holland, her "guardian devil of
+the hills," who had turned out to be in reality a guardian angel in
+disguise. "Very much in disguise," she smiled, "with his jug of whisky."
+Nobody who had helped make up her little world of people in the hill
+country was forgotten, the Thompsons, the Samuelsons, and the Wattses&mdash;she
+thought of them all. "Why, I&mdash;I love every one of them," she cried, as
+though the discovery surprised her. "They're all, every one of them, real
+friends&mdash;they're not like the others, the smug, sleek, best citizens of
+Middleton. And I'll not forget one of them. We'll file that whole vein from
+one end to the other!" Catching up her horse, she mounted, and sat for a
+moment irresolute. "I could make town, sometime to-night," she mused, and
+then her eyes rested for a moment upon her horse's neck where the white
+alkali dust lay upon the rough, sweat-dried hair. "No," she decided. "We'll
+go back to the cabin, and you can rest up, and to-morrow we'll start at
+daylight."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Christie was right," she smiled, as she took the back trail for
+Monte's Creek. "I don't have to teach school. But, I wonder how he
+could have gotten that 'hunch,' as he called<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> it? When I've been
+searching for the claim for months?"</p>
+
+<p>In a little valley that ran parallel to Monte's Creek, Patty
+encountered Microby Dandeline. The girl was lying stretched at full
+length upon the ground and did not notice her approach until she was
+almost on her, then she leaped to her feet, regarded her for a moment,
+and, with a frightened cry, sprang into the bush and scrambled out of
+sight along the steep side of a ravine. In vain Patty called, but her
+only answer was the diminishing sounds of the girl's scrambling
+flight. "What in the world has got into her of late," she wondered, as
+she proceeded on her way. Certain it was that the girl avoided her,
+not only at the Watts ranch, but whenever they had chanced to meet in
+the hills. At first she had attributed it to anger or resentment over
+her own treatment of her when she had tried to get possession of the
+map. But, surely, even the dull-witted Microby must know that the
+incident had been forgotten. "No," she decided, "there is something
+else." Somehow, the girl no longer seemed the simple child-like
+creature of the wild. There was a furtiveness about her, and she had
+developed a certain crafty side glance, as though constantly seeking a
+means of escape<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> from something. Her mother had noticed the change,
+and had confided to Patty that she was "gittin' mo' triflin' every
+day, a-rammin' 'round the hills a-huntin' her a mine." "There's
+something worrying her," muttered the girl. "Something that she don't
+dare tell anyone, and it's sapping what little wit she has."</p>
+
+<p>It was late that evening when Patty ate her solitary supper. The sun
+had long set, and the dusk of the late twilight had settled upon the
+valley of Monte's Creek as she wiped the last dish and set it upon the
+shelf of her tiny cupboard. Suddenly she looked up. A form darkened
+the doorway, and quick as a flash, her eyes sought the six-gun that
+lay in its holster upon the bunk.</p>
+
+<p>"You won't need that." The voice was reassuring. It was Vil Holland's
+voice; she had recognized him a second before he spoke and greeted him
+with a smile, even as she wondered what had brought him there. Only
+three times before had he come to her cabin, once to ascertain who was
+moving into the sheep camp, once when he had pitched Lord Clendenning
+into the creek, and again, only a few days before, when he had come to
+teach her to shoot. The girl noted that he seemed graver than usual,
+if that were possible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> Certain it was that he appeared to be holding
+himself under restraint. She wondered if he had come to warn her of
+the proximity of Bethune.</p>
+
+<p>"I was in town, to-day," he came directly to the point. "An' Len
+Christie told me you're goin' to teach school." He paused and his eyes
+rested upon her face as if seeking confirmation.</p>
+
+<p>Patty laughed; she could afford to laugh, now that the necessity for
+teaching did not exist. "I asked him if he could find a school for me
+sometime ago," she replied, trying to fathom what was in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment of silence, during which Patty saw the man's
+fingers tighten upon his hat brim. "I don't want you to do that. It
+ain't fit work&mdash;for you&mdash;teachin' other folks' kids."</p>
+
+<p>Patty stared at him in surprise. The words had come slowly, and at
+their conclusion he had paused.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe you could suggest some work that is more fit?"</p>
+
+<p>The man ignored the hint of sarcasm. "Yes&mdash;I think I can." His head
+was slightly bowed, and Patty saw that it was with an effort he
+continued: "That is, I don't know if I can make you see it like I do.
+It's awful real to me&mdash;an' plain. Miss Sinclair, I can't make any fine
+speeches like they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> do in books. I wouldn't if I could&mdash;it ain't my
+way. I love you more than I could tell you if I knew all the words in
+the language, an' how to fit 'em together. I loved you that day I
+first saw you&mdash;back there on the divide at Lost Creek. You was afraid
+of me, an' you wouldn't show it, an' you wouldn't own up that you was
+lost&mdash;'til I'd made the play of goin' off an' leavin' you. An' I've
+loved you every minute since&mdash;an' every minute since, I've fought
+against lovin' you. But, it's no use. The more I fight it, the
+stronger it gets. It's stronger than I am. I can't down it. It's the
+first time I ever ran up against anything I couldn't whip." Again he
+paused. Patty advanced a step, and her eyes glowed softly as they
+rested upon the form that stood in her doorway silhouetted against the
+after-glow. She saw Buck rub his velvet nose affectionately up and
+down the man's sleeve, and into her heart leaped a great longing for
+this man who, with the unconscious dignity of the vast open places
+upon him, had told her so earnestly of his love. She opened her lips
+to speak but there was a great lump in her throat, and no words came.</p>
+
+<p>"That's why," he continued, "I know it ain't just a flash in the
+pan&mdash;this love of mine ain't. All summer I've watched you, an' the
+hardest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> thing I ever had to do was to set back an' let you play a
+lone hand against the worst devil that ever showed his face in the
+hills. But the way things stacked up, I had to. You had me sized up
+for the one that was campin' on your trail, an' anything I'd have done
+would have played into Bethune's hand. I know I ain't fit for you&mdash;no
+man is. But, I'll always do the best I know how by you&mdash;an' I'll
+always love you. As for the rest of it, I never saved any money. I
+know there's gold here in the hills, an' I've spent years huntin' it.
+I'll find it, too&mdash;sometime. But, I ain't exactly a pauper, either.
+I've got my two hands, an' I've got a contract with Old Man Samuelson
+to winter his cattle. I didn't want to do it first, but the figure he
+named was about twice what I thought the job was worth. I told him so
+right out, an' he kind of laughed an' said maybe I'd need it all, an'
+anyhow, them cattle was all grade Herefords, an' was worth more to
+winter than common dogies. So, you see, we could winter through, all
+right, an' next summer, we could prospect together. The gold's here,
+somewhere&mdash;your dad knew it&mdash;an' I know it."</p>
+
+<p>Receiving no answering pat, the buckskin left off his nuzzling of the
+man's sleeve, and turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> from the doorway. As he did so the brown
+leather jug scraped lightly against the jamb. The girl's eyes flew to
+the jug, and swiftly back to the man who stood framed in the doorway.
+She loved him! For days and days she had known that she loved him, and
+for days and nights her thoughts had been mostly of him&mdash;this
+unsmiling knight of the saddle&mdash;her "guardian devil of the hills."
+Without exception, the people whose regard was worth having respected
+him, and liked him, even though they deplored his refusal to accept
+steady work. They're just like the people back home, she thought. They
+have no imagination. To their minds the cowpuncher who draws his forty
+dollars a month, year in and year out, is in some manner more
+dependable than the man whose imagination and love of the boundless
+open lead him to stake his time against millions. What do they know of
+the joys and the despairs of uncertainty? In a measure they, too, love
+the plains and the hills&mdash;but their love of the open is inextricably
+interwoven with their preconceived ideas of conduct. But, Vil Holland
+is bound by no such convention; his "outfit," a pack horse to carry
+it, and his home&mdash;all outdoors! Her father had imagination, and year
+after year, in the face of the taunts and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> jibes of his small town
+neighbors, he had steadfastly allowed his imagination full sway, and
+at last&mdash;he had won. She had adored her father from whom she had
+inherited her love of the wild. But&mdash;there was the jug! Always her
+thoughts of Vil Holland had led up to that brown leather jug until she
+had come to hate it with an unreasoning hatred.</p>
+
+<p>"I see you have not forgotten your jug."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I got it filled in town." The man's reply was casual, as he would
+have mentioned his gloves, or his hat.</p>
+
+<p>"You said you had never run up against anything you couldn't whip,
+except&mdash;except&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, except my love for you. That's right&mdash;an' I never expect to."</p>
+
+<p>"How about that jug? Can you whip that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, yes, I could. If there was any need. I never tried it."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose you try it for a while, and see."</p>
+
+<p>The man regarded her seriously. "You mean, if I leave off packin' that
+jug, you'll&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't promised anything." The girl laughed a trifle nervously.
+"But, I will tell you this much. I utterly despise a drunkard!"</p>
+
+<p>Vil Holland nodded slowly. "Let's get the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> straight of it," he said.
+"I didn't know&mdash;I didn't realize it was really hurtin' me any. Can you
+see that it does? Have I ever done anything that you know of, or have
+heard tell of, that a sober man wouldn't do?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl felt her anger rising. "Nobody can drink as much as you do,
+and not be the worse for it. Don't try to defend yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I wouldn't do that. You see, if it's hurtin' me, there wouldn't
+be any defense&mdash;an' if it ain't, I don't need any."</p>
+
+<p>For an instant Patty regarded the man who stood framed in the doorway.
+"Clean-blooded," the doctor had called him, and clean-blooded he
+looked&mdash;the very picture of health and rugged strength, clear of eye
+and firm of jaw, not one slightest hint or mark of the toper could she
+detect, and the realization that this was so, angered her the more.</p>
+
+<p>Abruptly, she changed the subject, and the moment the brown leather
+jug was banished from her mind, her anger subsided. In the doorway,
+Vil Holland noted the undercurrent of suppressed excitement in her
+voice as she said: "I have the most wonderful news! I&mdash;<i>I found
+daddy's mine!</i>" Seconds passed as the man stood waiting for her to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
+proceed. "I found it to-day," she continued, without noting that his
+lean brown hand gripped the hat brim even more tightly than before,
+nor that his lips were pressed into a thin straight line. "And my
+stakes are all in, and in the morning I'm going to file."</p>
+
+<p>Vil Holland interrupted. "You&mdash;you say you located Rod Sinclair's
+strike? You really located it?" Somehow, his voice sounded different.</p>
+
+<p>The girl sensed the change without defining it. "Yes, I really found
+it!" she answered. "Do you want to know where?" Hastily she turned to
+the cupboard and taking a match from a box, lighted the lamp. "You
+see," she laughed, "I am not afraid to trust you. I'm going to show
+you daddy's map, and his photographs, and the samples. Oh, if you knew
+how I've hunted and hunted through these hills for that rock wall! You
+see, the map was like so much Greek to me, until I happened by
+accident to learn how to read it. Before that, I just rode up and down
+the valleys hunting for the wall with the broad crooked crack in it.
+Here it is." The man had advanced to the table, and was bending over
+the two photographs, examining them minutely. "And here's his map." He
+picked up the paper and for several minutes studied the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> penciled
+directions. Then he laid it down, and turned his attention to the
+samples.</p>
+
+<p>"High grade," he appraised, and returned them to the table beside the
+photographs. "So, you don't have to teach school," he said, speaking
+more to himself than to her. "An' you'll be goin' out of the hill
+country for good an' all. There's nothin' here for you, now that
+you've got what you come after. You'll be goin' back&mdash;East."</p>
+
+<p>Patty laughed, and as Vil Holland looked into her face he saw that her
+eyes held dancing lights. "I'm not going back East," she said. "I've
+learned to love&mdash;the hill country. I have learned that&mdash;perhaps&mdash;there
+is more here for me than&mdash;than even daddy's mine."</p>
+
+<p>Vil Holland shook his head. "There's nothin' for you in the hills," he
+repeated, slowly, and abruptly extended his hand. "I'm glad for your
+sake your luck changed, Miss Sinclair. I hope the gold you take out of
+there will bring you happiness. You've earnt it&mdash;every cent of it, an'
+you've got it, an' now, as far as the hill country goes&mdash;the books are
+closed. Good-night, I must be goin', now."</p>
+
+<p>Abruptly as he had offered his hand, he withdrew it, and turning,
+stepped through the door, mounted his horse, and rode out into the
+night.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<h2>THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER</h2>
+
+
+<p>Beside the little table Patty Sinclair listened to the sound of hoofs
+splashing through the shallows of the creek and thudding dully upon
+the floor of the valley beyond. When the sounds told her that the
+horseman had disappeared into the timber, she walked slowly to the
+door, and leaning her arm against the jamb, stared for a long time
+into the black sweep of woods that concealed the trail that led upward
+to the notch in the hills, just discernible against the sky where the
+stars showed through the last faint blush of after-glow in winking
+points of gold.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing here for me," she repeated dully. "Nothing but trees, and
+hills&mdash;and gold. He loves me," she laughed bitterly. "And yet, between
+me, and his jug, he chose&mdash;the jug." She closed the door, slipped the
+bar into place, thrust the photographs and map into her pocket, and
+threw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> herself face downward upon the bunk. And, in the edge of the
+timber, Vil Holland turned his horse slowly about and headed him up
+the ravine. At the notch in the hills he slipped to the ground and,
+throwing an arm across the saddle, removed his Stetson and let the
+night wind ripple his hair. Standing alone in the night with his
+soul-hurt, he gazed far downward where a tiny square of yellow light
+marked the window of the cabin.</p>
+
+<p>"It's hell&mdash;the way things work out," he said, thoughtfully. "Yes,
+sir, Buck, it sure is hell. If Len had told me a week ago about her
+havin' to teach school, or even yesterday&mdash;she might have&mdash;But,
+now&mdash;she's rich. An' that cracked rock claim turnin' out to be
+<i>hers</i>&mdash;" He swung abruptly into the saddle and headed the buckskin
+for camp.</p>
+
+<p>Patty spent a miserable night. Brief periods of sleep were
+interspersed with long periods of wakefulness in which her brain
+traveled wearily over and over a long, long trail that ended always at
+a brown leather jug that swung by a strap from a saddle horn. She had
+found her father's claim&mdash;had accomplished the thing she had started
+out to accomplish&mdash;had vindicated her father's judgment in the eyes of
+the people back home&mdash;had circumvented<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> the machinations of Bethune,
+and in all probability, the moment that she recorded her claim would
+be the possessor of more gold than she could possibly spend&mdash;and in
+the achievement there was no joy. There was a dull hurt in her heart,
+and the future stretched away, uninviting, heart-sickening,
+interminable. The world looked drab.</p>
+
+<p>She ate her breakfast by lamplight, and as objects began to take form
+in the pearly light of the new day, she saddled her horse and rode up
+the trail to the notch in the hills&mdash;the trail that was a short cut,
+and that would carry her past Vil Holland's little white tent,
+nestling close beside its big rock at the edge of the little plateau.
+"He will still be asleep, and I can take one more look at the far snow
+mountains from the spot that might have been the porch of&mdash;our cabin."</p>
+
+<p>Carefully keeping to the damp ground that bordered the little creek,
+she worked her way around the huge rock, and drew up in amazement. The
+little white tent was gone! Hastily, her eyes swept the plateau. The
+buckskin was gone, and the saddle was not hanging by its stirrup from
+its accustomed limb-stub. Crossing the creek, the girl stared at the
+row of packs, the blanket roll,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> and the neat tarpaulin-covered
+bundles that were ranged along the base of the rock.</p>
+
+<p>"He has gone," she murmured, as if trying to grasp the fact and then,
+again: "He has gone." Slowly, her eyes raised to the high-flung peaks
+that reared their snowy heads against the blue. And as she looked, the
+words of Vil Holland formed themselves in her brain. "If there ain't
+any 'we,' there won't be any cabin&mdash;so there's nothing to worry
+about." "Nothing to worry about," she repeated bitterly, and touching
+her horse with a spur, rode out across the plateau toward the head of
+a coulee that led to the trail for town. "Where has he gone?" she
+wondered, and pulled up sharply as her horse entered the coulee.
+Riding slowly down the trail ahead, mounted on the meditative Gee Dot,
+was Microby Dandeline. Urging her horse forward Patty gained her side,
+and realizing that escape was hopeless, the girl stared sullenly
+without speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Microby!" she smiled, ignoring the sullen stare, "you're miles
+from home, and it's hardly daylight! Where in the world are you
+going?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hain't a-goin' nowher'. I'm prospectin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Vil Holland, have you seen him?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl nodded: "He's done gone to town.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> He's mad, an' he roden fas'
+as Buck kin run, an' he says, 'I'm gonna file one more claim, an' to
+hell with the hill country, tell yo' dad good-by!'"</p>
+
+<p>Patty sat for an instant as one stunned. "Gone to town! Mad! File one
+more claim!" What did it mean? Why was Vil Holland riding to town as
+fast as his horse could run? And what claim was he going to file? He
+had mentioned no claim&mdash;and if he had just made a strike, surely he
+would have mentioned it&mdash;last night. She knew that he already had a
+claim, and that he considered it worthless. He told her once that he
+hadn't even bothered to work out the assessments&mdash;it was no good. Was
+it possible that he was riding to file <i>her claim</i>? Was he no better
+than Bethune&mdash;only shrewder, more patient, richer in imagination?</p>
+
+<p>With a swish the quirt descended upon her horse's flanks. The animal
+shot forward and, leaving Microby Dandeline staring open-mouthed,
+horse and rider dashed headlong down the coulee. Into the long white
+trail they swept, through the canyon, and out among the foothills
+toward Thompsons'. "Why did I show him the map, and the pictures? Why
+did I trust him? Why did I trust anybody? I see it all, now! His
+continual spying, and his plausible explanation that he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> watching
+Bethune. He asked me to marry him, and when, like the poor little fool
+I was, I showed him the location, he was only too glad to get the mine
+without being saddled with me."</p>
+
+<p>If Vil Holland reached town first&mdash;well, she could teach school.
+Scalding tears blinded her as with quirt and spur she crowded her
+horse to his utmost. Only one slender hope remained. With Thompson's
+fresh horse, Lightning, she might yet win the race. The chance was
+slim, but she would take it! Her own horse was laboring heavily, a
+solid lather of sweat, as his feet pounded the trail that wound white
+and hot through the foothills. "It's your last hard ride," she sobbed
+into his ear as she urged him on. "Win or lose, boy, it's your last
+hard ride&mdash;and we've got to make it!"</p>
+
+<p>She whirled into Thompson's lane and, in the dooryard, threw herself
+from her horse almost into the arms of the big ranchman who stared at
+her in surprise. "Must be somethin's busted loose in the hills, that
+folks is all takin' to the open!" he exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Lightning?" cried the girl. "Quick! I want him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Lightnin'?" repeated Thompson. "Why, Lightnin's gone&mdash;Vil Holland
+come along an hour<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> or so ago, an' rode him on to town. Turned Buck
+into the corral, yonder&mdash;he was rode down almost as bad as yourn."</p>
+
+<p>Patty's brain reeled dizzily as from a blow. Lightning gone! Her one
+slim chance of saving her mine had vanished in a breath. She felt
+suddenly weak, and sick, and leaning against her saddle for support,
+she closed her eyes and buried her face in her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Miss? Somethin' wrong?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl laughed, a dry hard laugh, and raising her head, looked into
+the man's face. "Oh, no!" she said. "Nothing's wrong&mdash;nothing except
+that I've lost my father's claim&mdash;lost it because I relied on your
+horse to carry me into town in time to file ahead of <i>him</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Lost yer pa's claim?" cried Thompson. "What do you mean&mdash;lost? Has
+that devil dared to show his face after the horse raid?" He paused
+suddenly and smiled. "Now don't you go worryin' about that there
+claim. Vil Holland's on the job! I know'd there was somethin' in the
+wind when he come a-larrupin' in here an' jerked his kak offen Buck
+an' throw'd it on Lightnin' without hardly a word. Vil, he'll head
+him! An' when he does, Bethune'll be lucky if he lives long enough to
+git hung!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Bethune! Bethune!" cried the girl bitterly. "Bethune's got nothing to
+do with it! It's Vil Holland himself that's going to file my claim.
+Have you got another horse here?" she cried. "If you have I want him.
+I'm not beaten yet! There's still a chance! Maybe Lightning will go
+down, or something. Quick&mdash;change my saddle!"</p>
+
+<p>Catching up a rope, Thompson ran to the corral and throwing his loop
+over the head of a horse led him out and transferred the girl's saddle
+and bridle.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't git the straight of it," he said, eying her with a puzzled
+frown. "But if it's a question of gittin' to town before Vil Holland
+kin beat you out of yer claim&mdash;you've got plenty of time&mdash;if you
+walk."</p>
+
+<p>Patty shot the man one glance of withering scorn. "You're all <i>crazy</i>!
+He's got you hypnotized! Everybody thinks he's a saint&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Thompson grinned. "No, Miss, Vil ain't no saint&mdash;an' he ain't no
+devil&mdash;neither. But somewheres between the two of 'em is the place
+where good men fits in&mdash;an' that's Vil. You're all het up needless,
+an' barkin' up the wrong tree, as folks used to say back where I come
+from. Just come and have a talk with Miz T. She'll straighten you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>
+around all right. I'll slip in an' tell her to set the coffee-pot on,
+an' you kin take yer time about gittin' to town." Thompson disappeared
+into the kitchen, and a moment later when he returned with his wife,
+the two stared in amazement at the flying figure that was just
+swinging from the lane into the long white trail.</p>
+
+<p>Hours later the girl crossed the Mosquito Flats, forded the river, and
+passed along the sandy street of the town. Her eyes felt hot and tired
+from continual straining ahead in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of
+a fallen horse, whose rider must continue his way on foot. But the
+plain was deserted, and the only evidence that anyone had proceeded
+her was an occasional glimpse of hoof prints in the white dust of the
+trail.</p>
+
+<p>A short distance up the street, standing "tied to the ground" before
+the hitching rail of a little false-front saloon, was Lightning. Patty
+noted as she passed that he showed signs of hard riding, and that the
+inevitable jug dangled motionless from the saddle horn. Her lips
+stiffened, and her hand tightened on the bridle reins, as she forced
+her eyes to the front. Farther on, she could see the little
+white-painted frame office of the register. She would pass it by&mdash;no
+use for her to go there.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> She must find Len Christie and tell him she
+had come to teach his school. A great wave of repugnance swept over
+her, engulfed her, as her eyes traveled over the rows of small wooden
+houses with their stiff, uncomfortable porches, their treeless yards,
+and their flaunting paintiness.</p>
+
+<p>"And to think, that I've got to <i>live</i> in one of them!" she murmured,
+dully. "Nothing could be worse&mdash;except the hotel."</p>
+
+<p>Opposite the register's office she pulled up, and gazed in fascination
+at the open door. Then deliberately she reined her horse to the
+sidewalk and dismounted. The characteristic thoroughness that had
+marked the progress of her search for her father's claim, and had
+impelled her to return to the false claim and procure the notice, and
+that very morning had prompted her to ride against the slender chance
+of Vil Holland's meeting with a mishap, impelled her now to read for
+herself the entry of her father's strike.</p>
+
+<p>The register shoved his black skull-cap a trifle back upon his shiny
+head, adjusted his thick eyeglasses, and smiled into the face of the
+girl. "Things must be looking up out in the hills," he hazarded.
+"You're the second one to-day and it ain't noon yet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"I presume Mr. Holland has been here."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Vil come in. I guess he's around somewheres. He&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Relinquished one claim and filed another?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's just what he done."</p>
+
+<p>Patty nodded wearily. She was gamely trying to appear disinterested.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you want to file?" asked the man, whirling a large book about,
+and pushing it toward her. "Just enter your description there, an'
+fill out the application fer a patent, an' file your field notes, and
+plat."</p>
+
+<p>The girl's glance strayed listlessly over the adjoining page, her eyes
+mechanically taking in the words. Suddenly, she became intensely
+alert. She leaned over the book and reread with feverish interest the
+written description. The location was filed in Vil Holland's
+name&mdash;but, <i>the description was not of her claim</i>!</p>
+
+<p>"Where&mdash;where is this claim?" she gasped.</p>
+
+<p>The old register turned the book and very deliberately proceeded to
+read the description. In her nervous excitement Patty felt that she
+must scream, and her fingers clutched the counter edge until the
+knuckles whitened. Finally the man looked up. "That must be somewheres
+over on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> the Blackfoot side," he announced. "Must be Vil's figuring on
+pulling over there. Too bad we won't be seeing him much no more." He
+swung the book back, as the import of his words dawned upon the girl
+she leaned weakly against the counter.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't you feeling well?" asked the old man, eying her with concern.</p>
+
+<p>Without hearing him Patty picked up the pen, and as she wrote, her
+hand trembled so that she could scarcely form the letters. At last it
+was done, and the register once again swung the book and read the
+freshly penned words.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll be darned!" he exclaimed, when he had finished.</p>
+
+<p>The blood had rushed back into the girl's face and she was regarding
+him with shining eyes. "What's the matter? Isn't it right? Because if
+it isn't you can show me how to do it, and I'll fix it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh it's right&mdash;all right." He was eying her quizzically. "Only it's
+blamed funny. That there's the claim Vil Holland just relinquished."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Just relinquished!</i>" gasped the girl, reaching out and shaking the
+old man's sleeve in her excitement. "What do you mean? Tell me!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Mean just what I said&mdash;here's the entry."</p>
+
+<p>"Vil&mdash;Holland&mdash;just&mdash;relinquished," she repeated, in a dazed voice.
+"When did he file it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't recollect&mdash;it was back in the winter, or spring." The man
+began to turn the pages slowly backward. "Here it is, March, the
+thirteenth."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that was before I came out here!"</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why did he relinquish?" The words rushed eagerly from her lips, and
+she awaited breathless, for the answer.</p>
+
+<p>"It wasn't no good, I guess, or he found a better one&mdash;that's most
+generally why they relinquish."</p>
+
+<p>"No good! Found a better one!" From the chaos of conflicting ideas the
+girl's thoughts began to take definite form. "The stakes in the ground
+were <i>his</i> stakes. Her father had never staked&mdash;would never have
+staked until ready to file."</p>
+
+<p>Gradually it dawned upon her that, without knowing it was her
+father's, Vil Holland had staked and filed the claim. It was his. He
+did not know its value as her father had. He believed it to be
+worthless, but when he learned, only last night, back there in the
+cabin on Monte's Creek, that it was really of enormous value&mdash;that it
+was the claim Rod Sinclair had staked his reputation on,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> the claim
+for which Rod Sinclair's daughter had sought all summer&mdash;when he
+learned this he had relinquished&mdash;that she might come into her own!
+Hot tears filled her eyes and caused the objects in the little room to
+blur and swim together in hopeless jumble. She knew, now, the meaning
+of his furious ride, and why he had changed horses at Thompson's. And
+<i>this</i> was the man she had doubted! She, alone of all who knew him,
+had doubted him. Her cheeks burned with the shame of it. Not once, but
+again and again, she had doubted him&mdash;she, who loved him! This was the
+man with whom she had quarreled because he had carried a jug. Suddenly
+she realized why he had turned away from her&mdash;there in the little
+cabin. She recalled the words that came slowly from his lips, as, for
+a brief moment he stood holding her hand. "There is nothing for you in
+the hills." "And now, he is going away&mdash;his outfit's all packed, and
+he's going away!" With a sob she dashed from the office. As she
+blotted the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief that had been her
+father's, a wild, savage joy surged up within her. He should <i>not</i> go
+away! He was hers&mdash;<i>hers</i>! If he went, she would go too. He should
+never leave her! And never, never would she doubt him again!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>She glanced down the street and her eyes fell upon Lightning, standing
+as he had stood a few minutes before. Only a moment she hesitated, and
+her spurs clicked rapidly as she hurried down the sidewalk. The door
+of the saloon stood open and she walked boldly in. Vil Holland stood
+at the bar shaking dice with the bartender. The latter looked up
+surprised, and Vil followed his glance to the figure of the girl who
+had paused just inside the doorway. She beckoned to him and he
+followed her out onto the sidewalk, and stood, Stetson in hand,
+regarding her gravely, unsmiling as was his wont.</p>
+
+<p>"Vil&mdash;Vil Holland," she faltered, as a furious blush suffused her
+cheeks. "I've changed my mind."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean, I will marry you&mdash;I wanted to say it&mdash;last
+night&mdash;only&mdash;only&mdash;&mdash;" her voice sounded husky, and far away.</p>
+
+<p>"But, now, it's too late. It was different&mdash;then. I didn't know you'd
+made your strike. I thought we were both poor&mdash;but, now, you've struck
+it rich."</p>
+
+<p>"Struck it rich!" flared the girl. "Who made it possible for me to
+strike it rich? Don't you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> suppose I know you relinquished that claim?
+Relinquished it so I could file it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Old Grebble talks too much," growled the man. "The claim wasn't any
+good to me. I never went far enough in to get samples like those of
+your dad's. I'd have relinquished it anyway, as soon as I'd located
+another."</p>
+
+<p>"But, you knew it was rich when you did relinquish it."</p>
+
+<p>"A man couldn't hardly do different, could he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Vil," there were tears in the girl's eyes, and she did not try to
+conceal them. The words trembled on her lips. "A man couldn't&mdash;your
+kind of a man! But&mdash;they're so hard to find. Don't&mdash;don't rob me of
+mine&mdash;now that I've found him!"</p>
+
+<p>A shrill whistle tore the words from her lips. She glanced up,
+startled, to see Vil Holland take his fingers from his teeth. She
+followed his gaze, and a block away, in front of the wooden
+post-office, saw the Reverend Len Christie whirl in his tracks. The
+cowboy motioned him to wait, and taking the girl gently by the arm,
+turned her about, and together they walked toward the "Bishop of All
+Outdoors," who awaited them with twinkling eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It's about the school, I presume," he greeted. "Everything is all
+arranged, Miss Sinclair. You may assume your duties to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"If I was you, Len," replied Vil Holland, dryly, "I wouldn't go
+bettin' much on that presoomer of yours&mdash;it ain't workin' just right,
+an' Miss Sinclair has decided to assoom her duties to-day. So, havin'
+disposed of presoom, an' assoom, we'll rezoom, as you'd say if you was
+dealin' from the pulpit, an' if you ain't got anything more important
+on your mind, we'll just walk over to the church an' get married."</p>
+
+<p>The Reverend Len Christie regarded his friend solemnly. "I didn't
+think it of you, Vil&mdash;when I bragged to you yesterday about the
+excellent teacher I'd got&mdash;I didn't think you would slip right out and
+get her away from me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm so sorry! Really, Mr. Christie, I didn't mean to disappoint
+you in this way, at the last minute&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you go wastin' any sympathy on that old renegade," cut in Vil.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right," laughed Christie, noting the genuine concern in the
+girl's eyes. "As a matter of fact, I have in mind a substitute who
+will be tickled to death to learn that she is to have the regular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span>
+position. Didn't I tell you out at the Samuelsons' that I had a hunch
+you'd make your strike before school time? Of course, everyone knows
+that Vil is the one who made the real strike, but you'll find that the
+claim you've staked isn't so bad, and that after you get down through
+the surface, you will run onto a whole lot of pure gold."</p>
+
+<p>Patty who had been regarding him with a slightly puzzled expression
+suddenly caught his allusion, and she smiled happily into the face of
+her cowboy. "I've already found pure gold," she said, "and it lies
+mighty close to the surface."</p>
+
+<p>In the little church after the hastily summoned witnesses had
+departed, the Reverend Len Christie stood holding a hand of each.
+"Never in my life have I performed a clerical office that gave me so
+much genuine happiness and satisfaction," he announced.</p>
+
+<p>"Me, neither," assented Vil Holland, heartily, and, then&mdash;"Hold on,
+Len. You're too blame young an' good lookin' for such tricks&mdash;an'
+besides, I've never kissed her, myself, yet&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>
+
+<p>"Where will it be now?" asked Holland, when they found themselves once
+more upon the street.</p>
+
+<p>"Home&mdash;dear," whispered his wife. "You know we've got to get that
+cabin up before snow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> flies&mdash;our cabin, Vil&mdash;with the porch that will
+look out over the snows of the changing lights."</p>
+
+<p>"If the whole town didn't have their heads out the window, watchin' us
+I'd kiss you right here," he answered, and strode off to lead her
+horse up beside his own.</p>
+
+<p>Swinging her into the saddle, he was about to mount Lightning, when
+she leaned over and raised the brown leather jug on its thong. "Why,
+it's empty!" she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>"So it is," agreed Holland, with mock concern.</p>
+
+<p>"Really, Vil, I don't care&mdash;so much. If it don't hurt men any more
+than it has hurt you, I won't quarrel with it. I'll wait while you get
+it filled."</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe I'd better," he said, and swinging it from the saddle horn,
+crossed the street and entered the general store. A few minutes later
+he returned and swung the jug into place.</p>
+
+<p>"Why! Do they sell whisky at the store? I thought you got that at a
+saloon."</p>
+
+<p>"Whisky!" The man looked up in surprise. "This jug never held any
+whisky! It's my vinegar jug. I don't drink."</p>
+
+<p>Patty stared at him in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me you carry a
+jug of vinegar with you wherever you go?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>For the first time since she had known him she saw that his eyes were
+twinkling, and that his lips were very near a smile. "No, not exactly,
+but, you see, that first time I met you I happened to be riding from
+town with this jug full of vinegar. I noticed the look you gave it,
+an' it tickled me most to death. So, after that, every time I figured
+I'd meet up with you I brought the jug along. I'd pour out the vinegar
+an' fill it up with water, an' sometimes I'd just pack it empty&mdash;then
+when I'd hit town, I'd get it filled again. I bet Johnson, over there,
+thinks I'm picklin' me a winter's supply of prickly pears. I must have
+bought close to half a barrel of vinegar this summer."</p>
+
+<p>"Vil Holland! You carried that jug&mdash;went to all that trouble, just
+to&mdash;to <i>tease</i> me?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's about the size of it. An' Gosh! How you hated that jug."</p>
+
+<p>"It might have&mdash;it nearly did, make me hate <i>you</i>, too."</p>
+
+<p>"'Might have,' an' 'nearly,' an' 'if,' are all words about alike&mdash;they
+all sort of fall short of amountin' to anythin'. It 'might have'&mdash;but,
+somehow, things don't work out that way. The only thing that counts
+is, it didn't."</p>
+
+<p>Out on the trail they met Watts riding toward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> town. "Wher's Microby?"
+he asked, addressing Patty.</p>
+
+<p>"Microby! I haven't seen Microby since early this morning. She was
+riding down a coulee not far from Vil's camp."</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't yo' send for her?"</p>
+
+<p>"I certainly did not!"</p>
+
+<p>The man's hand fumbled at his beard. "Bethune was along last evenin'
+an' hed a talk with her, an' then he done tol' Ma yo' wanted Microby
+should come up to yo' place, come daylight. When I heern it, I
+mistrusted yo' wouldn't hev no truck with Bethune, so after I done the
+chores, I rode up ther'. They wasn't no one to hum." The simple-minded
+man looked worried. "Bethune, he could do anything he wants with her.
+She thinks he's grand&mdash;but, I know different. Then I met up with Lord
+Clendennin' in the canyon, an' he tol' me how Bethune wus headin' fer
+Canady. He said, had I lost anythin'. An' I said 'no,' an' he laffed
+an' says he guess that's right."</p>
+
+<p>As Vil Holland listened, his eyes hardened, and at the conclusion,
+something very like an oath ground from his lips. Patty glanced at him
+in surprise&mdash;never before had she seen him out of poise.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"You go back home," he advised Watts, in a kindly tone, "to the wife
+and the kids. I'll find Microby for you!"</p>
+
+<p>When the man had passed from sight into the dip of a coulee, Vil
+leaned over and, drawing his wife close to his breast, kissed her lips
+again and again. "It's too bad, little girl, that our honeymoon's got
+to be broke into this way, but you remember I told you once that if I
+won you'd have to be satisfied with what you got. You didn't know what
+I meant, then, but you know, now&mdash;an' I'm goin' to win again! I'm
+goin' to find that child! The poor little fool!" Patty saw that his
+eyes were flashing, and his voice sounded hard:</p>
+
+<p>"You ride back to town and tell Len to get his white goods together
+an' ride back with you to Watts's. There's goin' to be a funeral&mdash;or
+better yet, a weddin' <i>an'</i> a funeral in it for him by this time
+to-morrow, or my name ain't Vil Holland!" And then, abruptly, he
+turned and rode into the North.</p>
+
+<p>A wild impulse to overtake him and dissuade him from his purpose took
+possession of the girl. But the thought of Microby in the power of
+Bethune, and of the sorrowing face of poor Watts stayed her. She saw
+her husband hitch his belt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> forward and swiftly look to his six-gun,
+and as the sound of galloping hoofs grew fainter, she watched his
+diminishing figure until it was swallowed up in the distance.</p>
+
+<p>Impulsively she stretched out her arms to him: "Good luck to you, my
+knight!" she called, but the words ended in a sob, and she turned her
+horse and, with a vast happiness in her heart, rode back toward the
+town.</p>
+
+
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>THE TEXAN</h2>
+
+<h4>A Story of the Cattle Country</h4>
+<h4>By</h4>
+<h3>James B. Hendryx</h3>
+<h4>Author of "The Promise," etc.</h4>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A novel of the cattle country and of the mountains, by James
+B. Hendryx, will at once commend itself to the host of
+readers who have enthusiastically followed this brilliant
+writer's work. Again he has written a red-blooded, romantic
+story of the great open spaces, of the men who "do" things
+and of the women who are brave&mdash;a tale at once turbulent and
+tender, impassioned but restrained.</p></div>
+
+<h3>G. P. Putnam's Sons</h3>
+<p><b>New York</b><span class="f3"><b>London</b></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>The Gun-Brand</h2>
+
+<h4>By</h4>
+<h3>James B. Hendryx</h3>
+<h4>Author of "The Promise," etc.</h4>
+<h4><i>12<sup>o</sup>. Picture Wrapper and Color Frontispiece</i></h4>
+<h4><i>$1.50 net. By mail, $1.65</i></h4>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A novel of the Northwest, where civilization and savagery
+lock in the death struggle; where men of iron hearts are
+molded by a woman's tenderness; where knave and knight cross
+the barriers to confront each other in the great reckoning;
+where nobility and courage throw down the gage to evil and
+intrigue, and the gun-brand leaves its seared and indelible
+impress upon the brow of a scoundrel. Here's a novel of love
+and life, danger and daring.</p></div>
+
+<h3>G. P. Putnam's Sons</h3>
+<p><b>New York</b><span class="f3"><b>London</b></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>The Untamed</h2>
+
+<h4>By</h4>
+<h3>Max Brand</h3>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>A tale of the West, a story of the Wild; of three strange
+comrades,&mdash;Whistling Dan of the untamed soul, within whose
+mild eyes there lurks the baleful yellow glare of beast
+anger; of the mighty black stallion Satan, King of the
+Ranges, and the wolf devil dog, to whom their master's word
+is the only law,&mdash;and of the Girl.</p>
+
+<p>How Jim Silent, the "long-rider" and outlaw, declared feud
+with Dan, how of his right-hand men one strove for the Girl,
+one for the horse, and one to "'get' that black devil of a
+dog," and their desperate efforts to achieve their ends,
+form but part of the stirring action.</p>
+
+<p>A tale of the West, yes&mdash;but a most unusual one, touched
+with an almost weird poetic fancy from the very first page,
+when over the sandy wastes sounds the clear sweet whistling
+of Pan of the desert, to the very last paragraph when the
+reader, too, hears the cry and the call of the wild geese
+flying south.</p></div>
+
+<h3>G. P. Putnam's Sons</h3>
+<p><b>New York</b><span class="f3"><b>London</b></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>THE MOON POOL</h2>
+
+<h4>BY</h4>
+<h3>A. MERRITT</h3>
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Romance, real romance, and wonderful adventure,&mdash;absolutely
+impossible, yet utterly probable! A story one almost regrets
+having read, since one can then no longer read it for the
+first time. Once in the proverbial blue moon there comes to
+the fore an author who can conceive and write such a tale.
+Here is one!</p>
+
+<p>Few indeed will forget, who, with the Professor, watch the
+mystic approach of the Shining One down the moon path,&mdash;who
+follow with him and the others the path below the Moon Pool,
+beyond the Door of the Seven Lights;&mdash;and would there were
+more characters in fiction like Lakla the lovely and Larry
+O'Keefe the lovable.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps you readers will know who were those weird and
+awe-inspiring Silent Ones.</p></div>
+
+<h3>G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS</h3>
+<p><b>NEW YORK</b><span class="f4"><b>LONDON</b></span></p>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gold Girl, by James B. Hendryx
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,8275 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gold Girl, by James B. Hendryx
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Gold Girl
+
+Author: James B. Hendryx
+
+Release Date: July 15, 2008 [EBook #26061]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLD GIRL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, K. Nordquist, and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+(This book was produced from scanned images of public
+domain material from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: THE MAN WAS UPON HIS FEET, NOW, BENDING TOWARDS HER
+   WITH ARMS OUTSTRETCHED. Drawing by Monahan.]
+
+
+                            The Gold Girl
+
+
+                                  By
+
+                           James B. Hendryx
+
+     Author of "The Promise," "The Gun-Brand," "The Texan," etc.
+
+
+
+
+                         G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+                         New York and London
+
+                       The Knickerbocker Press
+
+                                 1920
+
+
+
+
+                           COPYRIGHT, 1920
+
+                                  BY
+
+                           JAMES B. HENDRYX
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER                                          PAGE
+
+I.--A HORSEMAN OF THE HILLS               1
+
+II.--AT THE WATTS RANCH                  10
+
+III.--PATTY GOES TO TOWN                 30
+
+IV.--MONK BETHUNE                        47
+
+V.--SHEEP CAMP                           65
+
+VI.--BETHUNE PAYS A CALL                 81
+
+VII.--IN THE CABIN                       98
+
+VIII.--PROSPECTING                      111
+
+IX.--PATTY TAKES PRECAUTIONS            129
+
+X.--THE BISHOP OF ALL OUTDOORS          146
+
+XI.--LORD CLENDENNING GETS A DUCKING    162
+
+XII.--BETHUNE TRIES AGAIN               180
+
+XIII.--PATTY DRAWS A MAP                198
+
+XIV.--THE SAMUELSONS                    219
+
+XV.--THE HORSE RAID                     239
+
+XVI.--PATTY FINDS A GLOVE               263
+
+XVII.--UNMASKED                         288
+
+XVIII.--PATTY MAKES HER STRIKE          308
+
+XIX.--THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER         327
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Gold Girl
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+A HORSEMAN OF THE HILLS
+
+
+Patty Sinclair reined in her horse at the top of a low divide and
+gazed helplessly around her. The trail that had grown fainter and
+fainter with its ascent of the creek bed disappeared entirely at the
+slope of loose rock and bunch grass that slanted steeply to the
+divide. In vain she scanned the deeply gored valley that lay before
+her and the timbered slopes of the mountains for sign of human
+habitation. Her horse lowered his head and snipped at the bunch grass.
+Stiffly the girl dismounted. She had been in the saddle since early
+noon with only two short intervals of rest when she had stopped to
+drink and to bathe her fare in the deliciously cold waters of mountain
+streams--and now the trail had melted into the hills, and the broad
+shadows of mountains were lengthening. Every muscle of her body ached
+at the unaccustomed strain, and she was very hungry. She envied her
+horse his enjoyment of the bunch grass which he munched with much
+tongueing of the bit and impatient shaking of the head. With bridle
+reins gripped tightly she leaned wearily against the saddle.
+
+"I'm lost," she murmured. "Just plain _lost_. Surely I must have come
+fifty miles, and I followed their directions exactly, and now I'm
+tired, and stiff, and sore, and hungry, and lost." A grim little smile
+tightened the corners of her mouth. "But I'm glad I came. If Aunt
+Rebecca could see me now! Wouldn't she just gloat? 'I told you so, my
+dear, just as I often told your poor father, to have nothing whatever
+to do with that horrible country of wild Indians, and ferocious
+beasts, and desperate characters.'" Hot tears blurred her eyes at the
+thought of her father. "This is the country he loved, with its
+mountains and its woods and its deep mysterious valleys--and I want to
+love it, too. And I _will_ love it! I'll find his mine if it takes me
+all the rest of my life. And I'll show the people back home that he
+was right, that he did know that the gold was here, and that he
+wasn't just a visionary and a ne'er-do-well!"
+
+A rattle of loose stones set her heart thumping wildly and caused her
+to peer down the back trail where a horseman was slowly ascending the
+slope. The man sat loosely in his saddle with the easy grace of the
+slack rein rider. A roll-brim Stetson with its crown boxed into a peak
+was pushed slightly back upon his head, and his legs were encased to
+the thighs in battered leather chaps whose lacings were studded with
+silver _chonchas_ as large as trade dollars. A coiled rope hung from a
+strap upon the right side of his saddle, while a leather-covered jug
+was swung upon the opposite side by a thong looped over the horn. All
+this the girl took in at a glance as the rangy buckskin picked his way
+easily up the slope. She noted, also, the white butt-plates of the
+revolver that protruded from its leather holster. Her first impulse
+was to mount and fly, but the futility of the attempt was apparent. If
+the man followed she could hardly hope to elude him upon a horse that
+was far from fresh, and even if she did it would be only to plunge
+deeper into the hills--become more hopelessly lost. Aunt Rebecca's
+words "desperate character" seemed suddenly to assume significance.
+The man was very close now. She could distinctly hear the breathing of
+his horse, and the soft rattle of bit-chains. Despite her defiant
+declaration that she was glad she had come, she knew that deep down in
+her heart, she fervidly wished herself elsewhere. "Maybe he's a
+ranchman," she thought, "but why should any honest man be threading
+unfrequented hill trails armed with a revolver and a brown leather
+jug?" No answer suggested itself, and summoning her haughtiest,
+coldest look, she met the glance of the man who drew rein beside her.
+His features were clean-cut, bronzed, and lean--with the sinewy
+leanness of health. His gray flannel shirt rolled open at the throat,
+about which was loosely drawn a silk scarf of robin's-egg blue, held
+in place by the tip of a buffalo horn polished to an onyx luster. The
+hand holding the bridle reins rested carelessly upon the horn of his
+saddle. With the other he raised the Stetson from his head.
+
+"Good evenin', Miss," he greeted, pleasantly. "Lost?"
+
+"No," she lied brazenly, "I came here on purpose--I--I like it here."
+She felt the lameness of the lie and her cheeks flushed. But the man
+showed no surprise at the statement, neither did he smile. Instead,
+he raised his head and gravely inspected the endless succession of
+mountains and valleys and timbered ridges.
+
+"It's a right nice place," he agreed. To her surprise the girl could
+find no hint of sarcasm in the words, nor was there anything to
+indicate the "desperate character" in the way he leaned forward to
+stroke his horse's mane, and remove a wisp of hair from beneath the
+headstall. It was hard to maintain her air of cold reserve with this
+soft-voiced, grave-eyed young stranger. She wondered whether a
+"desperate character" could love his horse, and felt a wild desire to
+tell him of her plight. But as her eyes rested upon the brown leather
+jug she frowned.
+
+The man shifted himself in the saddle. "Well, I must be goin'," he
+said. "Good evenin'."
+
+Patty bowed ever so slightly, as he replaced the Stetson upon his head
+and touched his horse lightly with a spur. "Come along, you Buck,
+you!"
+
+As the horse started down the steep descent on the other side of the
+divide a feeling of loneliness that was very akin to terror gripped
+the girl. The sunlight showed only upon the higher levels, and the
+prospect of spending the night alone in the hills without food or
+shelter produced a sudden chilling sensation in the pit of her
+stomach.
+
+"Oh! Please----"
+
+The buckskin turned in his tracks, and once more the man was beside
+her upon the ridge.
+
+"I _am_ lost," she faltered. "Only, I hated to admit it."
+
+"Folks always do. I've be'n lost a hundred times, an' I never _would_
+admit it."
+
+"I started for the Watts's ranch. Do you know where it is?"
+
+"Yes, it's over on Monte's Creek."
+
+Patty smiled. "I could have told _you_ that. The trouble is, someone
+seems to have removed all the signs."
+
+"They ought to put 'em up again," opined the stranger in the same
+grave tone with which he had bid her good evening.
+
+"They told me in town that I was to take the left hand trail where it
+forked at the first creek beyond the canyon."
+
+The man nodded. "Yes, that about fits the case."
+
+"But I did take the trail that turned to the left up the first creek
+beyond the canyon, and I haven't seen the slightest intimation of a
+ranch."
+
+"No, you see, this little creek don't count, because most of the time
+it's dry; an' this ain't a regular trail. It's an' old winter road
+that was used to haul out cord wood an' timber. Monte's Creek is two
+miles farther on. It's a heap bigger creek than this, an' the trail's
+better, too. Watts's is about three mile up from the fork. You can't
+miss it. It's the only ranch there."
+
+"How far is it back to the trail?" asked the girl wearily.
+
+"About two mile. It's about seven mile to Watts's that way around.
+There's a short cut, through the hills, but I couldn't tell you so
+you'd find it. There's no trail, an' it's up one coulee an' down
+another till you get there. I'm goin' through that way; if you'd like
+to come along you're welcome to."
+
+For a moment Patty hesitated but her eyes returned to the jug and she
+declined, a trifle stiffly. "No, thank you. I--I think I will go
+around by the trail."
+
+Either the man did not notice the curtness of the reply, or he chose
+to ignore it, for the next instant, noting the gasp of pain and the
+sudden tightening of the lips that accompanied her attempt to raise
+her foot to the stirrup, he swung lightly to the ground, and before
+she divined what he was about, had lifted her gently into the saddle
+and pressed the reins into her hand. Without a word he returned to his
+horse, and with face flushed scarlet, the girl glared at the powerful
+gray shoulders as he picked up his reins from the ground. The next
+moment she headed her own horse down the back trail and rode into the
+deepening shadows. Gaining the main trail she urged her horse into a
+run.
+
+"He--he's awfully strong," she panted, "and just _horrid!_"
+
+From the top of the divide the man watched until she disappeared, then
+he stroked softly the velvet nose that nuzzled against his cheek.
+
+"What d'you reckon, Buck? Are they goin' to start a school for that
+litter of young Wattses? There ain't another kid within twenty
+mile--must be." As he swung into the saddle the leather covered jug
+bumped lightly against his knee. There was a merry twinkle of laughter
+in his blue eyes as, with lips solemn as an exhorter's, he addressed
+the offending object. "You brown rascal, you! If it hadn't be'n for
+you, me an' Buck might of made a hit with the lady, mightn't we, Buck?
+Scratch gravel, now you old reprobate, or we won't get to camp till
+midnight."
+
+"Anyway, she ain't no kin to the Wattses," he added reflectively, "not
+an' that clean, she ain't."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+AT THE WATTS RANCH
+
+
+It was with a decided feeling of depression that Patty Sinclair
+approached the Watts ranch. Long before she reached the buildings an
+air of shiftless dilapidation was manifest in the ill-lined barbed
+wire fences whose rotting posts sagged drunkenly upon loosely strung
+wire. A dry weed-choked irrigation ditch paralleled the trail, its
+wooden flumes, like the fence posts, rotting where they stood, and its
+walls all but obliterated by the wash of spring freshets. The
+depression increased as she passed close beside the ramshackle log
+stable, where her horse sank to his ankles in a filthy brown seepage
+of mud and rotting straw before the door. Two small, slouchily built
+stacks of weather-stained hay occupied a fenced-off enclosure, beside
+which, with no attempt to protect them from the weather, stood a
+dish-wheeled hay rake, and a rusty mowing machine, its cutter-bar
+buried in weeds.
+
+Passing through a small clump of cottonwoods, in which three or four
+raw-boned horses had taken refuge from the mosquitoes, she came
+suddenly upon the ranch house, a squat, dirt-roofed cabin of unpeeled
+logs. So, _this_ was the Watts ranch! Again and again in the delirium
+that preceded her father's death, he had muttered of Monte's Creek and
+the Watts ranch, until she had come to think of it as a place of cool
+halls and broad verandahs situated at the head of some wide mountain
+valley in which sleek cattle grazed belly-deep in lush grasses.
+
+A rabble of nondescript curs came snapping and yapping about her
+horse's legs until dispersed by a harsh command from the dark interior
+of the cabin.
+
+"Yere, yo' git out o' thet!"
+
+The dogs slunk away and their places were immediately taken by a
+half-dozen ill-kempt, bedraggled children. A tousled head was thrust
+from the doorway, and after a moment of inspection a man stepped out
+upon the hard-trodden earth of the dooryard. He was bootless and a
+great toe protruded from a hole in the point of his sock. He wore a
+faded hickory shirt, and the knees of his bleached-out overalls were
+patched with blue gingham.
+
+"Howdy," he greeted, in a not unkindly tone, and paused awkwardly
+while the protruding toe tried vainly to burrow from sight in the hard
+earth.
+
+"Is--is this the Watts ranch?" The girl suppressed a wild desire to
+burst into tears.
+
+"Yes, mom, this is hit--what they is of hit." His fingers picked
+vaguely at his scraggly beard. An idea seemed suddenly to strike him,
+and turning, he thrust his head in at the door. "Ma!" he called,
+loudly, and again "Ma! _Ma!_"
+
+The opening of a door within was followed by the sound of a harsh
+voice. "Lawzie me, John Watts, what's ailin' yo' now--got a burr in
+under yo' gallus?" A tall woman with a broad, kindly face pushed past
+the man, wiping suds upon her apron from a pair of very large and very
+red hands.
+
+"Sakes alive, if hit hain't a lady! Hain't yo' done tol' her to git
+off an' come in? Looks like yer manners, what little yo' ever hed of
+'em, fell in the crick an' got drownded. Jest yo' climb right down
+offen thet cayuse, dearie, an' come on in the house. John, yo' oncinch
+thet saddle, an' then, Horatius Ezek'l, yo' an' David Golieth, taken
+the hoss to the barn an' see't he's hayed an' watered 'fore yo' come
+back. Microby Dandeline, yo' git a pot o' tea abilin' an' fry up a
+bate o' bacon, an' cut some bread, an' warm up the rest o' thet pone,
+an' yo', Lillian Russell, yo' finish dryin' them dishes an' set 'em
+back on the table. An' Abraham Lincoln Wirt, yo' fetch a pail o'
+water, an' wrinch out the worsh dish, an' set a piece o' soap by, an'
+a clean towel, an' light up the lamp."
+
+Under Ma Watts's volley of orders, issued without pause for breath,
+things began to happen with admirable promptitude.
+
+"Land sakes!" cried the woman, as Patty climbed painfully to the
+ground, "hain't yo' that sore an' stiff! Yo' must a-rode clean from
+town, an' hits fifty mile, an' yo' not use to ridin' neither, to tell
+by the whiteness of yo' face. I'll help yo' git off them hat an'
+gloves, an' thar sets the worsh dish on the bench beside the do'.
+Microby Dandeline 'll hev a bite for ye d'rec'ly an' I'll fix yo' up a
+shake-down. Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth kin go out an' crawl in
+the hay an' yo' c'n hev theirn." Words flowed from Ma Watts naturally
+and continuously without effort, as water flows from a spring. Patty
+who had made several unsuccessful attempts to speak, interrupted
+abruptly.
+
+"Oh, I couldn't think of depriving the boys of their bed. I----"
+
+"Now, honey, just yo' quit pesterin' 'bout thet. Them young-uns
+'druther sleep out'n in, any time. Ef I'd let 'em they'd grow up plumb
+wild. When yo've got worshed up come on right in the kitchen an' set
+by. Us Wattses is plain folks an' don't pile on no dog. We've et an'
+got through, but yo' take all the time yo're a mind to, an' me an'
+Microby Dandeline 'll set by an' yo' c'n tell us who yo' be, ef yo're
+a mind to, an' ef not hit don't make no difference. We hain't
+partic'lar out here, nohow--we've hed preachers an' horse-thieves, an'
+never asked no odds of neither. I says to Watts----"
+
+Again the girl made forcible entry into the conversation. "My name is
+Sinclair. Patty Sinclair, of Middleton, Connecticut. My father----"
+
+"Land o' love! So yo're Mr. Sinclair's darter! Yo' do favor him a mite
+about the eyes, come to look; but yer nose is diff'rnt to hisn, an'
+so's yer mouth--must a be'n yer ma's was like that. But sometimes they
+don't favor neither one. Take Microby Dandeline, here, 'tain't no one
+could say she hain't Watts's, an' Horatius Ezek'l, he favors me, but
+fer's the rest of 'em goes, they mightn't b'long to neither one of
+us." Microby Dandeline placed the food upon the table and sank, quiet
+as a mouse into a chair beneath the glass bracket-lamp with her large
+dark eyes fixed upon Patty, who devoured the unappetizing food with an
+enthusiasm born of real hunger, while the older woman analyzed volubly
+the characteristics, facial and temperamental, of each and several of
+the numerous Watts progeny.
+
+Having exhausted the subject of offspring, Ma Watts flashed a direct
+question. "How's yer pa, an' where's he at?"
+
+"My father died last month," answered the girl without raising her
+eyes from her plate.
+
+"Fer the land sakes, child! I want to know!"
+
+"Watts! Watts!" The lank form appeared in the doorway. "This here's
+Mr. Sinclair's darter, an' he's up an' died."
+
+The man's fingers fumbled uncertainly at his beard, as his wife paused
+for the intelligence to strike home. "Folks does," he opined,
+judiciously after a profound interval.
+
+"That's so, when yo' come to think 'bout hit," admitted Ma Watts.
+"What did he die of?"
+
+"Cerebrospinal meningitis."
+
+"My goodness sakes! I should think he would! When my pa died--back in
+Tennessee, hit wus, the doctor 'lowed hit wus the eetch, but sho',
+he'd hed thet fer hit wus goin' on seven year. 'Bout a week 'fore he
+come to die, he got so's 't he couldn't eat nothin', an' he wus thet
+het up with the fever he like to burnt up, an' his head ached him fit
+to bust, an' he wus out of hit fer four days, an' I mistrust thet-all
+mought of hed somethin' to do with his dyin'. The doctor, he come an'
+bled him every day, but he died on him, an' then he claimed hit was
+the eetch, or mebbe hit wus jest his time hed come, he couldn't tell
+which. I've wondered sence if mebbe we'd got a town doctor he mought
+of lived. But Doctor Swanky wus a mountain man an' we wus, too, so we
+taken him. But, he wus more of a hoss doctor, an' seems like, he never
+did hev no luck, much, with folks."
+
+Her nerves all a-jangle from trail-strain and the depressing
+atmosphere of the Watts ranch, it seemed to Patty she must shriek
+aloud if the woman persisted in her ceaseless gabble.
+
+"Yer pa wus a nice man, an' well thought of. We-all know'd him well.
+It wus goin' on three year he prospected 'round here in the hills, an'
+many a time he's sot right where yo're settin' now, an' et his meal o'
+vittles. Some said las' fall 'fore he went back East how he'd made his
+strike, an' hit wus quartz gold, an' how he'd gone back to git money
+to work hit. Mr. Bethune thought so, an' Lord Clendenning. They must
+of be'n thicker'n thieves with yer pa, 'cordin' to their tell." The
+woman paused and eyed the girl inquisitively. "Did he make his strike,
+an' why didn't he record hit?"
+
+"I don't know," answered the girl wearily.
+
+"An' don't yo' tell no one ef yo' do know. I b'lieve in folks bein'
+close-mouthed. Like I'm allus a-tellin' Watts. But yo' must be plumb
+wore out, what with ridin' all day, an' a-tellin' me all about
+yo'se'f. I'll slip in an' turn them blankets an' yo' kin jest crawl
+right into 'em an' sleep 'til yo' slep' out."
+
+Ma Watts bustled away, and Microby Dandeline began to clear away the
+dishes.
+
+"Can't I help?" offered Patty.
+
+The large, wistful eyes regarded her seriously.
+
+"No. I like yo'. Yo' hain't to worsh no dishes. Yo're purty. I like
+Mr. Bethune, an' Lord Clendenning, an' that Vil Holland. I like
+everybody. Folks is nice, hain't they?"
+
+"Why--yes," agreed Patty, smiling into the big serious eyes. "How old
+are you?"
+
+"I'm seventeen, goin' on eighteen. Yo' come to live with us-uns?"
+
+"No--that is--I don't know exactly where I am going to live."
+
+"That Vil Holland, he's got a nice camp, an' 'tain't only him there.
+Why don't yo' live there? I want to live there an' I go to his camp on
+Gee Dot, but he chases me away, an' sometimes he gits mad."
+
+"What is Gee Dot?" Patty stared in amazement at this girl with the
+mind of a child.
+
+"Oh, he's my pony. I reckon Mr. Bethune wouldn't git mad, but I don't
+know where he lives."
+
+"I think you had better stay right here," advised Patty, seriously.
+"This is your home, you know."
+
+"Yes, but they hain't much room. Me, an' Lillian Russell, an' David
+Golieth sleeps on a shake-down, an' they-all shoves an' kicks, an'
+sometimes when I want to sleep, Chattenoogy Tennessee sets up a
+squarkin' an' I cain't. Babies is a lot of bother. An' they's a lot of
+dishes an' chores an' things. Wisht I hed a dress like yo'n!" The girl
+passed a timid finger over the fabric of Patty's moleskin riding coat.
+Ma Watts appeared in the doorway connecting the two rooms.
+
+"Well, fer the lands sakes! Listen at that! Microby Dandeline Watts,
+where's yo' manners?" She turned to Patty. "Don't mind her, she's kind
+o' simple, an' don't mean no harm. Yo' shake-down's ready fer yo' an'
+I reckon yo' glad, bein' that wore out. Hit's agin the east wall. Jest
+go on right in, don't mind Watts. Hit's dark in thar, an' he's rolled
+in. We hain't only one bed an' me an' Watts an' the baby sleeps in
+hit, on 'tother side the room. Watts, he aims to put up some bunks
+when he gits time."
+
+Sick at heart, and too tired and sore of body to protest against any
+arrangement that would allow her to sleep the girl murmured her thanks
+and crossed to the door of the bedroom. Not at all sure of her
+bearings she paused uncertainly in the doorway until a sound of heavy
+breathing located the slumbering Watts, and turning toward the
+opposite side of the room, proceeded cautiously through the blackness
+until her feet came in contact with her "shake-down," which consisted
+of a pair of blankets placed upon a hay tick. The odor of the blankets
+was anything but fresh, but she sank to the floor, and with much
+effort and torturing of strained muscles, succeeded in removing her
+boots and jacket and throwing herself upon the bed. Almost at the
+moment her head touched the coarse, unslipped pillow, she fell into a
+deep sleep, from which hours later she was awakened by an insistent
+tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. "Someone has forgotten to pull up the
+canoe and the waves are slapping it against the side of the dock," she
+thought drowsily. "Did I have it last?" She stirred uneasily and the
+pain of movement caused her to gasp. She opened her eyes, and instead
+of her great airy chamber in Aunt Rebecca's mansion by the sea, she
+was greeted by the sight of the hot, stuffy room of the Watts cabin. A
+rumpled pile of blankets was mounded upon the bed against the opposite
+wall, and a shake-down similar to her own occupied a space beside the
+open door through which hot, bright sunlight streamed.
+
+Several hens pecked assiduously at some crumbs, and Patty realized
+that it was the sound of their bills upon the wooden floor that had
+awakened her. She succeeded after several painful attempts in pulling
+on her boots, and as she rose to her feet, Ma Watts thrust her head in
+at the door.
+
+"Lawzie! Honey, did them hens wake yo' up? Sho'! ef I'd a thought o'
+thet, I'd o' fed 'em outside, an' yo' could of kep' on sleepin'. 'They
+ain't nothin' like a good long sleep when yo' tired,' Watts says, an'
+he ort to know. He aims to build a house fer them hens when he gits
+time. Yo' know where the worsh dish is, jest make yo'se'f to home,
+dinner'll be ready d'rec'ly." The feel of the cold water was grateful
+as the girl dashed it over her face and hands from the little tin
+wash-basin on the bench beside the door. Watts sat with his chair
+resting upon its rear legs and its back against the shady west wall of
+the cabin.
+
+"Mo'nin'," he greeted. "Hit's right hot; I be'n studyin' 'bout fixin'
+them thar arrigation ditches."
+
+Patty smiled brightly. "All they need is cleaning out, isn't it?"
+
+"Yas, mom. Thet an' riggin' up them flumes. But it's a right smart o'
+work, an' then the resevoy's busted, too. I be'n aimin' to fix 'em
+when I git time. They hain't had no water in 'em fer three year. Yo'
+see, two year ago hit looked like rain mos' every day. Hit didn't rain
+none to speak, but hit kep' a body hatin' to start workin' fer fear it
+would. An' las' year hit never looked like rain none, so hit wasn't no
+use fixin' 'em. An' this year I don't know jest what to do, hit might,
+an' then agin hit mightn't. Drat thet sun! Here hit is dinner time.
+Seems like hit never lets a body set in one place long 'nough to study
+out _whut_ he'd ort to do." Watts rose slowly to his feet, and
+picking up his chair, walked deliberately around to the east side of
+the house, where he planted it with the precision born of long
+practice in the exact spot that the shadow would be longest at the
+conclusion of the midday meal.
+
+Patty entered the cabin and a few minutes later the sound of voices
+reached her ears. Ma Watts hurried to the window.
+
+"Well, if hit ain't Mr. Bethune an' Lord Clendenning! Ef you see one
+you know the other hain't fer off. Hain't he good lookin' though--Mr.
+Bethune? Lord hain't so much fer looks, but he's some high up nobility
+like over to England where he come from, only over yere they call 'em
+remittance men, an' they don't do nothin' much but ride around an'
+drink whisky, an' they git paid for hit, too. Folks says how Mr.
+Bethune's gran'ma wus a squaw, but I don't believe 'em. Anyways, I
+allus like him. He's got manners, an' hit don't stan' to reason no
+breed would have manners."
+
+Patty could distinctly see the two riders as they lounged in their
+saddles. The larger, whose bulging blue eyes and drooping blond
+mustache gave him a peculiar walrus-like expression, she swept at a
+glance. The other was talking to Watts and the girl noted the slender
+figure with its almost feminine delicacy of mold, and the finely
+chiseled features dominated by eyes black as jet--eyes that glowed
+with a velvety softness as he spoke.
+
+"We have been looking over your upper pasture," he said. "A fellow
+named Schmidt over in the Blackfoot country will be delivering some
+horses across the line this summer and he wants to rent some pastures
+at different points along the trail. How about it?"
+
+Watts rubbed his beard uncertainly. "Them fences hain't hoss tight. I
+be'n studyin' 'bout fixin' 'em."
+
+"Why don't you get at it?"
+
+"Well they's the resevoy, an' the ditches----"
+
+"Never mind the ditches. All that fence needs is a few posts and some
+staples."
+
+"My ax hain't fitten to chop with no mo', an' I druv over the spade
+an' bruk the handle. I hain't got no luck."
+
+Reaching into his pocket, Bethune withdrew a gold piece which he
+tossed to Watts. "Maybe this will change your luck," he smiled. "The
+fact is I want that pasture--or, rather, Schultz does."
+
+"Thought yo' said Schmidt."
+
+"Did I? Those kraut names all sound alike to me. But his name is
+Schultz. The point is, he'll pay you five dollars a month to hold the
+pasture, and five dollars for every day or night he uses it. That ten
+spot pays for the first two months. Better buy a new ax and spade and
+some staples and get to work. The exercise will do you good, and
+Schultz may want to use that pasture in a couple of weeks or so."
+
+"Well, I reckon I kin. Hit's powerful hot fer to work much, but that's
+a sight o' money. As I wus sayin' to Mr. Sinclair's darter----"
+
+"Sinclair's daughter! What do you mean? Is Sinclair back?"
+
+Patty noted the sudden flash of the jet black eyes at the mention of
+her father's name. It was as though a point of polished steel had
+split their velvet softness. Yet there was no hostility in the glance;
+rather, it was a gleam of intense interest. The girl's own interest in
+the quarter-breed had been casual at most, hardly more than that
+accorded by a passing glance until she had chanced to hear him refer
+to the man in the Blackfoot country in one breath as Schmidt, and in
+the next as Schultz. She wondered at that and so had remained standing
+beside Mrs. Watts, screened from the outside by the morning-glory
+vines that served as a curtain for the window. The trifling incident
+of the changed name was forgotten in the speculation as to why her
+father's return to the hill country should be a matter of evident
+import to this sagebrush cavalier. So intent had she become that she
+hardly noticed the cruel bluntness of Watts's reply.
+
+"He's dead."
+
+"Dead!"
+
+"Yas, he died back East an' his darter's come."
+
+"Does she know he made a strike?" Patty noted the look of eagerness
+that accompanied the words.
+
+"I do'no." Watts wagged his head slowly. "Mebbe so; mebbe not."
+
+"Because, if she doesn't," Bethune hastened to add, "she should be
+told. Rod Sinclair was one of the best friends I had, and if he has
+gone I'm right here to see that his daughter gets a square deal. Of
+course if she has the location, she's all right." Patty wondered
+whether the man had purposely raised his voice, or was it her
+imagination?
+
+Ma Watts had started for the door. "Come on out, honey, an' I'll make
+yo' acquainted with Mr. Bethune. He wus a friend of yo' pa, an' Lord
+too." As she followed the woman to the door, the girl was conscious of
+an indefinable feeling of distrust for the man. Somehow, his words had
+not rung true.
+
+As the two women stepped from the house the horsemen swung from their
+saddles and stood with uncovered heads.
+
+"This yere's Mr. Sinclair's darter, Mr. Bethune," beamed Ma Watts.
+"An' I'd take hit proud ef yo'd all stay to dinner."
+
+"Ah, Miss Sinclair, I am most happy to know you. Permit me to present
+my friend Lord Clendenning."
+
+The Englishman bowed low. "The prefix is merely a euphonism Miss
+Sinclair. What you really behold in me is the decayed part of a
+decaying aristocracy."
+
+Patty laughed. "My goodness, what frankness!"
+
+"Come on, now, an' set by 'fore the vittles gits cold on us. Yere yo'
+Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth, yo' hay them hosses!"
+
+"No, no! Really, Mrs. Watts, we must not presume on your hospitality.
+Important business demands our presence elsewhere."
+
+"Lawzie, Mr. Bethune, there yo' go with them big words agin. Which I
+s'pose yo' mean yo' cain't stay. But they's a plenty, an' yo'
+welcome." Again Bethune declined and as the woman re-entered the
+house, he turned to the girl.
+
+"I only just learned of your father's untimely death. Permit me to
+express my sincerest sympathy, and to assure you that if I can be of
+service to you in any way I am yours to command."
+
+"Thank you," answered Patty, flushing slightly under the scrutiny of
+the black eyes. "I am here to locate my father's claim. I want to do
+it alone, but if I can't I shall certainly ask assistance of his
+friends."
+
+"Exactly. But, my dear Miss Sinclair, let me warn you. There are men
+in these hills who suspected that your father made a strike, who would
+stop at nothing to wrest your secret from you." The girl nodded. "I
+suppose so. But forewarned is forearmed, isn't it? I thank you."
+
+"Thet Vil Holland wus by yeste'day," said Watts.
+
+Bethune frowned. "What did he want?"
+
+"Didn't want nothin'. Jest come a-ridin' by."
+
+"I should think you'd had enough of him after the way he ran your
+sheep man off."
+
+Watts rubbed his beard. "Well, I do'no. The cattlemen pays me same as
+that sheep man done. Vil Holland tended to that."
+
+"That isn't the point. What right has Vil Holland and others of his
+ilk to tell you, or me, or anybody else who we shall, or shall not
+rent to? It is the principle of the thing. The running off of those
+sheep was a lawless act, and the sooner lawlessness, as exemplified by
+Vil Holland is stamped out of these hills, the better it will be for
+the community. He better not try to bulldoze me." Bethune turned to
+Patty. "That Vil Holland is the man I had in mind, Miss Sinclair, when
+I warned you to choose your friends wisely. He would stop at nothing
+to gain an end, even to posing as a friend of your father. In all
+probability he will offer to assist you, but if you have any map or
+description of your father's location do not under any circumstances
+show it to him."
+
+Patty smiled. "If any such paper exists I shall keep it to myself."
+
+Bethune returned the smile. "Good-by," he said. "I shall look forward
+to meeting you again. Shall you remain here?"
+
+"I have made no plans," she answered, and as she watched the two
+riders disappear down the creek trail her lips twisted into a smile.
+"May pose as a friend of your father ... and probably will offer to
+assist you;" she repeated under her breath. "Well, Mr. Bethune, I
+thank you again for the warning."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+PATTY GOES TO TOWN
+
+
+Ma Watts called loudly from the doorway and numerous small Wattses
+appeared as if by magic from the direction of the creek and the
+cottonwood thicket. Dinner consisted of flabby salt pork, swimming in
+its own grease, into which were dipped by means of fingers or forks,
+huge misshapen slices of sour white bread. There was also an abundance
+of corn pone, black molasses, and a vile concoction that Ma Watts
+called coffee. Flies swarmed above the table and settled upon the food
+from which they arose in clouds at each repetition of the dipping
+process.
+
+How she got through the meal Patty did not know, but to her surprise
+and disgust, realized that she had actually consumed a considerable
+portion of the unappetizing mess. Watts arose, stretched prodigiously,
+and sauntered to his chair which, true to calculation was already just
+within the shadow of the east side of the house.
+
+Baby on hip, Ma Watts, assisted by Microby Dandeline and Lillian
+Russell, attacked the dishes. All offers of help from Patty were
+declined.
+
+"Yo' welcome to stay yere jest as long as yo' want to, honey, an' yo'
+hain't got to work none neither. They's a old piece o' stack-cover
+somewheres around an' them young-uns kin rig 'em up a tent an' sleep
+in hit all summer, an' yo' kin hev their shake-down like yo' done las'
+night. I s'pose yo're yere about yo' pa's claim?"
+
+"Yes," answered the girl, "and I certainly appreciate your
+hospitality. I hope I can repay you some day, but I cannot think of
+settling myself upon you this way. My work will take me out into the
+hills and----"
+
+"Jest like yo' pa usta say. He wus that fond o' rale home cookin' thet
+he'd come 'long every onct in a month 'er so, an' git him a squr meal,
+an' then away he'd go out to his camp."
+
+"Where was his camp?" asked the girl eagerly.
+
+"Lawzie, his camp wus a tent, an' he moved hit around so they couldn't
+no one tell from one day to 'nother where he'd be at. But, he never
+wus no great ways from here, gen'ally within ten mile, one way er
+'nother. Hits out yonder in the barn--his tent an' outfit--pick an'
+pan an' shovel an' dishes, all ready to throw onto his pack hoss
+which hits a mewl an' runnin' in the hills with them hosses of ourn.
+If hit wusn't fer the fences they'd be in the pasture. Watts aims to
+fix 'em when he gits time."
+
+"I don't know much about tents, but I guess I'll have to use it, that
+is, if there isn't another ranch, or a--a house, or something, where I
+can rent a room all to myself."
+
+"Great sakes, child! They hain't another ranch within twenty-five
+mile, an' thet's towards town." As if suddenly smitten with an idea,
+she paused with her hand full of dishes and called loudly to her
+spouse:
+
+"Watts! Watts!"
+
+The chair was eased to its four legs, and the lank form appeared in
+the doorway. "Yeh?"
+
+"How about the sheep camp?"
+
+The man's fingers fumbled at his beard and he appeared plunged into
+deep thought. "What yo' mean, how 'bout hit?"
+
+"Why not we-all leave Mr. Sinclair's darter live up there?"
+
+Again the thoughtful silence. At length the man spoke: "Why, shore,
+she kin stay there long as she likes, an' welcome."
+
+"Hit's a cabin four mile up the crick," explained Ma Watts, "what we
+built on our upper desert fer a man thet wanted to run a band o'
+sheep. He wus rentin' the range offen us, till they druv him off--the
+cattlemen claimed they wouldn't 'low no sheep in the hill country.
+They warned him an' pestered him a spell, an' then they jest up an'
+druv him off--thet Vil Holland wus into hit, an' some more."
+
+"Who is this Vil Holland you speak of, and why did he want to drive
+off the sheep?"
+
+"Oh, he's a cowpuncher--they say they hain't a better cowpuncher in
+Montany, when he'll work. But he won't work only when he takes a
+notion--'druther hang around the hills an' prospeck. He hain't never
+made no strike, but he allus aims to, like all the rest. Ef he'd
+settle down, he could draw his forty dollars a month the year 'round,
+'stead of which, he works on the round-up, an' gits him a stake, an'
+then quits an' strikes out fer the hills."
+
+"I couldn't think of occupying your cabin without paying for it. How
+much will you rent it to me for?"
+
+"'Tain't wuth nothin' at all," said Watts. "'Tain't doin' no good
+settin' wher' it's at, an' yo' won't hurt hit none a-livin' in hit.
+Jest move in, an' welcome."
+
+"No, indeed! Now, you tell me, is ten dollars a month enough rent?"
+
+"Ten dollars a month!" exclaimed Watts. "Why, we-all only got fifteen
+fo' a herder an' a dog an' a band o' sheep! No, ef yo' bound to pay,
+I'll take two dollars a month. We-all might be po' but we hain't no
+robbers."
+
+"I'll take it," said Patty. "And now I'll have to have a lot of things
+from town--food and blankets, and furniture, and----"
+
+"Hit's all furnished," broke in Ma Watts. "They's a bunk, an' a table,
+an' a stove, an a couple o' wooden chairs."
+
+"Oh, that's fine!" cried the girl, becoming really enthusiastic over
+the prospect of having a cabin all her very own. "But, about the other
+things: Mr. Watts can you haul them from town?"
+
+Watts tugged at his beard and stared out across the hills. "Yes, mom,
+I reckon I kin. Le's see, the work's a-pilin' up on me right smart."
+He cast his eye skyward, where the sun shone hot from the cloudless
+blue. "Hit mought rain to-morrow, an' hit moughtn't. The front ex on
+the wagon needs fixin'--le's see, this here's a Wednesday. How'd next
+Sunday, a week do?"
+
+The girl stared at him in dismay. Ten days of Ma Watts's "home
+cooking" loomed before her.
+
+"Oh, couldn't you _possibly_ go before that?" she pleaded.
+
+"Well, there's them fences. I'd orter hev' time to study 'bout how
+many steeples hit's a-goin' to tak' to fix 'em. An' besides, Ferd Rowe
+'lowed he wus comin' 'long some day to trade hosses an' I'd hate to
+miss him."
+
+"Why can't I go to town. I know the way. Will you rent me your horses
+and wagon? I can drive and I can bring out your tools and things,
+too." As she awaited Watts's reply her eyes met the wistful gaze of
+Microby Dandeline. She turned to Ma Watts. "And maybe you would let
+Microby Dandeline go with me. It would be loads of fun."
+
+"Lawzie, honey, yo' wouldn't want to be pestered with her."
+
+"Yes, I would really. Please let her go with me, that is, if Mr. Watts
+will let me have the team."
+
+"Why, shore, yo' welcome to 'em. They hain't sich a good span o'
+hosses, but they'll git yo' there, an' back, give 'em time."
+
+"And can we start in the morning?"
+
+"My! Yo' in a sight o' hurry. They's thet front ex----"
+
+"Is it anything very serious? Maybe I could help fix it. Do let me
+try."
+
+Watts rubbed his beard reflectively. "Well, no, I reckon it's mebbe
+the wheels needs greasin'. 'Twouldn't take no sight o' time to do, if
+a body could only git at hit. Reckon I mought grease 'em all 'round,
+onct I git started. The young-uns kin help, yo' jest stay here with
+Ma. Ef yo' so plumb sot on goin' we'll see't yo' git off."
+
+"I kin go, cain't I, Ma?" Microby Dandeline's eyes were big with
+excitement, as she wrung out her dish towel and hung it to dry in the
+sun.
+
+"Why, yas, I reckon yo' mought's well--but seem's like yo' allus
+a-wantin' to gad. Yo' be'n to town twict a'ready."
+
+"Twice!" cried Patty. "In how long?"
+
+"She's goin' on eighteen. Four years, come July she wus to town. They
+wus a circust."
+
+"I know Mr. Christie. He lives to town."
+
+"He's the preacher. He's a 'piscopalium preacher, an' one time that
+Vil Holland an' him come ridin' 'long, an' they stopped in fer dinner,
+an' that Vil Holland, he's allus up to some kind o' devilment er
+'nother, he says: 'Ma Watts, why don't yo' hev the kids all
+babitized?' I hadn't never thought much 'bout hit, but thar wus the
+preacher, an' he seemed to think mighty proud of hit, an' hit didn't
+cost nothin', so I tol' him to go ahead. He started in on Microby
+Dandeline--we jest called her Dandeline furst, bein' thet yallar with
+janders when she wus a baby, but when she got about two year, I wus a
+readin' a piece in a paper a man left, 'bout these yere little
+microbys thet gits into everywheres they shouldn't ort to, jest like
+she done, so I says to Watts how she'd ort to had two names anyways,
+only I couldn't think of none but common ones when we give her hern. I
+says, we'll name her Microby Dandeline Watts an' Watts, he didn't care
+one way er t'other." Ma Watts shifted the baby to the other hip.
+"Babitizin' is nice, but hit works both ways, too. Take the baby,
+yere. When we'd got down to the bottom of the batch it come her turn,
+an', lawzie, I wus that flustered, comin' so sudden, thet way, I
+couldn't think of no name fer her 'cept Chattenoogy Tennessee, where I
+come from near, an' the very nex' day I wus readin' in the almanac an'
+I found one I liked better. Watts, he hain't no help to a body, he
+hain't no aggucation to speak of, an' don't never read none, an'
+would as soon I'd name his children John, like his ma done him. As I
+was sayin' there hit wus in the almanac the name 'twould of fitten the
+baby to a T. Vernal Esquimaux, hit said, March 21, 5:26 A.M. The baby
+was borned March the 21st, 'tween five an' six in the mornin'. Nex'
+time I wus to town I hunted up preacher Christie, but he said he
+couldn't onbabitize her, an' he reckoned Chatenoogy Tennessee wus as
+good as Vernal Esquimaux, anyhow, an' we could save Vernal Esquimaux
+fer the next one--jest's ef yo' could hev 'em like a time table!"
+
+The afternoon was assiduously devoted to overhauling the contents of a
+huge tin trunk in an effort to find a frock suitable for the momentous
+occasion of Microby Dandeline's journey. The one that had served for
+the previous visit, a tight little affair of pink gingham, proved
+entirely inadequate in its important dimensions, and automatically
+became the property of the younger and smaller Lillian Russell.
+Patty's suggestion of a simple white lawn that reposed upon the very
+bottom of the trunk was overruled in favor of a betucked and
+beflounced creation of red calico in which Ma Watts had beamed upon
+the gay panoply of the long remembered "circust." An hour's work with
+scissors and needle reduced the dress to approximately the required
+size. When the task was completed Watts appeared with the information
+that he reckoned the wagon would run, and that the "young-uns" were
+out in the hills hunting the "hosses."
+
+At early dawn the following morning Patty was awakened by a timid hand
+upon her shoulder.
+
+"Hit's daylight, an' Pa's hitchin' up the hosses." Arrayed in the red
+dress, her eyes round with excitement and anticipation, Microby
+Dandeline was bending over her whispering excitedly, "An' breakfus's
+ready, an' me an' Ma's got the lunch putten up, an' hit's a pow'ful
+long ways to town, an' we better git a-goin'."
+
+"Stay right clost an' don't go gittin' lost," admonished Ma watts, as
+she stood in the doorway and surveyed her daughter with approval born
+of motherly pride. The pink gingham sunbonnet that matched the tight
+little dress had required only a slight "letting out" to make it "do,"
+and taken in conjunction with the flaming red dress, made a study in
+color that would have delighted the heart of a Gros Ventre squaw.
+Thick, home-knit stockings, and a pair of stiff cow-hide shoes
+completed the costume, and made Microby Dandeline the center of an
+admiring semi-circle of Wattses.
+
+"Yo' shore look right pert an' briggity, darter," admitted Watts.
+"Don't yo' give the lady no trouble, keep offen the railroad car
+tracks, an' don't go talkin' to strangers yo' don't know, an' ef yo'
+see preacher Christie tell him howdy, an' how's he gittin' 'long, an'
+we're doin' the same, an' stop in nex' time he's out in the hills." He
+handed Patty the reins. "An' mom, yo' won't fergit them steeples, an'
+a ax, an' a spade?"
+
+"I won't forget," Patty assured him, and as Microby Dandeline was
+saying good-by to the small brothers and sisters, the man leaned
+closer. "Ef they's any change left over I wisht yo'd give her about
+ten cents to spend jest as she pleases."
+
+The girl nodded, and as Microby Dandeline scrambled up over the wheel
+and settled herself beside her upon the board that served as a seat,
+she called a cheery good-by, and clucked to the horses.
+
+The trail down Monte's Creek was a fearsome road that sidled
+dangerously along narrow rock ledges, and plunged by steep pitches
+into the creek bed and out again. Partly by sheer luck, partly by
+bits of really skillful driving, but mostly because the horses,
+themselves knew every foot of the tortuous trail, the descent of the
+creek was made without serious mishap. It was with a sigh of relief
+that Patty turned into the smoother trail that lead down through the
+canyon toward town. In comparison with the bumping and jolting of the
+springless lumber wagon, she realized that the saddle that had racked
+and tortured her upon her outward trip had been a thing of ease and
+comfort. Released from her post at the brake-rope, Microby Dandeline
+immediately proceeded to remove her shoes and stockings. Patty
+ventured remonstrance.
+
+"Hit's hot an' them stockin's scratches. 'Tain't no good to wear 'em
+in the summer, nohow, 'cept in town, an' I kin put 'em on when we git
+there. Why does folks wear 'em in town?"
+
+"Why, because it is nicer, and--and people couldn't very well go
+around barefooted."
+
+"I kin. I like to 'cept fer the prickly pears. Is they prickly pears
+in town?" Without waiting far a reply the girl chattered on, as she
+placed the offending stockings within her shoes and tossed them back
+upon the hay with which the wagon-box was filled. "I like to ride,
+don't you? We've got to ride all day an' then we'll git to town. We
+goin' to sleep in under the wagon?"
+
+"Certainly not! We will go to the hotel."
+
+"The hotel," breathed the girl, rapturously. "An' kin we eat there
+too?"
+
+"Yes, we will eat there, too."
+
+"An' kin I go to the store with yo'?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Patty's answers became shorter as her attention centered upon a
+horseman who was negotiating the descent of what looked like an
+impossibly steep ridge.
+
+"That's Buck!" exclaimed Microby Dandeline, as she followed the girl's
+gaze. The rider completed the descent of the ridge with an abrupt
+slide that obscured him in a cloud of dust from which he emerged to
+approach the trail at a swinging trot. Long before he was near enough
+for Patty to distinguish his features, she recognized him as her lone
+horseman of the hills. "If it is his intention to presume upon our
+chance meeting," she thought, "I'll----" The threat was unexpressed
+even in thought, but her lips tightened and she flushed hotly as she
+remembered how he had picked her up as though she had been a child and
+placed her in the saddle.
+
+"Who did you say he is?" she asked, with a glance toward the girl at
+her side.
+
+"He's Vil Holland, an' his hoss's name is Buck. I like him, only
+sometimes he chases me home."
+
+"Vil Holland!" she exclaimed aloud, and her lips pressed tighter. So
+this man was Vil Holland--_that_ Vil Holland, everybody called him.
+The man who had chased an inoffensive sheep herder from the range, and
+whose name stood for lawlessness in the hill country! So Aunt
+Rebecca's allusion to desperate characters had not been so
+far-fetched, after all. He looked the part. Patty's glance took in the
+vivid blue scarf with its fastening of polished buffalo horn, the huge
+revolver that swung in its holster, and the brown leather jug that
+dangled from the horn of his saddle.
+
+"Good-mornin'!" He drew up beside the trail, and the girl reined in
+her horses, flushing slightly as she did so--she had meant to drive
+past without speaking. She acknowledged the greeting with a formal
+bow. The man ignored the frigidity.
+
+"I see you found Watts's all right."
+
+"Yes, thank you."
+
+"Well, if there ain't Microby Dandeline! An' rigged out for who
+throw'd the chunk! Goin' to town to take in the picture show, an all
+the sights, I expect."
+
+"We're goin' to the _hotel_," explained the girl proudly.
+
+"My ain't that fine!"
+
+"I got a red dress."
+
+"Why so you have. Seein' you mentioned it, I can notice a shade of red
+to it. An' that bonnet just sets it off right. That'll make folks set
+up an' take notice, I'll bet."
+
+"I'm a-goin' to the store, too."
+
+"What do you think of that!" the man drew a half-dollar from his
+pockets. "Here, get you some candy an' take some home to the kids."
+
+Microby reached for the coin, but Patty drew back her arm.
+
+"Don't touch that!" she commanded sharply, then, with a withering look
+that encompassed both the man and his jug, she struck the horses with
+her whip and started down the trail.
+
+"I could of boughten some candies," complained Microby Dandeline.
+
+"I will buy you all the candy you want, but you must promise me never
+to take any money from men--and especially from that man."
+
+Microby glanced back wistfully, and as the wagon rumbled on her eyes
+closed and her head began to nod.
+
+"Why, child, you are sleepy!" exclaimed Patty, in surprise.
+
+"Yes, mom. I reckon I laid awake all night a-thinkin' about goin' to
+town."
+
+"If I were you I would lie down on the hay and take a nap."
+
+The girl eyed the hay longingly and shook her head. "I like to ride,"
+she objected, sleepily.
+
+"You will be riding just the same."
+
+"Yes but we might see somethin'. Onct we seen a nortymobile without no
+hosses an' hit squarked louder'n a settin' hen an' went faster'n what
+a hoss kin run."
+
+"You go to sleep and if there is anything to see I'll wake you up. If
+you don't sleep now you'll have to sleep when you get to town and I'm
+sure you don't want to do that."
+
+"No, mom. Mebbe ef I hurry up an' sleep fast they won't no
+nortymobiles come, but if they does, you wake me."
+
+"I will," promised Patty, and thus assured the girl curled up in the
+hay and in a moment was fast asleep.
+
+Hour after hour as the horses plodded along the interminable trail,
+Patty Sinclair sat upon the hard wooden seat, while her thoughts
+ranged from plans for locating her father's lost claim, to the
+arrangement of her cabin; and from Vil Holland to the welfare of the
+girl, a pathetic figure as she lay sprawled upon the hay, with her
+bare legs, and the gray dust settling thickly upon her red dress and
+vivid pink sunbonnet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+MONK BETHUNE
+
+    "When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be,
+    When the devil got well, the devil a monk was he."
+
+
+Pippin Larue chanted tipsily, as he strummed softly the strings of a
+muffled banjo. And Raoul Bethune, with the flush of liquor upon his
+pale cheeks, joined in the laugh that followed, and replenished his
+glass from the black bottle he had contrived to smuggle from the
+hospital stores when he had been returned to his room in the
+dormitory. And "Monk" Bethune he was solemnly rechristened by the
+half-dozen admiring satellites who had foregathered to celebrate his
+recovery from an illness. All this was long ago. Monk Bethune's
+dormitory life had terminated abruptly--for the good of the school,
+but the name had fastened itself upon him after the manner of names
+that fit. It followed him to far places, and certain red-coated
+policemen, who knew and respected his father, the Hudson Bay Company's
+old factor on Lake o' God's Wrath, hated him for what he had become.
+They knew him for an inveterate gambler who spent money freely and
+boasted openly of his winnings. He was soft of voice and mild of
+manner and aside from his passion for gambling, his conduct so far as
+was known was irreproachable. But, there were wise and knowing ones
+among the officers of the law, who deemed it worth their while to make
+careful and unobtrusive comparison between the man's winnings and his
+expenditures. These were the men who knew that certain Indians were
+being systematically supplied with whisky, and that there were certain
+horses in Canada whose brands, upon close inspection, showed signs of
+having been skillfully "doctored," and which bore unmistakable
+evidence of having come from the ranges to the southward of the
+international boundary.
+
+But, try as they might, no slightest circumstance of evidence could
+they unearth against Bethune, who was wont to disappear from his usual
+haunts for days and weeks at a time, to reappear smiling and
+debonaire, as unexpectedly as he had gone. Knowing that the men of the
+Mounted suspected him, he laughed at them openly. Once, upon a street
+in Regina, Corporal Downey lost his temper.
+
+"You'll make a mistake sometime, Monk, and then it will be our turn to
+laugh."
+
+"Oh-ho! So until I make a mistake, I am safe, eh? That is good news,
+Downey--good news! Skill and luck--luck and skill--the tools of the
+gamblers' trade! But, granted that sometime I shall make a
+mistake--shall lose for the moment, my skill; I shall still have my
+luck--and your mistakes. You are a good boy, Downey, but you'll be a
+glum one if you wait to laugh at my mistakes. If I were a chicken
+thief instead of a--gambler, I should fear you greatly."
+
+Downey recounted this jibe in the barracks, and the officers redoubled
+their vigilance, but the Indians still got their whisky, and new
+horses appeared from the southward.
+
+When Monk Bethune refused Ma Watts's invitation to dinner, and rode
+off down the creek followed by Lord Clendenning, the refusal did not
+meet the Englishman's unqualified approval, a fact that he was not
+slow in imparting when, a short time later, they made noonday camp at
+a little spring in the shelter of the hills.
+
+"I say, Monk, what's this bally important business we've got on hand?"
+he asked, as he adjusted a refractory hobble strap. "Seems to me you
+threw away an excellent opportunity."
+
+Bethune grinned. "Anything that involves the loss of a square meal, is
+a lost opportunity. You're too beefy, Clen, a couple of weeks on pilot
+bread and tea always does you good."
+
+"I was thinking more of the lady."
+
+"La, la, the ladies! A gay dog in your day--but, you've had your day.
+Forget 'em, Clen, you're fifty, and fat."
+
+"I'm forty-eight, and I weigh only fifteen stone as I stand,"
+corrected the Englishman solemnly. "But layin' your bloody jokes
+aside, this particular lady ought to be worth our while."
+
+Bethune nodded, as he scraped the burning ends of the little sticks
+closer about the teapot. "Yes, decidedly worth while, my dear Clen,
+and that's where the important business comes in. Those who live by
+their wits must use their wits or they will cease to live. I live by
+my wits, and you by your ability to follow out my directions. In the
+present instance, we had no plan. We could only have sat and talked,
+but talk is dangerous--when you have no plan. Even little mistakes are
+costly, and big ones are fatal. Let us go over the ground, now and
+check off our facts, and then we can lay our plans." As he talked,
+Bethune munched at his pilot bread, pausing at intervals for a swallow
+of scalding tea.
+
+"In the first place, we know that Rod Sinclair made a strike. And we
+know that he didn't file any claim. Why? Because he knew that people
+would guess he had made a strike, and that the minute he placed his
+location on record, there would be a stampede to stake the adjoining
+claims--and he was saving those claims for his friends."
+
+"His strike may be only a pocket," ventured Clendenning.
+
+"It is no pocket! Rod Sinclair was a mining man--he knows rock. If he
+had struck a pocket he would have staked and filed at once--and taken
+no chances. I tell you he went back East to let his friends in. The
+fool!"
+
+The Englishman finished his tea, rinsed out his tin cup in the spring,
+and filled his pipe. "And you think the girl has got the description?"
+
+Bethune shook his head. "No. A map, perhaps, or some photographs. If
+she had the description she would not have come alone. The friends of
+her father would have been with her, and they would have filed the
+minute they hit the country. It's either a map, or nothing but his
+word."
+
+"And in either case we've got a chance."
+
+"Yes," answered Bethune, viciously. "And this time we are not going to
+throw away our chance!" He glanced meaningly at the Englishman, who
+puffed contentedly at his pipe.
+
+"Sinclair was too shrewd to have carried anything of importance, and
+there would have been blood on our hands. As it is, we sleep good of
+nights."
+
+Bethune gave a shrug of impatience. "And the gold is still in the
+hills, and we are no nearer to it than we were last fall."
+
+"Yes, we are nearer. This girl will not be as shrewd as her father was
+in guarding the secret, if she has it. If she hasn't it our chance is
+as good as hers."
+
+"And so is Vil Holland's! He believes Sinclair made a strike, and now
+that Sinclair is out of the way, you may be sure he will leave no
+stone unturned to horn in on it. The gold is in these hills and I'm
+going to get it. If I can't get it one way, I will get it another."
+The quarter-breed glanced about him and unconsciously lowered his
+voice. "However, one could wish the girl had delayed her visit for a
+couple of weeks. A person slipped me the word he could handle about
+twenty head of horses."
+
+The Englishman's face lighted. "I thought so when you began to dicker
+with Watts for his pasture. We'll get him his bally horses, then. This
+horse game I like, it's a sportin' game, and so is the whisky runnin'.
+But I couldn't lay in the hills and shoot a man, cold blooded."
+
+"And you've never been a success," sneered Bethune. "You never had a
+dollar, except your remittance, until you threw in with me. And we'd
+have been rich now, if it hadn't been for you. I tell you I know
+Sinclair carried a map!"
+
+"If he had, we'll get it. And we can sleep good of nights!"
+
+"You're a fool, Clen, with your 'sleep good of nights!' I sleep good
+of nights, and I've--" he halted abruptly, and when he spoke again his
+words grated harsh. "I tell you this is a fang and claw existence--all
+life is fang and claw. The strong rip the flesh from the bones of the
+weak. And the rich rip their wealth from the clutch of a thousand
+poor. What a man has is his only so long as he can hold it. One man's
+gain is another man's loss, and that is life. And it makes no
+difference in the end whether it was got at the point of the pistol
+in defiance of law, or whether it was got within the law under the
+guise of business. And I don't need you to preach to me about what is
+wrong, either."
+
+The Englishman laughed. "I'm not preaching, Monk. Anyone engaged in
+the business we're in has got no call to preach."
+
+"We're no worse than most of the preachers. They peddle out, for
+money, what they don't believe."
+
+"Heigh-ho! What a good old world you've painted it! I hope you're
+right, and I'm not as bad as I think I am."
+
+Bethune interrupted, speaking rapidly in the outlining of a plan of
+procedure, and it was well toward the middle of the afternoon when the
+two saddled up and struck off into the hills in the direction of their
+camp.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Twilight had deepened to dusk as Patty Sinclair pulled her team to a
+standstill upon the rim of the bench and looked down upon the
+twinkling lights of the little town that straggled uncertainly along
+the sandy bank of the shallow river.
+
+"Hain't it grand lookin'?" breathed Microby Dandeline who sat
+decorously booted and stockinged upon the very edge of the board seat.
+"You wouldn't think they wus so many folks, less'n you seen 'em
+yers'f. Wisht I lived to town, an' I wisht they'd be a circust."
+
+Patty guided the horses down the trail that slanted into the valley
+and crossed the half-mile of "flats" whose wire fences and long,
+clean-cut irrigation ditches marked the passing of the cattle country.
+A billion mosquitoes filled the air with an unceasing low-pitched
+drone, and settled upon the horses in a close-fitting blanket of gray.
+The girls tried to fight off the stinging pests that attacked their
+faces and necks in whirring clouds. But they fought in vain and in
+vain they endeavored to urge the horses to a quickening of their pace,
+for impervious alike to the sting of the insects and the blows of the
+whip, the animals plodded along in the unvarying walk they had
+maintained since early morning.
+
+"This yere's the skeeter flats," imparted Microby, between slaps.
+"They hain't no skeeters in the mountains, mebbe it's too fer, an'
+mebbe they hain't 'nough folks fer 'em to bite out there, they's only
+us-uns an' a few more." As the girl talked the horses splashed into
+the shallow water of the ford and despite all effort to urge them
+forward, halted in mid-stream, and sucked greedily of the
+crystal-clear water. It seemed an hour before they moved on and
+assayed a leisurely ascent of the opposite bank. The air became
+pungent with the smell of smoke. They were in town, now, and as the
+wagon wheels sank deeply into the soft sand of the principal street,
+Patty noted that in front of the doors of most of the houses, slow
+fires were burning--fires that threw off a heavy, stifling smudge of
+smoke that spread lazily upon the motionless air and hung thick and
+low to the ground.
+
+"Skeeter smudges," explained Microby proud of being the purveyor of
+information, "towns has 'em, an' then the skeeters don't bite. Oh,
+look at the folks! Lest hurry up! They might be a fight! Las' time
+they wus a fight an' a breed cut a man Pap know'd an' the man got the
+breed down an' stomped on his face an' the marshal come an' sp'ilt
+hit, an' the man says if he'd of be'n let be he'd of et the breed up."
+
+"My, what a shame! And now you may never see a man eat a breed,
+whatever a breed is."
+
+"A breed's half a Injun." Microby was standing up on the seat at the
+imminent risk of her neck, peering over the heads of the crowd that
+thronged the sidewalk.
+
+"Sit down!" commanded Patty, sharply, as she noted the amused glances
+with which those on the outskirts of the crowd viewed the ridiculous
+figure in the red dress and the pink sunbonnet. "They are waiting for
+the movie to open.
+
+"Whut's a movie? Is hit like the circust? Kin I go?" The questions
+crowded each other, as the girl scrambled to her seat, her eyes were
+big with excitement.
+
+"Yes, to-morrow."
+
+"Looky, there's Buck!" Patty's eyes followed the pointing finger, and
+she frowned at sight of the rangy buckskin tied with half a dozen
+other horses to the hitching rail before the door of a saloon. It
+seemed as she glanced along the street that nearly every building in
+town was a saloon. Half a block farther on she drew to the sidewalk
+and stopped before the door of a two-story wooden building that
+flaunted across its front the words "MONTANA HOTEL." As Patty climbed
+stiffly to the sidewalk each separate joint and muscle shrieked its
+aching protest at the fifteen-hour ride in the springless, jolting
+wagon. Microby placed her foot upon the sideboard and jumped, her
+cow-hide boots thudding loudly upon the wooden planking.
+
+"Oughtn't you stay with the horses while I make the arrangements?"
+
+Microby shook her head in vigorous protest. "They-all hain't a-goin'
+nowheres less'n they has to. An' I want to go 'long."
+
+A thick-set man, collarless and coatless, who tilted back in his chair
+with his feet upon the window ledge, glanced up indifferently as they
+entered and crossed to the desk, and returned his gaze to the window,
+beyond which objects showed dimly in the gathering darkness. After a
+moment of awkward silence Patty addressed him. "Is the proprietor
+anywhere about?"
+
+"I'm him," grunted the man, without looking around.
+
+The girl's face flushed angrily. "I want a room and supper for two."
+
+"Nawthin' doin'. Full up."
+
+"Is there another hotel in this town?" she flashed angrily.
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you mean to say that there is no place where we can get
+accommodation for the night?"
+
+"That's about the size of it."
+
+"Can't we get anything to eat, either?" It was with difficulty Patty
+concealed her rage at the man's insolence. "If you knew how hungry we
+are--we've been driving since daylight with only a cold lunch for
+food." She did not add that the cold lunch had been so unappetizing
+she had not touched it.
+
+"Supper's over a couple hours, an' the help's gone out."
+
+"I'll pay you well if you can only manage to get us something--we're
+starved." The girl's rage increased as she noticed the gleam that
+lighted the heavy eyes. That, evidently was what he had been waiting
+for.
+
+"Well," he began, but she cut him short.
+
+"And a room, too."
+
+"I'm full up, I told you. The only way might be to pay someone to
+double up. An' with these here cowpunchers that comes high. I might--"
+The opening of the screen door drew all eyes toward the man who
+entered and stood just within the room. As Patty glanced at the
+soft-brimmed hat, the brilliant scarf, and noticed that the yellow
+lamplight glinted upon the tip of polished buffalo horn, and the ivory
+butt of the revolver, her lips tightened. But the man was not looking
+at her--seemed hardly aware of her presence. The burly proprietor
+smiled.
+
+"Hello, Vil. Somethin' I kin do fer you?"
+
+"Yes," answered the man. He spoke quietly, but there was that in his
+voice that caused the other to glance at him sharply. "You can stand
+up."
+
+The man complied without taking his eyes from the cowboy's face.
+
+"I happened to be goin' by an' thought I'd stop an' see if I could
+take the team over to the livery barn for my--neighbors, yonder. The
+door bein' open, I couldn't help hearin' what you said." He paused,
+and the proprietor grinned.
+
+"Business is business, an' a man's into it fer all he kin git."
+
+"I suppose that's so. I suppose it's good business to lie an' cheat
+women, an'----"
+
+"I hain't lied, an' I hain't cheated no one. An' what business is it
+of yourn if I did? All my rooms is full up, an' the help's all gone to
+the pitcher show."
+
+"An' there's about a dozen or so cowmen stoppin' here to-night--the
+ones you talked of payin' to double up--an' there ain't one of 'em
+that wouldn't be glad to double up, or go out an' sleep on the street
+if he couldn't get nowhere else to sleep, if you even whispered that
+there was a lady needed his room. The boys is right touchy when it
+comes to bein' lied about."
+
+The proprietor's face became suddenly serious. "Aw looky here, Vil, I
+didn't know these parties was friends of yourn. I'll see't they gits
+'em a room, an' I expect I kin dig 'em out some cold meat an'
+trimmin's. I was only kiddin'. Can't you take a joke?"
+
+"Yes, I can take a joke. I'm only kiddin', too--an' so'll the boys be,
+after I tell 'em----"
+
+"They hain't no use rilin' the boys up. I----"
+
+"An' about that supper," continued the cowboy, ignoring the protest,
+"I guess that cold meat'll keep over. What these ladies needs is a
+good hot supper. Plenty of ham _and_, hot Java, potatoes, an' whatever
+you got."
+
+"But the help's----"
+
+"Get it yourself, then. It ain't so long since you was runnin' a short
+order dump. You ain't forgot how to get up a quick feed, an' to give
+the devil his due, a pretty good one."
+
+The other started surlily toward the rear. "I'll do it, if----"
+
+"You won't do it _if_ nothin'. You'll do it--that's all. An' you'll
+do it at the regular price, too."
+
+"Say, who's runnin' this here _hotel_?"
+
+"You're runnin' it, an' I'm tellin you how," answered the tall
+hillman, without taking his eyes from the other's face.
+
+The man disappeared, muttering incoherently, and Vil Holland turned to
+the door.
+
+"I want to thank you," ventured Patty. "Evidently your word carries
+weight with mine host."
+
+"It better," replied the cowpuncher, dryly. "An' you're welcome. I'll
+take the team across to the livery barn." He spoke impersonally, with
+scarcely a glance in her direction, and as the screen door banged
+behind him the girl flushed, remembering her own rudeness upon the
+trail.
+
+"Lawless he may be, and he certainly looks and acts the part," she
+murmured to herself as the wagon rattled away from the sidewalk, "but
+his propensity for turning up at the right time and the right place is
+rapidly becoming a matter of habit." A door beside the desk stood
+ajar, and above it, Patty read the words "WASH ROOM." Pushing it open
+she glanced into the interior which was dimly lighted by a murky oil
+lamp that occupied a sagging bracket beside a distorted mirror. Two
+tin wash basins occupied a sink-like contrivance above which a single
+iron faucet protruded from the wall. Beside the faucet was tacked a
+broad piece of wrapping paper upon which were printed in a laborious
+scrawl the following appeals:
+
+             NOTISS
+
+Ples DoNT LEEv THE WaTTer RUN ITS hAN
+Pumpt.
+PLes DONT Waist THE ToWL.
+Kome AN BREsh AN TOOTH BResH IS INto
+THR Rak BESIDS THE MiRRoW.  PLeS PUT
+EM baCK.
+THes IS hoUSE RULes AN WANts TO be OBayD
+KINLY.
+
+                           F. RuMMEL, PROP.
+
+Removing the trail dust from their faces and hands, the girls returned
+to the office and after an interminable wait the proprietor appeared,
+red-faced and surly. "Grub's on, an' yer room'll be ready agin you've
+et," he growled, and waddled to his place at the window.
+
+A generous supply of ham and eggs, fried potatoes, bread and butter,
+and hot coffee awaited them in the dining-room, and it seemed to Patty
+that never before had food tasted so good. Twenty minutes later, when
+they returned to the office the landlord indicated the stairway with a
+jerk of his thumb. "First door to the right from the top of the
+stairs, lamp's lit, extry blankets in the closet, breakfast from five
+'till half-past-seven." The words rattled from his lips in a single
+breath as he sat staring into the outer darkness.
+
+"If Aunt Rebecca could see me, now," smiled Patty to herself, as she
+led the way up the uncarpeted stairs, with Microby Dandeline's
+cow-hide boots clattering noisily in her wake.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+SHEEP CAMP
+
+
+If Patty Sinclair had anticipated annoyance from the forced attention
+of her tall horseman of the hills, she was disappointed, for neither
+at meals, nor during the shopping tour that occupied the whole of the
+following day, nor yet upon the long homeward drive, did he appear.
+The return trip was slower and more monotonous even than the journey
+to town. The horses crawled along the interminable treeless trail with
+the heavily loaded wagon bumping and rattling in the choking cloud of
+its own dust.
+
+The expedition had been a disappointing one to Microby. The "pitcher
+show" did not compare in interest with the never forgotten "circust."
+There had been no "fight" to break the monotony of purchasing
+supplies. And they had encountered no "nortymobiles."
+
+Despite the fact that they had started from town at daylight,
+darkness overtook them at the canyon and it was with fear and
+misgiving that Patty contemplated the devious trail up Monte's Creek.
+The descent of this trail by daylight had taxed the girl's knowledge
+of horsemanship to the limit, and now to attempt its ascent with a
+heavily loaded wagon in the darkness--Microby Dandeline seemed to read
+her thoughts.
+
+"We-all cain't git up the crick, I don't reckon," she hazarded, but
+even as she spoke there was a flicker of light flashed through the
+darkness and, lantern in hand, Watts rose from his comfortable seat in
+a niche of rock near the fork of the trail and greeted them with his
+kindly drawl. "I 'lowed yo' all ort to be 'long d'rec'ly. I'll take
+'em now, Miss; the trail's kind of roughish like, but ef yo'll jist
+take the lantern an' foller 'long ahead I reckon we'll make hit all
+right. I've druv hit afore in the dark, an' no lantern, neither."
+Taking turns with the lantern, the girls led the way, and an hour and
+a half later halted before the door of the Watts cabin, where they
+became the center of an admiring group of young Wattses who munched
+their candy soberly as they gazed in reverent awe at the homing
+argonauts.
+
+The three mile walk up the rough trail did wonders for Patty's
+stiffened muscles, and it was with a feeling of agreeable surprise
+that she rose from her shake-down the following morning with scarcely
+an ache or a pain in her body.
+
+"Yer gittin' bruk in to hit," smiled Ma Watts, approvingly, as the
+girl sat down to her belated breakfast. But the surprise at her fit
+condition was nothing to the surprise of Ma Watts's next words. "Pa,
+he taken yer stuff on up to the sheep camp. He 'lowed yo'd want to git
+settled like. They taken yer pa's outfit along, too, an' when they git
+yo' onloaded they're a-goin' to work on the upper pasture fence. When
+Pa gits sot on a thing he goes right ahead an' does hit. Some thinks
+he's lazy, but hit hain't thet. He's easy goin'--all the Wattses
+wus--but when they git sot on a thing all kingdom come cain't stop 'em
+a-doin' hit. Trouble with Pa is he's got sot on settin'." Ma Watts
+talked on and on, and at the conclusion of the meal Patty drew a bill
+from her purse. But the woman would have none of it. "No siree, we-all
+hain't a-runnin' no _hotel_. Folks is welcome to come when they like
+an' stay as long as they want to, an' we're glad to hev 'em. Yer
+cayuse is a-waitin' out yender. The boys saddled him up fer yo'. Come
+down an' take pot luck whenever yo're a mind. Microby Dandeline, she
+ketched up Gee Dot an' went a-taggin' 'long fer to help yo' git
+settled. Ef she gits in the way jist send her home. Foller up the
+crick," she called, as Patty mounted her horse. "Yo' cain't miss the
+sheep camp, hit's about a mild 'bove the upper pasture."
+
+Watts and the boys were just finishing the unloading of her supplies
+when Patty slipped from her horse and surveyed the little cabin with
+its dark background of pines.
+
+"Hit hain't so big as some," apologized the man, as he climbed into
+the wagon and gathered up the reins. "But the chinkin's tol'ble, an'
+the roof's middlin' tight 'cept a couple places wher' it leaks."
+
+The girl's glance strayed from the little log building to the untidy
+litter of rusty tin cans and broken bottles that ornamented its
+dooryard, and the warped and broken panels of the abandoned corral
+that showed upon the weed-choked flat across the creek. Stepping to
+the door, she peered into the interior where Microby was industriously
+sweeping the musty hay from the bunk with the brand-new broom. Thumbed
+and torn magazines littered the floor, a few discarded garments hung
+dejectedly from nails driven into the wall, while from the sagging
+door of the rough board cupboard bulged a miscellaneous collection of
+rubbish. A sense of depression obsessed her; _this_ was to be her
+home! She sneezed and drew back hastily from the cloud of dust raised
+by Microby's broom. As she dabbed at her eyes and nose with a small
+and ridiculously inadequate handkerchief, she was conscious of an
+uncomfortable lump in her throat, and the moisture that dampened the
+handkerchief could not all be accredited to the sneeze tears. "What if
+I have trouble locating the mine and have to stay here all summer?"
+she was thinking, and instantly recalling the Watts ranch with its air
+of shiftless decay, the smelly Watts blankets in the overcrowded
+sleeping room, the soggy meals, the tapping of chickens' bills upon
+the floor, and the never ending voice of Ma Watts, she smiled. It was
+a weak, forced little smile, at first, but it gradually widened into a
+real smile as her eyes swept the little valley with its long vista of
+pine-clad hills that reached upward to the sky, their mighty sides and
+shoulders gored by innumerable rock-rimmed coulees and ravines.
+Somewhere amid the silence of those mighty slopes and high-flung peaks
+her father had found Eldorado--had wrested nature's secret from the
+guardianship of the everlasting hills. Her heart swelled with the
+pride of him. She was ashamed of that sudden welling of tears. The
+feeling of depression vanished and her heart throbbed to the lure of
+the land of gold. The two small Wattses had scrambled into the
+wagon-box.
+
+"Yo' goin' to like hit," announced Watts, noticing the smile. "I
+'lowed, fust-off yo'----"
+
+"I'm going to _love_ it!" interrupted the girl vehemently. "My father
+loved these hills, and I shall love them. And, as for the cabin! When
+Microby and I get through with it, it's going to be the dearest little
+place imaginable."
+
+"Hit wus a good sheep camp," admitted Watts, his fingers fumbling
+judiciously at his head. "An' they's a heap o' good feed goin' to
+waste in this yere valley. But ef the cattlemen wants to pay fer what
+they hain't gittin' hit hain't none o' my business, I reckon."
+
+"Why did they drive the sheep out? Surely, there is room for all here
+in the hills."
+
+"Vil Holland, he claimed they cain't no sheeps stay in the hill
+country. He claims sheeps is like small-poxt. Onct they git a-goin'
+they spread, an' like's not, the hull country's ruint fer cattle
+range."
+
+"It seems that Vil Holland runs this little corner of Montana."
+
+"He kind o' looks after things fer the cattlemen, but the prospectin's
+got into his blood, an' he won't stick to the cattle, only on the
+round-up, 'til he gits him a grub-stake. He's a good man--Vil is--ef
+it wusn't fer foolin' 'round with the prospectin'."
+
+Instantly, the girl's eyes flashed. "If it wasn't for the
+prospecting!" she exclaimed, in sudden anger. "My father was a
+prospector--and there was never a better man lived than he! Why is it
+that everyone looks askance at a prospector? You talk like the people
+back home! But, I'll show you all. My father made a strike. He told me
+of it on his death-bed, and he gave me the map, and the photographs
+and his samples. Maybe when I locate this mine and begin taking out
+more gold every day than most of you ever saw, you won't talk of
+people 'fooling around' prospecting. I tell you prospectors are the
+finest men in the world! They must have imagination, and unending
+patience, and the heart to withstand a thousand disappointments--" She
+broke off suddenly as the soft rattle of bit-chains sounded from
+behind her, and whirled to face Vil Holland. The man regarded her
+gravely, unsmiling. A gauntleted hand raised the Stetson from his
+head. As her eyes took in every detail, from the inevitable leather
+jug, to the tip of polished buffalo horn, she flushed. How long had he
+stood there, listening?
+
+The cowpuncher seemed to divine her thoughts. "I just happened along,"
+he said regarding her with his steady blue eyes. "I couldn't help
+hearin' what you said about the prospectors. You're right in the
+main."
+
+"I was speaking of my father. I am Rodney Sinclair's daughter."
+
+The man nodded. "Yes, I know."
+
+Watts rubbed his chin apologetically. "We-all thought a right smart o'
+yo' pa, didn't we, Vil? I didn't aim to rile yo'."
+
+"I know you didn't!" the girl smiled. "And thank you so much for
+bringing my things up so early." She turned to the cowboy who sat
+regarding the outfit indifferently. "I hope you'll overlook my lack of
+hospitality, but really I must get to work and help Microby or she'll
+have the whole house cleaned before I get started."
+
+"I saw the team here, an' thought I'd swing down to find out if Watts
+was movin' in another sheep outfit."
+
+"I've heard about your driving away the sheep man," returned Patty,
+with more than a trace of sarcasm in her tone. "I am moving into this
+cabin--am taking up my father's work where he left off. I suppose I
+should ask your permission to prospect in the hill country."
+
+"No," replied the man, gravely. "Just help yourself, only don't get
+lost, an' remember yer dad knew enough to play a lone hand. I must be
+goin', now. Good day." He turned his horse to see Microby standing in
+the doorway. "Hello, Microby Dandeline! House cleanin', eh? I s'pect
+you took in the picture show in town?"
+
+"Yes, but circusts is better. I got some yallar ribbon fer my hat, an'
+a awful lot o' candies."
+
+"My, that's fine! How's ma an' the baby?"
+
+"They stayed hum. The baby'd squall. Pa an' the boys is goin' to mend
+fence, an' I'm a-goin' to stay yere an' he'p her clean up the sheep
+camp."
+
+The cowpuncher turned to Watts. "What's the big hurry about the
+fences, Watts? You goin' to take over a bunch of stock?"
+
+"Hosses," answered Watts with an important jerk at his scraggly beard.
+"I done rented the upper pasture to a man name o' Schultz over in
+Blackfoot country. Five dollars a month, I git fer hit, an' five
+dollars fer every day er night they's hosses in hit. He done paid two
+months' rent a'ready."
+
+Vil Holland's brows puckered slightly. "Schultz, you say? Over in the
+Blackfoot country?"
+
+"Yas, he's aimin' to trail hosses from there over into Canady an' he
+wants some pastures handy."
+
+"Did Schultz see you about it himself?" asked Vil, casually.
+
+"No, Monk Bethune; he come by this way, an' he taken the pasture for
+Schultz."
+
+Patty noted an almost imperceptible narrowing of the cowpuncher's
+eyes, an expression, slight as it was, that spoke disapproval. The
+man's attitude angered her. Here was poor Watts, about to undertake
+the first work he had done in years, judging by the condition of the
+ranch, under stimulus of the few dollars promised him by Bethune, and
+this cowboy disapproved. "Are horses under the ban, too?" she asked
+quickly. "Hasn't Mr. Watts the right to rent his land for a horse
+pasture?"
+
+The man's answer seemed studiously rude in its direct brevity. "No,
+horses ain't under the ban. Yes, Watts can rent his land where he
+wants to. Good day." Before the girl could reply he reined his horse
+abruptly about, and disappeared in the timber upon the opposite side
+of the creek.
+
+"Reckon I better be gittin' 'long, too," said Watts. "Microby's
+welcome to stay an' he'p yo'-all git moved in, but please mom, to
+see't she gits started fer hum 'fore dark. Hit takes thet ol' pinto
+'bout a hour to make the trip."
+
+Patty promised, and unsaddling, picketed her horse, and joined the
+girl in the dusty interior of the cabin. The musty hay, the discarded
+garments, and the two bushels or more of odds and ends with which the
+pack rats had filled the cupboard made a smudgy, smelly bonfire beside
+which Patty paused with an armful of discarded magazines. "Wouldn't
+you like to take these home?" she asked.
+
+"Which?" inquired Microby, deftly picking a small stick from the
+ground with her bare toes and tossing it into the fire.
+
+"These magazines. There are stories and pictures in them."
+
+"No, I don't want none. We-alls cain't read, 'cept Ma, an' she's got a
+book--an' a bible, too," she added, with a touch of pride. "Davey, he
+kin mos' read, an' he kin drawer pitchers, too. Reckon he'll be a
+preacher when he's grow'd up, like Preacher Christie. He done read
+outen a book when he babitized us-uns. I don't like to read. Ma, she
+aimed to learn me onct, but I'd ruther shuck beans."
+
+"Maybe you didn't keep at it long enough," suggested Patty.
+
+"Yes, we did! We kep' at hit every night fer two nights 'til hit come
+bedtime. I cain't learn them letters--they's too many diffe'nt ones,
+an' all mixed up."
+
+Patty smiled, but she did not toss the magazines into the fire.
+Instead she laid them aside with the resolve that when opportunity
+afforded, she would carry on the interrupted education.
+
+Microby's literary delinquency in no wise impaired her willingness to
+work. She had inherited none of her father's predilection toward
+eternal rest, and all day, side by side with Patty, she scraped, and
+scoured, and scrubbed, and washed, until the little cabin and its
+contents fairly radiated cleanliness. The moving in was great fun for
+the mountain girl. Especially the unpacking of the two trunks that
+resisted all efforts to lift them until their contents had been
+removed. But at last the work was finished even to the arrangement of
+dishes and utensils, the stowing of supplies, and the blowing up of
+the air mattress that replaced the musty hay of the sheep herder. And
+as the long shadows of mountains crept slowly across the little valley
+and began to climb the opposite slope, Patty stood in the door of her
+cabin and watched Microby mount the superannuated Indian pony and
+proceed slowly down the creek, her bare feet swinging awkwardly in the
+loops of rope that served as stirrups of her dilapidated stock saddle.
+
+When horse and rider disappeared into a grove of cottonwoods, Patty's
+gaze returned to her immediate surroundings--her saddle-horse
+contentedly snipping grass, the waters of the shallow creek burbling
+noisily over the stones, the untidy scattering of tin cans, and the
+leaning panels of the old sheep corral. She frowned at the panels.
+"I'll just use you for firewood," she muttered. "And that reminds me
+that I've got to wake up to my responsibility as head of the
+household--even if the household does only consist of one bay cayuse,
+named Dan, and a tiny one-room cabin, and two funny little
+squirrel-tailed pack rats, and me." She reached for her brand new ax,
+and picking her way from stone to stone, crossed the creek, and
+attacked a sagging panel.
+
+Patty Sinclair was no hot-house flower, and the hand that gripped the
+ax was strong and brown and capable. Back home she had been known to
+the society reporters as "an out-door girl," by which it was
+understood that rather than afternoon auction at henfests, she
+affected tennis, golf, swimming, and cross-country riding. She could
+saddle her own horse, and paddle a canoe for hours on end. Even the ax
+was no stranger to her hand, for upon rare occasions when her father
+had returned during the summer months from his everlasting
+prospecting, he had taken her to camp in the mountains, and there from
+the quiet visionary whom she loved more than he ever knew, she learned
+the ax, and the compass, and a hundred tricks of camp lore that were
+to stand her well in hand. Partly inherited, partly acquired through
+association with her father upon those never-to-be-forgotten
+pilgrimages to the shrine of nature, her love of the vast solitudes
+shone from her uplifted eyes as she stood for a moment, ax in hand,
+and let her gaze travel slowly from the sun-gilded peaks of the
+mountains, down their darkening sides, to the dusk-enshrouded reaches
+of her valley. "He used to watch the sun go down, and he never wearied
+at the wonder of it," she breathed, softly. "And then, as the darkness
+deepened and the bull-bats came wheeling overhead, and the
+whip-poor-wills began calling from the thickets, he would light his
+pipe, and I would cuddle up close to him, and the firelight would grow
+redder and brighter and the soft warm dark would grow blacker. The
+pine trees would lose their shapes and blend into the formless night
+and mysterious shadow shapes would dance to the flicker of the little
+flames. It was then he would talk of the things he loved; of quartz,
+and drift, and the mother lode; of storms, and bears, and the scent of
+pines; of reeking craters, parched deserts, ice-locked barrens, and
+the wind-lashed waters of lakes. 'And some day, little daughter,' he
+would say, 'some day you are going with daddy and see all these things
+for yourself--things whose grandeur you have never dreamed. It won't
+be long, now--I'm on the right track at last--only till I've made my
+strike.' Always--'it won't be long now.' Always--'I'm on the right
+track, at last.' Always--'just ahead is the strike'--that lure, that
+mocking chimera that saps men's lives! And now, he is--gone, and I am
+chasing the chimera." Salt tears stung her eyes and blurred the
+timbered slopes. "They said he was a--a ne'er-do-well. He became
+almost a joke--" the words ended in a dry sob, as the bright blade of
+the ax crashed viciously into the rotting panel. A few moments later
+she picked up an armful of wood, and retracing her steps, piled it
+neatly behind the stove. She lighted the fire, fetched a pail of water
+from the spring, and moved the picketed cayuse to a spot beside the
+creek where the grass was green and lush. She had intended after
+supper to study her map and familiarize herself with the two small
+photographs that were pinned to it. But, when the meal was over and
+the dishes washed and put away she was too sleepy to do anything but
+drop the huge wooden bar that the sheep herder had contrived to insure
+himself against a possible night attack from his enemies into its
+place and crawl into her bunk. How good it felt, she thought,
+sleepily--the yielding air mattress, and the soft, clean blankets,
+after the straw tick on the floor, and the course sour blankets in the
+Wattses' stuffy room.
+
+Somewhere, way off in the hills, a wolf howled and almost before the
+sound had died away the girl was asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+BETHUNE PAYS A CALL
+
+
+It was past noon when Patty sank into the chair beside her table and
+glanced about her with a sigh of satisfaction. Warm June sunlight
+streamed through the open door and lay in a bright oblique patch upon
+the scrubbed floor. The girl's glance strayed past the door and rested
+with approval upon the little flat across the creek where a neat pile
+of panels replaced the broken sheep corral. She had spent hours in
+untwisting the baling wire with which they had been fastened to the
+posts and dragging them to the pile, and other hours in chopping a
+supply of firewood, and picking up the cans and broken bottles and
+pitching them into the deep ravine of a side coulee. Also she had
+built a little reservoir of rocks about her spring, and had found time
+to add a few touches to the interior of the cabin. "It's just as homey
+and cozy as it can be," she murmured, as her eyes strayed from the
+little window where the colored chintz curtain stirred lightly in the
+breeze, to the neatly arranged "dressing table" that she had contrived
+with the aid of four light packing boxes and a bit of figured
+cretonne. Another packing case, covered to match, served as a stool,
+and upon the wall above the table hung a small mirror. Four or five
+prints, looking oddly out of place, hung upon the dark log
+walls--pictures that had always hung in her room at Aunt Rebecca's,
+and which she had managed to crowd into one of the trunks. A fond
+imagination had pictured them adorning the walls of her "apartment"
+which was to be located in a spacious wing of the great Watts ranch
+house. "I don't care, I'm glad there wasn't any big ranch house," she
+muttered. "It's lots nicer this way, and I'm absolutely independent.
+We prospectors can't hope to be regular in our habits--and I've always
+wanted a house of my very own. Ten times better!" she exclaimed
+vehemently. "There won't be anybody to ask me every day or two if I've
+made my strike yet? And how much gold I brought back to-day? And all
+the other fool questions that seem so humorous to questioners and
+hearers, but which hurt and sting and rankle when you're sick at heart
+with disappointment, and gritting your teeth to keep up your courage
+and your belief in yourself. Oh I know! Daddy didn't know I knew, but
+I did--how it hurt when the village wits would slyly wink at each
+other as they asked their cruel questions. Even when I was a little
+girl I knew, and I could have _killed_ them!" Her glance rested upon
+the canvas covered pack that lay in the corner at the foot of the
+bunk. "There are his things--his outfit, they call it here. I'm going
+to examine it." The sack of stiff oiled canvas, with its contents, was
+heavy, but the girl dragged it to the middle of the floor and
+squatting beside it, stared in dismay at the stout padlock and the
+chain that threaded a set of grommets. She was about to search for the
+key among the contents of her father's pockets which she had placed in
+the tray of her trunk, when her eye fell upon a thin slit close along
+the edge of the hem that held the grommets--a slit that, pulled wide,
+disclosed an aperture through which the contents of the sack could be
+easily removed but withal so cunningly contrived as to escape casual
+inspection. With an angry exclamation the girl stared at the gaping
+hole. "Someone has cut it!" she cried. "He doesn't seem to have taken
+much, though. It's about as full as it can be." She began hurriedly
+to remove the contents, piling them about her upon the floor. "I
+wonder if--if he left any papers, or note books, or maps, or things
+that would enable anyone to locate the claim? If he did," she
+muttered, peering into the empty sack, "they're gone, now."
+
+One by one, she returned the belongings, handling them tenderly, now,
+and examining them lovingly, and many an article was returned to the
+sack, wet with its splash of hot tears. "Here's his coffee pot, and
+his plate, and frying pan, and his old pipe--" the pipe she did not
+replace, but put it with the other things in her trunk. "And
+here--why, it's a revolver and a belt of cartridges--like Vil
+Holland's! And a hat like his, too! And I thought he was a desperado
+because he wore them!" She jumped to her feet and, hurrying to the
+mirror, tried on the hat, pinching the crown into a peak, tilting it
+this way and that, and arranging and rearranging the soft roll brim.
+"It fits!" she cried, delighted as a child, and then with eyes
+sparkling, picked up the belt with its row of yellow cartridges and
+its ivory handled six gun dangling in the holster. Buckling the belt
+about her waist, she laughed aloud as the buckle tongue came to rest a
+full six inches beyond the last hole. "I'll look just as desperate as
+he does, now--except for his old jug. Daddy didn't have any jug, and
+I'm glad--that's where the difference is--it's the jug. But, I wish he
+had had one of those black horn effects for his scarf." She knotted
+the brilliant red scarf with its zigzag border of yellow, about her
+neck, and snatching a small pair of scissors from the dressing table,
+removed the heavy belt, and proceeded to bore a tongue hole at the
+point she had marked with her finger nail. So engrossed she became in
+the work, that she failed to hear the approach of horses' feet, and
+started violently at the sound of a voice from the doorway. "Permit
+me." The six shooter thudded to the floor, and sweeping the hat from
+his head, Monk Bethune crossed the room, and replaced it upon the
+table. He smiled as he noticed the scar left upon the thick leather by
+the scissor points; and repeated. "Permit me, please." He drew a
+penknife from his pocket, and picked up the belt. "A knife is so much
+better."
+
+Ashamed of having been startled, Patty smiled. "Yes, please do. I had
+no idea it was so tough, or that scissors could be so dull."
+
+Deftly twirling the penknife, Bethune bored a neat hole in the
+leather. "There should be several holes," he smiled, "for there are
+occasions in the hill country when one fails to connect with the
+commissary, and then it is that the tightening of the belt answers the
+purpose of a meal." Drilling as he talked, he soon finished the task
+and held up the belt for inspection. "Rod Sinclair's gun," he
+commented, sorrowfully. "And Rod's scarf, and hat, too. Ah, there was
+a man, Miss Sinclair! I doubt if even you yourself knew him as I knew
+him. You must ride and work with a man, in fair weather and foul; you
+must share his hardships, and his disappointments, yes and his joys,
+too, to really know him." A look of genuine affection shone from the
+man's eyes as he stood drawing his fingers gently along the rims of
+the shiny cartridges. He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to
+the girl. His manner, the look in his eyes, the very tone of his
+voice, were so intrinsically honest in their expression of unbounded
+sympathy with his subject, and his mood fitted so thoroughly with her
+own, that the girl's heart suddenly warmed toward this man who spoke
+so feelingly of her father. She flushed slightly as she remembered
+that upon the occasion of their previous meeting, his words had
+engendered a feeling of distrust.
+
+"You knew him--well?" she asked.
+
+"Like a brother. For two years we have worked together in our search
+for the mother lode that both believed lay concealed deep within the
+bosom of these hills. A dozen times during those two years our hopes
+have risen, as only the hopes can rise, of those who seek gold. A
+dozen times it seemed certain that at last we had reached our goal.
+But, always it was the same--a false lead--shattered hopes--and a
+fresh start. Those were the times, Miss Sinclair, that your father
+showed the stuff that was in him. He was a better man than I. It was
+his Spartan acceptance of disappointment, his optimism, and his
+unshaken faith in ultimate success, that kept me going. I suppose it
+is my French ancestry that is responsible for my lack of just the
+qualities that made your father the man he was. I lacked his
+stability--his balance. I had imagination--vision, possibly greater
+than his. And under the stimulus of apparent success, my spirits would
+rise to heights his never knew. But I paid for it--no one knows how
+bitterly I paid. For when apparent success turned into failure, mine
+were depths of despair he never descended to. At first, before I
+learned that his disappointment was as bitter as my own, his smiling
+acceptance of failure, used to goad me to fury. There were times I
+could have killed him with pleasure--but that was only at first.
+Before we had been long together God knows how I came to depend on
+those smiles. Then, at last, we struck it--and poor Rod--" The man's
+voice which had dropped very low, broke suddenly. He cleared his
+throat and turning abruptly, stared out the door toward the green
+sweep of pines on the mountain slopes.
+
+There was a long silence during which the words kept repeating
+themselves in the girl's brain. "_Then, at last, we struck it._" What
+did he mean? His back was toward her, and she saw that the muscles of
+his neck worked slowly, as though he were swallowing repeatedly.
+
+When at last she spoke, her voice sounded strangely dull to her own
+ears. "Do you mean that you and my father were partners, and that you
+know the location of his mine?"
+
+Bethune faced her, laying the belt gently upon the table. "Partners?"
+He repeated the word as though questioning himself. "Hardly partners,
+I should say. We were--it is hard to define the exact relationship
+that existed between Rod Sinclair and me. There was never any
+agreement of partnership, rather a sort of tacit understanding, that
+when we struck the lode, we should work it together. Your father knew
+vastly more about rock than I, although I had long suspected the
+existence of this lode. But extensive interests to the northward
+prevented me from making any continued search for it. However, I found
+time at intervals to spend a month or six weeks in these hills, and it
+was upon one of these occasions that we struck up the acquaintance
+that ripened into a sort of mutuality of interest. Neighbors are few
+and far between in the hill country, and those not exactly of the type
+that attract men of education. I think each found in the other a man
+of his own stripe, and thus a friendship sprang up between us that
+gradually led to a merging of interests. His were by far the most
+valuable activities in the field, while I, from time to time, advanced
+certain funds for the carrying on of the work.
+
+"But let us not talk of business matters. Time enough for that." He
+stepped to the doorway and glanced down the creek. "Here comes Clen
+and we must be going. While he stopped at Watts's to reset a shoe I
+rode on to inquire if there is any way in which I may serve the
+daughter of my friend.
+
+"Oh-ho! I see Clen is carrying something very gingerly. He has
+prevailed upon the good Mrs. Watts to sell him some eggs. A great
+gourmand--but a good fellow at heart. I think a great deal of Clen,
+even though it was he who----"
+
+"But tell me, before you go," interrupted the girl. "Do you know the
+location of my father's mine?"
+
+Bethune turned from the door, smiling. Patty noticed with surprise
+that the dark, handsome features looked almost boyish when he smiled.
+There had been no hint of boyishness before, in fact something of
+baffling inscrutability in the black eyes, gave the man an expression
+of extreme sophistication. "Do not call it a mine," he laughed. "At
+least, not yet. A mine is a going proposition. If your father actually
+succeeded in locating the lode, it is a strike. Had he filed, it would
+be a claim. Had he started operation it would be a proposition--but
+not until there is ore on the dump will it be a mine."
+
+"If he actually succeeded!" cried Patty. "I thought you said----"
+
+The man interrupted with a wave of the hand. "So I did, for I believe
+he did succeed. In fact, knowing Rod Sinclair as I did, I am certain
+of it."
+
+"But the location of the--the strike," she persisted, "do you know
+it?"
+
+Bethune shook his head sadly. "Had your father filed the claim, all
+would have been well. But, who am I to question Rod's judgment? For on
+the other hand, if he had filed, word of the strike would have spread
+broadcast, and the whole hill country would immediately have been
+overrun by stampeders--those vultures that can scent a gold strike for
+five thousand miles. No one knows where they come from, and no one
+knows where they go. It was to guard our secret from these that
+prompted your father not to file. We had planned to establish our
+friends on the adjoining claims, and thus build up a syndicate of our
+own choosing. So he did not file, but it was through no fault of his
+that I remain ignorant of the location, but rather it was the result
+of a combination of unforeseen circumstances. You shall judge for
+yourself.
+
+"I was deep in the wilds of British Columbia, upon another matter,
+when Rod unearthed the lode, and, not knowing this, he hastened at
+once to my camp. He found Clen there and after expressing
+disappointment at my absence, sat down and hurriedly sketched a map,
+and taking from his pocket a photograph, he wrapped both in a piece
+of oilskin, and handed them to Clen, with instructions to travel night
+and day until he had delivered the packet to me. He told him that he
+had located the lode and was hurrying East to procure the necessary
+capital and would return in the early spring for immediate operation."
+Bethune paused and, with his eyes upon the Englishman who was
+dismounting, continued:
+
+"Poor Clen! He did his best, and I do not hold his failure against
+him, for his was a journey of hardship and peril such as few men could
+have survived. Upon receiving the packet he started within the hour.
+That night he camped at the line, and that night, too, came the first
+snow of the season. He labored on next day to the railway and took a
+train to Edmonton, and from there, to Fort George, where he succeeded
+in procuring an Indian guide for the dash into the wilderness beyond
+the railway. The early months of last winter were among the most
+terrible in the history of the North. Storm after storm hurtled out of
+the Arctic, and between storms the bitter winds from the barrens to
+the eastward roared with unabated fury. Yet Clen and his guide pushed
+on, fighting the cold and the snow. Up over the Height of Land, to the
+Hudson Bay Post at the head of the Parsnip, where I was making my
+headquarters, and where I had lain snowbound for ten days. It was
+during the descent of Crooked River, a quick water, treacherous
+stream, whose thin ice was covered with snow, that the accident
+happened that cost me the loss of the location, and nearly cost Clen
+his life. The Indian guide was mushing before, bent low with the
+weight of his pack, and head lowered to the sweep of the wind. Clen
+followed. At the head of a newly frozen rapid, the Englishman suddenly
+broke through and was plunged into the icy waters. Grasping the ice,
+he managed to draw himself up so that his elbows rested upon the edge,
+and in this position he called again and again to the guide. But the
+Indian was far ahead, his ears were muffled in his fur cap, and the
+wind roared through the scrub, drowning Clen's voice. The icy waters
+numbed him and sucked at his body seeking to drag him to his doom. The
+heavy pack was dragging him slowly backward, and his hold upon the ice
+was slipping. Then, and not until then, Clen did what any other man
+who possessed the strength, would have done. He worked the knife from
+his belt and cut the straps of his pack sack. In an instant it
+disappeared beneath the ice, and with it the location of your
+father's strike. Relieved of the weight upon his shoulders, Clen had a
+fighting chance for his life, but it is doubtful if he would have won
+had it not been that the Indian, missing him at last, returned in the
+nick of time, and with the aid of a loop of _babiche_, succeeded in
+drawing him from the water. The rest of the day was spent in drying
+Clen's clothing beside a miserable fire of brushwood, and the next day
+they made Fort McLeod, more dead than alive."
+
+"Lord" Clendenning had dismounted, deposited his precious basket of
+eggs upon the ground, and stood in the doorway as Bethune concluded
+his narrative. When the man ceased speaking the Englishman shook his
+head sadly. "Yes, yes, it seemed to me then, as I clung to the edge of
+the bloomin' ice, freezin' from my feet up, that my only chance was in
+bein' rid of the pack. But, I've thought since that maybe if I'd held
+on just a few minutes longer, the bloody Injun would have got there in
+time to save both me an' the pack to boot."
+
+"There you go again!" exclaimed Bethune, with a trace of impatience in
+his voice. "How many times have I told you to quit this
+self-accusation. A man who covered fifty miles on horseback, seven
+hundred on the train, and then nearly a hundred a-foot, under
+conditions such as you faced, has nothing to be ashamed of in the
+failure of his mission. It is your loss as well as mine, for you also
+were to have profited by the strike. It is possible, however, that all
+will be well--that Miss Sinclair has her father's original map, and a
+duplicate of the photograph, or better yet, the film from which the
+print was made."
+
+Pausing he glanced at the girl significantly, but she was gazing past
+him--past Clendenning, her eyes upon the giant up-sweep of the hills.
+He hurried on, "So now you have the whole story. I had not meant to
+speak of it, to-day. Really, we must be going. If I can be of service
+to you in any way, Miss Sinclair, I am yours to command. We will drop
+in again, after you have had time to get used to your surroundings,
+and lay our plans for the rediscovery of the mother lode." Smiling he
+pointed to the canvas bag upon the floor. "Your father's pack sack,"
+he said. "I should know it in a thousand. He devised it himself. It is
+a clever combination of the virtues of several of the standard packs,
+and an elimination of the evils of all." He stooped closer. "What's
+this? You should not have cut it! Couldn't you find the key? If not,
+it would have been a simple matter to file a link of the chain, and
+leave the sack undamaged." He laughed, shortly. "But, that, I suppose,
+is a woman's way."
+
+"I did not cut it. It was cut before it came here. My father left it
+in Mr. Watts's care and he stored it in the barn. Look at the edges,
+it is an old cut."
+
+"So it is!" exclaimed Bethune, as he and Lord Clendenning bent close
+to examine it. "So it is. I wonder who--" Suddenly he ceased speaking,
+and stood for a moment with puckered brows. "I wonder," he muttered.
+"I wonder if he would have dared? Yes, I think he would. He knew of
+Rod's strike, and he would stop at nothing to steal the secret."
+
+"I don't believe Mr. Watts, nor any of the Wattses cut that pack,"
+defended the girl.
+
+"Neither do I. Watts has his faults, but dishonesty is not one of
+them. No. The man who cut that pack, was the man who carried it
+there----"
+
+"Vil Holland!" exclaimed Lord Clendenning. "My word, d'ye think he'd
+dare? Yes, Watts told us that he brought in the pack because Sinclair
+was in a hurry. The bloody scamp! He should be jolly well trounced!
+I'll do it myself if I see him, so help me Bob, I will!"
+
+Bethune turned to the girl. "You have examined his effects. Was there
+evidence of their having been tampered with?"
+
+"I'm sure I don't know. If he left any papers or maps or things like
+that in there it most certainly has been tampered with, for they are
+not there now."
+
+The man smiled. "I think we are safe in assuming that there were no
+maps or papers of value in the outfit. Your father was far too shrewd
+to have left anything of the sort to the tender mercies of Vil
+Holland. By cutting the pack Vil merely gave evidence of his
+unscrupulous methods without in any way profiting by it. And, as for
+the map and photographs in your possession, I should advise you to
+find some good hiding place for them and not trust to carrying them
+about upon your person." Swiftly Patty glanced at the speaker. That
+last injunction, somehow, did not ring quite true. But he had turned
+to the door, and a moment later when he faced her to bid her adieu,
+the boyish smile was again curling his lips, and he mounted and rode
+away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+IN THE CABIN
+
+
+For a long time after the departure of her visitors, Patty Sinclair
+sat thinking. Was it true, all this man had told her? She remembered
+vividly the beautiful tribute he had paid her father and the emotion
+that had gripped him as he finished. Surely his words rang true. They
+were true, or else the man was a consummate actor as well as an
+unscrupulous knave. She recalled the boyish smile, the story of Lord
+Clendenning's terrible journey, and the impatience with which he had
+silenced the Englishman's self-criticism. What would be more natural
+than that two men thrown together in the middle of the hill country,
+as her father and Bethune had been thrown together, should have pooled
+their interests, especially if each possessed an essential that the
+other did not. There had been somehow a sincerity about the man that
+carried conviction. She liked his ready admission that her father's
+knowledge of mining greatly exceeded his own. And the assertion that
+he had advanced sums of money for the carrying on of the work sounded
+plausible enough, for the girl knew that her father's income had been
+small--pitiably small, but enough, he had always insisted, for his
+meager needs. Unquestionably, up to that point the man's words had
+carried the ring of truth. Then came the false notes; the open
+accusation of Vil Holland, and the warning as to the concealment of
+the map and photos which she had twice purposely refused to admit that
+she possessed. This was the second time he had gone out of his way to
+warn her against Vil Holland. On occasion of their previous meeting,
+he had hinted that Holland might pose as a friend of her father--a
+pose Bethune, himself, boldly assumed. Perhaps Vil Holland had been a
+friend of her father. In the matter of the pack sack, to whom would a
+man intrust his belongings, if not to a friend? Surely not to an
+enemy, nor to one he had reason to suspect. And now Bethune openly
+accused him of cutting the pack sack, and intimated that he would not
+hesitate to rob her of her secret.
+
+For a long time she sat with her elbow on the table and her chin
+resting in her palm, staring out at the overshadowing hills. "If there
+was only somebody," she muttered. "Somebody I could--" Suddenly she
+leaped to her feet. "No, I'm glad there isn't! I'll play the game
+alone! I came out here to do it, and I'll do it, in spite of forty Vil
+Hollands, and Bethunes, and Lord Clendennings! I'll find the mine
+myself--and I'll call it a mine, too, if I want to! And then, after I
+find it, if Mr. Monk Bethune can show me that he is entitled to a
+share in it, I'll give it to him--and not before. I'll stay right here
+till I find it, or till my money gives out, and when it does, I'll
+earn some more and come back again till that's gone!" Crossing the
+room, she stamped determinedly out the door, threw the saddle onto her
+cayuse, and rode rapidly down the creek. Horseback riding always
+exhilarated her, even back home where she had been obliged to keep to
+roads, or the well-worn courses of the hunt club. But here in the
+hills where the very air was a tonic that sent the blood coursing
+through her veins, and where tier after tier, the mighty mountains
+rolled away into the distance, as if flaunting a challenge to come and
+explore their secrets, and unscarred valleys gave glimpses of alluring
+vistas, the exhilaration amounted almost to intoxication. As her
+horse's feet thudded the ground, and splashed in and out of the
+shallows of the creek, she laughed aloud for the very joy of living.
+She pulled her horse to a walk as she skirted the fence of Watts's
+upper pasture, and her eyes rested with approval upon the straightened
+posts and taut wire. "At last Mr. Watts has bestirred himself. I hope
+he will keep on, now, that he's got the habit, and fix up the rest of
+the ranch. I wonder why that Vil Holland disapproved when he mentioned
+that he had leased his pasture. It seems as though nothing can happen
+in this country unless Vil Holland is mixed up in it someway. And, now
+I'm down this far, I'll just find out whether Vil Holland did take
+that pack down here for daddy. And if he did I'll let him know mighty
+quick, the next time I see him, that I know all about it's being cut
+open."
+
+With her tubs on a bench, and the baby propped and tied securely in an
+old wooden rocker, Ma Watts was up to her elbows in her "week's
+worsh." Watts sat in his accustomed place, his chair tilted against
+the shady side of the house. "Laws sakes, ef hit hain't Mr. Sinclair's
+darter!" cried the woman, shaking the suds from her bare arms, "How be
+yo', honey? An' how's the sheep camp? Microby Dandeline tellen us how
+yo'-all scrubbed, an' scraped, an' cleaned 'til hit shined like a
+nigger's heel. Hit's nice to be clean, that-a-way ef yo' got time, but
+with five er six young-uns to take keer of, an' a passel of chickens
+a-runnin' in under foot all day, seems like a body cain't keep clean
+nohow. Microby says how yo' got a rale curtin' in yo' winder, an' all
+kinds of pert doin' an' fixin's. That's hit, git right down off yer
+horse. Land! I wus so busy hearin' 'bout yo' fixin' up the sheep camp,
+thet I plumb fergot my manners. Watts, get a cheer! An' 'pears like
+yo' could say 'Howdy' when anyone comes a visitin'."
+
+"I aimed to," mumbled Watts apologetically, as he dragged a chair from
+the kitchen, "I wus jest a-aidgin' 'round fer a chanct."
+
+"I can't stay but a minute, see, the shadows are already half way
+across the valley. I just thought I'd take a little ride before
+supper."
+
+"Law, yes, some folks likes to ride hossback, but fer me, I'd a heap
+ruther go in a jolt wagon. Beats all the dif'fence in folks. Seems
+like the folks out yere jist take to hit nachel. Yo' be'n huntin' yo'
+pa's location yet?"
+
+"No, I've been getting things in shape around the cabin. I'm going to
+start prospecting to-morrow." She glanced back along the valley, "I
+suppose my father came along this way when he left his pack on his way
+East," she said.
+
+"No, mom," Watts rubbed his chin, reflectively. "Hit wus Vil Holland
+brung in his pack. Seems like yo' pa wus in a right smart of a hurry
+when he left, so Vil taken his pack down yere an' me an' the boys put
+hit in the barn fer to keep hit saft. Then Vil he rud on down the
+crick, hell bent fer 'lection----"
+
+"Watts! Hain't yo' shamed a-cussin'?" cried his scandalized spouse.
+
+"Why was he in such a hurry?" asked the girl.
+
+"I dunno. He jes' turned the mewl loost an' says to keep the pack till
+yo' pa come back, an' larruped off."
+
+Patty rose from the chair and gathered up her bridle reins. "I must be
+going, really. You see, I've got my chores to do, and supper to get,
+and I want to go to bed early so I'll be fresh in the morning." She
+mounted, and turned to Ma Watts: "Can't you come up some day and bring
+the children? I'd love to have you. Let's arrange the day now, so I
+will be sure to be home."
+
+"Lawzie, I'd give a purty! Listen at thet, now, Watts. Cain't we fix
+to go?"
+
+Watts fumbled his beard: "Why, yas, I reckon, some day, mebbe."
+
+"What day can you come?" asked Patty.
+
+"Well, le's see, this yere's about a Tuesday." He paused, glanced up
+at the sky, and gave careful scrutiny to the horizon. "How'd Sunday a
+week suit yo'--ef hit don't rain?"
+
+"Fine," agreed the girl, smiling. "And, by the way, I came down past
+the upper pasture. The fence looks grand. It didn't take long to fix
+it, did it?"
+
+"Well, hit tuk quite a spell--all day yeste'day, an' up 'til noon
+to-day. We only got one side an' halft another done, an' they's two
+sides an' a halft yet. But Mr. Bethune came by this noon, him an'
+Lord, an' 'lowed he worn't in no gret hurry fer hit, causen he heerd
+from Schultz thet the hoss business 'ud haf to wait over a spell----"
+
+"An' Lord, he come down an' boughten a lot of aigs offen me. Him an'
+Mr. Bethune is both got manners."
+
+"Women folks likes 'em better'n what men does, seems like," opined
+Watts, reflectively.
+
+"Why don't men like them?" asked the girl eagerly.
+
+"I dunno. Seems like they jes' nachelly mistrust 'em someways."
+
+"Did my father like him--Mr. Bethune?"
+
+"'Cordin' to Mr. Bethune they wus gret buddies, but when I'd run
+acrost yo' pa in the hills, 'pears like he wus allus alone er elsen
+Vil Holland was along. But, Mr. Bethune claims he set a heap by yo'
+pa, like the time he come an' 'lowed to take away his pack. I wouldn't
+let hit go, 'cause thet hain't the way Vil said, an' Mr. Bethune, he
+started in to git mad, but then he laffed, an' said hit didn't make no
+diff'ence, 'cause all he wanted wus to be shore hit wus saft kep."
+
+"An' Pa mos' hed to shoot him, though, 'fore he laffed. I done tol' Pa
+he hadn't ort to. Lessen yo' runnin' a still, yo' hain't no call to
+shoot folks comin' 'round."
+
+"Shoot him!" exclaimed Patty, staring in surprise at the easy-going
+Watts.
+
+"Yas, he aimed to take thet pack anyways. So I went in an' got down
+the ol' rifle-gun an' pintedly tole him I'd shoot him dead ef he laid
+holt o' thet pack, an' then he laffed an' rud off."
+
+"But, would you have shot him, really?"
+
+"Yas," answered the mountaineer, in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'd of hed
+to."
+
+Patty rode home slowly and in silence--thinking. And that evening, by
+the light of her coal-oil lamp she puzzled over the roughly sketched
+map with its cryptic signs and notations. There were a half-dozen
+samples, too--chips of rough, heavy rock that didn't look a bit like
+gold. "High grade," her daddy had called them as he babbled
+incessantly upon his death-bed. But they looked dull and unpromising
+to the girl as they lay upon the table. She returned to the sketch.
+With the exception of a single small dot, placed beside what was
+evidently the principal creek of the locality, the map consisted only
+of lines and shadings which evidently indicated creeks and
+mountains--no cross, no letter, no number--nothing to indicate
+landmark or location, only a confusing network of creeks and feeders
+branching out like the limbs of a tree. Along the bottom of the paper
+the girl read the following line:
+
+"SC 1 S1 1/2 E 1 S [up arrow] to [union symbol] 2 W to a. to b. stake L.C.
+[zigzag symbol] centre."
+
+"I suppose that was all clear as daylight to daddy, and maybe it would
+be to anyone who is used to maps, but as for doing me any good, he
+might as well have copied a line from the Chinese dictionary."
+
+She stared hopelessly at the unintelligible line, and then at the two
+photographs. One, taken evidently from a point well up the side of a
+hill, showed a narrow valley, flanked upon the opposite side by a high
+rock wall. Toward the upper end of the wall an irregular crack or
+cleft split it from top to bottom. The other was a "close up" taken at
+the very base of the cleft, and showed only the narrow aperture in the
+rock, and the ground at its base. For a long time she sat studying the
+photographs, memorizing every feature and line of them; the
+conformation of the valley, the contour of the rock wall, the position
+and shapes of the trees and rock fragments. "That must be the mine,"
+she concluded, at length, "right there at the bottom of that crack."
+She closed her eyes and conjured a mental picture of the little
+valley, of the rock wall, and of the cleft that would mark the
+location. "I'd know it if I should see it," she muttered, "let's see:
+big broken rocks strewn along the floor of the valley, and a tiny
+creek, and then the rock cliff, it must be about as high as--about
+twice as tall as the trees that grow along the foot of it, and it's
+highest at the upper end, then there's a big tree standing alone
+almost in the middle of the valley, and the gnarled, scraggly trees
+that grow along the top of the rocks, and the valley must be as wide
+as from here to that clump of trees beyond my wood-pile--about a
+block, I guess. And there's the big crack in the cliff that starts
+straight," she traced the course of the crack with her finger upon the
+table top, "and then zigzags to the ground." Her glance returned to
+the map, and she frowned. "I don't think that's a bit of good to me.
+But I don't care as long as I have the photographs. I'll just ride,
+and ride, and ride through these hills till I find that valley, and
+then--" The little clock on the shelf beside the mirror ticked loudly.
+Her thoughts strayed far beyond the confines of the little cabin on
+Monte's Creek, as she planned how she would spend the golden stream
+that was to flow from the foot of the rock ledge.
+
+Gradually her vision became confused, the incessant ticking of the
+little clock sounded farther, and farther away, her head settled to
+rest upon her folded arms, and she was in the midst of a struggle of
+some kind, in which a belted cowboy and a suave, sloe-eyed
+quarter-breed were fighting to gain possession of her mine--or, were
+they trying to help her locate it? And what was it daddy was trying to
+tell her? She couldn't quite hear. She wished he would talk
+louder--but it was something about the mine, and the men who were
+struggling.... She awoke with a start, and glanced swiftly about the
+cabin. The roots of her hair along the back of her neck tingled
+uncomfortably. She felt she was not alone--that somewhere eyes were
+watching her. The chintz curtain that screened the open window swayed
+lightly in the night breeze and she jumped nervously. "I'm a perfect
+fool!" she exclaimed, aloud: "As if any 'Jack the Peeper' would be
+prowling around these mountains! It's just nerves, that's all it is."
+
+Slipping the map and the photographs beneath a plate, she crossed to
+the door and made sure the bar was in place, took the white butted
+revolver from its holster, and with a determined tightening of the
+lips, stepped to the window, drew the curtain aside, and stood peering
+out into the dark. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock, and
+the purling of the water as it rushed among the stones of the shallow
+ford. Overhead the stars winked brightly, in sharp contrast to the
+velvet blackness of the pines. The sound of the water soothed her, and
+she laughed--a forced little laugh, but it made her feel better.
+Crossing to the table she blew out the lamp and, placing her revolver
+at the head of her bunk, undressed in the darkness. She raised the
+plate, took the map and the two precious photographs, placed them in
+their envelope, and slipped the chain about her neck.
+
+For a long time she lay between her blankets, wide awake, conscious
+that she was straining her ears to catch some faint sound. A half
+dozen times she caught herself listening with nerves on edge and
+muscles taut, and each time forced herself to relax. But always she
+came back to that horrible, tense listening. She charged herself with
+cowardice, and pooh-poohed her fears, but it was no use, and she wound
+up by covering her head with her blanket. "I don't care, there _was_
+somebody watching, but if he thinks he's going to find out where I
+keep these," her hand clutched the little oiled packet, "he'll have to
+come again, that's all."
+
+It was nearly an hour later that Monk Bethune quitted his post close
+against the cabin wall, at the point where the chinking had fallen
+away from the logs, and slipped silently into the timber.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+PROSPECTING
+
+
+The gray of early morning was just beginning to render objects in the
+little room indistinguishable when Patty awoke. She made a hasty
+toilet, lighted the fire, and while the water was heating for her
+coffee, delved into the pack sack and drew out a gray flannel shirt
+which she viewed critically from every conceivable angle. She tried it
+on, turning this way and that, before the mirror. "Daddy wasn't so
+much larger than I am," she smiled, "I can take a tuck in the sleeves,
+and turn back the collar and it will fit pretty well. Anyway, it will
+be better than that riding jacket. It will look less citified, and
+more--more prospecty." A few moments sufficed for the alteration and
+as the girl stood before the mirror and carefully knotted her
+brilliant scarf, she nodded emphatic approval.
+
+Breakfast over, she washed her dishes and as she put them on their
+shelf her glance rested upon the bits of broken rock fragments.
+Instantly, her thoughts flew to the night before, and the feeling that
+someone had been watching her. Rapidly her glance flashed about the
+cabin searching a place to hide them. "They're too heavy to carry,"
+she murmured. "And, yet," her eyes continued their search, lingering
+for a moment upon some nook or corner only to flit to another, and
+another, "every place I can think of seems as though it would be the
+very first place anyone would look." Her eyes fell upon the empty
+tomato can that she had forgotten to throw into the coulee after last
+night's supper. She placed the samples in the can. "I might put it
+with the others in the cupboard, but if anybody looked there they
+would be sure to see that it had been opened. Where do people hide
+things? I might go out and dig a hole and bury it, but if anyone were
+watching--" Suddenly her eyes lighted: "The very thing," she cried:
+"Nobody would think of looking among those old bottles and cars." And
+placing the can in the pan of dish-water, she carried it out and threw
+it onto the pile of rubbish in the coulee. Returning to the cabin, she
+put on her father's Stetson, slipped his revolver into its holster,
+and buckling the belt about her waist, gave one last approving glance
+into the mirror, closed the door behind her, and saddled her horse.
+With the bridle reins in her hand she stood irresolute. In which
+direction should she start? Obviously, if she must search the whole
+country, she should begin somewhere and work systematically. She felt
+in the pocket of her skirt and reassured herself that the compass she
+had taken from the pack sack was there. Her eyes swept the valley and
+came to rest upon a deep notch in the hills that flanked it upon the
+west. A coulee sloped upward to the notch, and mounting, the girl
+crossed the creek and headed for the gap. It was slow and laborious
+work, picking her way among the loose rocks and fallen trees of the
+deep ravine that narrowed and grew steeper as she advanced. Loose
+rocks, disturbed by her horse's feet, clattered noisily behind her,
+and marks here and there in the soil told her that she was not the
+first to pass that way. "I wonder who it was?" she speculated. "Either
+Monk Bethune, or Vil Holland, or Lord Clendenning, I suppose. They all
+seem to be forever riding back and forth through the hills." At last
+she gained the summit, and pulled up to enjoy the view. Judging by
+the trampled buffalo grass that capped the divide, the rider who
+preceded her had also stopped. She glanced backward, and there,
+showing above the tops of the trees that covered the slope, stood her
+own cabin, looking tiny and far away, but with its every detail
+standing out with startling clearness. She could even see the ax
+standing where she had left it beside the door, and the box she had
+placed at the end of the log wall to take the place of the cupboard as
+a home for the pack rats. "Whoever it was could certainly keep track
+of my movements from here without the least risk of being discovered,"
+she thought, "and if he had field glasses!" She blushed, and turned
+her eyes to survey the endless succession of peaks and passes and
+valleys that lay spread out over the sea of hills. "How in the world
+am I ever going to find one tiny little valley among all these?" she
+wondered. Her heart sank at the vastness of it all, and at her own
+helplessness, and the utter hopelessness of her stupendous task. "Oh,
+I can never, never do it," she faltered, "--never." And, instantly
+ashamed of herself, clenched her small, gloved fist. "I will do it! My
+daddy found his mine, and he didn't have any pictures to go by either.
+He just delved and worked for years and years--and at last he found
+it. I'd find it if there were twice as many hills and valleys. It may
+take me years--and I may find it to-day--just think! This very day I
+may ride into that little valley--or to-morrow, or the next day. It
+can't be far away. Mrs. Watts said daddy was always to be found within
+ten miles of the ranch."
+
+She headed her horse down the opposite slope that slanted at a much
+easier gradient than the one she had just ascended. The trees on this
+side of the divide were larger and the hillside gradually flattened
+into a broad, tilted plateau. She gave her horse his head and breathed
+deeply of the pine-laden air as the animal swung in beside a tiny
+creek that flowed smooth and black through the dusky silence of the
+pines whose interlacing branches, high above, admitted the sunlight in
+irregular splashes of gold. There was little under-brush and the horse
+followed easily along the creek, where here and there, in the softer
+soil of damp places, the girl could see the hoof marks of the rider
+who had crossed the divide. "I wonder whether it was he who watched me
+last night? There was someone, I could feel it."
+
+The creek sheered sharply around an out-cropping shoulder of rock, and
+the next instant Patty pulled up short, and sat staring at a little
+white tent that nestled close against the side of the huge monolith
+which stood at the edge of a broad, grassed opening in the woods. The
+flaps were thrown wide and the walls caught up to allow free passage
+of air. Blankets that had evidently covered a pile of boughs in one
+corner, were thrown over the ridgepole from which hung a black leather
+binocular case, and several canvas bags formed an orderly row along
+one side. A kettle hung suspended over a small fire in front of the
+tent, and a row of blackened cooking utensils hung from a wooden bar
+suspended between two crotched stakes. Out in the clearing, a man was
+bridling a tall buckskin horse. The man was Vil Holland. Curbing a
+desire to retreat unobserved into the timber, the girl advanced boldly
+across the creek and pulled up beside the fire. At the sound the man
+whirled, and Patty noticed that a lean, brown hand dropped swiftly to
+the butt of the revolver.
+
+"Don't shoot!" she called, in a tone that was meant to be sarcastic,
+"I won't hurt you." Somehow, the sarcasm fell flat.
+
+The man buckled the throat-latch of his bridle and picking up the
+reins, advanced hat in hand, leading the horse. "I beg your pardon,"
+he said, gravely, "I didn't know who it was, when your horse splashed
+through the creek."
+
+"You have enemies in the hills? Those you would shoot, or who would
+shoot you?"
+
+He dropped the bridle reins, allowing them to trail on the ground. "If
+some kinds of folks wasn't a man's enemy he wouldn't be fit to have
+any friends," he said, simply. "And here in the hills it's just as
+well to be forehanded with your gun. Won't you climb down? I suppose
+you've had breakfast?"
+
+Patty swung from the saddle and stood holding the bridle reins. "Yes,
+I've had breakfast, thank you. Don't let me keep you from yours."
+
+"Had mine, too. If you don't mind I'll wash up these dishes, though.
+Just drop your reins--like mine. Your cayuse will stand as long as the
+reins are hangin'. It's the way they're broke--'tyin' 'em to the
+ground,' we call it." He glanced at her horse's feet, and pointed to a
+place beneath the fetlock from which the hair had been rubbed: "Rope
+burnt," he opined. "You oughtn't to put him out on a picket rope. Use
+hobbles. There's a couple of pair in your dad's war-bag."
+
+"War-bag?"
+
+"Yeh, it's down in Watts's barn, if he ain't hauled it up for you."
+
+"What are hobbles?"
+
+The man stepped to the tent and returned a moment later with two heavy
+straps fastened together by a bit of chain and a swivel. "These are
+hobbles, they work like this." He stooped and fastened the straps
+about the forelegs of the horse just above the fetlock. "He can get
+around all right, but he can't get far, and there is no rope to snag
+him."
+
+Patty nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'll try it. But how do you know
+there are hobbles in dad's pack?"
+
+"Where would they be? He had a couple of pair. All his stuff is in
+there. He always traveled light."
+
+"Did you leave my father's war-bag, as you call it, at Watts's?"
+
+"Yeh, he was in somethin' of a hurry and didn't want to go around by
+the trail, so he left his outfit here and struck straight through the
+hills."
+
+"Why was he in a hurry?"
+
+The man placed the dishes in a pan and poured water over them. "I've
+got my good guess," he answered, thoughtfully.
+
+"Which may mean anything, and tells me nothing."
+
+Holland nodded, as he carefully wiped his tin plate. "Yeh, that's
+about the size of it."
+
+His attitude angered the girl. "And I have heard he was not the only
+one in the hills that was in a hurry that day, and I suppose I can
+have my 'good guess' at that, and I can have my 'good guess' as to who
+cut daddy's pack sack, too."
+
+"Yeh, an' you can change your guess as often as you want to."
+
+"And every time I change it, I'd get farther from the truth."
+
+"You might, an' you might get nearer." The cowpuncher was looking at
+her squarely, now. "You ain't left-handed, are you?" he asked,
+abruptly.
+
+"No, of course not! Why?"
+
+"Because, if you ain't, you better change that belt around so the
+holster'll carry on yer right side--or else leave it to home."
+
+The coldly impersonal tone angered the girl. "Much better leave it
+home," she said, "so if anyone wanted to get my map and photographs,
+he could do it without risk."
+
+"If you had any sense you'd shut up about maps an' photos."
+
+"At least I've got sense enough not to tell whether I carry them with
+me, or keep them hidden in a safe place."
+
+"You carry 'em on you!" commanded the man, gruffly. "It's a good deal
+safer'n _cachin_' 'em." He laid his dishes aside, poured the water
+from the pan, wiped it, hung it in its place, and picking up his
+saddle blanket, examined it carefully.
+
+"I wonder why my father entrusted his pack sack to you?" said Patty,
+eyeing him resentfully. "Were you and he such great friends?"
+
+"Knew one another tolerable well," answered Holland, dryly.
+
+"You weren't, by any chance--partners, were you?"
+
+He glanced up quickly. "Didn't I tell you once that yer dad played a
+lone hand?"
+
+"You knew he made a strike?"
+
+"That's what folks think. But I suppose he told Monk Bethune all about
+it."
+
+The thinly veiled sneer goaded the girl to anger. "Yes, he did," she
+answered, hotly, "and he told me, too!"
+
+"Told Monk all about it, did he--location an' all, I suppose?"
+
+"He intended to, yes," answered the girl, defiantly. "The day he made
+his strike, Mr. Bethune happened to be away up in British Columbia,
+and daddy told Lord Clendenning that he had made his strike, and he
+drew a map and sent it to Mr. Bethune by Lord Clendenning."
+
+Holland smoothed the blanket into place upon the back of the buckskin,
+and reached for his saddle. "An' of course, Monk, he wouldn't file
+till you come, so you'd be sure an' get a square deal----"
+
+"He never got the map or the photos. Lord Clendenning lost them in a
+river. And he nearly lost his life, and was rescued by an Indian."
+
+There was a sound very like a cough, and Patty glanced sharply at the
+cowpuncher, but his back was toward her, and he was busy with his
+cinch. "Tough luck," he remarked, as he adjusted the latigo strap.
+"An', you say, yer dad told you all about this partnership business?"
+
+"No, he didn't."
+
+"Who did?"
+
+"Mr. Bethune."
+
+"Oh."
+
+Something in the tone made the girl feel extremely foolish. Holland
+was deliberately strapping the brown leather jug to his saddle horn,
+and gathering up her reins, she mounted. "At least, Mr. Bethune is a
+gentleman," she emphasized the word nastily.
+
+"An' they can't hang him for that, anyway," he flung back, and swung
+lightly into the saddle, "I must be goin'."
+
+"And you don't even deny cutting the pack?"
+
+He looked her squarely in the eyes and shook his head. "No. You kind
+of half believe Monk about the partnership. But you don't believe I
+cut that pack, so what's the use denying it?"
+
+"I do----"
+
+"If you should happen to get lost, don't try to outguess your compass.
+Always pack a little grub an' some matches, an' if you need help,
+three shots, an' then three more, will bring anyone that's in hearin'
+distance."
+
+"I hope I shall never have to summon you for help."
+
+"It is quite a bother," admitted the other. "An' if you'll remember
+what I've told you, you prob'ly won't have to. So long."
+
+The cowboy settled the Stetson firmly upon his head, and with never a
+glance behind him, headed his horse down the little creek.
+
+The girl watched him for a moment with angry eyes, and then, urging
+her horse forward, crossed the plateau at a gallop, and headed up the
+valley. "Of all the--the _boors_! He certainly is the limit. And the
+worst of it is I don't know whether he deliberately tries to insult
+me, or whether it's just ignorance. Anyway, I wouldn't trust him as
+far as I could see him. And I do believe he cut daddy's pack sack, so
+there!" The heavy revolver dangling at her side attracted her
+attention, and she pulled up her horse and changed it to the opposite
+side. "I suppose I did look like a fool," she admitted, "but he
+needn't have told me so. And I bet I know as much about a compass as
+he does, anyway. And I'll tie my horse up with a rope if I want to."
+
+Beyond the plateau, the valley narrowed rapidly, and innumerable
+ravines and coulees led steeply upward to lose themselves among the
+timbered slopes of the mountain sides. Crossing a low divide at the
+head of the valley, she reined in her horse and gazed with thumping
+heart into the new valley that lay before her. There, scarcely a mile
+away, stretched a rock ledge--and, yes, there were scraggly trees
+fringing its rim, and the valley was strewn with rock fragments! Her
+valley! The valley of the photographs! She laughed aloud, and urged
+her horse down the steep descent, heedless of the fact that upon the
+precarious, loose rock footing of the slope, a misstep would mean
+almost certain destruction.
+
+Directly opposite the face of the rock wall she pulled her horse to a
+stand. "Surely, this must be the place, but--where is the crack? It
+should be about there." Her eyes searched the face of the cliff for
+the zigzag crevice. "Maybe I'm too close to it," she muttered. "The
+picture was taken from a hillside across the valley. That must be the
+hill--the one with the bare patch half way up. That's right where he
+must have stood when he took the photograph." The hillside rose
+abruptly, and abandoning her horse, the girl climbed the steep ascent,
+pausing at frequent intervals for breath. At last, she stood upon the
+bare shoulder of the hill and gazed out across the valley, and as she
+gazed, her heart sank. "It isn't the place," she muttered. "There is
+no big tree, and the rock cliff isn't a bit like the one in the
+picture--and I thought I had found it sure! I wonder how many of those
+rock walls there are in the hills? And will I ever find the right
+one?"
+
+Once more in the saddle, she crossed another divide and scanned
+another rock wall, and farther down, another. "I believe every single
+valley in these hills has its own rock ledge, and some of them three
+or four!" she cried disgustedly, as she seated herself beside a tiny
+spring that trickled from beneath a huge rock, and proceeded to devour
+her lunch. "I had no idea how hungry I could get," she stared ruefully
+at the paper that had held her two sandwiches. "Next time I'll bring
+about six."
+
+Producing her compass, she leveled a place among the stones. "Let's
+see if I can point to the north without its help." She glanced at the
+sun and carefully scanned the tumultuous skyline. "It is there," she
+indicated a gap between two peaks, and glanced at the compass. "I knew
+I wouldn't get turned around," she said, proudly. "I didn't miss it
+but just a mite--anyway it's near enough for all practical purposes.
+If that's north," she speculated, "then I must have started east and
+then turned south, and then west, and then south again, and my cabin
+must be almost due north of me now." She returned the compass to her
+pocket. "I'll explore a little farther and then work toward home."
+
+Mounting, she turned northward, and emerging abruptly from a clump of
+trees, caught a glimpse of swift motion a quarter of a mile away,
+where her trail had dipped into the valley, as a horse and rider
+disappeared like a flash into the timber. "He's following me!" she
+cried angrily, "sneaking along my trail like a coyote! I'll tell him
+just what I think of him and his cowardly spying." Urging her horse
+into a run, she reached the spot to find it deserted, although it
+seemed incredible that anyone could have negotiated the divide
+unnoticed in that brief space of time. "I saw him plain as day," she
+murmured, as she turned her horse toward the opposite side of the
+valley. "I couldn't tell for sure that it was he--I didn't even see
+the color of the horse--but who else could it be? He knew I started
+out this way, and he knew that I carried the map and photos, and was
+hunting daddy's claim. I know, now who was watching the other night."
+She shuddered. "And I've got to stay here 'til I find that claim,
+knowing all the time that I am being watched! There's no place I can
+go that he will not follow. Even in my own cabin, I'll always feel
+that eyes are watching me. And when I do find the mine, he'll know it
+as soon as I do, and it will be a race to file." Drawing up sharply,
+she gritted her teeth, "And he knows the short cuts through the hills,
+and I don't. But I will know them!" she cried, "and when I do find the
+mine, Mr. Vil Holland is going to have the race of his life!"
+
+Another parallel valley, and another, she explored before turning her
+horse's head toward the high divide that she had reasoned separated
+her from Monte's Creek at a point well above her cabin. Comparatively
+low ridges divided these valleys, and as she topped each ridge, the
+girl swerved sharply into the timber and, concealing herself, intently
+watched the back trail--a maneuver that caused the solitary horseman
+who watched from a safe distance, to chuckle audibly as he carefully
+wiped the lenses of his binoculars.
+
+The sunlight played only upon the higher peaks when at last, weary and
+dispirited, she negotiated the steep descent to Monte's Creek at a
+point a mile above the sheep camp. "If he'd only photographed
+something besides a rock wall," she muttered, petulantly, "I'd stand
+some show of finding it." At the door of the cabin she slipped from
+her saddle, and pausing with her hand on the coiled rope, dropped her
+eyes to the rubbed place below her horse's fetlock. A moment later she
+knelt and fastened a pair of hobbles about the horse's ankles, and,
+removing the saddle, watched the animal roll clumsily in the grass,
+and shuffle awkwardly to the creek where he sucked greedily at the
+cold water. Entering the cabin, she lighted the lamp and stared about
+her. Her glance traveled one by one over the objects of the little
+room. Everything was apparently as she had left it--yet--an
+uncomfortable, creepy sensation stole over her. She knew that the room
+had been searched.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+PATTY TAKES PRECAUTIONS
+
+
+During the next few days Patty Sinclair paid scant attention to rock
+ledges. Each morning she saddled her cayuse and rode into the hills to
+the southward, crossing divides and following creeks and valleys from
+their sources down their winding, twisting lengths. After the first
+two or three trips she left her gun at home. It was heavy and
+cumbersome, and she realized, in her unskilled hand, useless. Always
+she felt that she was being followed, but, try as she would, never
+could catch so much as a fleeting glimpse of the rider who lurked on
+her trail. Nevertheless, during these long rides which she made for
+the sole purpose of familiarizing herself with all the short cuts
+through the hills, she derived satisfaction from the fact that, while
+the trips were of immense value to her, Vil Holland was having his
+trouble for his pains.
+
+Ascertaining at length that, after crossing the high divide at the
+head of Monte's Creek, any valley leading southward would prove a
+direct outlet onto the bench and thereby furnish a short cut to town,
+she returned once more to her prospecting--to the exploration of
+little valleys, and the examination of innumerable rock ledges.
+
+Accepting as part of the game the fact that her cabin was searched
+almost daily during her absence she derived grim enjoyment in
+contemplation of the searcher's repeated disappointment. Several
+attempts to surprise the marauder at his work proved futile, and she
+was forced to admit that in the matter of shrewdness and persistence,
+his ability exceeded her own. "The real test will come when I locate
+the mine," she told herself one evening, as she sat alone in her
+little cabin. "Then the prize will go to the fastest horse." She drew
+a small folding check-book from her pocket and frowningly regarded its
+latest stub. "A thousand dollars isn't very much, and--it's half
+gone."
+
+Next day she rode out of the hills and, following the trail for town,
+dismounted at Thompson's ranch which nestled in its coulee well out
+upon the bench, and waited for the rancher, who drove up beside a huge
+stack with a load of alfalfa, to unhitch his team.
+
+"Have you a good saddle horse for sale?" she asked, abruptly.
+
+Thompson released the tug chains, and hung the bridles upon the hames,
+whereupon the horses of their own accord started toward the stable,
+followed by a ranch hand who slid from the top of the stack. Without
+answering, he called to the man: "Take the lady's horse along an' give
+him a feed."
+
+"It's noon," he explained, turning to the girl. "You'll stay fer
+dinner." He pointed toward the house. "You'll find Miz T. in the
+kitchen. If you want to wash up, she'll show you."
+
+The ranch hand was leading her horse toward the barn. "But," objected
+Patty, "I didn't mean to run in like this just at meal time. Mrs.
+Thompson won't be expecting a guest, and I brought a lunch with me."
+
+Thompson laughed: "You must be a pilgrim in these parts," he said.
+"Most folks would ride half a day to git here 'round feedin' time. We
+always count on two or three extry, so I guess they'll be a-plenty."
+The man's laugh was infectious, and Patty found herself smiling. She
+liked him from the first. There was a ponderous heartiness about him,
+and she liked the way his little brown eyes sparkled from out their
+network of sun-browned wrinkles. "You trot along in, now, an' tell Miz
+T. she can begin dishin' up whenever she likes. We'll be 'long
+d'rectly. They'll be plenty time to talk horse after we've et. My work
+teams earns a good hour of noonin', an' I don't begrudge 'em an hour
+an' a half, hot days."
+
+Patty found Mrs. Thompson slight and quiet as her husband was big and
+hearty. But her smile was as engaging as his, and an indefinable
+something about her made the girl feel at home the moment she crossed
+the threshold. "I came to see Mr. Thompson about a horse, and he
+insisted that I stay to dinner," she apologized.
+
+"Why, of course you'll stay to dinner. But you must be hot an' tired.
+The wash dish is there beside the door. You better use it before
+Thompson an' the hands comes, they always slosh everything all
+up--they don't wash, they waller."
+
+"Mr. Thompson said to tell you you could begin to dish up whenever
+you're ready."
+
+The woman smiled. "Yes, an' have everythin' set an' git cold, while
+they feed the horses an' then like's not, stand 'round a spell an'
+size up the hay stack, er mebbe mend a piece of harness or somethin'.
+I guess you ain't married, er you wouldn't expect a man to meals 'til
+you see him comin'. Seems like no matter how hungry they be, if they's
+some little odd job they can find to do just when you get the grub set
+on, they pick that time to do it. 'Specially if it's somethin' that
+don't 'mount to anythin', an' like's not's b'en layin' 'round in plain
+sight a week."
+
+Patty laughingly admitted she was not married. "But, I'd teach 'em a
+lesson," she said. "I'd put the things on and let them get cold."
+
+The older woman smiled, and at the sound of voices, peered out the
+door: "Here they come now," she said, and proceeded to carry heaping
+vegetable dishes and a steaming platter of savory boiled meat from the
+stove to the table. There was a prodigious splashing outside the door
+and a moment later Thompson appeared, followed by his two ranch hands,
+hair wet and shining, plastered tightly to their scalps, and faces
+aglow from vigorous scrubbing. "You mind Mr. Sinclair, that used to
+prospect in the hills," introduced Mrs. Thompson; "this is his
+daughter."
+
+Her husband bowed awkwardly: "Glad to know you. We know'd yer
+paw--used to stop now an' again on his way to town. He was a smart
+man. Liked to talk to him. He'd be'n all over." The man turned his
+attention to his plate and the meal proceeded in solemn silence to its
+conclusion. The two ranch hands arose and disappeared through the
+door, and tilting back in his chair Thompson produced a match from his
+pocket, and proceeded to whittle it into a toothpick. "I heard in town
+how you was out in the hills," he began. "They said yer paw went back
+East--" he paused as if uncertain how to proceed.
+
+Patty nodded: "Yes, he went back home, and this spring he died. He
+told me he had made a strike and I came out here to locate it."
+
+The kindly brown eyes regarded her intently: "Ever do any
+prospectin'?"
+
+"No. This is my first experience."
+
+"I never, either. But, if I was you I'd kind of have an eye on my
+neighbors."
+
+"You mean--the Wattses?" asked the girl in surprise.
+
+The brown eyes were twinkling again: "No, Watts, he's all right! Only
+trouble with Watts is he sets an' herds the sun all day. But, they's
+others besides Watts in the hills."
+
+"Yes," answered the girl, quickly, "I know. And that is the reason I
+came to see you about a horse."
+
+"What's the matter with the one you got?"
+
+"Nothing at all. He seems to be a good horse. He's fast too, when I
+want to crowd him. But, I need another just as good and as fast as he
+is. Have you one you will sell?"
+
+"I'll sell anything I got, if the price is right," smiled the man.
+
+Patty regarded him thoughtfully: "I haven't very much money," she
+said. "How much is he worth?"
+
+Thompson considered: "A horse ain't like a cow-brute. There ain't no
+regular market price. Horses is worth just as much as you can get
+folks to pay fer 'em. But it looks like one horse ort to be enough to
+prospect 'round the hills on."
+
+"It isn't that," explained the girl. "If I buy him I shall try to
+arrange with you to leave him right here where I can get him at a
+moment's notice. I shall probably never need him but once, but when I
+do, I shall need him badly." She paused, but without comment the man
+waited for her to proceed: "I believe I am being followed, and if I
+am, when I locate the claim, I am going to have to race for the
+register's office."
+
+Thompson leaned forward upon the table and chewed his toothpick
+rapidly: "By Gosh, an' you want to have a fresh horse here for a
+change!" he exclaimed, his eyes beaming approval.
+
+"Exactly. Have you got the horse?"
+
+The man nodded: "You bet I've got the horse! I've got a horse out
+there in the corral that'll run rings around anythin' in this country
+unless it's that there buckskin of Vil Holland's--an' I guess you
+ain't goin' to have no call to race him."
+
+Patty was on the point of exclaiming that the buckskin was the very
+horse she would have to race, but instead she smiled: "But, if your
+horse started fresh from here, and even Vil Holland's horse had run
+clear from the mountains, this one could beat him to town, couldn't
+he?"
+
+"Could do it on three legs," laughed the man.
+
+"How much do you ask for him?" The girl waited breathless, thinking of
+her diminishing bank account.
+
+Thompson's brow wrinkled: "I hold Lightnin' pretty high," he said,
+after a pause. "You see, some of us ranchers is holdin' a fast horse
+handy, a-waitin' fer word from the hills--an' when it comes, they's
+goin' to be the biggest horse-thief round-up the hill country ever
+seen. An' unless I miss my guess they'll be some that's carried their
+nose pretty high that's goin' to snap down on the end of a tight one."
+
+"Now, Thompson, what's the use of talkin' like that? Them things is
+bad enough to have to do, let alone set around an' talk about 'em.
+Anyone'd think you took pleasure in hangin' folks."
+
+"I would--some folks."
+
+The little woman turned to Patty: "He's just a-talkin'. Chances is, if
+it come to hangin', Thompson would be the one to try an' talk 'em out
+of it. Why, he won't even brand his own colts an' calves--makes the
+hands do it."
+
+"That's different," defended the man. "They're little an' young an'
+they ain't never done nothin' ornery."
+
+"But you haven't told me how much you want for your horse," persisted
+the girl.
+
+"Now just you listen to me a minute. I don't want to sell that horse,
+an' there ain't no mortal use of you buyin' him. He's always
+here--right in the corral when he ain't in the stable, an' either
+place, all you got to do is throw yer kak on him an' fog it."
+
+The girl stared at him in surprise: "You mean----"
+
+"I mean that you're plumb welcome to use Lightnin' whenever you need
+him. An' if they's anything else I can do to help you beat out any
+ornery cuss that'd try an' hornswaggle you out of yer claim, you can
+count on me doin' it! An' whether you know it 'er not, I ain't the
+only one you can count on in a pinch neither." The man waved her
+thanks aside with a sweep of a big hand, and rose from the table. "Miz
+T. an' me'd like fer you to stop in whenever you feel like----"
+
+"Yes, indeed, we would," seconded the little woman. "Couldn't you come
+over an' bring yer sewin' some day?"
+
+Patty laughed: "I'm afraid I haven't much sewing to bring, but I'll
+come and spend the day with you some time. I'd love to."
+
+The girl rode homeward with a lighter heart than she had known in some
+time. "Now let him follow me all he wants to," she muttered. "But I
+wonder why Mr. Thompson said I wouldn't have to race the buckskin. And
+who did he mean I could count on in a pinch--Watts, I guess, or maybe
+he meant Mr. Bethune."
+
+As she saddled her horse next morning, Bethune presented himself at
+the cabin. "Where away?" he smiled as he rode close, and swung
+lightly to the ground.
+
+"Into the hills," she answered, "in search of my father's lost mine."
+
+The man's expression became suddenly grave: "Do you know, Miss
+Sinclair, I hate to think of your riding these hills alone."
+
+Patty glanced at him in surprise: "Why?"
+
+"There are several reasons. For instance, one never knows what will
+happen--a misstep on a dangerous trail--a broken cinch--any one of a
+hundred things may happen in the wilds that mean death or serious
+injury, even to the initiated. And the danger is tenfold in the case
+of a tender-foot."
+
+The girl laughed: "Thank you. But, if anything is going to happen,
+it's going to happen. At least, I am in no danger from being run down
+by a street car or an automobile. And I can't be blown up by a gas
+explosion, or fall into a coal hole."
+
+"But there are other dangers," persisted the man. "A woman, alone in
+the hills--especially you."
+
+"Why 'especially me'? Plenty of women have lived alone before in
+places more dangerous than this, and have gotten along very well,
+too. You men are conceited. You think there can be no possible safety
+unless members of your own sex are at the helm of every undertaking or
+enterprise. But you are wrong."
+
+Bethune shook his head: "But I have reason to believe that there is at
+least one person in these hills who believes you possess the secret of
+your father's strike--and who would stop at nothing to obtain that
+secret."
+
+"I suppose you mean Vil Holland. I agree that he does seem to take
+more than a passing interest in my comings and goings. But he doesn't
+seem very fierce. Anyhow, I am not in the least afraid of him."
+
+"What do you mean that he seems to take an interest in your comings
+and goings?" The question seemed a bit eager. "Surely he has not been
+following you!"
+
+"Hasn't he? Then possibly you can tell me who has?"
+
+"The scoundrel! And when you discover the lode he'll wait 'til you
+have set your stakes and posted your notice, and have gotten out of
+sight, and then he'll drive in his own stakes, stick up his own notice
+beside them and beat you to the register."
+
+Patty laughed: "Race me, you mean. He won't beat me. Remember, I shall
+have at least a half-hour's start."
+
+"A half-hour!" exclaimed Bethune. "And what is a half-hour in a
+fifty-mile race against that buckskin. Why, my dear girl, with all due
+respect for that horse of yours, Vil Holland's horse could give you
+two hours' start and beat you to the railroad."
+
+"Maybe," smiled the girl. "But he's going to have to do it--that is,
+if I ever locate the lode."
+
+"Ah, that is the point, exactly. It is that that brings me here. Not
+that alone," he hastened to add. "For I would ride far any day to
+spend a few moments with so charming a lady--and indeed, I should not
+have delayed my visit this long but for some urgent business to the
+northward. At all events, I'm here, and here I shall stay until,
+together, we have solved our mystery of the hills."
+
+The girl glanced into the face alight with boyish enthusiasm, and felt
+irresistibly impelled to take this man into her confidence--to enlist
+his help in the working out of her unintelligible map, and to admit
+him to full partnership in her undertaking. There would be enough for
+both if they succeeded in uncovering the lode. Her father had
+intended that he should share in his mine. She recalled his eulogy of
+her father, and his frank admission that there had been no agreement
+of partnership. If anyone ever had the appearance of perfect sincerity
+and candor this man had. She remembered her seriously depleted bank
+account. Bethune had money, and in case the search should prove
+long--Suddenly the words of Vil Holland flashed into her brain with
+startling abruptness: "Remember yer dad knew enough to play a lone
+hand." And again. "Did yer dad tell you about this partnership?" And
+the significant emphasis he placed upon the "Oh," when she had
+answered in the negative.
+
+Bethune evidently had taken her silence for assent. He was speaking
+again: "The first thing to do is to find the starting point on the map
+and work it out step by step, then when we locate the lode, you and
+Clen and I will file the first three claims, and we'll file all the
+Wattses on the adjoining claims. That will give us absolute control of
+a big block of what is probably a most valuable property."
+
+Again Bethune had referred directly to the map which she had never
+admitted she possessed. He had not said, "If you have a map." The
+man's assumption angered her: "You still persist in assuming that I
+have a map," she answered. "As a matter of fact, I'm depending
+entirely upon a photograph. I am riding blindly through the hills
+trying to find the spot that tallies with the picture."
+
+Bethune frowned and shook his head doubtfully: "You might ride the
+hills for years, and pass the spot a dozen times and never recognize
+it. If you do not happen to strike the exact view-point you might
+easily fail to recognize it. Then, too, the landscape changes with the
+seasons of the year. However," his face brightened and the smile
+returned to his lips; "we have at least something to go on. We are not
+absolutely in the dark. Who knows? If the goddess of luck sits upon
+our shoulders, I myself may know the place well--may recognize it
+instantly! For years I have ridden these hills and I flatter myself
+that no one knows their hidden nooks and byways better than I. Even if
+I should not know the exact spot, it may be that I can tell by the
+general features its approximate locality, and thus limit our search
+to a comparatively small area."
+
+Patty knew that her refusal to show the photograph could not fail to
+place her in an unfavorable position. Either she would appear to
+distrust this man whom she had no reason to distrust, or her action
+would be attributed to a selfish intention to keep the secret to
+herself, even though she knew she could only file one claim. The man's
+argument had been entirely reasonable--in fact, it seemed the sensible
+thing to do. Nevertheless, she did refuse, and refuse flatly: "I
+think, Mr. Bethune, that I would rather play a lone hand. You see, I
+started in on this thing alone, and I want to see it through--for the
+present, at least. After a while, if I find that I cannot succeed
+alone, I shall be glad of your assistance. I suppose you think me a
+fool, but it's a matter of pride, I guess."
+
+Was it fancy, or did the black eyes flash a gleam of hate--a glitter
+of rage beneath their long up-curving lashes? And did the swarthy face
+flush a shade darker beneath its tan? Patty could not be sure, for the
+next moment he was speaking in a voice under perfect control: "I can
+well understand your feeling in the matter, Miss Sinclair, and I have
+nothing of reproach. I do think you are making a mistake. With Vil
+Holland knowing what he does of your father's operations, time may be
+a vital factor in the success of your undertaking. Let me caution you
+again against carrying the photograph upon your person."
+
+"Oh, I keep that safely hidden where no one would ever think of
+searching for it," smiled the girl, and Bethune noted that her eyes
+involuntarily swept the cabin with a glance.
+
+The man mounted: "I will no longer keep you from your work," he said.
+"I have arranged to spend the summer in the hills where I shall carry
+on some prospecting upon my own account. If I can be of any assistance
+to you--if you should need any advice, or help of any kind, a word
+will procure it. I shall stop in occasionally to see how you fare.
+Good-bye." He waved his hand and rode off down the creek where, in a
+cottonwood thicket he dismounted and watched the girl ride away in the
+opposite direction, noted that Lord Clendenning swung stealthily, into
+the trail behind her, and swinging into his saddle rode swiftly toward
+the cabin.
+
+In his high notch in the hills, Vil Holland chuckled audibly, and
+catching up his horse, headed for his camp.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE BISHOP OF ALL OUTDOORS
+
+
+The days slipped into weeks, as Patty Sinclair, carefully and
+methodically traced valleys to their sources, and explored innumerable
+coulees and ravines that twisted and turned their tortuous lengths
+into the very heart of the hills. Rock ledges without number she
+scanned, many with deep cracks and fissures, and many without them.
+But not once did she find a ledge that could by any stretch of the
+imagination be regarded as the ledge of the photograph. Disheartened,
+but not discouraged, the girl would return each evening to her
+solitary cabin, eat her solitary meal, and throw herself upon her bunk
+to brood over the apparent hopelessness of her enterprise, or to read
+from the thumbed and tattered magazines of the dispossessed sheep
+herder. She rode, now, with a sort of dogged persistence. There was
+none of the wild thrill that, during the first days of her search,
+she experienced each time she topped a new divide, or entered a new
+valley.
+
+Three times since she had informed him she would play a lone hand in
+the search for her father's strike, Bethune had called at the cabin.
+And not once had he alluded to the progress of her work. She was
+thankful to him for that--she had not forgotten the hurt in her
+father's eyes as the taunting questions of the scoffers struck home.
+Always she had known of the hurt, but now, with the disheartening days
+of her own failure heaping themselves upon her, she was beginning to
+understand the reason for the hurt. And, guessing this, Bethune
+refrained from questioning, but talked gaily of books, and sunsets,
+and of life, and love, and the joy of living. A supreme optimist, she
+thought him, despite the half-veiled cynicism that threaded his
+somewhat fatalistic view of life, a cynicism that but added the
+necessary _sauce piquante_ to so abandoned an optimism.
+
+Above all, the man was a gentleman. His speech held nothing of the
+abrupt bluntness of Vil Holland's. He would appear shortly after her
+early supper, and was always well upon his way before the late
+darkness began to obscure the contours of her little valley. An hour's
+chat upon the doorstep of the cabin and he was gone--riding down the
+valley, singing as he rode some old _chanson_ of his French forebears,
+with always a pause at the cottonwood grove for a farewell wave of his
+hat. And Patty would turn from the doorway, and light her lamp, and
+proceed to enjoy the small present which he never failed to leave in
+her hand--a box of bon-bons of a kind she had vainly sought for in the
+little town--again, a novel, a woman's novel written by a man who
+thought he knew--and another time, just a handful of wild flowers
+gathered in the hills. She ate the candy making it last over several
+days. She read the book from cover to cover as she lay upon her air
+mattress, tucked snugly between her blankets. And she arranged the
+wild flowers loosely in a shallow bowl and watered them, and talked to
+them, and admired their beauty, and when they were wilted she threw
+them out, but she did not gather more flowers to fill the bowl,
+instead she wiped it dry and returned it to its shelf in the
+cupboard--and wondered when Bethune would come again. She admitted to
+herself that he interested--at least, amused her--helped her to throw
+off for the moment the spirit of dull depression that had fastened
+itself upon her like a tangible thing, bearing down upon her,
+threatening to crush her with its weight.
+
+Always, during these brief visits, her lurking distrust of him
+vanished in the frank boyishness of his personality. The incidents
+that had engendered the distrust--the substitution of the name Schultz
+for Schmidt in the matter of the horse pasture, his abrupt warning
+against Vil Holland, and his attempt to be admitted into her
+confidence as a matter of right, were for the moment forgotten in the
+spell of his presence--but always during her lonely rides in the
+hills, the half-formed doubt returned. Pondering the doubt, she
+realized that the principal reason for its continued existence was not
+so much in the incidents that had awakened it, as in the simple
+question asked by Vil Holland: "You say your dad told you all about
+this partnership business?" And in the "Oh," with which he had greeted
+the reply that she had it from the lips of Bethune. With the
+realization, her dislike for Vil Holland increased. She characterized
+him as a "jug-guzzler," a "swashbuckler," and a "ruffian"--and smiled
+as she recalled the picturesque figure with the clean-cut, bronzed
+face. "Oh, I don't know--I hate these hills! Nobody seems sincere
+excepting the Wattses, and they're--impossible!"
+
+She had borrowed Watts's team and made a second trip to town for
+supplies, and the check that she drew in payment cut her bank account
+in half. As before she had offered to take Microby Dandeline, but the
+girl declined to go, giving as an excuse that "pitcher shows wasn't as
+good as circusts, an' they wasn't no fights, an' she didn't like
+towns, nohow."
+
+Upon her return from town Patty stopped at the Thompsons' for dinner
+where she was accorded a royal welcome by the genial rancher and his
+wife, and where also, she met the Reverend Len Christie, the most
+picturesque, and the most un-clerical minister of the gospel she had
+ever seen. To all appearances the man might have been a cowboy. He
+affected chaps of yellow hair, a dark blue flannel shirt, against
+which flamed a scarf of brilliant crimson caught together by means of
+a vivid green scarab. He wore a roll brimmed Stetson, and carried a
+six-gun at his belt. A pair of high-heeled boots added a couple of
+inches to the six feet two that nature had provided him with, and he
+shook hands as though he enjoyed shaking hands. "I've heard of you,
+Miss Sinclair, back in town and have looked forward to meeting you on
+my first trip into the hills. How are my friends, the Wattses, these
+days? And that reprobate, Vil Holland?" He did not mention that it was
+Vil Holland who had spoken of her presence in the hills, nor that the
+cowboy had also specified that she utterly despised the ground he rode
+on.
+
+To her surprise Patty noticed that there was affection rather than
+disapprobation in the word reprobate, and she answered a trifle
+stiffly: "The Wattses are all well, I think: but, as for Mr. Holland,
+I really cannot answer."
+
+The parson appeared not to notice the constraint but turned to
+Thompson: "By the way, Tom, why isn't Vil riding the round-up this
+year? Has he made his strike?"
+
+Thompson grinned: "Naw, Vil ain't made no strike. Facts is, they's
+be'n some considerable horse liftin' goin' on lately, an' the
+stockmen's payin' Vil wages fer to keep his eye peeled. He's out in
+the hills all the time anyhow with his prospectin', an' they figger
+the thieves won't pay no 'tention to him, like if a stranger was to
+begin kihootin' 'round out there."
+
+"Have they got a line on 'em at all?"
+
+"Well," considered Thompson. "Not as I know of--exactly. Monk Bethune
+an' that there Lord Clendennin' is hangin' 'round the hills--that's
+about all I know."
+
+The parson nodded: "I saw Bethune in town the other day. Do you know,
+Tom, I believe there's a bad Injun."
+
+"Indian!" cried the girl. "Mr. Bethune is not an Indian!"
+
+Thompson laughed: "Yup, that is, he's a breed. They say his
+gran'mother was a Cree squaw--daughter of a chief, or somethin'.
+Anyways, this here Monk, he's a pretty slick article, I guess."
+
+"They're apt to be worse than either the whites or the Indians,"
+Christie explained. "And this Monk Bethune is an educated man, which
+should make him doubly dangerous. Well, I must be going. I've got to
+ride clear over onto Big Porcupine. I heard that old man Samuelson's
+very sick. There's a good man--old Samuelson. Hope he'll pull
+through."
+
+"You bet he's a good man!" assented Thompson, warmly. "He seen Bill
+Winters through, when they tried to prove the murder of Jack Bronson
+onto him, an' it cost him a thousan' dollars. The districk attorney
+had it in fer Bill, count of him courtin' his gal."
+
+"Yes, and I could tell of a dozen things the old man has done for
+people that nobody but I ever knew about--in some instances even the
+people themselves didn't know." He turned to Patty: "Good-by, Miss
+Sinclair. I'm mighty glad to have met you. I knew your father very
+well. If you see the Wattses, tell them I shall try and swing around
+that way on my return." The parson mounted a raw-boned, Roman-nosed
+pinto, whose vivid calico markings, together with the rider's
+brilliant scarf gave a most unministerial, not to say bizarre effect
+to the outfit. "So long, Tom," he called.
+
+"So long, Len! If they's anything we can do, let us know. An' be sure
+an' stop in comin' back." Thompson watched the man until he vanished
+in a cloud of dust far out on the trail.
+
+"Best doggone preacher ever was born," he vouchsafed. "He can ride,
+an' shoot, an' rope, an' everything a man ort to. An' if anyone's
+sick! Well, he's worth all the doctors an' nurses in the State of
+Montany. He'll make you git well just 'cause he wants you to. An' they
+ain't nothin' too much trouble--an' they ain't no work too hard for
+him to tackle. There ain't no piousness stickin' out on him fer folks
+to hang their hat on, neither. He'll mix with the boys, an' listen to
+the natural cussin' an' swearin' that goes on wherever cattle's
+handled, an' enjoy it--but just you let some shorthorn start what you
+might call vicious or premeditated cussin'--somethin' special wicked
+or vile, an' he'll find out there's a parson in the crowd right quick,
+an' if he don't shut up, chances is, he'll be spittin' out a couple of
+teeth. There's one parson can fight, an' the boys know it, an' what's
+more they know he _will_ fight--an' they ain't one of 'em that
+wouldn't back up his play, neither. An' preach! Why he can tear loose
+an' make you feel sorry for every mean trick you ever done--not for
+fear of any punishment after yer dead--but just because it wasn't
+playin' the game. That's him, every time. An' he ain't always
+hollerin' about hell--hearin' him preach you wouldn't hardly know they
+was a hell. 'The Bishop of All Outdoors,' they call him--an' they say
+he can go back East an' preach to city folks, an' make 'em set up an'
+take notice, same as out here. He's be'n offered three times what he
+gets here to go where he'd have it ten times easier--but he laughs at
+'em. He sure is one preacher that ain't afraid of work!"
+
+As Watts's team plodded the hot miles of the interminable trail
+Patty's brain revolved wearily about its problem. "I've made almost a
+complete circle of the cabin, and I haven't found the rock ledge with
+the crack in it yet--and as for daddy's old map--I've spent _hours_
+trying to figure out what that jumble of letters and numbers mean,
+I'll just have to start all over again and keep reaching farther and
+farther into the hills on my rides. Mr. Bethune said I might not
+recognize the place when I come to it!" she laughed bitterly. "If he
+knew how that photograph has burned itself into my brain! I can close
+my eyes and see that rock wall with its peculiar crack, and the
+rock-strewn valley, and the lone tree--_recognize_ it! I would know it
+in the dark!"
+
+Her eyes rested upon the various packages of her load of supplies.
+"One more trip to town, and my prospecting is done, at least, until I
+can earn some more money. The prices out here are outrageous. It's the
+freight, the man told me. Five cents' freight on a penny's worth of
+food! But what in the world can I do to make money? What can anybody
+do to make money in this Godforsaken country? I can't punch cattle,
+nor herd sheep. I don't see why I had to be a _girl_!" Resentment
+against her accident of birth cooled, and her mind again took up its
+burden of thought. "There is one way," she muttered. "And that is to
+admit failure and take Mr. Bethune into partnership. He will advance
+the money and help with the work--and, surely there will be enough for
+two. And, I'm not so sure but that--" She broke off shortly and felt
+the hot blood rise in a furious blush, as she glanced guiltily about
+her--but in all the vast stretch of plain was no human being, and she
+laughed aloud at the antics of the prairie dogs that scolded and
+barked saucily and then dove precipitously into their holes as a lean
+coyote trotted diagonally through their "town."
+
+What was it they had said at Thompson's about Mr. Bethune? Despite
+herself she had approved the outlandishly dressed preacher with the
+smiling blue eyes. He was so big, and so wholesome! "The Bishop of All
+Outdoors," Thompson had called him. She liked that--and somehow the
+name seemed to fit. Looking into those eyes no one could doubt his
+sincerity--his every word, his every motion spoke unbounded enthusiasm
+for his work. What was it he had said? "Do you know, Tom, I believe
+there's a bad Injun." And Thompson had referred to Bethune as "a
+pretty slick article." Surely, Thompson, whole-souled, generous
+Thompson, would not malign a man. Here were two men whom the girl knew
+instinctively she could trust, who stood four-square with the world,
+and whose opinions must carry weight. And both had spoken with
+suspicion of Bethune and both had spoken of Vil Holland as one of
+themselves. "I don't understand it," she muttered. "Everybody seems to
+be against Mr. Bethune, and everybody seems to like Vil Holland, in
+spite of his jug, and his gun, and his boorishness. Maybe it's because
+Mr. Bethune's a--a breed," she speculated. "Why, they even hinted that
+he's a--a horse-thief. It isn't fair to despise him for his Indian
+blood. Why should he be made to suffer because his grandmother was an
+Indian--the daughter of a Cree chief? It sounds interesting and
+romantic. The people of some of our very best families point with
+pride to the fact that they are descendants of Pocahontas! Poor
+fellow, everybody seems down on him--everybody that is, but Ma Watts
+and Microby. And, as a matter of fact, he appears to better advantage
+than any of them, not excepting the very militant and unorthodox
+'Bishop of All Outdoors.'"
+
+The result of the girl's cogitations left her exactly where she
+started. She was no nearer the solution of her problem of the hills.
+And her lurking doubt of Bethune still remained despite the excuses
+she invented to account for his unpopularity, nor had her opinion of
+Vil Holland been altered in the least.
+
+Upon arriving at her cabin she was not at all surprised to find that
+it had been thoroughly searched, albeit with less care than the
+searcher had been in the habit of bestowing upon the readjustment of
+the various objects of the room exactly as she had left them. Canned
+goods and dishes were disarranged upon their shelves, and the loose
+section of floor board beneath her bunk that had evidently served as
+the secret _cache_ of the sheep herder, had been fitted clumsily into
+its place. The evident boldness, or carelessness of this latest
+outrage angered her as no previous search had done. Heretofore each
+object had been returned to its place with painstaking accuracy so
+that it had been only through the use of fine-spun cobwebs and
+carefully arranged bits of dust that she had been able to verify her
+suspicion that the room had really been searched--and there had been
+times when even the dust and the cobwebs had been replaced. Whoever
+had been searching the cabin had proven himself a master of detail,
+and had at least, paid her the compliment of possessing imagination,
+and a shrewdness equaling his own. Was it possible that the searcher,
+emboldened by her repeated failure to spy upon him at his work, had
+ceased to care whether or not she knew of his visits? The girl
+recalled the three weary days she had spent watching from the
+hillside. And how she had decided to buy a lock for her door, until
+the futility of it had been brought home to her by the discovery that
+her trunks were being searched along with her other belongings, and
+their locks left in perfect condition. So far, he might well scorn her
+puny attempts at discovery. Or, had a new factor entered the game? Had
+someone of cruder mold undertaken to discover her secret? The thought
+gave her a decided uneasiness. Tired out by her trip, she did not
+light the fire, and after disposing of the cold lunch Mrs. Thompson
+had put up for her, affixed the bar, and went to bed, with her six-gun
+within reach of her hand.
+
+For a long time she lay in the darkness, thinking. "The way it was
+before, I haven't been in any physical danger. Mr. Vil Holland knows
+that if what he is searching for is not here I must carry it on my
+person. The obvious way to get it would be to take it away from me. Of
+course the only way he could do that without my seeing him would be to
+kill me. He hesitates at murder. Either there are depths of moral
+turpitude into which he will not descend--or, he fears the
+consequences. He has imagination. He assumes that sometime I'll leave
+that packet at home--either through carelessness, or because I have
+learned its contents by heart and don't need it. In the meantime, in
+addition to his patient searching of the cabin, he is taking no
+chances, and while he waits for the inevitable to happen he is
+following me so if I do succeed in locating the claim, he can beat me
+to the register. It's a pretty game--no violence--only patience and
+brains. But this other," she shuddered, "there is something positively
+brutal in the crude awkwardness of his work. If he thinks I carry what
+he wants with me, would he hesitate at murder? I guess I'll have to
+carry that gun again--and I better practice with it, too. If I can
+only get rid of this last one, I believe I've got a scheme for
+catching the other!" She sat bolt upright in bed. "Oh, if I only
+could! If I could only beat him at his own game--and I believe I can!"
+For several minutes she sat thinking rapidly, and as she lay back upon
+her pillow, she smiled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+LORD CLENDENNING GETS A DUCKING
+
+
+Patty awoke at dawn and dressed hurriedly. Shivering in the chill air,
+she lighted a match and pushed back a lid of the little cast iron cook
+stove. Instead of the "cold fire" of neatly arranged wood and
+kindlings that she had built before leaving for town a pile of gray
+ashes and blackened ends of charcoal greeted her.
+
+"Whoever it was knew he had plenty of time at his disposal so he
+helped himself to a meal," she muttered angrily. "He might, at least,
+have cut me some kindlings. I'm surprised that he had the good grace
+to wash up his dirty dishes." A few moments later, as the fire
+crackled merrily in the stove, she picked up the water pail and
+stepping through the door, threw back her head and breathed deeply of
+the crisp mountain air. "Oh, it's wonderful just to be alive!" she
+whispered. "Even if everybody is against you. It's just like a great
+big game and, oh, I want to win! I've got to win!" she added, grimly,
+as her thoughts flew to her depleted bank account.
+
+At the spring she paused in the act of filling her pail and stared at
+a mark in the mud at the edge of the tiny rill formed by the overflow
+from the catch basin. She leaned over and examined the mark more
+closely. It was the track of a bare foot. Then, for the first time in
+many days, the girl threw back her head and laughed. "Microby
+Dandeline!" she cried. "And I was picturing some skulking murderer
+lying in wait to pounce on me at the first opportunity. And here it
+was only poor little Microby who happened along, and with her natural
+curiosity pawed over everything in the cabin, and then decided it
+would be a grand stunt to cook herself a meal and eat it at my
+table--and I haven't the least doubt that she arrayed herself in one
+of my dresses when she did it." Patty hummed a light tune as, water
+pail in hand, she made her way up the path to the cabin. "Whee! but
+it's a relief to feel that I won't have to ride these hills peering
+behind every tree and rock for a lurking assassin. And I won't have to
+carry that horrid heavy old gun, either."
+
+After breakfast she saddled her horse and headed up the ravine that
+she had followed upon the morning of her first ride. At the top of the
+divide she pulled up her horse and gazed downward at the little cabin.
+As before she was impressed by the startling distinctness with which
+each object was visible. "Anyway, I'm glad my window is not on this
+side," she muttered, as her eyes strayed to the ground at her horse's
+feet. For yards around, the buffalo grass had been trampled and pawed
+until scarcely a spear remained. "Here's where he watches me start out
+each morning, then he follows me until he's sure I'm well away from
+the valley, then he slips back and searches the cabin, and then takes
+up my trail again. The miserable sneak!" she cried, angrily. "If Mr.
+Thompson, and Watts, and that cowboy preacher knew what I knew about
+him, they wouldn't seem so impressed with him. Anyway," she added,
+defiantly, "Mr. Bethune and Lord Clendenning know him for what he
+is-and so do I."
+
+It was in a very wrathful mood that she turned her horse's head and
+struck into the timber, being careful to avoid Vil Holland's camp by a
+wide margin. Crossing the timbered plateau, she topped a low divide
+and found herself at the head of a deep, rocky valley, whose course
+she could trace for miles as it wound in and out among the far hills.
+Giving her horse his head, she began the descent of the valley,
+scanning its sides carefully as the animal picked his way slowly among
+the rock fragments and patches of scrub timber that littered its
+floor. She had proceeded for perhaps an hour when, in passing the
+mouth of a ravine that slanted sharply into the hills, she was
+startled by a rattling of loose stones, and a horse and rider emerged
+almost directly into her path. The next moment Vil Holland raised the
+Stetson from his head and addressed her gravely: "Good mornin' Miss
+Sinclair, I sure didn't mean to come out on you sudden, that way, but
+Buck slipped on the rocks an' we come mighty near pilin' up."
+
+"It is about the first slip you've made, isn't it?" Patty answered,
+acidly. "Possibly if you'd left your jug at home you wouldn't have
+made that."
+
+"Oh no. We've slipped before. Fact is, we've been into about every
+kind of a jack-pot the hills can deal. We rolled half way down a
+mountain once, an' barrin' a little skinnin' up, we come out of it all
+to the good. But it ain't the jug. Buck don't drink. It's surprisin'
+what a good habited horse he is. He's a heap better'n most folks."
+The man spoke gravely, with no hint of sarcasm in his tone, and Patty
+sniffed. He appeared not to notice. "How you comin' on with the
+prospectin'? Found yer dad's claim yet?"
+
+"You ought to know whether I have or not," she retorted, hotly.
+
+"That's so. If you had, you wouldn't still be huntin' it, would you?"
+
+"No. And if I had, I'd have had a nice little race on my hands to file
+it, wouldn't I?"
+
+"Well, I expect maybe you would. But that horse of yours is pretty
+handy on his feet. Used to belong to Bob Smith--that's his brand--that
+KN on the left shoulder."
+
+"Yes," answered the girl, meaningly. "I understand there is only one
+horse in the hills that could outrun him."
+
+"Buck can. I won ten dollars off Bob one time. We run a mile, an' Buck
+won, easy. But the best thing about Buck, he's a distance horse. He's
+got the wind--an' he don't know what it means to quit. He could run
+all day if he had to, couldn't you, Buck?" The man stroked the
+buckskin's neck affectionately as he talked.
+
+Patty's eyes glinted angrily: "The stakes would have to be pretty
+high for you to run him, say, fifty miles, wouldn't they?"
+
+"Yes. Pretty high," he repeated, and changed the subject abruptly.
+"Must find it kind of lonesome out here in the hills, after livin' in
+the East where there's lots of folks around all the time."
+
+"Oh, not at all," answered the girl, quickly. "Some of my neighbors
+are good enough to call on me once in a while--_when I am at home_.
+And there is at least _one_ that calls very regularly when I am not at
+home. He is a genius for detail--that one. Sharp eyes, and a light
+touch. He's something of an expert in the matter of duplicate keys,
+too. In any large city he should make a grand success--as a burglar.
+It is really too bad that he's wasting his talents, here in the
+hills."
+
+"Maybe he figures that the stakes are higher, and the risk less--here
+in the hills."
+
+"Of course," sneered Patty. "And I must say his reasoning does him
+credit. If he should succeed in burglarizing even the biggest bank in
+the richest city, he could not expect to carry off a gold mine. And,
+here in the hills, instead of burglar-proof devices and armed
+policemen, he has only an unlocked cabin, and a woman to contend
+with. Yes, the risk is far less here in the hills. His location speaks
+well for his reasoning--if not for his courage."
+
+"I suppose he figures that plenty of brutes have got courage, but only
+humans can reason," answered the man, blandly. "But, ridin' out in the
+hills this way--that must be a lonesome job."
+
+"Not at all," she answered, in a voice that masked the anger against
+the man who sat calmly baiting her. "In fact, I never ride alone. I
+have an unseen escort, who accompanies me wherever I go. 'My guardian
+devil of the hills' I call him, and even when I'm at home I know that
+he is watching from his notch in the rim of the hills."
+
+"Guardian devil," the man repeated. "That's pretty good." He did not
+smile, in fact, Patty recalled, as she sat looking squarely into his
+eyes, that she had never seen him smile--had never seen him express
+any emotion. Without a trace of anger in tone or expression he had
+ordered the grasping hotel-keeper about--and had been obeyed to the
+letter. And without the slightest evidence of annoyance or displeasure
+he had listened, upon several occasions to her own sarcastic outbursts
+against him. Here was a man as devoid of emotion as a fish, or one
+whose complete self-mastery was astounding. "Pretty good," he
+repeated. "And does he know that you call him your 'guardian devil?'"
+
+"Yes, I think he does--now," she answered, dryly. "By the way, Mr.
+Holland, you do a good deal of riding about the hills, yourself."
+
+"Yeh, prospectors are apt to. Then, there's other little matters of
+interest here, too."
+
+"Such as horse-thieving?" suggested the girl. "I heard you were paid
+to run down a gang of horse-thieves. I was wondering when you found
+time to earn your money."
+
+"Yeh, there's some hair artists loose in the hills, an' some of the
+outfits kind of wanted me to keep an eye out for 'em."
+
+An old saw flashed into the girl's mind, and the comers of her mouth
+drew into a sarcastic smile.
+
+"'Settin' a thief to catch a thief,' is what you're thinkin'. We ain't
+so well acquainted yet as what we will be--when you get your eye teeth
+cut."
+
+"I suppose our real acquaintance will begin when the game we are
+playing comes to a show-down?" she sneered. "But let me tell you this,
+if I win, our acquaintance will end, right where you think it will
+begin!"
+
+The cowboy nodded: "That's fair an' square. An' if I win--_you'll have
+to be satisfied with what you get_. Good-day, I've fooled away time
+enough already." And, with a word to his horse, Vil Holland
+disappeared up the valley in the direction from which the girl had
+come.
+
+When her anger had cooled sufficiently, Patty smiled, a rather grim,
+tight-lipped little smile. "If he wins I'll have to be satisfied with
+what I get," she muttered. "At least, he's candid about it. I think,
+now, Mr. Vil Holland and I understand each other perfectly."
+
+Late in the afternoon she emerged from the mouth of her valley and,
+crossing a familiar tongue of bench, found herself upon the trail near
+the point of its intersection with Monte's Creek. Turning up the
+creek, she stopped for a few minutes' chat with Ma Watts.
+
+"Law sakes! Climb right down an' set a while. I wus sayin' to Watts
+las' night how we-all hain't see nawthin' of yo' fer hit's goin' on a
+couple of weeks 'cept yo' hirein' the team, an' not stoppin' in to
+speak of, comin' er goin'. How be yo'? An' I 'spect yo' hain't found
+yer pa's claim yet. I saved yo' up a dozen of aigs. Hed to mighty near
+fight off that there Lord Clendennin' he wanted 'em so bad. But I
+done tol' him yo' wus promised 'em, an' yo'd git 'em not nary nother.
+So there they be, honey, all packed in a pail with hay so's they won't
+break. No sir, I tol' him how he couldn't hev' 'em if he wus two
+lords. An' all the time we wus a-augerin', Mr. Bethune an' Microby
+Dandeline sot out yonder a-talkin' an' laughin', friendly as yo'
+please." Ma Watts paused for breath and her eye fell upon her spouse,
+who stood meekly beside the kitchen door. "Watts, where's yer manners?
+Cain't yo' say 'howdy' to Mr. Sinclair's darter--an' her a-payin' yo'
+good money fer rent an' fer team hire. Yo' ort to be 'shamed, standin'
+gawpin' like a mud turkle. Folks 'ud think yo' hain't got good sense."
+
+"I aimed to say 'howdy' first chanct I got." He shoved a chair toward
+the girl. "Set down an' take hit easy a spell."
+
+"Where is Microby?" she asked, refusing the proffered seat with a
+smile, and leaning lightly against her saddle.
+
+"Land sakes, I don't know! She's gittin' that no 'count, she goes
+pokin' off somewhere's in the hills on Gee Dot. Says she's
+a-prospectin'--like they all says when they're too lazy to do reg'lar
+work."
+
+"My father was a prospector," answered the girl, quickly, "and there
+wasn't a lazy bone in his body. And I'm a prospector, and I'm sure I'm
+not lazy."
+
+"Law, there I went an' done hit!" exclaimed Ma Watts, contritely. "I
+didn't mean no real honest-to-Gawd, reg'lar prospectors like yo' pa
+wus, an' yo', an' Mr. Bethune. But there's that Vil Holland, he's a
+cowpuncher, when he works, and a prospector when he don't. An' there's
+Lord Clendennin', he's a prospector all the time, 'cause he don't
+never work--an' that's the way hit goes. An' Microby Dandeline's
+a-gittin' as triflin' as the rest. Mr. Bethune, he tellin' her how
+she'd git rich ef she could find a gol' mind, an' how she could buy
+her some fine clos' like yourn, an' go to the city to live like the
+folks in the pitchers. Mr. Bethune, he's done found minds. He's rich.
+An' he's got manners, too. Watts, he's allus makin' light of
+manners--says they don't 'mount to nawthin'. But thet's 'cause he
+hain't quality. Quality's got 'em, an' they're nice to hev."
+
+"Gre't sight o' quality--him," growled Watts. "He's part Injun."
+
+"Hit don't make no diff'ence what he's part!" defended the woman.
+"He's rich, an' he's purty lookin', an' he's got manners like I done
+tol' yo'. Ef I wus you I'd marry up with him, an----"
+
+"Why, Mrs. Watts! What do you mean?" exclaimed the girl flushing with
+annoyance.
+
+"Jest what I be'n aimin' to tell yo' fer hit's goin' on quite a spell.
+Yo'n him 'ud step hit off right pert. Yo' pretty, an' yo' rich, er yo'
+will be when yo' find yo' pa's mind, an' yo' manners is most as good
+as his'n."
+
+The humor of the mountain woman's serious effort at match-making
+struck Patty, and she interrupted with a laugh: "There are several
+objections to that arrangement," she hastened to say. "In the first
+place Mr. Bethune has never asked me to marry him. He may have serious
+objections, and as for me, I'm not ready to even think of marrying."
+
+"Don't take long to git ready, onct yo' git in the notion. An' I bet
+Mr. Bethune hain't abuzzin' 'round up an' down this yere crick fer
+nawthin'. Law sakes, child, when I tuk a notion to take Watts, come a
+supper time I wusn't no more a mind to git married than yo' be, an',
+by cracky! come moonrise me an' Watts had forked one o' pa's mewels
+with nothin' on but a rope halter, an' wus headin' down the branch
+with pa an' my brother Lafe a-cuttin' through the lau'ls with their
+rifle-guns fer to head us off."
+
+"Yo' didn't take me fer looks ner manners, neither," reminded Watts.
+
+"Law, I'd a be'n single yet, ef I hed. No sir, I tuk yo' to save a
+sight o' killin' that's what I done. Yo' see, Miss, my pa wus sot on
+me not marryin' no Watts--not that I aimed to, 'til he says I dasn't.
+But Watts hed be'n a pesterin' 'round right smart, nights, an' pa
+lowed he'd shore kill him daid ef he didn't mind his own
+business--so'd my brothers, they wus five of 'em, an' nary one that
+wusn't mighty handy with his rifle-gun.
+
+"So Watts, he quit a-comin' to the cabin, but me an' him made hit up
+thet he'd hide out on t'other side o' the branch an' holler like a
+owl, an' then I'd slip out the back do'--an' that's the way we done
+our co'tin'. My folks didn't hev no truck with the Wattses thet lived
+on t'other side the mountain, 'count of them killin' two Strunkses a
+way back, the Strunkses bein' my pa's ma's folks, over a hawg. Even
+then I didn't hev no notion o' marryin' Watts, jest done hit to be
+a-doin' like, ontil pa an' the boys ketched on to whut we wus up to.
+After thet, hit got so't every time they heerd a squinch owl holler,
+they'd begin a-shootin' into the bresh with their rifle guns. Watts
+lowed they was comin' doggone clust to him a time er two, an' how he
+aimed to bring along his own gun some night, an' start a shootin'
+back.
+
+"Law knows wher it would ended, whut one with another, the Biggses an'
+the Strunkses, an' the Rawlins, an' the Craborchards would hev be'n
+drug into hit, along of the Wattses an' the Scrogginses. So I tuk
+Watts, an' we went to live with his folks, an' we sent back the mewel
+with Job Swenky, who they wouldn't nobody kill 'cause he wus a daftie.
+An' pa brung back the mewel hisself, come alone, an' 'thouten his
+rifle-gun. He says seem' how Watts hed got me fair an' squr, an' we
+wus reg'lar married, he reckoned the ol' grudge wus dead, the
+Strunkses wasn't no count much, nohow, an' we wus welcome to keep the
+mewel to start on. So Watts's pa killed a shoat, an' brung out a big
+jug o' corn whisky, an' we-all et an' drunk all we could hold, an'
+from then on 'til whut time we come away from ther, they wusn't a man,
+outside a couple o' revenoos, killed on B'ar Track.
+
+"So yo' see," the woman continued, with a smile. "Hit don't take no
+time to git ready, onct yo' git in the notion."
+
+"I'm afraid I haven't the same provocation," Patty laughed, as she
+picked up her pail of eggs and swung into the saddle. "Good-by, and be
+sure and tell Microby Dandeline to come up and see me. Maybe she'd
+like to come up on Sunday. I never ride on Sunday."
+
+"She'll come fast enough," promised Ma Watts, and watched the
+retreating girl until a bend of the creek carried her out of sight.
+
+The long shadows of the mountains were slowly climbing the opposite
+wall of the valley, as the girl rode leisurely up Monte's Creek. And
+as she rode, she smiled: "Why is it that every married woman--and
+especially the older ones, thinks it is her bounden duty to pounce
+upon and marry off every single one? It is not one bit different out
+here in the heart of the hills, than it is in Middleton, or New York.
+And, it isn't because they're all so happy in their own marriages,
+either. Look at old Mrs. Stratford, who was bound and determined that
+I must marry that Archie Smith-Jones; she's been married four times,
+and divorced three. And Archie never will amount to a row of pins. He
+looks like a tailor's model, and acts like a Rolls-Royce. And, I
+don't see any supreme bliss about Mrs. Watts's married existence,
+although she's perfectly satisfied, I guess, poor thing. I love the
+subtle finesse with which she tried to arrange a match between me and
+Mr. Bethune. ''Ef I wus yo' I'd marry up with him'--just like that!
+Shades of Mrs. Stratford who spent two whole months trying to get
+Archie and me into the same canoe! And when she did, the blamed thing
+tipped over and ruined the only decent summer things I had, all
+because that fool Archie thought he had to stand up to fend the canoe
+off the pier.... At least, Mr. Bethune has got some sense, and he is
+good looking, and he seems to have money, and there is a certain dash
+and verve about him that one would hardly expect to find here in the
+hills--and yet--there's something--it isn't his Indian blood, I don't
+care a cent about that--but sometimes, there's something about him
+that makes me wonder if he's genuine."
+
+She passed through the cottonwood grove and emerged into the open only
+a few hundred yards below the sheep camp. A moment later she halted
+abruptly and stared toward the cabin. Two saddled horses stood before
+the door, reins hanging loosely, and upon the edge of a low cut-bank,
+just below the shallow waters of the ford, two men were struggling,
+locked in each other's embrace. Hastily the girl drew back into the
+cover of the grove and watched with intense interest the two forms
+that weaved precariously above the deep pool formed by a sudden bend
+in the creek. The horses she recognized as Vil Holland's buckskin, and
+the big, blaze-faced bay ridden by Lord Clendenning. In the gathering
+dusk she could not make out the faces of the two men, but by their
+heaving, circling, swaying figures she knew that mighty muscles were
+being strained to their utmost, and that soon one or the other must
+give in. A dozen questions flashed through the girl's brain. What were
+they doing there? Why were they fighting at the very door of her
+cabin? And, above all, what would be the outcome? Would one of them
+kill the other? Would one of them be left maimed and bleeding for her
+to bind up and coax back to life?
+
+The men were on the very verge of the cut-bank, now, and it seemed
+inevitable that both must go crashing into the creek. "Serve 'em right
+if they would," muttered Patty, "I'd like to give 'em a push." With
+the words on her lips, she saw a blur of motion, one of the forms
+leaped lightly back, and the other poised for a second, arms waving
+wildly in a vain effort to regain his balance, then fell suddenly
+backward and toppled headlong into the creek. Patty could distinctly
+hear the mighty splash with which he struck the water, as the other
+advanced to the edge and peered downward. She knew that this other was
+Vil Holland, and a moment later he turned away and catching up the
+reins of the buckskin, swung into the saddle, splashed through the
+ford, and disappeared into the scrub timber of the opposite side of
+the valley.
+
+Patty urged her horse forward, at the imminent risk of injury to her
+pail of eggs. When she had almost reached the cabin, a grotesque,
+dripping form crawled heavily from the creek bed, gave one hurried
+glance in her direction, mounted his horse, and disappeared in a
+thunder of galloping hoofs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+BETHUNE TRIES AGAIN
+
+
+For several days following the incident of the two struggling
+horsemen, Patty rode, extending her quest farther and farther into the
+hills, and thus widening the circle of her exploration. She had
+overhauled her father's photographic outfit and found it contained
+complete supplies for the development and printing of his own
+pictures, and having brought several rolls of films from town, she
+proceeded to amuse herself by photographing the more striking bits of
+scenery she encountered upon her daily rides.
+
+It was mid-summer, now, the sun shone hot and brassy from a cloudless
+sky, and the buffalo grass was beginning to exchange its fresh
+greenness for a shade of dirty tan. Only the delicious coolness of the
+short nights made bearable the long, hot, monotonous days during which
+the girl stuck doggedly to her purpose. Upon these rides she met no
+one. It was as if human beings had entirely forsaken the world and
+left it to the prairie dogs, the coyotes, and the lazily coiled
+rattle-snakes that lay basking upon the rocks in the hot glare of the
+sun. Even the occasional bunches of range cattle did not eye her with
+their accustomed interest, but lay in straggling groups close beside
+the cold waters of tiny streams.
+
+And it was upon one of these hot days, long past the noon hour, that
+Patty dismounted in a narrow valley near the head of a cold mountain
+stream and, affixing the hobbles to her horse's legs, threw off the
+saddle and bridle, and spread the sweat-dampened blanket to dry in the
+sun. Freed of his accouterments, the horse shook himself, shuffled to
+the stream, and burying his muzzle to the eyes, sucked up great gulps
+of the cold water, and playfully thrashing his head, sent volleys of
+silver drops flying from side to side, as he churned the tiny pool
+into a veritable mud wallow. Tiring of that, he rolled luxuriously,
+the crisping buffalo grass scratching the irking saddle-feel from his
+back and sides: and as the girl spread her luncheon upon a clean white
+napkin in the shade of a stunted cottonwood, fell to grazing
+contentedly.
+
+As Patty chipped at the shell of a hard-boiled egg she glanced toward
+the horse, which had stopped grazing and stood facing down stream with
+ears nervously alert. A few moments later the soft rattle of
+bit-chains and the low shuffling of hoofs told her that a rider was
+approaching at a walk. "Probably my guardian devil, ostensibly paying
+strict attention to his own business of prospecting, or trying to
+strike the trail of the horse-thieves, but in reality hot on the trail
+of little me. I just wish I could find the mine. He'll have to stop
+and drive his stakes and fix his notice, and if his old buckskin is as
+good as he thinks he is, he'll just about overtake me at Thompson's.
+And then on a fresh horse--I just want one good look into his face
+when I pass him, that's all!"
+
+The horseman came suddenly into view a few yards distant, and the girl
+looked up into the black eyes of Monk Bethune.
+
+"Well, well, my dear Miss Sinclair!" The quarter-breed's tone was one
+of glad surprise, as he dismounted and advanced, hat in hand. "This is
+indeed an unexpected pleasure. La, la, la, the luck of it! Shall we
+say, the romance? Hot and saddle-weary from a long ride, to come
+suddenly upon the fairest of ladies, at luncheon alone in the most
+charming of little valleys. It is a situation to be dreamed of. And,
+am I not to be asked to share your repast?"
+
+Patty laughed. The light whimsicality of the man's mood amused her:
+"Yes, you may consider yourself invited."
+
+"And be assured that I accept, that is, upon condition that I be
+allowed to contribute my just share toward the feast." As he talked,
+Bethune fumbled at his pack-strings, and brought forth a small canvas
+bag, from which he drew sandwiches of fried trout and bacon thrust
+between two slabs of doubtful looking baking-powder bread. "No dainty
+lunch prepared by woman's hand," he apologized, "but we of the hills,
+no matter how exotic or aesthetic our tastes may be, must of stern
+necessity descend to the common level of cowboys and offscourings in
+the matter of our eating. See, beside your own palatable food, this
+rough fare of mine presents an appearance unappetizing almost to
+repugnance."
+
+"At least, it looks eminently satisfying," said Patty, eyeing the
+thick sandwiches.
+
+"Satisfying, I grant you. Satisfying to the beast that is in man, in
+that it stays the pangs of hunger. So is the blood-dripping carcass of
+the fresh-killed calf satisfying to the wolf, and carrion satisfying
+to the buzzard. But, not at all satisfying to the unbestial ego--to
+the thing that makes man, man."
+
+"You should have been a poet," smiled the girl. "But come, even poets
+must eat."
+
+"God help the man who has no poetry in his soul--no imagination!"
+exclaimed Bethune, a trifle sententiously, thought the girl, as she
+resumed the chipping of her egg. "Imagination," the word hovered
+elusively in her brain--she had applied that word only recently to
+someone--oh, yes, the man whose habit it was to search her cabin. She
+smiled ever so slightly as she glanced sidewise at Bethune who was
+nibbling at one of his own sandwiches.
+
+"Please try one of mine," she urged, "and there are some pickles, and
+an olive or two. I have loads of them at home, and really I believe I
+should like that other sandwich of yours. I haven't tasted fish for
+ages."
+
+"Take it and welcome," smiled the man. "But do not deny yourself the
+pleasure of eating all the fish you want. Why, with a bent pin, a bit
+of thread, and housefly, you can catch yourself a mess of trout any
+morning without venturing a hundred yards from your own door. Monte's
+Creek is alive with them, and taken fresh from the water and fried to
+a crisp in butter, they make a breakfast fit for a king, or in the
+present instance, I should have said, a queen."
+
+"Tell me," asked Patty, abruptly. "Has Vil Holland imagination?"
+
+"Imagination! My dear lady, Vil Holland is the veriest clod! Too lazy
+to do the honest work for which he is fitted, he roams the hills under
+pretense of prospecting."
+
+"But, how does he make a living?"
+
+Bethune shrugged. "Who can tell? I know for a certainty that he has
+never made a cent out of his alleged prospecting. It is true he rides
+the round-up for a couple of months in the spring and fall, but four
+months' work at forty dollars a month will hardly suffice for a man's
+yearly needs." He unconsciously lowered his voice, and continued:
+"Several ranchers have complained of losing horses and only a few days
+ago, up near the line, my good friend Corporal Downey, of the Mounted,
+told me that a number of American horses, with brands skillfully
+doctored, had been regularly making their appearance in Canada. It is
+an ugly suspicion, and I am making no open accusation, but--one may
+wonder."
+
+The man finished his sandwich, dipped his fingers into the creek, wiped
+them upon his handkerchief, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. "Speaking of
+Vil Holland, why did you ask whether he had--imagination?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," replied the girl, lightly. "I just wondered."
+
+Bethune regarded her steadily. "Has he been,--er, interfering in any
+way with your attempt to locate your father's strike?"
+
+"Hardly interfering, I should say."
+
+"You believe he still follows you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You do not fear him?"
+
+"No."
+
+"That is because you do not know him! I tell you he is a dangerous
+man!" Bethune puffed shortly at his cigarette, hurled it from him, and
+faced the girl with glowing eyes: "Ah, Miss Sinclair, why don't you
+end this uncertainty? Why do you continue every day to jeopardize your
+interests--yes, your very life----?"
+
+"Do you mean," interrupted the girl, "why don't I form a partnership
+with you?"
+
+"A partnership! Ah, no, not a--and, yet--yes, a partnership. A
+partnership of life, and love, and happiness!" The man moved close,
+and the black eyes seemed, in the intensity of their gaze to devour
+her very soul. "There I have said it--the thing I have been wanting to
+say, yet have feared to say." Patty's lips moved, as if to speak, but
+the man forestalled the words with a gesture. "Before you answer, let
+me tell you how, since you first came into the hills, I have lived in
+the shadow of a mighty fear--I, who have lived my life among men, and
+have never known the meaning of fear, have been harassed by a
+multitude of fears. From the moment of our first meeting I have loved
+you. And, by all the saints, I swear you are the only woman I have
+ever loved! And, yet, I feared to tell you of that love. Twice the
+words have trembled on my tongue, and remained unspoken, because I
+feared that you might spurn me. Then in my heart rose another fear,
+and I cursed myself for a craven. I feared that chance might favor you
+in locating your father's strike, and then people would say, 'he loves
+her for her wealth.' I even thought that you, yourself, might
+doubt--might ask yourself why he waited until I became rich before he
+told me of his love? But, believe me, my dear lady, for your wealth, I
+care not the snap of my fingers--so!" He snapped his fingers loudly
+and continued: "But say the word, and we will go far from the hill
+country, and leave your father's secret to the guardianship of his
+beloved mountains. For I am rich. I own mines, mines, mines! What is
+one mine more or less to me?"
+
+Patty Sinclair felt herself drifting under the spell of his compelling
+ardor. "Why not?" she asked herself. "Why not marry this man and give
+up the hopeless struggle?" She thought of her depleted bank account.
+At best, she could not hope to hold out much longer. Bethune had taken
+her hand as he talked, and she had not withdrawn it from his palm.
+Swiftly he bent his head and pressed the brown hand passionately to
+his lips. She felt his grip tighten as the burning kisses covered her
+hand--her wrist. She drew the hand away.
+
+"But, I do not want to leave the hill country," she said, quite
+calmly. "I shall never leave it until I have vindicated my father's
+course in the eyes of the people back home--the men who scoffed at
+him, and called him a ne'er-do-well, and a dreamer--who refused to
+back his judgment with their miserable dollars--who killed him with
+their cruelty, and their doubt!"
+
+"I hoped you would say that!" exclaimed Bethune, his eyes alight with
+approval. "I knew you would say it! The daughter of your father could
+not do otherwise. I knew him well, and loved him as a son should love.
+And I, too, would see his judgment vindicated in the eyes of all the
+world. Listen, together we will remain, and together we will locate
+the lost strike, if it takes every cent I own." The man's voice
+gripped in its intensity, and Patty's eyes returned from the distance
+where the summer haze bathed far mountain tops in soft purple, and
+looked into the eyes of velvet black.
+
+"But, why should you want to marry me?" she inquired, a puzzled little
+frown wrinkling her forehead. "You hardly know me. You have not always
+lived in the hills. You have met many women."
+
+"A man meets many women. He marries but one. You ask me why I want to
+marry you. I cannot tell you why. Many times since we first met I have
+asked myself why. I, who have openly scoffed at the yoke, and boasted
+proudly of my freedom. I do not know why, unless it is that to me you
+are the embodiment of all womanhood--of all that is desirable and
+worth while, or maybe the reason is in the fact that while I am with
+you I am supremely happy, and while I am absent from you I am
+restless and unhappy--a prey to my fears. I suppose it all sums up in
+the reason--world-old, but ever new--because I love you." The man was
+upon his feet, now, bending toward her with arms outstretched. For
+just an instant Patty hesitated, then shook her head.
+
+"No!" she cried and struggling to her feet, faced him across the
+remains of the luncheon. "No, it would not be playing the game. I have
+my work to do, and I'll do it alone. It would be like quitting--like
+calling for help before I am beaten. This is my work--not yours, this
+vindication of my father!"
+
+"But think," interrupted Bethune, "you will not let such Quixotic
+ideals stand between us and happiness! You have your right to
+happiness, and so have I, and in the end 'twill be the same, your
+father's name will be cleared of any suspicion of unworthiness."
+
+"It is my work," Patty repeated, stubbornly, "and besides, I do not
+think I love you. I do not know----"
+
+"Ah, but you will love me!" cried Bethune. "Such love as mine will not
+be denied!" The black eyes glowed, and he took a step toward her, but
+the girl drew away.
+
+"Not now--not yet! Stop!" At the command Bethune recoiled slightly,
+and the arms that had been about to encircle the girl, fell slowly to
+his sides. Patty had suddenly drawn herself erect and looked him eye
+for eye: and as she looked, from behind the soft glow of the velvet
+eyes, leaped a wolfish gleam--a glint of baffled rage, a flash of
+hate. In a moment it was gone and the man's lips smiled.
+
+"Pardon," he said, "for the moment I forgot I have not the right." The
+voice had lost its intense timbre, and sounded dull, as if held under
+control only by a mighty effort of will. And in that moment a strange
+fear of him took possession of the girl, so that her own voice
+surprised her with its calm.
+
+"I must be going, now."
+
+Bethune bowed. "I will saddle your horse, while you clear up the
+table." He nodded toward the napkin spread upon the grass with the
+remains of the luncheon upon it. "My way takes me within a short
+distance of your cabin; may I ride with you?" he asked a few moments
+later, as he led her horse, bridled and saddled, to his own.
+
+"Why certainly. I should be glad to have you. And we can talk."
+
+"Of love?"
+
+The girl laughed: "No, not of love. Surely there are other things----"
+
+"Yes, for instance, I may again warn you that you are in danger."
+
+"Danger?" she glanced up quickly.
+
+"From Vil Holland." They had mounted, and turned their horses toward a
+long divide.
+
+"Oh, yes, from Vil Holland," she repeated slowly, as she drew in
+beside him. "I had almost forgotten Vil Holland."
+
+"I wish to God I could forget him," retorted the man, viciously. "But,
+as long as you remain unprotected in these hills I shall never for one
+moment forget him. Your secret is not safe. Your person is not safe.
+He dogs your footsteps. He visits your cabin during your absence. He
+is bad--_bad!_ And here I must tell you of an incident--or rather
+explain an incident, the unfortunate conclusion of which you saw with
+your own eyes. Poor Clen! He is beside himself with mortification at
+the sorry spectacle he presented when you rode up and saw him crawl
+dripping from the creek.
+
+"I was away to the northward, on important business, and knowing that
+it had become my custom to ride over occasionally to see how you
+fared, he decided to do the same during my absence. Arriving at the
+cabin, he was surprised to see Vil Holland's horse before the door. He
+rode boldly up, dismounted, and caught the scoundrel in the act of
+searching among your effects. The sight, together with the memory of
+the cut pack sack, enraged him to such an extent that, despite the
+fact that the other was armed, he attacked him with his fists. In the
+fighting that ensued, Holland, being much the younger and more agile,
+succeeded in pitching Clen over the edge of the bank into the creek.
+Whereupon, he leaped into the saddle and vanished.
+
+"When Clen finally succeeded in reaching the bank and drawing himself
+over the top, he was horrified to see you approaching. Above all
+things Clen is a gentleman, and rather than appear before you in his
+bedraggled condition, he fled. Upon my return he insisted that I see
+you and explain the awkward situation to you in person. I beg of you
+never to refer to the incident in Clen's presence, especially not in
+levity, for he has, more strongly than anyone I ever knew, the
+Englishman's horror of appearing ridiculous."
+
+Patty smiled: "It was too funny for words. The way he gave one
+horrified glance in my direction and then scrambled into his saddle
+and dashed away, with the water flowing from him in rivulets. But of
+course, I shall never mention it to Lord Clendenning, and I wish you
+would thank him for his valiant championship of my cause."
+
+Bethune shot her a swift sidewise glance. Was there just a trace of
+mockery in the tone? If so, her expression masked it perfectly.
+
+They rode in silence for a time, following down the course of a broad
+valley, and presently came out onto the trail. A rider approached them
+at a walk, the low-hung white dust cloud in his wake marking the
+course of the long, hot trail. Bethune scrutinized the man intently.
+"Jack Pierce," he announced. "He runs a little yak outfit, a few head
+of horses, and some cattle over on Big Porcupine." A moment later
+Bethune drew up and greeted the rider with a great show of cordiality.
+"Hello, Pierce, old hand! How's everything over on Porcupine?"
+
+The rancher returned the greeting with a curt nod, and a level stare:
+"Things on Porky's all right, I guess--so far."
+
+"I hear old man Samuelson's sick?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How's he getting on?"
+
+"Ain't heard. So long." He touched his horse with a quirt and the
+animal continued down the trail at a brisk trot.
+
+"Surly devil," growled Bethune, as he gazed for a moment at the
+retreating horseman, and this time Patty was sure she detected the
+snake-like gleam in the black eyes. He dug his horse viciously with
+his spurs and jerked him in, dancing and fighting the bit. He laughed,
+shortly. "These little ranchers--bah!"
+
+"Mr. Christie rode over to see Mr. Samuelson the other day. I met him
+at Thompson's."
+
+"Oh, so you know the soul-puncher, do you? Makes a big play with his
+yellow chaps and six-gun. Suppose he had to be there to see that old
+Samuelson gets a ring-side seat if he happens to cash in."
+
+"He said he was going over to see if there was anything he could do,"
+answered the girl, ignoring the venom of the man's words.
+
+"Pretty slick graft--preaching. Educated for it myself. Old
+Samuelson's rich. Christie goes over and pulls a long face, and sends
+up a hatful of prayers, and if he gets well Samuelson will hand him a
+nice fat check for the church. If he don't, the old woman kicks in.
+And you know, and I know how much of it the church ever sees. Did the
+soul-puncher have anything to say about me?"
+
+"About you?" asked the girl in apparent surprise. "Why should he say
+anything about you?"
+
+"Because they all take a crack at me!" said Bethune in an injured
+tone. "You just saw how Pierce answered a civil question. They all
+hate me because I have made money. They never made any, and they never
+will, and they're jealous of my success. They never lose a chance to
+malign and injure me in every way possible--but I'll show them! Damn
+them! I'll show them all!" They rode for a short distance in silence,
+then Bethune laughed. It was the ringing boyish laugh that held no
+hint of bitterness or sneer. "I hope you will pardon my outburst. I
+have my moments of irascibility, for which I am heartily ashamed.
+But--poof! Like a summer cloud, they are gone as quickly as they come.
+Why should I care what they say of me. They betray their own meanness
+of soul in their envy of my success. We part here for the time. I must
+ride over onto the east slope--a little matter of some horses." Again
+he laughed: "In a few days I shall return--I give you fair
+warning--return to win your love. And I will win--I am Monk Bethune--I
+always win!" Without waiting for a reply, the man drove his spurs
+into his horse's sides and, swerving abruptly from the trail,
+disappeared down a narrow rock chasm that led directly into the heart
+of the hills.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+PATTY DRAWS A MAP
+
+
+That evening after supper, Patty sat upon her doorstep and watched the
+slowly fading opalescent glow in which the daylight surrendered to
+encroaching darkness. "How wonderful it all is, and how beautiful!"
+she breathed. "The indomitable ruggedness of the hills--rough and
+forbidding, but never ugly. Always beckoning, always challenging, yet
+always repulsing. Guarding their secrets well. Their rock walls and
+mighty precipices frowning displeasure at the presumptuous meddling of
+the intruder, and their valleys gaping in sardonic grins at the puny
+attempts to wrest their secret from them. Always, the mountains mock,
+even as they stimulate to greater effort with their wonderful air, and
+soothe bitter disappointment with the soft caress of twilight's
+after-glow. I love it--and yet, how I hate it all! I can't hold out
+much longer. I'm like a general who has to withdraw his forces, not
+because he is beaten, but because he has run short of ammunition. It
+is August, and by the end of September I'll be done." She clenched her
+fists until the nails dug into her palms. "But I'll come back," she
+cried, defiantly. "I'll work--I'll find some way to earn some money,
+and I'll come back year after year, if I have to, until I have
+explored every single one of these mountains from the littlest
+foothill to the top of the highest peak. And someday, I'll win!"
+
+"Mr. Bethune is rich." She started. The thought flashed upon her
+brain, vivid as whispered words. Involuntarily, she shuddered at the
+memory of his burning eyes, the hot touch of his lips upon her
+hand--her arm. She remembered the short, curt answers of the hard-eyed
+Pierce. And the thinly veiled distrust of Bethune, voiced by Vil
+Holland, Thompson, and the preacher whom he had affectionately
+referred to as "The Bishop of All Outdoors." Could it be possible--was
+it reasonable, that these were all so mean and contemptible of soul
+that their words were actuated by jealousy of Bethune's success? Patty
+thought not. Somehow, the characters did not fit the role. "If he'd
+have explained their dislike upon the grounds of his Indian blood, it
+might have carried the ring of truth--at least, it would have been
+reasonable. But, jealousy--as Mr. Vil Holland would say, 'I don't grab
+it.'"
+
+She recalled the wolfish gleam that flashed into Bethune's eyes, and
+the malicious hatred expressed in his insinuations and accusations
+against these men. Could it be possible that her distrust of Vil
+Holland was unfounded? But no, there was the repeated searching of her
+cabin--and had not Lord Clendenning caught him in the act? There was
+the trampled grass of the notch in the hills from which he was
+accustomed to spy upon her. And the cut pack sack--somehow, she was
+not so sure about that cut pack sack. But, anyway--there is the jug!
+"I don't trust him!" she exclaimed, "and I don't trust Monk Bethune,
+now. I'm glad I found him out before it was--too late. He's bad--I
+could see the evil glitter in his eyes. And, how do I know that he
+told the truth about Lord Clendenning and Vil Holland?" Darkness
+settled upon the valley and Patty sought her bunk where, for a
+restless hour, she tossed about thinking.
+
+The following morning the girl paused, coffee pot in hand, in the act
+of preparing breakfast, and listened. Distinct and clear above the
+sound of sizzling bacon, floated the words of an old ballad:
+
+    Oh, ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road,
+    An' I'll be in Sco'lan' afore ye;
+
+    But, oh, my true love I'll never meet again,
+    On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomon'.
+
+Hastening to the open door she peered down the valley. The song
+ceased, and presently from the cottonwood thicket emerged a horse and
+rider. The rider wore a roll-brimmed hat and brilliant yellow chaps,
+and he was mounted upon a fantastically spotted pinto. "It's--'The
+Bishop of All Outdoors'," she smiled, as she returned to the stove.
+"He certainly has a voice. I don't blame Mr. Thompson for being crazy
+about him. Anybody that can sing like that! And he loves it, too."
+
+A hearty "Good morning" brought her once more to the door.
+
+"Just in time for breakfast," she smiled up into the eyes of the man
+on the pinto.
+
+"Breakfast! Bless you, I didn't stop for breakfast. I figured on
+breakfasting with my friend, The Villain, over across the ridge."
+
+"The Villain?"
+
+"Vil Holland," laughed the man. "His name, I believe is, Villiers. I
+shortened it to Villain, and the natives hereabouts have bobbed it
+down to Vil. But he'll have to breakfast alone this morning, as
+usual. I've changed my mind. You see, I share the proverbial weakness
+of the clergy for a good meal. And against so charming a hostess, old
+Vil hasn't a chance in the world." Dismounting, the Reverend Len
+Christie removed his saddle and bridle and, with a resounding slap on
+the flank turned the pinto loose. "Get along, old Paint, and lay in
+some of this good grass!" he laughed as the pinto, cavorting like a
+colt, galloped across the creek to join Patty's hobbled cayuse.
+
+"My, that bacon smells good," he said, a moment later, as he stood in
+the doorway and watched the girl turn the thin strips in the pan. "Do
+let me furnish part of the breakfast," he cried, eagerly and began
+swiftly to loosen from behind the cantle of his saddle a slender case,
+from which he produced and fitted together a two-ounce rod. "I'll take
+it right from your own dooryard in just about two jiffies." He affixed
+a reel, threaded a cobweb line, and selected a fly. "Just save that
+bacon fry for a few minutes and we'll have some speckled beauties in
+the pan before you know it."
+
+Pushing the frying pan to the back of the stove, Patty accompanied him
+to the bank of the stream where she watched enthusiastically as, one
+after another, he pulled four glistening trout from the water.
+
+"That's enough," he said, as the fourth fish lay squirming upon the
+grass. And in what seemed to the girl an incredibly short time, he had
+them cleaned, washed, and ready for the pan. While she fried them he
+busied himself with his outfit, wiping his rod and carefully returning
+it to its case, and spreading his line to dry. And a few moments later
+the two sat down to a breakfast of hot biscuits, coffee, bacon, and
+trout, crisp and brown, smoking from the pan.
+
+"You must have ridden nearly all night to have reached here so early,"
+ventured the girl as she poured a cup of steaming coffee.
+
+"No," laughed Christie, "I spent the night at the Wattses'. I had some
+drawing paper and pencils for David Golieth. Do you know, I've a
+notion to send that kid to school some place. He's wild about drawing.
+Takes me all over the hills for a mile or two around the ranch and
+shows me pictures he has drawn with charcoal wherever there is a piece
+of flat rock. He's as shy and sensitive as a girl, until he begins to
+talk about his drawing, then his big eyes fairly glow with enthusiasm
+as he points out the good points of some of his creations, and the
+defects of others. All of them, of course, are crude as the pictorial
+efforts of the Indians, but it seems to me that here and there I can
+see a flash of real genius."
+
+"Wouldn't it be wonderful if he should become a famous artist!"
+exclaimed the girl. "And wouldn't you feel proud of having discovered
+him? And I guess lots of them do come from just as unpromising
+parentage."
+
+"It wouldn't be so remarkable," smiled the man. "Watts, himself is a
+genius--for inventing excuses to rest."
+
+"How is the sick man?" asked Patty. "The one you went to see, over on
+Big Porcupine, wasn't it?"
+
+"Yes, old man Samuelson. Fine old fellow--Samuelson. I sure hope he'll
+pull through. Doc Mallory came while I was there, and he told me he's
+got a good fighting chance. And a fighting chance is all that old
+fellow asks--even against pneumonia. He's a man!"
+
+"I wonder if there is anything I could do?" asked the girl.
+
+Christie's face brightened. "Why, yes, if you would. It's a long ride
+from here--thirty miles or so. There's nothing you could take them,
+they're very well fixed--capital Chinese cook and all that. But I've
+an idea that just the fact that you called would cheer them immensely.
+They lost a daughter years ago who would be about your age, I think.
+They've got a son, but he's up in Alaska, or some place where they
+can't reach him. Decidedly I think it would do those old people a
+world of good. You'll find Mrs. Samuelson different from----"
+
+"Ma Watts?" interrupted Patty.
+
+The man laughed, "Yes, from Ma Watts. Although she's a well meaning
+soul. She's going over and 'stay a spell' with the Samuelsons, just as
+soon as she can 'fix to go.' Mrs. Samuelson is a really superior old
+lady, refined and lovable in every way. You'll like her immensely. I'm
+sure. And I know she will enjoy you."
+
+"Thank you," Patty bowed elaborately. "Poor thing, she must be
+frightfully lonely."
+
+"Yes. Of course, the neighbors do all they can. But neighbors are few
+and far between. Vil Holland has been over a couple of times, and Jack
+Pierce stopped work right in the middle of his upland haying to go to
+town for some medicine. I tell you, Miss Sinclair, a person soon
+learns who's who in the mountains."
+
+Christie pushed back his chair. "I must be going. I hate to hurry off,
+but I want to see Vil and caution him to have an eye on the old man's
+stock--you see, there are some shady characters in the hills, and old
+man Samuelson runs horses as well as cattle. It is very possible they
+may decide to get busy while he is laid up.
+
+"By the way, Miss Sinclair, may I ask if you are making satisfactory
+headway in your own enterprise?"
+
+Patty shook her head. "No. I'm afraid I'm making no headway at all.
+Sometimes, I think--I'm afraid--" she stumbled for words.
+
+"Is there anything in the world I can do to help you?" asked the man,
+eagerly. "If there is, just mention it. I knew your father, and
+admired him very much. I'm satisfied he made a strike, and I do hope
+you can locate it."
+
+The girl shook her head. "No, nothing, thank you," she answered and
+then suddenly looked up, "That is--wait, maybe there is something----"
+
+"Name it." Christie waited eagerly for her to speak.
+
+"It just occurred to me--maybe you could help me--find a school."
+
+"A school!"
+
+"Yes, a school to teach. You see, I have used nearly all my money. By
+the end of next month it will be gone, and I must get a job." The man
+noticed that the girl was doing her best to meet the situation
+bravely.
+
+"Indeed I will help you!" he exclaimed. "In fact, I think I can right
+now promise that whenever you get ready to accept it, there will be a
+position waiting."
+
+"Even if it is only a country school--just so I can make enough money
+this winter to come back next summer."
+
+"I couldn't think of letting a country school get you. We need you
+right in town. You see, I happen to be president of the school board,
+and if I were to let a perfectly good teacher get away, I'd deserve to
+lose my job." Stepping to the door, he whistled shrilly, and a moment
+later the piebald cayuse trotted to his side. When the horse stood
+saddled and bridled, the man turned to Patty: "Oh, about the
+Samuelsons--do you know how to get to Big Porcupine?"
+
+Patty shook her head. "No, but I guess I can find it."
+
+"Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I'll show you in a
+minute." Leaning over the table, the man sketched rapidly upon the
+paper. "We'll say this is the Watts ranch, and mark it R. That's our
+starting point. Then you follow down the creek to the ford--here, at
+F. Then, instead of following the trail, you turn due east, and follow
+up a little creek about ten miles. This arrow pointing upward means up
+the creek. When you come to a sharp pinnacle that divides your
+valley--we'll mark that [^] so--you take the right hand branch, and
+follow it to the divide. That leads, let's see, southeast--we'll mark
+it S. E. 3 to D; it runs about three miles to the divide which you
+cross. Then you follow down another creek four or five miles until it
+empties into Big Porcupine, 4 E. to P., and from there it's easy. Just
+turn up Porcupine, pass Jack Pierce's ranch, and about five miles
+farther on you come to Samuelson's. Do you get it?"
+
+Patty watched every move of the pencil, as she listened to the explanation.
+And when, a few moments later, the big "Bishop of All Outdoors" crossed the
+ford and rode out of sight up the coulee that led to the trampled notch in
+the hills, she threw herself down at the table and with eyes big with
+excitement, drew her father's map from its silk envelope and spread it out
+beside Christie's roughly sketched one. "What a fool I am not to have
+guessed that those letters must stand for the points of the compass!" she
+cried. "It ought to be plain as day, now." Carefully, she read the
+cabalistic line at the bottom of the map. "SC 1 S 1 1/2 E 1 S [up arrow] to
+[union symbol] 2 W to a. to b. Stake L. C. [zigzag symbol] center." Her
+brow drew into a puzzled frown "SC," she repeated. "S stands for south, but
+what does SC mean? SW or SE would be southwest, or southeast, but SC--?"
+She glanced at the other map. "Let's see, Mr. Christie's first letter is
+R--that stands for Watts' Ranch. SC must represent daddy's starting point,
+of course! But, SC? Let's see, South Corner--south corner of _what?_ I wish
+he'd put his letters right on the map like this one, instead of all in a
+row at the bottom, then I might figure out what he was driving at. SC, SC,
+SC, SC," she repeated over and over again, until the letters became a mere
+jumble of meaningless sounds. "S must stand for South," she insisted, "and
+C could stand for creek, or cave, only there are no caves around here that
+I've seen, or camp--South Camp--that don't do me any good, I don't know
+where any of his camps were. And he'd hardly say Creek, that would be too
+indefinite. Let's see, C--cottonwood--south cottonwood--short cottonwood,
+scarred cottonwood, well if I have to hunt these hills over for a short
+cottonwood or a scarred cottonwood, when there are millions of both, I
+might better keep on hunting for the crack in the rock wall."
+
+For a long time she sat staring at the paper. "If I could only get the
+starting point figured out, the rest would be easy. It says one mile
+south, one and one half miles east, one mile south, then the arrowhead
+pointing up, must mean up a creek or a mountain to something that
+looks like an inverted horseshoe, then, two miles west to a. to b.
+whatever a. and b. are. There are no letters on the map, then it says
+to stake L. C.--L. C., is lode claim, at least, I know that much, and
+it can be 1500 feet long along the vein, and 300 feet each way from
+the center. But what does he mean by the wiggly looking mark before
+the word center? I guess it isn't going to be quite as easy as it
+looks," she concluded, "even when I know that the letters stand for
+the points of the compass. If I could only figure out where to start
+from I could find my way at least to the a. b. part--and that would be
+something.
+
+"Anyway, I know how to make a map, now, and that is just exactly what
+I needed to know in order to set my trap for the prowler who is
+continually searching this cabin. It's all ready but the map, and I
+may as well finish up the job to-day as any time." From the pocket of
+her shirt she drew a photograph and examined it critically. "It looks
+a good deal like the close-up of one of daddy's," she said
+approvingly, "and it certainly looks as if it might have been carried
+for a year." Returning the picture to her pocket, she folded the
+preacher's map with her father's and replaced them in the envelope,
+then making her way to the coulee, extracted from the tin can two or
+three of her father's ore samples. These, together with a light
+miner's pick, she placed in an empty flour sack which she secured to
+her saddle and struck out northwestward into the hills.
+
+At the top of the first divide she stopped, carefully studied the back
+trail, and producing paper and pencil made a rough sketch which she
+marked 1 NW. She rode on, mapping her trail and adding letters and
+figures to denote distance and direction.
+
+Her continued scrutiny of the back trail satisfied her that she was
+not followed. Two hours brought her to her journey's end, a rock wall
+some seven miles from her cabin. Producing the photograph, she
+verified the exact location, and with her pick, proceeded to stir up
+the ground and loose rocks at the base of the ledge. For an hour she
+worked steadily, then carefully replaced the dirt and small fragments,
+taking care to leave the samples from her sack where they would appear
+to have been tossed with the other fragments. Indicating the spot by a
+dot on the photograph she rode back to her cabin and spent the entire
+afternoon covering sheets of paper with trail maps, and letters, and
+figures, in an endeavor to produce a sketch that would pass as a
+prospector's hastily prepared field map. At last she produced several
+that compared favorably with her father's and taking a blank leaf from
+an old notebook she found in the pack sack, drew a very creditable
+rough sketch.
+
+"Now, for putting in the letters and figures," she said, as she held
+the paper up for inspection. "Let's see, where would daddy have
+started from? Watts's ranch, maybe, or he could have started from
+here. This cabin was here then, and that would make it seem all the
+more reasonable that I should have chosen this for my home. C stands
+for cabin, or, let's see, what did they call this place. The sheep
+camp, here goes SC--Why! SC--SC! That's the starting point on daddy's
+map! And here I sat right in this chair and nearly went crazy trying
+to figure out what SC meant! And, if it weren't so late, I'd start
+right out now to find my mine! If it weren't for that a. b. part I
+could ride right to it, and snap my fingers at the prowler. But, it
+may take me a long time to blunder onto the meaning of these letters,
+and anyway, I want to know 'who's who,' as Mr. Christie says." She
+continued her work, and a half-hour later examined the result
+critically. "SC 1 NW 1 N [up arrow] to [union symbol] 2 E to a. Stake L. C.
+center at dot," she read, "and just to make it easier for him, I put
+the a. down on the map." With a sigh of satisfaction the girl
+carefully placed the new map and photograph in the silk envelope, and
+placing the others in the pocket of her shirt, fastened it with a pin.
+Whereupon, she gathered up all the practice sketches and burned them.
+
+Glancing out of the window, she saw Microby Dandeline approaching the
+cabin, her dejected old Indian pony, ears a-flop, placing one foot
+before the other with the extreme deliberation that characterized his
+every movement. Patty smiled as her eyes took in the details of the
+grotesque figure; the old harness bridle with patched reins and one
+blinder dangling, the faded gingham sunbonnet hanging at the back of
+the girl's neck, held in place by the strings knotted tightly beneath
+her chin, the misshapen calico dress caught over the saddle-horn in a
+manner that exposed the girl's bare legs to the knees, and the thick
+bare feet pressed uncomfortably into the chafing rope stirrups--truly,
+a grotesque, and yet, Patty frowned--a pitiable figure, too. The pony
+halted before the door, and Patty greeted the girl who scrambled
+clumsily to the ground.
+
+"Well, well, if it isn't Microby Dandeline! You haven't been to see me
+lately. The last time you were here I was not at home."
+
+"Hit wasn't me."
+
+"What!" exclaimed Patty, remembering the barefoot track at the spring.
+
+"I wasn't yere las' time."
+
+Patty curbed a desire to laugh. The girl was deliberately lying--but
+why? Was it because she feared displeasure at the invasion of the
+cabin. Patty thought not, for such was the established custom of the
+country. The girl did not look at her, but stood boring into the dirt
+with her bare toe.
+
+"Well, you're here now, anyway," smiled Patty. "Come on in and help me
+get supper, and then we'll eat. You get the water, while I build the
+fire."
+
+When the girl returned from the spring, Patty tried again: "While I
+was in town somebody came here and cooked a meal, and when they got
+through they washed all the dishes and put them away so nicely I
+thought sure it was you, and I was glad, because I like to have you
+come and see me."
+
+"Hit wasn't me," repeated the girl, stubbornly.
+
+"I wonder who it could have been?"
+
+"Mebbe hit was Mr. Christie. He was to our house las' night. He brung
+Davy some pencils an' a lot o' papers fer to draw pitchers. Pa 'lowed
+how Davy'd git to foolin' away his time on 'em, an' Mr. Christie says
+how ef he learnt to drawer good, folks buys 'em, an' then Davy'll git
+rich. Pa says, whut's folks gonna pay money fer pitchers they kin git
+'em fer nothin'? But ef folks gits pitchers they does git rich, don't
+they?"
+
+"Why, yes----"
+
+"You got pitchers, an' yo' rich."
+
+Patty laughed. "I'm afraid I'm not very rich," she said.
+
+"Will yo' give me a pitcher?"
+
+"Why, yes." She glanced at the few prints that adorned the log wall,
+trying to make up her mind which she would part with, and deciding
+upon a mysterious moonlight-on-the-waves effect, lifted it from the
+wall and placed it in the girl's hands.
+
+Microby Dandeline stared at it without enthusiasm: "I want a took
+one," she said, at length.
+
+"A what?"
+
+"A one tooken with that," she pointed at the camera that adorned the
+top of the little cupboard.
+
+"Oh," smiled Patty, "you want me to take your picture! All right, I'd
+love to take your picture. You can get on Gee Dot, and I'll take you
+both. But we'll have to wait till there is more light. The sun has
+gone down and it's too dark this evening."
+
+The girl shook her head, "Naw, I don't want none like that. That
+hain't no good. I want one like yo' pa tookened of his mine. Then I'll
+git rich too."
+
+"So that's it," thought Patty, busying herself with the biscuit dough.
+And instantly there flashed into her mind the words of Ma Watts, "Mr.
+Bethune tellin' her how she'd git rich ef she could fin' a gol' mine,
+an' how she could buy her fine clos' like yourn an' go to the city an'
+live." And she remembered that the woman had said that all the time
+she and Lord Clendenning had been wrangling over the eggs, Bethune and
+Microby had "talked an' laughed, friendly as yo' please."
+
+"How do you know my father took any pictures of his mine?" asked
+Patty, cautiously.
+
+"'Cause he did."
+
+"What would you do with the picture if I gave it to you?"
+
+"I'd git rich."
+
+"How?"
+
+"'Cause I would."
+
+Patty whirled suddenly upon the girl and grasping her shoulder with a
+doughy hand shook her smartly: "Who told you that? What do you mean?
+Who are you trying to get that picture for? Come! Out with it!"
+
+"Le' me go," whimpered the girl, frightened by the unexpected attack.
+
+"Not 'til you tell me who told you about that picture. Come
+on--speak!" The shaking continued.
+
+"Hit--wu-wu-wus--V-V-Vil Hol-Holland!" she sniffled readily--all too
+readily to be convincing, thought Patty, as she released her grip on
+the girl's shoulder.
+
+"Oh, it was Vil Holland, was it? And what does he want with it?"
+
+"He--he--s-says h-how h-him an' m-me'd g-git r-r-rich!"
+
+"Who told you to say it was Vil Holland?"
+
+"Hit wus Vil Holland--an' that's whut I gotta say," she repeated,
+between sobs. "An' now yo' mad--an'--an' Mr. Bethune he'll--he'll kill
+me."
+
+"Mr. Bethune? What has Mr. Bethune got to do with it?"
+
+The girl leaped to her feet and faced Patty in a rage: "An' he'll kill
+yo', too--an' I'll be glad! An' he says he's gonna By God git that
+pitcher ef he's gotta kill yo', an' Vil Holland, an' everyone in these
+damn hills--an' I'm glad of hit! I don't like yo' no more--an' pitcher
+shows _hain't_ as good as circusts--an' I don't like towns--an' I
+hain't a-gonna wear no shoes an' stockin's--an' I'm a-gonna tell ma
+yo' shuck me--an' she'll larrup yo' good--an' pa'll make yo' git out
+o' ar sheep camp--an' I'm glad of hit!" She rushed from the cabin, and
+mounting her pony, headed him down the creek, turning in the saddle
+every few steps to make hateful mouths at the girl who stood watching
+from the doorway.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE SAMUELSONS
+
+
+Patty retired that night with her thoughts in a whirl. So, it was Monk
+Bethune who, all along, had been plotting to steal the secret of her
+father's strike? Monk Bethune, with his suave, oily manner, his
+professed regard for her father, and his burning words of love! Fool
+that she couldn't have penetrated his thin mask of deceit! It all
+seemed so ridiculously plain, now. She remembered the flash of
+distrust that her first meeting with him engendered. And, step, by
+step, she followed the course of his insidious campaign to instill
+himself into her good graces. She thought of the blunt warning of Vil
+Holland when he told her that her father always played a lone hand,
+and his almost scornful question as to whether her father had told her
+of his partnership with Bethune. And she remembered her defiance of
+Holland, and her defense of Bethune. And, with a shudder, she
+recollected the moments when, in the hopelessness of her repeated
+failures, she had trembled upon the point of surrendering to his
+persuasive eloquence.
+
+With the villainous scheming of Bethune exposed, her thoughts turned
+to the other, to her "guardian devil of the hills." What of Vil
+Holland? Had she misjudged this man, even as she had so nearly become
+the dupe of Bethune? She realized now, that nearly everyone with whom
+she had come into contact, distrusted Bethune, and that they trusted
+Vil Holland. She realized that her own distrust of him rested to a
+great extent upon the open accusations of Bethune, and the fact that
+he was blunt to rudeness in his conversations with her. If he were to
+be taken at his neighbors' valuation, why was it that he watched her
+comings and goings from his notch in the hills? Why did he follow her
+about upon her rides? And why did he carry that disgusting jug? She
+admitted that she had never seen him the worse for indulgence in the
+contents of the jug, but if he were not a confirmed drunkard, why
+should he carry it? She knew Bethune hated him--and that counted a
+point in his favor--now. But it did not prove that he was not as bad
+as Bethune. But why had Bethune told Microby that he would get that
+picture if he had to kill her and Vil Holland? What had Vil Holland
+to do with his getting the picture! Surely, Bethune did not believe
+that Vil Holland shared her secret! Vil Holland _must_ be lawless--the
+running of the sheep herder out of the hills was a lawless act. Why,
+then, were such men as Thompson and the Reverend Len Christie his
+friends? This question had puzzled her much of late, and not finding
+the answer, she realized her own dislike of the man had waned
+perceptibly. Instinctively, she knew that Len Christie was genuine.
+She liked this "Bishop of All Outdoors," who could find time to ride a
+hundred miles to cheer a sick old man; who would think to bring
+pencils and drawing paper to a little boy who roamed over the
+hillsides with a piece of charcoal, searching for flat rocks upon
+which to draw his pictures; and who sang deep, full-throated ballads
+as he rode from one to the other of his scattered hill folk, upon his
+outlandish pinto. Surely, such men as he, and the jovial,
+whole-hearted Thompson--men who had known Vil Holland for
+years,--could not be deceived.
+
+"Is it possible I've misjudged him?" she asked herself. And when at
+last she dropped to sleep it was to plunge into a confused jumble of
+dreams whose dominant figure was her lone horseman of the hills.
+
+Patty resolved to keep her promise to Christie and ride over to the
+Samuelson ranch, before she started to work out the directions of her
+father's map. "I may be weeks doing it if I continue to be as dumb as
+I have been," she laughed. "And when I get started I know I'll never
+want to stop 'til I've worked it out."
+
+Immediately after breakfast she saddled her horse and returning to the
+cabin, picked up the little oiled silk packet that contained
+photograph and map. Where should she hide it? Her glance traveled from
+the locked trunks to the loose board in the floor. Each had been
+searched time and again. "Whoever he is, he'd think it was funny that
+I decided all at once to hide the map, when I've been carrying it with
+me so persistently," she muttered. Her eyes rested upon the little
+dressing table. "The very thing!" she cried. "I'll leave it right out
+in plain sight, and he'll think I forgot it." Her first impulse was to
+remove the thin gold chain but she shook her head: "No, it will look
+more as if I'd just slipped it off for the night if I leave the chain
+on. And besides," she smiled, "he ought to get some gold for his
+pains." With a last glance of approval at the little packet lying as
+if forgotten upon the dressing table, she closed the door and headed
+down the creek.
+
+It was evident to Patty, upon reaching the Watts ranch that Microby
+Dandeline had not carried out her threat to "tell ma" about the
+shaking. For the mountain woman was loquaciously cordial as usual:
+"Decla'r ef hit hain't yo', up an' a-ridin' fo' sun-up! Yo' shore
+favor yo' pa. He wus the gittin'est man--Yo'd a-thought he wus ridin'
+fer wages, 'stead o' jest prospectin'. Goin' down the crick, to-day,
+eh? Well, I don't reckon yo' pa's claim's down the crick, but yo'
+cain't never tell. He wus that clost-mouthed--I've heard him an' Watts
+set a hour, an' nary word between the two of 'em. 'Pears like they's
+jest satisfied to be a-lightin' matches an' a-puffin' they pipes.
+Wimmin folks hain't like thet. They jest nachelly got to let out a
+word now an' then, 'er bust--one."
+
+"Microby Dandeline!" there was a sudden rush of bare feet upon the
+wooden floor, and Patty caught a flick of calico and a flash of bare
+legs as the girl disappeared around the corner of the barn.
+
+"Land sakes! Thet gal acts like she's p'ssessed! She tellin' whut a
+nice time she had to yo' place las' evenin', an' then a-runnin' away
+like she's wild as a hawrk. Seems like she's a-gittin' mo' triflin'
+every day----"
+
+"Sence Monk Bethune's tuk to ha'ntin' this yere crick so reg'lar,"
+interrupted Watts, who stood leaning against the door jamb.
+
+"'T'aint nothin' agin Mr. Bethune, 'cause he's nice to Microby,"
+retorted the woman; "I s'pose 'cordin' to yo' idee, he'd ort to cuss
+her an' kick her aroun'."
+
+"Might be better in the long run, an' he did," opined the man,
+gloomily.
+
+"Where's yo' manners at? Not sayin' 'howdy'?" reminded his wife.
+
+"I be'n a-fixin' to," he apologized, "yo' lookin' mighty peart this
+mawnin'." A cry from the baby brought a torrent of recrimination upon
+the apathetic husband: "Watts! Watts! Looks like yo' ort to could look
+after Chattenoogy Tennessee, that Microby Dandeline run off an' left
+alone. Like's not she's et a nail thet yo' left a han'ful of on the
+floor thet day yo' aimed fer to fix me a shelft."
+
+"She never et no nail," confided the man, as he returned a moment
+later carrying the infant. "She done fell out the do' an' them hens
+wus apeckin' her. She's scairt wuss'n hurt."
+
+"Well," smiled Patty. "I must go. Tell Microby to come up to my cabin
+right soon. I'd like to have a talk with her."
+
+"Might an' yo' pa's claim 'ud be som'ers up the no'th branch,"
+suggested the woman. "He rid that-a-way sometimes, didn't he, Watts?"
+
+"I'm not prospecting to-day. I'm going over to see the Samuelsons. Mr.
+Samuelson is sick."
+
+"Law, yes! I be'n a-aimin' fer to git to go, this long while. I heern
+it a spell back, an' Mr. Christie done tol' us over again. They do say
+he's bad off. But yo' cain't never tell, they's hopes of 'em gittin'
+onto they feet agin right up 'til yo' hear the death rattle. Yo' tell
+Miz Samuelson I aim to git over soon's I kin. I'll bring along the
+baby an' a batch o' sourdough bread, an' fix to stay a hull week.
+Watts'll hev to make out with Microby an' the rest. Yo' tell Miz
+Samuelson I say not to git down in the mouth. They all got to die
+anyhow. An' 'taint so bad, onct it's over an' done. But lots of 'em
+gits well, too. So they hain't no call to do no diggin' right up to
+the death rattle--an' even then they don't allus die. Ol' man Rink,
+over on Tom's Hope, back in Tennessee, he rattled twict, an' come to
+both times, an' then, couple days later, he up an' died on 'em 'thout
+nary rattle. So yo' cain't never tell--men's thet ornery, even the
+best of 'em."
+
+Christie's prediction that Patty would like Mrs. Samuelson proved to
+be conservative in the extreme. From the moment the slight gray-haired
+little woman greeted her, the girl felt as though she were talking to
+an old friend. There was something pathetic in the old lady's cheerful
+optimism, something profoundly pathetic in the endeavor to transform
+her bit of wilderness into some semblance to the far-away home she had
+known in the long ago. And she had succeeded admirably. To cross the
+Samuelson threshold was to step from the atmosphere of the cow-country
+and the mountains into a region of comfort and quiet that contrasted
+sharply with the rough and ready air of the neighboring ranches. The
+house itself was not large, but it was built of lumber, not logs. The
+long living room was provided with tastefully curtained casement
+windows, and rugs of excellent quality took the place of the
+inevitable carpet upon the floor. A baby grand piano projected into
+the room from its niche beside the huge log fireplace, and bookcases,
+guiltless of glass fronts, occupied convenient spaces along the wall,
+their shelves supporting row upon row of good editions. It was in
+this room, looking as though she had stepped from an ivory miniature,
+that the mistress of the house greeted Patty.
+
+"You are very welcome, my dear. Mr. Samuelson and I were deeply
+grieved to hear the sad news of your father. We used to enjoy his
+occasional brief visits."
+
+"How is Mr. Samuelson?" asked Patty, as she pressed the little woman's
+thin, blue-veined hand.
+
+"He seems better to-day."
+
+The girl noted the hopeful tone of voice. "Is there anything I can
+do?" she asked.
+
+"Not a thing, thank you. Mr. Samuelson sleeps a good part of the time,
+and Wong Yie is a wonderful nurse. But, come, you must have luncheon.
+I know you will want to refresh yourself after your long ride. The
+bathroom is at the head of the stairs. I'll take a peep at my invalid
+and when you are ready we'll see what Wong Yie has for us."
+
+Patty looked hungrily at the porcelain tub--"A real bathroom!" she
+breathed, "out here in the mountains--and books, and a piano!"
+
+Mrs. Samuelson awaited her at the foot of the stair and led the way to
+the dining room. When she was seated at the round mahogany table she
+smiled across at the old lady in frank appreciation.
+
+"It seems like stepping right into fairyland," she said. "Like the old
+stories when the heroes and heroines rubbed magic lamps, or stepped
+onto enchanted carpets and were immediately transported from their
+miserable hovels to castles of gold inhabited by beautiful princes and
+princesses."
+
+The old lady's eyes beamed: "I'm glad you like it!"
+
+"Like it! That doesn't express it at all. Why, if you'd lived in an
+abandoned sheep camp for months and prepared your own meals on a
+broken stove, and eaten them all alone on a bumpy table covered with a
+piece of oilcloth, and taken your bath in an icy cold creek and then
+only on the darkest nights for fear someone were watching, and read a
+few magazines over and over 'til you knew even the advertisements by
+heart--then suddenly found yourself seated in a room like this, with
+real china and silver, and comfortable chairs and a _luncheon
+cloth_--you'd think it was heaven."
+
+Patty was aware that the old lady was smiling at her across the table.
+"If I had lived like that for months, did you say? My dear girl, we
+lived for years in that little shack--you can see it from where you
+sit--it's the tool house, now. Mr. Samuelson built it with his own
+hands when there weren't a half-dozen white men in the hills, and
+until it was completed we lived in a tepee!"
+
+"You've lived here a long time."
+
+"Yes, a long, long time. I was the first white woman to come into this
+part of the hill country to live. This was the first ranch to be
+established in the hills, but we have a good many neighbors now--and
+such nice neighbors! One never really appreciates friends and
+neighbors until a time--like this. Then one begins to know. A long
+time ago, before I knew, I used to hate this place. Sometimes I used
+to think I would go crazy, with the loneliness--the vastness of it
+all. I used to go home and make long visits every year, and then--the
+children came, and it was different." The woman paused and her eyes
+strayed to the open window and rested upon the bold headland of a
+mighty mountain that showed far down the valley.
+
+"And--you love it, now?" Patty asked, softly, as she poured French
+dressing over crisp lettuce leaves.
+
+"Yes--I love it, now. After the children came it was all different. I
+never want to leave the valley, now. I never shall leave it. I am an
+old woman, and my world has narrowed down to my home, and my
+valley--my husband, and my friends and neighbors." She looked up
+guiltily, with a tiny little laugh. "Do you know, during those first
+years I must have been an awful fool. I used to loathe it all--loathe
+the country--the men, who ate in their shirt sleeves and blew into
+their saucers, and their women. It was the uprising that brought me to
+a realization of the true worth of these people--" The little woman's
+voice trailed off into silence, and Patty glanced up from her salad to
+see that the old eyes were once more upon the far blue headland, and
+the woman's thoughts were evidently very far away. She came back to
+the present with an apology: "Why bless you, child, forgive me! My old
+wits were back-trailing, as the cowboys would say. You have finished
+your salad, come, let's go out onto the porch, where we can get the
+afternoon breeze and be comfortable." She led the way through the
+living-room where she left the girl for a moment, to tiptoe upstairs
+for a peep at the sick man. "He's asleep," she reported, as they
+stepped out onto the porch and settled themselves in comfortable
+wicker rockers.
+
+"What was the uprising?" asked Patty. "Was it the Indians? I'd love to
+hear about it."
+
+"Yes, the Indians. That was before they were on reservations and they
+were scattered all through the hills."
+
+A cowboy galloped to the porch, drew up sharply, and removed his hat.
+"We rode through them horses that runs over on the east slope an'
+they're all right--leastways all the markers is there, an' the bunches
+don't look like they'd be'n any cut out of 'em. But, about them white
+faces--Lodgepole's most dried up. Looks like we'd ort to throw 'em
+over onto Sage Crick."
+
+The little woman looked thoughtful. "Let's see, there are about six
+hundred of the white faces, aren't there?"
+
+"Yessum."
+
+"And how long will the water last in Lodgepole?"
+
+"Not more'n a week or ten days, if we don't git no rain."
+
+"How long will it take to throw them onto Sage Creek?"
+
+"Well, they hadn't ort to be crowded none this time o' year. The four
+of us had ort to do it in three or four days."
+
+The old lady shook her head. "No, the cattle will have to wait. I
+want you boys to stay right around close 'til you hear from Vil
+Holland. Keep your best saddle horses up and at least one of you stay
+right here at the ranch all the time. The rest of you might ride
+fences, and you better take a look at those mares and colts in the big
+pasture."
+
+The cowboy's eyes twinkled: "I savvy, all right. Guess I'll take the
+bunk-house shift myself this afternoon. Got a couple extry guns to
+clean up an' oil a little."
+
+"Whatever you do, you boys be careful," admonished the woman. "And in
+case anything happens and Vil Holland isn't here, send one of the boys
+after him at once."
+
+The other laughed: "Guess they ain't much danger, if anything happens
+he won't be a-ridin' right on the head of it." The cowboy gathered up
+his reins, dropped them again, and his gloved fingers fumbled with his
+leather hat band. The smile had left his face.
+
+"Anything else, Bill?" asked Mrs. Samuelson, noting his evident
+reluctance to depart.
+
+"Well, ma'am, how's the Big Boss gittin' on?"
+
+"He's doing as well as could be expected, the doctor says."
+
+The cowboy cleared his throat nervously: "You know, us boys thinks a
+heap of him, an' we'd like fer him to git a square deal."
+
+"A square deal!" exclaimed the woman. "Why, what in the world do you
+mean?"
+
+"About that there doc--d'you s'pect he savvys his business?"
+
+"Of course he does! He's considered one of the best doctors in the
+State. Why do you ask?"
+
+"Well, it's this way. When he was goin' back to town yesterday I laid
+for him. You see, the Old Man--er, I mean--you know, ma'am, the Big
+Boss, he's a pretty sick man--an' it looks to us boys like things had
+ort to break pretty quick, one way er another. So, I says, 'Doc, how's
+he gittin' on?' an' the doc he says, jest like you done, 'good as
+could be expected.' When you come right down to cases, that don't tell
+you nothin'. So I says, 'that's 'cordin' to who's doin' the expectin'.
+What we want to know,' I says, 'is he goin' to git well, er is he
+goin' to die?' 'I confidently hope we're going to pull him through,'
+he comes back. 'Meanin', he's goin' to git well?' I says. 'Yes,' he
+says. 'Fer how much?' I asks him. I didn't have but thirty-five
+dollars on me, but I shook that in under his nose. You see, I wanted
+to find out if the fellow would back his own self up with his money.
+'What do you mean?' he says. 'I mean,' I informs him, 'that money
+talks. Here's the Missus payin' you good wages fer to cure up the Old
+Man. You goin' to do it, an' earn them wages, or ain't you? Here's
+thirty-five dollars that says you can't cure him.'"
+
+The corners of the old lady's mouth were twitching behind the
+handkerchief she held to her lips: "What did the doctor say?" she
+asked.
+
+"Tried to laugh it off," declared the cowboy in disgust. "But I
+reminds him that this here ain't no laughin' matter. 'D'you s'pose,' I
+says, 'if the Old Man told me: "Bill, there's a bad colt to bust," or
+"Bill, go over onto Monte's Crick, an' bring back them two-year-olds,"
+do you s'pose I wouldn't bet I could do it? They's plenty of us here
+to do all the "confidently hopin'" that's needed. What you got to do
+is to git busy with them pills an' make him well,' I says, 'or quit
+an' let someone take holt that kin.'" The man paused and regarded the
+woman seriously. "What I'm gittin' at is this: If this here doc ain't
+got confidence enough in his own dope to back it with a bet, it's time
+we got holt of one that will. Now, ma'am, you better let me send one
+of Jack Pierce's kids to town to see Len Christie an' tell him to git
+the best doc out here they is. I'll write a note to Len on the side
+an' tell him to tell the doc he kin about double his wages, 'cause the
+rest of the boys feels just like I do, an' we'll all bet agin him so't
+it'll be worth his while to make a good job of it." He paused,
+awaiting permission to carry out his plan.
+
+The little woman explained gravely: "Doctors never bet on their cases,
+Bill. It isn't that they won't back their judgment. But because it
+isn't considered proper. Doctor Mallory is doing all any mortal man
+can do. He's a wonderfully good doctor, and it was Len Christie,
+himself, that recommended him."
+
+The cowboy's eyes lighted: "It was? Well, then, mebbe he's all right.
+I never had no time fer preachers 'til I know'd Len. But, what he says
+goes with me--he's square. I don't go much on no doctor, though.
+They're all right fer women, mebbe, an' kids. I believe all the Old
+Man needs right now to fix him up good as ever is a big stiff jolt of
+whisky an' bitters." The cowboy rode away, muttering and shaking his
+head, but not until he was well out of sight round the corner of the
+house did the little woman with the gray hair smile.
+
+"I hope Doctor Mallory will understand," she said, a trifle
+anxiously, "I have some rather trying experiences with my boys, and if
+Bill has gone and insulted the doctor I'll have to get Jack Pierce to
+go to town and explain."
+
+"This Bill seems to just adore Mr. Samuelson," ventured Patty. "Why
+his voice was almost--almost reverent when he said 'the Old Man.'"
+
+The little lady nodded: "Yes, Bill thinks there's no one like him. You
+see, Bill shot a man, one day when--he was not quite himself. Over in
+the Blackfoot country, it was, and Vil Holland knew the facts in the
+case, and he rode over and told Mr. Samuelson all about it, and they
+both went and talked it over with the prosecuting attorney, and with
+old Judge Nevers, with the result that they agreed to give the boy a
+chance. So Mr. Samuelson brought him here. That was five years ago.
+Bill is foreman of this outfit now, and our other three riders are
+boys that were headed the same way Bill was. Vil Holland brought one
+of them over, and Bill and Mr. Samuelson picked up the other two--and,
+if I do say it myself," she declared, proudly, "there isn't an outfit
+in Montana that can boast a more capable or loyal, or a straighter
+quartet of riders than this one."
+
+As Patty listened she understood something of what was behind the
+words of Thompson and Len Christie, when they had spoken that day of
+"Old Man" Samuelson. But, there was something she did not understand.
+And that something was--Vil Holland. Everybody liked him, everybody
+spoke well of him, and apparently everybody but herself trusted him
+implicitly. And yet, to her own certain knowledge, he did carry a jug,
+he did follow her about the hills, and he did tell her to her face
+that when she found her father's claim she would have a race on her
+hands, and that if she were beaten she would have to be satisfied with
+what she would get.
+
+But Vil Holland, his comings and his goings were soon forgotten in the
+absorbing interest with which Patty listened as her little gray-haired
+hostess recounted incidents and horrors of the Indian uprising, the
+first sporadic depredations, the coming of the troops, and finally the
+forcing of the belligerent tribes onto their reservations.
+
+It had been Patty's intention to ride back to her cabin in the
+evening, but Mrs. Samuelson would not hear of it. And, indeed the girl
+did not insist, for despite the fact that she had become thoroughly
+accustomed to her surroundings, the anticipation of a dinner prepared
+and served by the highly efficient Wong Yie, in the tastefully
+appointed dining room, with its real silver and china, proved
+sufficiently attractive to overcome even her impatience to begin the
+working out of her father's map. And the realization fully justified
+the anticipation. When the meal was finished the two women had talked
+the long evening away before the cheerful blaze of the wood fire, and
+when at last she was shown to her room, the girl retired to luxuriate
+in a real bed of linen sheets and a box mattress.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE HORSE RAID
+
+
+Patty did not know how long she had slept when she awoke, tense and
+listening, sitting bolt upright in bed. Moonlight flooded the room
+through the windows thrown wide to admit the chill night air. Beyond
+the valley floor, green with the luxuriant second crop of alfalfa, she
+could see the mountains looming dim and mysterious in the half-light.
+
+The whole world seemed silent as the grave--and yet, something must
+have awakened her. She shuddered, partly at the chill that struck at
+her thinly clad shoulders, and partly at the recollection of some of
+the scenes those selfsame mountains had witnessed, during the
+uprisings, and which her hostess had so vividly recounted. The girl
+smiled, and gazing toward the mountains, pictured long lines of naked
+horsemen stealing silently into the valley. She started violently.
+Through the open window came sounds, the muffled thud of hoofs upon
+the soft ground, the low rattle of bit-chains and spur-rowels, and the
+creak of saddle leather. There _were_ horsemen in the valley, and the
+horsemen were passing almost beneath her windows--and they were moving
+stealthily.
+
+For a moment her heart raced madly--the fancy of those conjured
+horsemen, and then the mysterious sounds from the night that were not
+fancy, combined in just the right proportion to overcome her with a
+momentary terror. She realized that the sounds were passing--growing
+fainter, and leaping from the bed, rushed to the window and peered
+out. Only silence--profound, unbroken silence, and the moonlight. In
+vain she strained her ears to catch a repetition of the faint sounds,
+and in vain she peered into the dark shadows cast by the bunk house
+and the pole horse-corral. Her windows commanded the eastern wall of
+the valley, and its upper reaches. Had there actually been horsemen,
+or were the sounds part of her vivid vision of the long ago? "No," she
+muttered, "those sounds were real," and she leaned far out of the
+window in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of the trail that led down
+the creek toward Pierce's.
+
+For some time she remained at the window and then, shivering, crept
+back to bed, where she lay speculating upon the identity of these
+horsemen who passed in the night. She knew that a horse raid had been
+expected. Could these raiders have had the audacity to pass through
+the very dooryard of the ranch, knowing as they must have known, that
+four armed and determined cowboys occupied the bunk house?
+
+And who were these raiders? At Thompson's she had heard Monk Bethune's
+name mentioned in connection with possible horse-thieving. Bethune had
+spoken of hurried trips, "to the northward." She remembered that upon
+the occasion of their first meeting, she had heard him dickering with
+Watts for the rent of his horse pasture, and she recollected the
+incident of the changed name. Then, again, only a few days before, she
+had parted with him when he struck off the trail to the eastward with
+the excuse that he was going over onto the east slope on a matter
+having to do with some horses. Bill had mentioned, in talking to Mrs.
+Samuelson, that he had been riding through the horses on the east
+slope. Could it be possible that the suave Bethune was a horse-thief?
+On the other hand, Bethune had openly hinted that Vil Holland was a
+horse-thief--and yet, these other people all believed that he was
+persistently on the trail of the horse-thieves.
+
+For a long time she lay thinking, guessing, trying to recall little
+scraps of evidence that would bear upon the case. Again, a slight
+sound brought her to a sitting posture. This time it was the opening
+of a door across the hall from her room. The sound was followed by the
+soft padding of slippered feet in the hall, the low tapping, evidently
+at another door, a few low-voiced words, and a return of the padding
+steps. A few moments later other steps hurried along the hall past her
+door and rapidly descended the stairs. Patty heard the opening of an
+outside door, and once more stealing to the window she saw the
+Chinaman hurry across the moonlit yard to the bunk house and throw
+open the door. He entered to emerge a moment later and rush to the
+horse-corral, where he peered between the poles for a moment and then
+made his way swiftly back to the house.
+
+Without lighting the lamp Patty dressed hurriedly. Was the Samuelson
+ranch a place of mystery? What was the meaning of the light
+sounds--the soft tramp of horses, and the padding of feet upon the
+stairs? The footsteps paused at the door across the hall. There
+followed a whispered colloquy and the steps retreated rapidly to the
+lower regions. Patty opened her door to see Mrs. Samuelson, her face
+expressing the deepest agitation, and one thin hand catching together
+the folds of a lavender kimono.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the girl. "What has happened?"
+
+The old lady closed the door from beyond which came sounds of heavy
+breathing. "I am afraid he is worse," she whispered. "Wong Yie went to
+the bunk house to send the boys for the doctor and for Mrs. Pierce,
+and he says they are gone! Their horses are not in the corral. I don't
+understand it," she cried. "I told them not to go away. They know,
+that with my husband sick, we are in momentary danger from the
+horse-thieves, and they know that their place is right here."
+
+"You told Bill to stay until he heard from Vil Holland," reminded
+Patty. "Maybe they heard from him, and left without disturbing you."
+
+"That's it, of course!" cried the woman. "I ought to have known I
+could trust them. But, for a moment it seemed that--" She stopped
+abruptly and glanced anxiously into the girl's face, "But what in the
+world will we do? Wong Yie can't ride a step, and if he could, I need
+him here----"
+
+"I'll ride to Pierce's!" exclaimed Patty. "And get Mr. Pierce to go
+for the doctor, and bring Mrs. Pierce back with me. My horse is in the
+corral, and I can get down there in no time."
+
+"Oh, can you? Will you? And you are not afraid--alone at night in the
+hills? Under any other circumstances I wouldn't think of letting you
+do it, child--especially with the horse-thieves about. But, it seems
+the only way----"
+
+"Of course it's the only way! And I'm not a bit afraid."
+
+Hurrying to the corral, Patty saddled her horse, and a few moments
+later swung into the trail that led down the creek. She glanced at her
+watch; it was one o'clock. The moon floated high in the heavens and
+the valley was almost as light as day. Urging her horse into a run,
+she found a wild exhilaration in riding through the night, splashing
+across shallows and shooting across short level stretches to plunge
+through the water again.
+
+After what seemed an interminable wait, Pierce himself appeared at the
+door in answer to her persistent pounding. Patty thought he eyed her
+curiously as he stood aside and motioned her into the kitchen. Very
+deliberately he lighted the lamp and listened in silence until she had
+finished. Then, coolly, he eyed her from top to toe: "'Pears to me
+I've saw you before," he announced. "Over on the trail, a while back.
+An' you was a-ridin' with--Monk Bethune."
+
+"Well?" asked the girl, angered by the man's tone.
+
+"Well," mocked Pierce. "So to-night's the night yer figgerin' on
+pullin' the raid, is it?"
+
+"I'm figuring on pulling the raid! What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean you, an' Bethune, an' yer gang. You be'n up a-spottin' the
+lay, so's to tip 'em off, an' now you come down here an' tell me the
+Old Man's worst so's I'll take out to town fer the doc--an' one less
+posse-man in the hills. Yer a pretty slick article, Miss, but it
+hain't a-goin' to work."
+
+Patty listened, speechless with rage. When the man finished she found
+her tongue. "You--you accuse me of being a--a horse-thief?" she
+choked.
+
+"Yup," answered the man. "That's it--an' not so fur off, neither.
+Don't you s'pose I know that if the Old Man was worst one of his own
+boys would of be'n a foggin' it fer town hisself? I'd ort to take an'
+lock you up in the root cellar an' turn you over to Vil Holland, but I
+guess if we get all the he ones out of yer gang we kin leave you
+loose. 'Tain't likely you could run off no horses single-handed."
+
+A woman whose appearance showed an evident hasty toilet had stepped
+from an inner room, and stood listening to the man. Patty was about to
+appeal to her when, from the outside came a thunder of hoofs, and
+suddenly a man burst into the room. Patty recognized him as Bill, of
+the Samuelson ranch. "Come on, Jack, quick! Git yer gun, while I slam
+the kak on yer cayuse. The raid's on, they've cut out a bunch of them
+three an' four-year-olds offen the east slope an' they're a-foggin'
+'em off."
+
+"Bill! Oh, Bill!" cried the girl, in desperation. But the man had
+plunged toward the corral, followed by Pierce, buckling on his
+cartridge belt as he ran. A moment later both men were in the saddle,
+and the sound of pounding hoofs grew far away.
+
+In tears, Patty turned to the woman. "Oh, why couldn't he have
+believed me?" she cried. "He thinks I'm one of that detestable gang of
+thieves! But, you--surely you don't think I'm a horse-thief?" In
+broken sentences she related the facts to the woman, and finished by
+begging her to go up to the Samuelson ranch. "I'll ride on to town
+for the doctor myself!" she exclaimed. "And surely you can do that
+much for your neighbor."
+
+"Do that much fer 'em!" the woman exclaimed. "I reckon they ain't
+nothin' I wouldn't do fer _them_. Mebbe Jack's right, an' mebbe he's
+wrong. I've saw him be both, 'fore now. Anyways, it ain't a-goin' to
+do Samuelsons no harm, nor the horse-thieves no good fer me to go up
+there. You hit the trail fer town, an' I'll ride up the crick." The
+woman cut short the girl's thanks. "You better take straight on down
+Porky 'til it crosses the trail," she advised. "It's a little longer
+but you won't git lost that way, an' chances is you would if I tried
+to tell you the short cut. Thompsons is great friends with
+Samuelsons," called the woman, as Patty mounted. "Better change horses
+there! Or, mebbe Thompson'll go on to town fer you."
+
+Below the Pierce ranch the trail was not so good but, unheeding, the
+girl held her horse to his pace. In her heart now was no wild
+exhilaration of moonlight, nor was there any lurking fear of unknown
+horsemen, only a mighty rage--a rage engendered by Pierce's
+accusation, but which expanded with each leap of her horse until it
+included Vil Holland, Bethune, the Samuelson cowboys, and even Len
+Christie and the Samuelsons themselves--a senseless, consuming rage
+that caused the blood to throb hotly to her temples and found vicious
+expression in driving the rowels into her horse's sides until the
+animal tore down the rough, half-lit trail at a pace that sent the
+loose stones flying from beneath his hoofs in rattling volleys.
+
+Possibly, it was the rattling of loose stones, possibly her anger
+dulled her sensibilities to the point where they were incapable of
+taking note of her surroundings, but the fact remains that as she
+approached the mouth of a wide coulee that gave into the valley from
+the eastward, she did not hear the rumble of hundreds of pounding
+hoofs that each second grew louder and more ominous, until as she
+reached the mouth of the coulee a rider swept into the valley, his
+horse straining every muscle to keep ahead of the herd that thundered
+in his wake.
+
+Apparently the horseman did not notice her, and the next moment Patty
+was engulfed in the herd. The girl lived one wild moment of terror. In
+front, behind, upon each side were madly plunging horses, eyes
+staring, mouths agape exposing long white teeth that flashed wickedly
+in the moonlight, manes tossing wildly, and air whistling through
+wide-flaring nostrils. On and on they swept down the valley. The roar
+of hoofs rose to a mighty crescendo of thunder, above which, now and
+then, the terrified girl caught fierce yells from the flank of the
+herd. So close were the terrorized horses running that it was
+impossible for the girl to see the ground before her. Sweating,
+plunging bodies surged against her legs threatening each moment to
+scrape her feet from the stirrups. Gripping the horn with both hands
+she rode in a sort of daze.
+
+Glancing over her shoulder, she caught an occasional flash of white as
+the men on the flanks waved sheets above their heads, whose flapping,
+fluttering folds urged the maddened horses into a perfect frenzy of
+action.
+
+In front, and a little to one side of Patty, a horse went down, a big
+roan colt, and she got one horrible glimpse of a grotesquely twisted
+neck, and a tangle of thrashing hoofs as another horse plunged onto
+his fallen comrade. A horrible scream split the air as he, too, went
+down, and the sudden side-surge of the herd all but unseated the
+clinging girl. In a second it was over and the herd thundered on.
+Patty closed her eyes, and with white, tight-pressed lips, wondered
+when her horse would go down. She pictured the bloody, battered
+_thing_ that had been herself, lying flattened and gruesome, in the
+moonlight when the pounding hoofs swept past.
+
+Time and distance ceased to be. Patty was carried helplessly on, a
+part of that frenzied flood of flesh, muscles rigid, brain
+tense--waiting for the inevitable moment--the horrible moment that was
+to mark the climax of this ride of horrors. She wondered if it would
+hurt, or would merciful unconsciousness come with the first impact of
+the fall.
+
+Suddenly she opened her eyes. She sensed a change in the rumble of
+hoofs. Horses surged together and the pace slackened from a wild rush
+to a wilder thrashing of uncertainty. In the forefront a thin red
+spurt of flame leaped forth and above the pounding hoofs rang the
+report of a shot. The leaders seemed to have stopped and the main body
+of the herd pressed and struggled against the unyielding front. Other
+spurts of flame pierced the night, and shots rang viciously from all
+sides. The horses were milling, churning, about in a huge maelstrom,
+in which Patty found herself being slowly forced to the outside as the
+unencumbered free horses crowded to the center away from the
+terrifying stabs of flame and the crack of guns. She could see a
+mounted form before her. Evidently it was the man who had ridden in
+the forefront of the herd. The rider was very close, now, his horse
+keeping pace with her own which had nearly reached the outer rim of
+the churning mass of animals. The brim of his hat shadowed his face
+but Patty could see that the gauntleted hand held a six-gun. A shift
+of position brought the moonlight full upon the man's front--upon a
+scarf of robin's-egg blue caught together at the throat with the
+polished tip of buffalo horn. No other horsemen were in sight, but an
+occasional sharp report sounded from the opposite side of the herd.
+"Vil!" she screamed. "Vil Holland!" The form stiffened in the saddle
+and the girl caught the flash of his eyes beneath the hat brim. The
+next instant the gun had given place to a heavy quirt in his hand, his
+tall, rangy horse plunged straight toward her, the wild horses,
+crowding frenziedly to escape the blows as the rider lashed furiously
+to the right and to the left as he forced his mount to her side.
+
+"Good God! Girl, what are you doing here? I thought you were one of
+them--and I nearly--" The man leaned suddenly forward and grasped the
+bit-chain of her bridle. As if knowing exactly what was expected of
+them, side by side the two horses fought their way free of the herd,
+the big buckskin with ears laid back, snapping viciously at the
+crowding horses. A six-gun roared twice. Patty felt a sudden brush of
+air against her cheek and the next instant the two horses plunged down
+the steep side of a narrow ravine. In the bottom the man released her
+bridle. "You stay here!" he commanded gruffly.
+
+"But, the Samuelsons! Mr. Samuelson is--" The words were drowned in a
+shower of gravel as the rangy buckskin scrambled up the bank and
+disappeared over the top. The rapid transition from anger to terror,
+and from terror to relief, proved too much for the girl's nerves and
+she burst into a violent fit of sobbing. The tears enraged her and she
+shouted at the top of her voice. "I won't stay here!" but the words
+sounded puny and weak, and she knew that they had not penetrated
+beyond the rim of the ravine. "I won't do it! I won't stay here!" she
+kept repeating, the sentences broken by the hysterical sobbing.
+Nevertheless, stay there she did, until with a mighty rumble of hoofs
+and a scattering volley of shots, the horse herd swept northward, and
+when finally she succeeded in gaining the upper level, the sounds came
+to her ears faint and far away.
+
+Hurriedly she glanced about her. What was that stretching to the
+southward, a long ribbon of white in the moonlight? "The trail!" she
+cried. "The trail to town--and to Thompson's!" Just beyond the trail,
+upon the brown-yellow buffalo grass a dark object lay motionless.
+Patty stared at it in horror. It was the body of a man. Her first
+impulse was to put spurs to her horse and fly down that long white
+ribbon of trail--to place distance between herself and the thing that
+lay sprawled upon the grass. Then a thought flashed into her brain.
+Suppose it were he? Vil Holland, the man whom everybody trusted--the
+man who had calmly braved the shots of the horse-thieves to rescue her
+from that churning maelstrom of horror.
+
+Unconsciously, but surely, under the influence of those upon whose
+judgment she knew she could rely, her suspicion and distrust of him
+had weakened. She had half-realized the fact days ago, when at thought
+of him she found herself forced to enumerate his apparent offenses
+over and over again to keep the distrust alive. She thought of him now
+as he had fought his way to her, lashing the infuriated horses from
+his path. He had appeared, somehow--different. She closed her eyes and
+clean cut as though chiseled upon her brain was the picture of him as
+he forced his way to her side. Like a flash the detail of difference
+broke upon her--The jug was missing! And close upon the heels of the
+discovery came the memory of the strange thrill that had shot through
+her as his leg pressed hers when their horses had been forced together
+by the milling herd, and the sense of security and well being that
+replaced the terror in her heart from the moment she had called his
+name. A sudden indescribable pain gripped her breast, as though icy
+fingers reached up and slowly clutched her heart. With staring eyes
+and breath coming heavily between parted lips, she rode toward the
+thing on the ground. As she drew near, her horse stopped, sniffing
+nervously. She attempted to urge him forward, but he quivered, shied
+sidewise, and, snorting his fear, circled the sprawling object with
+nostrils a-quiver.
+
+Fighting a terrible dread, the girl forced her eyes to focus upon the
+gruesome form, and the next instant she uttered a quick little cry of
+relief. The man's hat had fallen off and lay at some distance from the
+body. She could see a shock of thick black hair, and noticed that he
+wore a cheap cotton shirt that had once been white. There were no
+chaps. One leg of his blue overalls had rolled up and exposed six
+inches of bare skin which gleamed whitely in the moonlight above the
+top of his shoe. The sight sickened, disgusted her, and whirling her
+horse she dashed southward along the trail forgetting for the moment
+the Samuelsons, the doctor, and everything else in a wild desire to
+put distance between herself and that awful thing on the ground.
+
+Not until her horse's hoofs rang upon the hard rock of the canyon
+floor, did Patty slacken her pace. Thompson's was only a few miles
+farther on. It was dark in the high walled canyon and she slowed her
+horse to a walk. He stopped to drink in the shallow creek and the girl
+glanced over the back trail. Where was he now! Thundering along with
+the recaptured horse herd, or following the thieves in a mad flight
+through the devious fastnesses of the mountains. Was it possible that
+even at this moment he was lying upon the yellow-brown grass, or among
+the broken rock fragments of some coulee, twisted, and shapeless, and
+still--like that other who lay repulsive and ugly, with his bare leg
+shining white in the moonlight? She shuddered. "No, no, no!" she cried
+aloud, "they can't kill him. They're cowards--and he is brave!" Her
+voice rang hollow and thin in the rocky chasm, and she started at the
+sound of it. Her horse moved on, tongueing the bit contentedly. "They
+were right, and I was wrong," she muttered. "And--and, I'm _glad_."
+
+The canyon was left behind and before her the trail wound among the
+foothills that rolled away to the open bench. She noticed that the
+moon had sunk behind the mountains, yet it was not dark. Glancing
+toward the east, she realized that it was morning. She urged her horse
+into a lope, and reached Thompson's just as the ranchman and his two
+hands were starting for the barn.
+
+"Well, dog my cats, if it ain't Miss Sinclair!" exclaimed the man, and
+stood silent for a second as if trying to remember something. He
+rushed toward her excitedly. "You want that horse?" he cried, and
+without waiting for an answer, turned to the astonished ranch hands:
+"You, Mike, throw the shell onto Lightnin', an' git him out here, an'
+don't lose no time about it, neither!
+
+"Pete, git that rifle an' lay along the trail! An' if anyone comes
+a-foggin' along towards town shoot his horse out from in under him!
+Never mind chawin'--you git! Shoot his horse, an' I'll pay the bill.
+Any skunk that would try fer to beat a lady out of her claim ain't
+a-goin' to expect nothin' but what he gits around this outfit. An'
+say, Pete--if it should be Monk Bethune--an' you happen to shoot a
+leetle high fer to hit the horse--don't worry none--git, now!
+
+"You come right along of me, an' git a snack from Miz T. while Mike's
+a-saddlin' up. It's a long drag to town, even on Lightnin', an' you
+ain't et yet. If the coffee ain't hot, you can wait a couple o'
+minutes--that there Pete--he won't let nothin' git by--he kin cut a
+sage hen's head off twenty rod with that rifle!" Patty had made
+several unsuccessful attempts to speak--attempts to which Thompson
+paid no attention whatever. At last, she managed to make him
+understand. "No, no! It isn't the claim, Mr. Thompson--but, let him
+saddle the horse just the same. Mr. Samuelson is worse and I'm riding
+for the doctor."
+
+"You!" exclaimed the astonished Thompson. "What's the matter with Bill
+or some of Samuelson's riders?"
+
+"They're after the horse-thieves. They ran off a lot of Mr.
+Samuelson's horses last night, and they're after them. And they caught
+them, and had a battle, and I was in it, and there is a dead man lying
+back there beside the trail." Patty talked rapidly, and Thompson
+stared open-mouthed.
+
+"Run off Samuelson's horses--battle--dead man--you was in it!" he
+repeated, in bewilderment. "Who run 'em off? Where's Vil Holland?
+Who's dead?"
+
+"I don't know who's dead. A horse-thief, I guess. And Vil Holland's
+with them--with the Samuelson cowboys and that horrid Pierce, and
+that's why I had to ride for the doctor--because the cowboys were with
+Vil Holland, and Pierce thought I was one of the horse-thieves."
+
+"If you know what you're talkin' about it's more'n what I do," sighed
+Thompson, resignedly, as the girl concluded the somewhat muddled
+explanation. "If the raid's come off, why wasn't I in on it--an' me
+keepin' Lightnin' up an' ready fer it's goin' on three months? They's
+a thing or two I do know, though. For one, you've rode fer enough." He
+called to Pete, who, rifle in hand, was making for the trail. "Hey,
+Pete, come back here with that gun, an' quick as Mike gits the hull
+cinched onto Lightnin', you fork him an' hightail fer town an' fetch
+Doc Mallory out to Samuelson's. Tell him the Old Man's worse. Better
+fetch Len Christie along, too. If there's a dead man, even if he's a
+horse-thief, it's better he was buried accordin' to the book. Take
+Miss Sinclair's horse to the stable an' tell Mike to onsaddle him an'
+give him a feed." He turned to Patty: "You come along in an' rest up
+'til Miz T. gits breakfast ready. Then when you've et, you kin begin
+at the beginnin' an' tell what's be'n a-goin' on in the hills."
+
+A couple of hours later when Patty concluded her detailed narrative,
+Thompson leaned back in his chair. "I got a crow to pick with Vil
+Holland, all right, fer not lettin' me in on that there raid."
+
+"Maybe he didn't have time," suggested the girl, and suppressed a
+desire to smile at the readiness with which she sprang to the defense
+of her "guardian devil of the hills."
+
+Protesting that she needed no rest after her night of wild adventure,
+Patty refused the pressing invitation of the Thompsons to remain at
+the ranch, and mounting her horse, headed for the cabin on Monte's
+Creek.
+
+Once through the canyon, she turned abruptly into the hills and as her
+horse, unguided, topped low divides, and threaded mile after mile of
+narrow valleys, her thoughts wandered from the all-absorbing topic of
+her father's location, to the man for whom she had so recently
+experienced such a signal revulsion of feeling. "How could I ever have
+been deceived by that disgusting Monk Bethune?" she muttered.
+"Especially after he warned me against him. It's a wonder I couldn't
+have seen him for the sleek oily devil that he is. I must have been
+crazy." She shuddered at the recollection of that day in the little
+valley when he boldly made love to her. "It's just blind luck
+that--that something _awful_ didn't happen. I could see the lurking
+devil in his eyes! And I saw it again, when he sneered at Mr.
+Christie. And when Pierce showed very plainly what he thought of him,
+he cursed everybody in the hills, and then offered his glaringly false
+explanation as to why people hate and distrust him." At the top of a
+low divide, she turned her horse into a valley that was not, by any
+means, the most direct route to the little cabin on Monte's Creek. A
+half hour later she came out onto the plateau, upon the edge of which
+Vil Holland's little tent nestled against its towering rock fragment.
+
+For just an instant she hesitated, then, blushing, rode boldly across
+the open space toward the little patch of white that showed through
+the scrub timber. Pulling up before the tent door the girl glanced
+about her. Everything was in its place. Her eyes rested approvingly
+upon the well-scoured cooking utensils that hung in an orderly row.
+Evidently the camp had not been used the night before. She drew off
+her glove and, leaning over, felt the blankets that were thrown over
+the ridgepole. They were still wet with the heavy dew, and the
+dampened ashes showed that no fire had been built that morning. "Oh,
+where is he?" whispered the girl, glancing wildly about, "Surely, he
+has had time to reach here--if he's--all right." After a few moments
+of silence she laughed nervously: "He's all right," she assured
+herself with forced cheerfulness. "Of course, he wouldn't return here
+right away. He probably had to help drive those horses back, or--or
+help bury that man, or something. I wonder what he thinks of me?
+Pierce will tell him his suspicions, and then--finding me mixed in
+with those horses--he'll think I've 'thrown in' with Bethune, as he
+would say. I must see him. I must!"
+
+Deciding to return later in the day, Patty headed her horse for the
+divide and soon found herself at the much trampled notch in the hills.
+For some moments she sat staring down at the ground. She glanced
+toward the cabin that showed so distinctly in the valley below. "He
+certainly watches from here," she mused. "And not just occasionally
+either." Suddenly, she straightened in her saddle, and her eyes
+glowed: "I wonder if--if he has been watching--Monk Bethune? Watching
+to see that no harm comes to--me? Oh, if I only knew--if I only knew
+the real meaning of this trampled grass!" Resolutely, she gathered up
+her reins. "I _will know_!" she muttered. "And I'll know before very
+long, too. That is, I _hope_ I will," she qualified, as the bay cayuse
+began to pick his way carefully down the steep descent to Monte's
+Creek.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+PATTY FINDS A GLOVE
+
+
+Dismounting before her cabin, Patty dropped her reins, pushed open the
+door, and entered. Her eyes flew to the little dressing table. The
+packet was gone! With a thrill of exultation she carefully inspected
+the room. Everything was exactly as she had left it. No blundering
+Microby had been here during her absence, for well she knew that
+Microby could no more have invaded the cabin without leaving traces of
+her visit than she could have flown to the moon. It was midday. She
+had intended to rest when she reached the cabin, but her impatience to
+establish once for all the identity of the cunning prowler dispelled
+her weariness, and after a hurried luncheon, she was once more in the
+saddle. "We've both earned a good rest, old fellow," she confided to
+her horse, as he threaded the coulee she had marked 1 NW, "but it's
+only six or seven miles, and we simply must know who it is that has
+been calling on us so persistently. And when I find daddy's mine and
+have just oodles of money, I'm going to make it up to you for working
+you so hard. You're going to have a nice, big, light, roomy box stall,
+and a great big grassy pasture with a creek running through it, and
+you're going to have oats three times a day, and you're never going to
+have to work any more, and every day I'll saddle you myself and we'll
+take a ride just for fun."
+
+Having disposed of her horse's future in this eminently satisfactory
+manner, the girl fell to planning her own. She would build a big house
+and live in Middleton, and fairly flaunt her gold in the faces of
+those who had scoffed at her father--no, she _hated_ Middleton! She
+would go there once in a while, to visit Aunt Rebecca, but mainly to
+show the narrow, hide-bound natives what they had missed by not
+backing her father with a few of their miserable dollars. She would
+live in New York--in Washington--in Los Angeles. No, she would live
+right here in the hills--the hills, that daddy had loved, and whose
+secret he had wrested from their silent embrace. And when she tired of
+the hills she would travel. Not the slightest doubt as to her ability
+to locate her father's claim assailed her, now that she had learned
+to read his map.
+
+It was wonderfully good to be alive. Her glance traveled from the tiny
+creek whose shallow waters purled and burbled about her horse's feet,
+to the high-flung peaks of the mountains, their loftier reaches
+rearing naked and craggy above the dark green girdle of pines. Slowly
+and majestically, hardly more than a speck against the blue, an eagle
+soared. It was a good world--courage and perseverance made things work
+out right. It was cowardly to despair--to become disheartened. She
+would find her father's mine--but, first she would prove that Bethune
+was a scoundrel of the deepest dye. And she would prove, she admitted
+to herself she wanted to prove, that Vil Holland was all his friends
+believed him to be. But, she blushed with shame--what must he think of
+her? Of her defense of Bethune, of her deliberate rudeness, and worst
+of all, of her night ride with the horse-thieves? He knew she had
+suspected him--had even accused him. Would he ever regard her as other
+than a silly fool? Vividly she pictured him as he had looked lashing
+his way to her through the wildly crowding horse herd, determined,
+capable, masterful--and wondered vaguely what her answer would have
+been had he made love to her as Bethune had done? She smiled at the
+thought of Vil Holland, the unsmiling, the outspoken, the
+self-sufficient Vil Holland making love!
+
+Upon the summit of a high ridge she paused and gazed down into the
+little valley where she had located the false claim. A few moments
+more and she would know to a certainty the identity of the prowler who
+had repeatedly searched her cabin. Certain as she was whose stakes she
+would find marking the claim, it was with a rapidly beating heart that
+she urged her horse into the valley and across the creek toward the
+rock wall. Yes, there was a stake! And another! And there was the plot
+of ground she had laboriously broken at the foot of the wall. She
+swung from the saddle and examined the spot. The rock fragments she
+had selected from her father's samples were gone! And now to find the
+notice! As she turned to search for the other stakes, her glance
+rested upon an object that held her rooted in her tracks. For a moment
+her heart stopped beating as she stared at the little patch of gray
+buckskin that lay limp and neglected where it had fallen. Slowly she
+walked to it, stooped, and recovered it from the ground. It was a
+gauntleted riding glove--Vil Holland's. She could not be mistaken,
+she had seen that glove upon the hand of its owner too many times,
+with its deep buckskin fringe, and the horseshoe embroidered in red
+and green silk upon its back.
+
+For a long time she stared at the green and red horseshoe. So it was
+Vil Holland, after all, and not Monk Bethune, who had systematically
+searched her cabin. Vil Holland, who had watched continually from his
+notch in the hills. She had been right in the first place, and the
+others had been wrong. Everybody disliked Bethune, and disliking him,
+had attributed to him all the crookedness of the hill country, and all
+the time, under their very noses, Vil Holland was the real
+plotter--and they liked him! She could see it all, now--how, with
+Bethune for the scapegoat, he was enabled, unsuspected, to plan and
+carry out his various schemes, and with no possible chance of
+detection--for he himself was the confidential employee of the
+ranchmen--the man whose business it was to put an end to the
+lawlessness of the hill country.
+
+Patty was surprised that she was not angry. Indeed, she was not
+conscious of any emotion. She realized, as she stood there holding the
+gaily embroidered glove in her hand, that the rapture, the gladness
+of mere existence had left her, and that where only a few minutes
+before, her heart had throbbed with the very joy of living, it now
+seemed like a thing of weight, whose heaviness oppressed her. She felt
+strangely alone and helpless. She glanced about her. The sun still
+shone on the green pines and the sparkling waters of the creek, and
+above the high-tossed crags the eagle still circled, but the thrill of
+joy in these things was gone. Slowly she turned and, still holding the
+glove, mounted, and headed for the cabin on Monte's Creek.
+
+At the door she unsaddled her horse, hobbled him, and turned him
+loose. She realized that she was very tired, and threw herself down
+upon the bunk. When she awoke the cabin was in darkness. The door
+stood wide open as she had left it. For a moment she lay trying to
+collect her bewildered senses. Through the open door, dimly
+silhouetted against the starry sky, she made out the notch in the
+valley rim. Her sense rallied with a rush, and she started nervously
+as a pack rat scurried across the floor and paused upon the door sill
+to peer inquisitively at her with his beady eyes. Crossing the room,
+she closed and barred the door, and lighted the lamp. It was twelve
+o'clock. She peered at herself in the glass and with an exclamation of
+anger, dampened her wash-cloth and scrubbed furiously at her cheek
+where, in deep tracery appeared the perfect shape of a horseshoe.
+
+She was very hungry, and rummaging in the cupboard set out a cold
+lunch which she devoured to the last crumb. Then she blew out the lamp
+and, removing her riding boots, threw herself down upon the bunk to
+think. She was angry now, and the longer she thought the angrier she
+got. "I can see it all as plain as day," she muttered. "There isn't
+anything he wouldn't do! He _did_ cut that pack sack, and he ran the
+sheep man out of the hills because he knew it would be dangerous for
+him to have a neighbor that might talk. And the Samuelson horse raid!
+Of all the diabolical plotting! With his outlaw friends holding
+trusted positions on the ranch, and old Mr. Samuelson sick in bed! Oh,
+it was cleverly planned! And that Pierce was right in with them. No
+wonder he wanted to lock me in his cellar!
+
+"Who, then, was the man that lay sprawled by the side of the trail?"
+The girl shuddered at the memory of the cheap cotton shirt torn open
+at the throat, and the moonlight shining whitely upon the bare leg.
+"Some loyal rancher, probably, who dared to oppose the outlaws. It's
+murder!" she cried aloud. "And yesterday I thought he was watching up
+there in the hills to see that no harm came to me!" She laughed--a
+hard, bitter laugh that held as much of mirth as the gurgle of a tide
+rip. "But he's come to the end of his rope! I'll expose him! I'm not
+afraid of his lawless crew! He'll find out it will take more than
+rescuing me from that herd of wild horses to buy my silence! I'll ride
+straight to Samuelson's ranch in the morning, and from there to
+Thompson's, and I'll tell them about his part in the raid, and about
+his watching like a vulture from his notch in the hills, and about his
+stealing what he thought was daddy's map, and about his filing the
+claim. And did show 'em the glove and--" She paused abruptly: "What a
+fool I was to come away without the notice! That would have proved it
+beyond any doubt, even if he hasn't recorded the claim!" For a long
+time she lay in the darkness planning her course for the day. All
+thought of sleep had vanished, and her eyes continually sought the
+window for signs of approaching light.
+
+At the first faint glow of dawn the girl caught up her horse and
+headed for the false claim. It was but the work of a moment to locate
+the stake to which the notice was attached by means of a bit of twine.
+Removing the paper, she thrust it into her pocket and returned to the
+cabin where she ate breakfast before starting for the Samuelson ranch.
+Hurriedly washing the dishes, she picked up the glove and thrust it
+into the bosom of her shirt, and drawing the crumpled notice from her
+pocket, smoothed it out upon the table. Her glance traveled rapidly
+over the penciled words to the signature, and she stared like one in a
+dream. The blood left her face. She closed her eyes and passed her
+hand slowly over the lids. She opened them, and with a nerveless
+finger, touched the paper as if to make sure that it was real. Then,
+very slowly, she rose from her chair and crossing the room, stood in
+the doorway and gazed toward the notch in the hills until hot tears
+welled into her eyes and blurred the distant skyline. The next moment
+she was upon her bunk, where she lay shaken between fits of sobbing
+and hysterical laughter. She drew the glove, with its fringed gauntlet
+and its gaudily embroidered horseshoe from her shirt front and ran her
+fingers along its velvety softness. Impulsively, passionately, she
+pressed the horseshoe to her lips, and leaping to her feet, thrust the
+glove inside her shirt and stepping lightly to the table reread the
+penciled lines upon the crumpled paper, and over and over again she
+read the signature; RAOUL BETHUNE, known also as MONK BETHUNE.
+
+The atmosphere of the little cabin seemed stifling. Crumpling the
+paper into her pocket, she stepped out the door. She must do
+something--go some place--talk to someone! Her horse stood saddled
+where she had left him, and catching up the reins she mounted and
+headed him at a gallop for the ravine that led to the trampled notch
+in the hills. During the long upward climb the girl managed to collect
+her scattered wits. Where should she go? She breathed deeply of the
+pine-laden air. It was still early morning. A pair of magpies flitted
+in short flights from tree to tree along the trail, scolding
+incessantly as they waited to be frightened on to the next tree.
+Patches of sunlight flashed vivid contrasts in their black and white
+plumage, and set off in a splendor of changing color the green and
+purple and bronze of their iridescent feathering. A deer bounded away
+in a blur of tan and white, and a little farther on, a porcupine
+lumbered lazily into the scrub. It was good to be alive! What
+difference did it make which direction she chose? All she wanted this
+morning was to ride, and ride, and ride! She had her father's map with
+her but was in no mood to study out its intricacies, nor to ride
+slowly up and down little valleys, scrutinizing rock ledges. She would
+visit the Samuelson ranch, and find out about the horse raid, and
+inquire after Mr. Samuelson, and then--well, there would be plenty of
+time to decide what to do then. But first, she would swing around by
+the little tent beside the creek and see if Vil Holland had returned.
+Surely, he must have returned by this time, and she must tell him how
+it was she had been riding with the horses--and, she must give him
+back his glove. She blushed as she felt the pressure of its soft bulk
+where it rested just below her heart. Surely, he would need his
+glove--and maybe, if she were nice to him, he would tell her how it
+came to be there--and maybe he would explain--_this_. Her horse had
+stopped voluntarily after his steep climb, and she glanced down at the
+trampled grass, and from that to her own little cabin far below on
+Monte's Creek.
+
+She wondered, as she rode through the timber how it was she had been
+so quick to doubt this grave, unsmiling hillman upon such a mere
+triviality as the finding of a glove. And then she wondered at her
+changed attitude toward him. She had feared him at first, then
+despised him. And now--she recalled with a thrill, the lean ruggedness
+of him, the unwavering eyes and the unsmiling lips--now, at least, she
+respected him, and she no longer wondered why the people of the hills
+and the people of the town held him in regard. She knew that he had
+never sought to curry her favor--had never deviated a hair's breadth
+from the even tenor of his way in order to win her regard and, in
+their chance conversations, he had been blunt even to rudeness. And,
+yet, against her will, her opinion of him had changed. And this change
+had nothing whatever to do with her timely rescue from the horse
+herd--it had been gradual, so gradual that it had been an accomplished
+fact even before she suspected that any change was taking place.
+
+The huge rock behind which nestled the little tent loomed before her,
+and hastily removing the glove from its hiding place, she came
+suddenly upon his camp. A blackened coffee pot was nestled close
+against a tiny fire upon which a pair of trout and some strips of
+bacon sizzled in a frying pan. She glanced toward the creek, at the
+same moment that Vil Holland turned at the sound of her horse's
+footsteps, and for several seconds they faced each other in silence.
+The man was the first to speak:
+
+"Good mornin'. If you'll step back around that rock for a minute, I'll
+slip into my shirt."
+
+And suddenly Patty realized that he was stripped to the waist, but her
+eyes never left the point high on his upper arm, almost against the
+shoulder, where a blood-stained bandage dangled untidily.
+
+"You're hurt!" she cried, swinging from the saddle and running toward
+him.
+
+"Nothin' but a scratch. I got nicked a little, night before last, an'
+I just now got time to do it up again. It don't amount to
+anything--don't even hurt, to speak of. I can let that go, if you'll
+just----"
+
+"Well, I won't just go away--or just anything else, except just attend
+to that wound--so there!" She was at his side, examining the clumsy
+bandage. "Sit right down beside the creek, and I'll look at it. The
+first thing is to find out how badly you're hurt."
+
+"It ain't bad. Looks a lot worse than it is. It was an unhandy place
+to tie up, left-handed."
+
+Scooping up water in her hand Patty applied it to the bandage, and
+after repeating the process several times, began very gently to
+remove the cloth. "Why it's clear through!" she cried, as the bandage
+came away and exposed the wound.
+
+"Just through the meat--it missed the bone. That cold water feels
+good. It was gettin' kind of stiff."
+
+"What did you put on it?"
+
+"Nothin'. Didn't have anything along, an' wouldn't have had time to
+fool with it if I'd been packin' a whole drug-store."
+
+"Where's your whisky?"
+
+"I ain't got any."
+
+"Where's your jug? Surely there must be some in it--enough to wash out
+this wound."
+
+The man shook his head. "No, the jug's plumb empty an' dry. I ain't
+be'n to town for 'most a week."
+
+Patty was fumbling at her saddle for the little "first aid" kit that
+she faithfully carried, and until this moment, had never found use
+for. "Probably the only time in the world it would ever do you any
+good, you haven't got it!" she exclaimed, disgustedly, as she unrolled
+a strip of gauze from about a tiny box of salve.
+
+"I'm sorry there ain't any whisky in the jug. I never thought of
+keepin' it for accident."
+
+The girl smeared the wound full of salve and adjusted the bandage,
+"Now," she said, authoritatively, "you're going to eat your breakfast
+and then we're going to ride straight to Samuelson's ranch. The doctor
+will be there and he can dress this wound right."
+
+"It's all right, just the way it is," said Holland. "I've seen fellows
+done up in bandages, one way an' another, but not any that was better
+'tended to than that." He glanced approvingly at the neatly bandaged
+arm. "Anyhow, this is nothin' but a scratch an' it'll be all healed
+up, chances are, before we could get to Samuelson's."
+
+"No, it won't be all healed up before you get to Samuelson's either!
+Run along, now, and I'll stay here while you finish dressing, and when
+you're through, you call me. I've had breakfast but I can drink a cup
+of coffee, if you'll ask me."
+
+"You're asked," the man replied, gravely, "and while I go to the tent,
+you might take that outfit an' jerk a couple more trout out of the
+creek." He pointed to a light fishing pole with hook and line attached
+that leaned against a tree. "It ain't as fancy as the outfit Len
+Christie packs, but it works just as good, an' ain't any bother to
+take care of."
+
+A few minutes later Vil Holland emerged from the tent. "Sorry I ain't
+got a table," he apologized, "but a fryin' pan outfit's always suited
+me best--makes a fellow feel kind of free to pull stakes an' drift
+when the notion hits him."
+
+"But, you've camped here for a long time."
+
+The man glanced about him: "Yes, a long time. I guess I know every
+place in the hills for a hundred miles round an' this is the pick of
+'em all, accordin' to my notions. Plenty of natural pasture, plenty of
+timber, an' this little creek's the coldest, an' it always seems to
+me, its water is the sparklin'est of 'em all. An' then, away off there
+towards the big mountains, early in the mornin' an' late in the
+evenin', when it's all kind of dim down here, you can see the sunlight
+on the snow--purple, an' pink, an' sometimes it shines like silver an'
+gold. It lays fine for a ranch. Sometime, maybe, I'm goin' to
+homestead it. I'll build the cabin right there, close by the big rock,
+an' I'll build a porch on it so in the evenin's we could watch the
+lights way up there on the snow."
+
+Patty smiled: "Who is 'we'?" she asked, mischievously.
+
+The man regarded her gravely: "Things like that works themselves out.
+If there ain't any 'we', there won't be any cabin--so there's nothin'
+to worry about."
+
+"Did you catch the horse-thieves?"
+
+Vil Holland's face clouded. "Part of 'em. Not the main ones, though."
+
+Patty shuddered. "I saw one of them lying back there by the trail. It
+was horrible."
+
+"Yes, an' a couple of more went the same way, further on. We'd rather
+have got 'em alive, but they'd had their orders, an' they took their
+medicine. We got the horses, though."
+
+"I suppose you're wondering how I came to be in among those horses?"
+
+"I figured you'd got mixed up in it at Samuelson's, somehow. The boys
+didn't know nothin' about it--except Pierce--an' he guessed wrong."
+
+Patty laughed. "He accused me of being one of the gang, and even
+threatened to lock me in his cellar."
+
+"He won't again," announced the man, dryly.
+
+"I rode down there to get him to go for the doctor. Mr. Samuelson was
+worse, and there was no one else to go. And when I started on for
+town, the horses swept down on me and carried me along with them."
+
+"Was the doctor got?" asked Holland with sudden interest.
+
+"Yes, I rode on down to Thompson's, and Mr. Thompson sent a man to
+town. He was provoked with you for not letting him in on the raid."
+
+"He'll get over it. You see, I didn't want to call out the married
+men. I surmised there'd be gun-play an' there wasn't any use takin'
+chances with men that was needed, when there's plenty of us around the
+hills that it don't make any difference to anyone if we come back or
+not. I didn't figure on lettin' Pierce in."
+
+When they had finished washing the dishes the girl glanced toward the
+buckskin that was snipping grass in the clearing: "It's time we were
+going. The doctor may start for town this morning and we'll meet him
+on the trail."
+
+"This ain't a doctor's job," protested the man. "My arm feels fine."
+
+"It's so stiff you can hardly use it. It must feel fine. But it
+doesn't make a particle of difference how fine it feels. It needs
+attention. And, surely you won't refuse to do this for me, after I
+bandaged it all up? Because, if anything should go wrong it would be
+my fault."
+
+Without a word the man picked up his bridle and walking to the
+buckskin, slipped it over his head and led him in. He saddled the
+horse with one hand, and as he turned toward the girl she held out the
+glove.
+
+"Isn't this yours? I found it last evening--out in the hills."
+
+Holland thrust his hand into it: "Yes, it's mine. I'm sure obliged to
+you. I lost it a couple of days ago. I hate to break in new gloves.
+These have got a feel to 'em."
+
+"Do you know where I found it?"
+
+"No. Couldn't guess within twenty miles or so."
+
+Patty looked him squarely in the eyes: "I found it over where Monk
+Bethune has just staked a claim. And he staked that particular claim
+because it was the spot I had indicated on a map that I prepared
+especially for the benefit of the man who has been searching my cabin
+all summer."
+
+Holland nodded gravely, without showing the slightest trace of
+surprise. "Oh, that's where I dropped it, eh? I figured Monk thought
+he'd found somethin', the way he come out of your cabin the last time
+he searched it, so I followed him to the place you'd salted for him."
+He paused, and for the first time since she had known him, Patty
+thought she detected a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "He didn't
+waste much time there--just clawed around a few minutes where you'd
+pecked up the dirt, an' then sunk his stakes, an' wrote out his
+notice, an' high-tailed for the register's office. That was a pretty
+smart trick of yours but it wouldn't have fooled anyone that knows
+rock. Bethune's no prospector. He's a Canada crook--whisky runner, an'
+cattle rustler, an' gambler. Somehow, he'd got a suspicion that your
+father made a strike he'd never filed, an' he's been tryin' to get
+holt of it ever since. I looked your plant over after he'd hit for
+town to file, an' when I tumbled to the game, I let him go ahead."
+
+"But, suppose the rock had been right? Suppose, it had really been
+daddy's claim?"
+
+"Buck can run rings around that cayuse of his any old day. I expect,
+if the rock had be'n right, Monk Bethune would of met up with an
+adventure of some sort a long ways before he hit town."
+
+"You knew he was searching my cabin all the time?"
+
+"Yes, I knew that. But, I saw you was a match for 'em--him an' the
+fake Lord, too."
+
+"Is that the reason you threw Lord Clendenning into the creek, that
+day?"
+
+"Yes, that was the reason. I come along an' caught him at it. Comical,
+wasn't it? I 'most laughed. I saw you slip back into the brush, but
+I'd got so far along with it I couldn't help finishin'. You thought
+the wrong man got throw'd in."
+
+"You knew I thought that of you--and you didn't hate me?"
+
+"Yes, I knew what you thought. You thought it was me that was
+searchin' your cabin, too. An' of course I didn't hate you because you
+couldn't hardly help figurin' that way after you'd run onto the place
+in the rim-rocks where I watched from. If it wasn't for the trees I
+could have strung along in a different place each time, but that's the
+only spot that your cabin shows up from."
+
+"And you knew that they always followed me through the hills?"
+
+"Yes, an' they wasn't the only ones that followed. Clendenning ain't
+as bad as Bethune, for all he's throw'd in with him. The days Bethune
+followed you, I followed Bethune. An' when Clendenning followed you, I
+prospected, mostly."
+
+"You thought Bethune might have--have attacked me?"
+
+"I wasn't takin' any chances--not with him, I wasn't. One day, I
+thought for a minute he was goin' to try it. It was the day you an'
+him et lunch together--when he pretended to be so surprised at runnin'
+onto you. I laid behind a rock with a bead draw'd on him. He stopped
+just exactly one step this side of hell, that day."
+
+Patty regarded the cowboy thoughtfully: "And Bethune told me he had to
+go over onto the east slope to see about some horses. It was after we
+had met Pierce, and Bethune asked about Mr. Samuelson and Pierce
+snubbed him. I believe Bethune planned that raid. And seeing us
+together that day, Pierce jumped to the conclusion that I was in with
+him."
+
+"Yes, it was Monk's raid, all right, an' him an' Clendenning got away.
+He doped it all out that day. I followed him when he quit you there on
+the trail, an' watched him plan out the route they'd take with the
+horses. Then I done some plannin' of my own. That's why we was able to
+head 'em off so handy. We didn't get Bethune an' Clendenning but I'll
+get 'em yet."
+
+They had mounted and were riding toward Samuelson's. "Maybe he's made
+his escape across the line," ventured the girl, after a long silence.
+
+Holland shook his head: "No, he ain't across the line. He don't think
+we savvy he was in on the raid, an' he'll stick around the hills an'
+prob'ly put a crew to work on his claim." He relapsed into silence,
+and as they rode side by side, under the cover of her hat brim, Patty
+found opportunity to study the lean brown face.
+
+"Where's your gun?" The man asked the question abruptly, without
+removing his eyes from the fore-trail.
+
+"I left it home. I only carried it once or twice. It's heavy, and
+anyway it was silly to carry it, I don't even know how to fire it, let
+alone hit anything."
+
+"If it's too heavy on your belt you can carry it on your saddle horn.
+I'll show you how to use it--an' how to shoot where you hold it, too.
+Mrs. Samuelson ain't as husky as you are, an' she can wipe a gnat's
+eye with a six-gun, either handed. Practice is all it takes, an'----"
+
+"But, why should I carry it? Bethune would hardly dare harm me, and
+anyway, now that he thinks he has stolen my secret, he wouldn't have
+any object in doing so."
+
+"You're goin' to keep on huntin' your dad's claim, ain't you?"
+
+"Of course I am! And I'll find it, too."
+
+"An', in the meantime, what if Bethune finds out he's been tricked?
+These French breeds go crazy when they're mad--an' he'll either lay
+for you just to get even, or he'll see that he gets the right dope
+next time--an' maybe you know what that means, an' maybe you
+don't--but I do."
+
+The girl nodded, and as the horses scrambled up the steep slope of a
+low divide, her eyes sought the hundred and one hiding places among
+the loose rocks and scrub that might easily conceal a lurking enemy,
+and she shuddered. As they topped the divide, both reined in and sat
+gazing silently down the little valley before them. It was the place
+of their first meeting, when the girl, tired, and lost and
+discouraged, had dismounted upon that very spot and watched the
+unknown horseman with his six-shooter, and his brown leather jug
+slowly ascend the slope. She glanced at him now, as he sat, rugged and
+lean, with his eyes on the little valley. He was just the same, grave
+and unsmiling, as upon the occasion of their first meeting. She
+noticed that he held his Stetson in his hand, and that the wind
+rippled his hair. "Just the same," she thought--and yet--. She was
+aware that her heart was pounding strangely, and that instead of a
+fear of this man, she was conscious of a wild desire to throw herself
+into his arms and cry with her face against the bandage that bulged
+the shirt sleeve just below the shoulder.
+
+"I call this Lost Creek," said Holland, without turning his head. "I
+come here often--" and added, confusedly, "It's a short cut from my
+camp to the trail."
+
+Patty felt an overpowering desire to laugh. She tried to think of
+something to say: "I--I thought you were a desperado," she murmured,
+and giggled nervously.
+
+"An' I thought you was a schoolma'am. I guess I was the first to
+change my mind, at that."
+
+Patty felt herself blushing furiously for no reason at all: "But--I
+have changed my mind--or I wouldn't be here, now."
+
+Vil Holland nodded: "I expect I'll ride to town from Samuelson's. My
+jug's empty, an' I guess I might's well file that homestead 'fore
+someone else beats me to it. I've got a hunch maybe I'll be rollin' up
+that cabin--before snow flies."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+UNMASKED
+
+
+At the Samuelson's ranch they found not only the doctor but Len
+Christie. Mr. Samuelson's condition had taken a sudden turn for the
+better and it was a jubilant little group that welcomed Patty as she
+rode up to the veranda. Vil Holland had muttered an excuse and gone
+directly to the bunk house where the doctor sought him out a few
+minutes later and attended to his wound. From the top of "Lost Creek"
+divide, the ride had been made almost in silence. The cowboy's
+reference to his jug had angered the girl into a moody reserve which
+he made no effort to dispel.
+
+The news of Patty's rescue from the horse herd had preceded her,
+having been recounted by the Samuelson riders upon their return to the
+ranch, and Mrs. Samuelson blamed herself unmercifully for having
+allowed the girl to venture down the valley alone. Which
+self-accusation was promptly silenced by Patty, who gently forced the
+old lady into an arm chair, and called her Mother Samuelson, and
+seated herself upon the step at her feet, and assured her that she
+wouldn't have missed the adventure for the world.
+
+"We'll have a jolly little dinner party this evening," beamed Mrs.
+Samuelson, an hour later when the girl had finished recounting her
+part in the night's adventure, "there'll be you and Mr. Christie, and
+Doctor Mallory, and the boys from the bunk house, and Vil Holland, and
+it will be in honor of Mr. Samuelson's turn for the better, and your
+escape, and the successful routing of the horse-thieves."
+
+"Too late to count Vil Holland in," smiled the doctor, who had
+returned to the veranda in time to hear the arrangement, "said he had
+important business in town, and pulled out as soon as I'd got his arm
+rigged up." And, in the doorway, the Reverend Len Christie smiled
+behind a screen of cigarette smoke as he noted the toss of the head,
+and the decided tightening of the lips with which Patty greeted the
+announcement.
+
+"But, he's wounded!" protested Mrs. Samuelson. "In his condition,
+ought he attempt a ride like that?"
+
+The doctor laughed: "You can't hurt these clean-blooded young bucks
+with a flesh wound. As far as fitness is concerned, he can ride to
+Jericho if he wants to. Too bad he won't quit prospecting and settle
+down. He'd make some girl a mighty fine husband."
+
+Christie laughed. "I don't think Vil is the marrying kind. In the
+first place he's been bitten too deep with the prospecting bug. And,
+again, women don't appeal to him. He's wedded to his prospecting. He
+only stops when driven to it by necessity, then he only works long
+enough to save up a grub-stake and he's off for the hills again. I
+can't imagine that high priest of the pack horse and the frying pan
+living in a house!"
+
+And so the talk went, everyone participating except Patty, who sat and
+listened with an elaborate indifference that caused the Reverend Len
+to smile again to himself behind the gray cloud of his cigarette
+smoke.
+
+"You haven't forgotten about my school?" asked Patty next morning, as
+Christie and the doctor were preparing to leave for town.
+
+"Indeed, I haven't!" laughed the Bishop of All Outdoors. "School opens
+the first of September, and that's not very far away. But badly as we
+need you, somehow I feel that we are not going to get you."
+
+"Why?" asked the girl in surprise.
+
+"A whole lot may happen in ten days--and I've got a hunch that before
+that time you will have made your strike."
+
+"I hope so!" she exclaimed fervidly. "I know I shall just hate to
+teach school--and I'd never do it, either, if I didn't need a
+grub-stake."
+
+As she watched him ride away, Patty was joined by Mrs. Samuelson who
+stepped from the house and thrust her arm through hers. "My husband
+wants to meet you, my dear. He's so very much better this
+morning--quite himself. And I must warn you that that means he's rough
+as an old bear, apparently, although in reality he's got the tenderest
+heart in the world. He always puts his worst foot foremost with
+strangers--he may even swear."
+
+Patty laughed: "I'm not afraid. You seem to have survived a good many
+years of him. He really can't be so terrible!"
+
+"Oh, he's not terrible at all. Only, I know how much depends upon
+first impressions--and I do want you to like us."
+
+Patty drew the old lady's arm about her waist and together they
+ascended the stairs: "I love you already, and although I have never
+met him I am going to love Mr. Samuelson, too--you see, I have heard a
+good deal about him here in the hills."
+
+Entering the room, they advanced to the bed where a big-framed man
+with a white mustache and a stubble of gray beard lay propped up on
+pillows. Sickness had not paled the rich mahogany of the
+weather-seamed face, and the eyes that met Patty's from beneath their
+bushy brows were bright as a boy's. "Good morning! Good morning! So,
+you're Rod Sinclair's daughter, are you? An' a chip of the old block,
+by what mama's been tellin' me. I knew Rod well. He was a real
+prospector. Knew his business, an' went at it business fashion. Wasn't
+like most of 'em--makin' their rock-peckin' an excuse to get out of
+workin'. They tell me you ain't afraid to live alone in the hills, an'
+ain't afraid to make a midnight ride to fetch the doc for an old
+long-horn like me. That's stuff! Didn't know they bred it east of the
+Mizoo. The ones mama an' I've seen around the theaters an' restaurants
+on our trips East would turn a man's stomach. Why, damn it, young
+woman, if I ever caught a daughter of mine painted up like a Piute
+an' stripped to the waist smokin' cigarettes an' drinkin' cocktails in
+a public restaurant, I'd peel the rest of her duds off an' turn her
+over my knee an' take a quirt to her, if she was forty!"
+
+"Why, _papa_!"
+
+"I would too--an' so would you!" Patty saw the old eyes twinkling with
+mischief, and she laughed merrily:
+
+"And so would I," she agreed. "So there's no chance for any argument,
+is there?"
+
+"We must go, now," reminded Mrs. Samuelson. "The doctor said you could
+not see any visitors yet. He made a special exception of Miss
+Sinclair, for just a few minutes."
+
+"I wish you would call me Patty," smiled the girl. "Miss Sinclair
+sounds so--so formal----"
+
+"Me, too!" exclaimed the invalid. "I'll go you one better, an' call
+you Pat----"
+
+"If you do, I'll call you Pap--" laughed the girl.
+
+"That's a trade! An' say, they tell me you live over in Watts's sheep
+camp. If you should happen to run across that reprobate of a Vil
+Holland, you tell him to come over here. I want to see him about----"
+
+"There, now, papa--remember the doctor said----"
+
+"I don't care what the doctor said! He's finished his job an' gone,
+ain't he? It's bad enough to have to do what he says when you're
+sick--but, I'm all right now, an' the quicker he finds out I didn't
+hire him for a guardian, the better it'll be all round. As I was goin'
+to say, you tell Vil that Old Man Samuelson wants to see him _pronto_.
+Fall's comin' on, an' I'll have my hands full this winter with the
+horses. He's the only cowman in the hills I'd trust them white faces
+with, an' he's got to winter 'em for me. He's a natural born cowman
+an' there's big money in it after he gets a start. I'll give him his
+start. It's time he woke up, an' left off his damned rock-peckin', an'
+settled down. If he keeps on long enough he'll have these hills
+whittled down as flat as North Dakota, an' the wind'll blow us all
+over into the sheep country. Now, Pat, can you remember all that?"
+
+The girl turned in the doorway, and smiled into the bright old eyes:
+"Oh, yes, Pap, I'll tell him if I see him. Good-by!"
+
+"Good-by, an' good luck to you! Come to see us often. We old folks get
+pretty lonesome sometimes--especially mama. You see, I've got all the
+best of it--I've got her, an' she's only got me!"
+
+As Patty threaded the hills toward her cabin her thoughts followed the
+events of the past few days; the visit of Len Christie in the early
+morning, when he had inadvertently showed her how to read her father's
+map, the staking of the false claim, the visit to the Samuelson ranch,
+the horse raid, the finding of Vil Holland's glove and the bitter
+disappointment that followed, then the finding of the notice that
+disclosed the identity of the real thief, and her genuine joy in the
+discovery, her visit to Holland's camp, and their long ride together.
+"I tried to show him that all my distrust of him was gone, but he
+hardly seemed to notice--unless--I wonder what he _did_ mean about
+having a hunch that he would build that cabin before snow flies?"
+
+For some time she rode in silence, then she burst out vehemently: "I
+don't care! I could love him--so there! I could just adore him! And I
+don't wonder everybody likes him. He seems always so--so capable--so
+confident. You just can't help liking him. If it weren't for that old
+jug! He had to drag that in, even up there when he stood on the spot
+where we first met--and then at the Samuelsons' he wouldn't even wait
+for dinner he was so crazy to get his old whisky jug filled. It never
+seems to hurt him any," she continued. "But nobody can drink as much
+as he does and not be hurt by it. I just know he meant that the cabin
+was going to be for me--or, did he know that Mr. Samuelson was going
+to ask him to winter the cattle? He's a regular cave man--I don't know
+whether I've been proposed to, or not!"
+
+She crossed the trail for town and struck into a valley that should
+bring her out somewhere along the Watts fences. So engrossed was she
+in her thoughts that she failed to notice the horseman who slipped
+noiselessly into the scrub a quarter of a mile ahead. Slowly she rode
+up the valley: "If he comes to teach me how to shoot, I'll tell him
+that Mr. Samuelson wants to see him, and if he says any more about the
+cabin, or--or anything--I'll tell him he can choose between me and his
+jug. And, if he chooses the jug, and I don't find daddy's mine--it
+isn't long 'til school opens. I don't mind--he has to work to get his
+grub-stake, and so will I."
+
+Her horse snorted and shied violently, and when Patty recovered her
+seat it was to find her way blocked by a horseman who stood not ten
+feet in front of her and leered into her eyes. The horseman was Monk
+Bethune--a malignant, terrifying Bethune, as he sat regarding her with
+his sneering smile. The girl's first impulse was to turn and fly, but
+as if divining her thoughts, the man pushed nearer, and she saw that
+his eyes gleamed horribly between lids drawn to slits. Had he
+discovered that she had tricked him with a false claim? If not why the
+glare of hate and the sneering smile that told plainer than words that
+he had her completely in his power, and knew it.
+
+"So, my fine lady--we meet again! We have much to talk about--you and
+I. But, first, about the claim. You thought you were very wise with
+your lying about not having a map. You thought to save the whole loaf
+for yourself--you thought I was fool enough to believe you. If you had
+let me in, you would have had half--now you have nothing. The claim is
+all staked and filed, and the adjoining claims for a mile are staked
+with the stakes of my friends--and you have nothing! You were the
+fool! You couldn't have won against me. Failing in my story of
+partnership with your father, I had intended to marry you, and failing
+in that, I should have taken the map by force--for I knew you carried
+it with you. But I dislike violence when the end may be gained by
+other means, so I waited until, at last, happened the thing I knew
+would happen--you became careless. You left your precious map and
+photograph in plain sight upon your little table--and now you have
+nothing." So he had not discovered the deception, but, through
+accident or design, had seized this opportunity to gloat over her, and
+taunt her with her loss. His carefully assumed mask of suave
+courtliness had disappeared, and Patty realized that at last she was
+face to face with the real Bethune, a creature so degenerate that he
+boasted openly of having stolen her secret, as though the fact
+redounded greatly to his credit.
+
+A sudden rage seized her. She touched her horse with the spur: "Let me
+pass!" she demanded, her lips white.
+
+The man's answer was a sneering laugh, as he blocked her way: "Ho! not
+so fast, my pretty! How about the Samuelson horse raid--your part in
+it? Three of my best men are in hell because you tipped off that raid
+to Vil Holland! How you found it out I do not know--but women, of a
+certain kind, can find out anything from men. No doubt Clen, in some
+sweet secret meeting place, poured the story into your ear, although
+he denies it on his life."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Ha! Ha! Injured innocence!" He leered knowingly into her flashing
+eyes: "It seems that everyone else knew what I did not. But, I am of a
+forgiving nature. I will not see you starve. Leave the others and come
+to me----"
+
+"_You cur!_" The words cut like a swish of a lash, and again the man
+laughed:
+
+"Oh, not so fast, you hussy! I must admit it rather piqued me to be
+bested in the matter of a woman--and by a soul-puncher. I was on hand
+early that morning, to spy upon your movements, as was my custom. I
+speak of the morning following the night that the very Reverend
+Christie spent with you in your cabin. I should not have believed it
+had I not seen his horse running unsaddled with your own. Also later,
+I saw you come out of the cabin together. Then I damned myself for not
+having reached out before and taken what was there for me to take."
+
+With a low cry of fury, the girl drove her spurs into her horse's
+sides. The animal leaped against Bethune's horse, forcing him aside.
+The quarter-breed reached swiftly for her bridle reins, and as he
+leaned forward with his arm outstretched, Patty summoned all her
+strength and, whirling her heavy braided rawhide quirt high above her
+head, brought it down with the full sweep of her muscular arm. The
+feel of the blow was good as it landed squarely upon the inflamed
+brutish face, and the shrill scream of pain that followed, sent a wild
+thrill of joy to the very heart of the girl. Again, the lash swung
+high, this time to descend upon the flank of her horse, and before
+Bethune could recover himself, the frenzied animal shot up the valley,
+running with every ounce there was in him.
+
+The valley floor was fairly level, and a hundred yards away the girl
+shot a swift glance over her shoulder. Bethune's horse was getting
+under way in frantic leaps that told of cruel spurring, and with her
+eyes to the front, she bent forward over the horn and slapped her
+horse's neck with her gloved hand. She remembered with a quick gasp of
+relief that Bethune prided himself upon the fact that he never carried
+a gun. She had once taunted Vil Holland with the fact, and he had
+replied that "greasers and breeds were generally sneaking enough to be
+knife men." Again, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled grimly as
+she noted that the distance between the two flying horses had
+increased by half. "Good old boy," she whispered. "You can beat
+him--can 'run rings around him,' as Vil would say. It would be a long
+knife that could harm me now," she thought, as she pulled her Stetson
+tight against the sweep of the rushing wind. The ground was becoming
+more and more uneven. Loose rock fragments were strewn about in
+increasing numbers, and the valley was narrowing to an extent that
+necessitated frequent fording of the shallow creek. "He can't make any
+better time than I can," muttered the girl, as she noted the
+slackening of her horse's speed. She was riding on a loose rein,
+giving her horse his head, for she realized that to force him might
+mean a misstep and a fall. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the
+thoughts of a fall. A thousand times better had she fallen and been
+pounded to a pulp by the flying hoofs of the horse herd, than to fall
+now--and survive it. The ascent became steeper. Her horse was still
+running, but very slowly. His neck and shoulders were reeking with
+sweat, and she could hear the labored breath pumping through his
+distended nostrils.
+
+A sudden fear shot through her. Nine valleys in every ten, she knew,
+ended in surmountable divides; and she knew, also, that one valley in
+every ten did not. Suppose this one that she had chosen at random
+terminated in a cul-de-sac? The way became steeper. Running was out of
+the question, and her horse was forging upward in a curious
+scrambling walk. A noise of clattering rocks sounded behind her, and
+Patty glanced backward straight into the face of Bethune. Reckless of
+a fall, in the blind fury of his passion, the quarter-breed had forced
+his horse to his utmost, and rapidly closed up the gap until scarcely
+ten yards separated him from the fleeing girl.
+
+In a frenzy of terror she lashed her laboring horse's flanks as the
+animal dug and clawed like a cat at the loose rock footing of the
+steep ascent. White to the lips she searched the foreground for a
+ravine or a coulee that would afford a means of escape. But before her
+loomed only the ever steepening wall, its surface half concealed by
+the scattering scrub. Once more she looked backward. The breath was
+whistling through the blood-red flaring nostrils of Bethune's horse,
+and her glance flew to the face of the man. Never in her wildest
+nightmares had she imagined the soul-curdling horror of that face. The
+lips writhed back in a hideous grin of hate. A long blue-red welt
+bisected the features obliquely--a welt from which red blood flowed
+freely at the corner of a swollen eye. White foam gathered upon the
+distorted lips and drooled down onto the chin where it mingled with
+the blood in a pink meringue that dripped in fluffy chunks upon his
+shirt front. The uninjured eye was a narrow gleam of venom, and the
+breath swished through the man's nostrils as from the strain of great
+physical labor.
+
+"Oh, for my gun!" thought the girl. "I'd--I'd _kill_ him!" With a wild
+scramble her horse went down. "Vil! Vil!" she shrieked, in a frenzy of
+despair, and freeing herself from the floundering animal, she
+struggled to her feet and faced her pursuer with a sharp rock fragment
+upraised in her two hands.
+
+Monk Bethune laughed--as the fiends must laugh in hell. A laugh that
+struck a chill to the very heart of the girl. Her muscles went limp at
+the sound of it and she felt the strength ebbing from her body like
+sand from an upturned glass. The rock fragment became an insupportable
+weight. It crashed to the ground, and rolled clattering to Bethune's
+feet. He, too, had dismounted, and stood beside his horse, his fists
+slowly clenching and unclenching in gloating anticipation. Patty
+turned to run, but her limbs felt numb and heavy, and she pitched
+forward upon her knees. With a slow movement of his hand, Bethune
+wiped the pink foam from his chin, examined it, snapped it from his
+fingers, cleansed them upon the sleeve of his shirt--and again,
+deliberately, he laughed, and started to climb slowly forward.
+
+A rock slipped close beside the girl, and the next instant a voice
+sounded in her ear: "I don't reckon he's 'round yere, Miss. I hain't
+saw Vil this mo'nin'." Rifle in hand, Watts stepped from behind a
+scrub pine, and as his eyes fell upon Bethune, he stood fumbling his
+beard with uncertain fingers.
+
+"He--he'll kill me!" gasped the girl.
+
+"Sho', now, Miss--he won't hurt yo' none, will yo', Mr. Bethune?
+Gineral Jackson! Mr. Bethune, look at yo' face! Yo' must of rode
+again' a limb!"
+
+"Shut up, and get out of here!" screamed the quarter-breed. "And, if
+you know what's good for you, you'll forget that you've seen anyone
+this morning."
+
+"B'en layin' up yere in the gap fer to git me a deer. I heerd yo'-all
+comin', like, so's I waited."
+
+"Get out, I tell you, before I kill you!" cried Bethune, beside
+himself with rage. "Go!" The man's hand plunged beneath his shirt and
+came out with a glitter of steel.
+
+The mountaineer eyed the blade indifferently, and turned to the girl.
+"Ef yo' goin' my ways, ma'am, jest yo' lead yo' hoss on ahaid. They's
+a game trail runs slaunchways up th'ough the gap yender. I'll kind o'
+foller 'long behind."
+
+"You fool!" shrilled Bethune, as he made a grab for the girl's reins,
+and the next instant found himself looking straight into the muzzle of
+Watts's rifle.
+
+"Drap them lines," drawled the mountaineer, "thet hain't yo' hoss. An'
+what's over an' above, yo' better put up yo' whittle, an' tu'n 'round
+an' go back wher' yo' com' from."
+
+"Lower that gun!" commanded Bethune. "It's cocked!"
+
+"Yes, hit's cocked, Mr. Bethune, an' hit's sot mighty light on the
+trigger. Ef I'd git a little scairt, er a little riled, er my foot 'ud
+slip, yo'd have to be drug down to wher' the diggin's easy, an'
+buried."
+
+Bethune deliberately slipped the knife back into his shirt, and
+laughed: "Oh, come, now, Watts, a joke's a joke. I played a joke on
+Miss Sinclair to frighten her----"
+
+"Yo' done hit, all right," interrupted Watts. "An' thet's the end
+on't."
+
+The rifle muzzle still covered Bethune's chest in the precise region
+of his heart, and once more he changed his tactics: "Don't be a fool,
+Watts," he said, in an undertone, "I'm rich--richer than you, or
+anyone else knows. I've located Rod Sinclair's strike and filed it. If
+you just slip quietly off about your business, and forget that you
+ever saw anyone here this morning--and see to it that you never
+remember it again, you'll never regret it. I'll make it right with
+you--I'll file you next to discovery."
+
+"Yo' mean," asked Watts, slowly, "thet you've stoled the mine offen
+Sinclair's darter, an' filed hit yo'self, an' thet ef I go 'way an'
+let yo' finish the job by murderin' the gal, yo'll give me some of the
+mine--is thet what yo' tryin' to git at?"
+
+"Put it anyway you want to, damn you! Words don't matter, but for
+God's sake, get out! If she once gets through the gap----"
+
+"Bethune," Watts drawled the name, even more than was his wont, and
+the quarter-breed noticed that the usually roving eyes had set into a
+hard stare behind which lurked a dangerous glitter, "yo're a ornery,
+low-down cur-dog what hain't fitten to be run with by man, beast, or
+devil. I'd ort to shoot yo' daid right wher' yo' at--an' mebbe I will.
+But comin' to squint yo' over, that there damage looks mo' like a
+quirt-lick than a limb. Thet ort to hurt like fire fer a couple a
+days, an' when it lets up yo' face hain't a-goin' to be so purty as
+what hit wus. Ef she'd jest of drug the quirt along a little when hit
+landed she c'd of cut plumb into the bone--but hit's middlin' fair, as
+hit stands. I'm a-goin' to give yo' a chanct--an' a warnin', too. Next
+time I see yo' I'm a-going' to kill yo'--whenever, or wherever hit's
+at. I'll do hit, jest as shore as my name is John Watts. Yo' kin go
+now--back the way yo' come, pervidin' yo' go fast. I'm a-goin' to
+count up to wher' I know how to--I hain't never be'n to school none,
+but I counted up to nineteen, onct--an' whin I git to wher' I cain't
+rec'lec' the nex' figger, I'm a-goin' to shoot, an' shoot straight.
+An' I hain't a-goin' to study long about them figgers, neither. Le's
+see, one comes fust--yere goes, then: One ... Two...." For a single
+instant, Bethune gazed into the man's eyes and the next, he sprang
+into the saddle, and dashing wildly down the steep slope, disappeared
+into the scrub.
+
+"Spec' I'd ort to killed him," regretted the mountaineer, as he
+lowered the rifle, and gazed off down the valley, "but I hain't got no
+appetite fer diggin'."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+PATTY MAKES HER STRIKE
+
+
+It was noon, one week from the day she had returned from the Samuelson
+ranch, and Patty Sinclair stood upon the high shoulder of a butte and
+looked down into a rock-rimmed valley. Her eyes roved slowly up and
+down the depression where the dark green of the scrub contrasted
+sharply with the crinkly buffalo grass, yellowed to spun gold beneath
+the rays of the summer sun.
+
+She reached up and stroked the neck of her horse. "Just think, old
+partner, three days from now I may be teaching school in that horrid
+little town with its ratty hotel, and its picture shows, and its
+saloons, and you may be turned out in a pasture with nothing to do but
+eat and grow fat! If we don't find our claim to-day, or to-morrow,
+it's good-by hill country 'til next summer."
+
+The day following her encounter with Bethune, Vil Holland had
+appeared, true to his promise, and instructed her in the use of her
+father's six-gun. At the end of an hour's practice, she had been able
+to kick up the dirt in close proximity to a tomato can at fifteen
+steps, and twice she had actually hit it. "That's good enough for any
+use you're apt to have for it," her instructor had approved. "The main
+thing is that you ain't afraid of it. An' remember," he added, "a gun
+ain't made to bluff with. Don't pull it on anyone unless you go
+through with it. Only short-horns an' pilgrims ever pull a gun that
+don't need wipin' before it's put back--I could show you the graves of
+several of 'em. I'm leavin' you some extry shells that you can shoot
+up the scenery with. Always pick out somethin' little to shoot
+at--start in with tin cans and work down to match-sticks. When you can
+break six match-sticks with six shots at ten steps in ten seconds
+folks will call you handy with a gun." He had made no mention of his
+trip to town, of his filing a homestead, or of their conversation upon
+the top of Lost Creek divide. When the lesson was finished, he had
+refused Patty's invitation to supper, mounted his horse, and
+disappeared up the ravine that led to the notch in the hills. Although
+neither had mentioned it, Patty somehow felt that he had heard from
+Watts of her encounter with Bethune. And now a week had passed and she
+had seen neither Vil Holland nor the quarter-breed. It had been a week
+of anxiety and hard work for the girl who had devoted almost every
+hour of daylight to the unraveling of her father's map. Simple as the
+directions seemed, her inability to estimate distances had proven a
+serious handicap. But by dogged perseverance, and much retracing of
+steps, and correcting of false leads, she finally stood upon the rim
+of the valley she judged to lie two miles east of the humpbacked butte
+that she had figured to be the inverted U of her father's map.
+
+"If this isn't the valley, I'm through for this year," she said. "And
+I've got to-day and to-morrow to explore it." She wondered at her
+indifference--at her strange lack of excitement at this, the crucial
+moment of her long quest, even as she had wondered at her absence of
+fear, believing as she did, that Bethune was still in the hills. The
+feeling inspired by the outlaw had been a feeling of rage, rather than
+terror, and had rapidly crystallized in her outraged mind into an
+abysmal soul-hate. She knew that, should the man accost her again, she
+would kill him--and not for a single instant did she doubt her ability
+to kill him. Vaguely, as she stood looking out over the valley, she
+wondered if he were following her--if at that moment he were lying
+concealed, somewhere among the surrounding rocks or patches of scrub?
+Yet, she was conscious of no feeling of fear. She even attempted no
+concealment as, standing there upon the bare rock, she drew her
+father's map and photographs from her pocket and subjected them to a
+long and minute scrutiny. And then, still holding them in her hand,
+gazed once more over the valley. "To 'a,' to 'b,'" she repeated. "What
+is there that daddy would have designed as 'a,' and 'b?'" Suddenly,
+her glance became fixed upon a point up the valley that lay just
+within her range of vision. With puckered eyes and hat-brim drawn low
+upon her forehead, she stared steadily into the distance. She knew
+that she had never before seen this valley, and yet the place seemed,
+somehow, strangely familiar. With a low cry she bent over one of the
+photographs. Her hands trembled violently as her eyes once more flew
+to the valley. Yes, there it was, spread out before her just the way
+it was in the photograph--the rock-strewn ground--she could even
+identify the various rocks with the rocks in the picture. There was
+the lone tree, and the long rock wall, higher at its upper end,
+and--yes, she could just discern it--the zigzag crack in the rock
+ledge! Jamming the papers into her pocket she leaped into the saddle
+and dashed toward a fringe of scrub that marked the course of a coulee
+which led downward into the valley. Over its edge, and down its
+brush-choked course, slipping, sliding, scrambling, she urged her
+horse, reckless of safety, reckless of anything except that her weary,
+and at times it had seemed her hopeless, search was about to end. She
+had stood where her daddy had stood when he took that photograph--had
+seen with her own eyes--the jagged crack in the rock wall!
+
+In the valley the going was better, and with quirt and spur she urged
+her horse to his best, her eyes on the lone pine tree. At the rock
+wall beyond, she pulled up sharply and stared at the jagged crevice
+that bisected it from top to bottom. It was the crevice of the
+photograph! Very deliberately she began at the top and traced its
+course to the bottom. She noted the scraggly, stunted pines that
+fringed the rim of the wall and that the crack started straight, and
+then zigzagged to the ground. Producing the "close up" photograph, she
+compared it with the reality before her--an entirely superfluous and
+needless act, for each minute detail of the spot at which she stared
+was indelibly engraved upon her memory. For hours on end, she had
+studied those photographs, and now--she laughed aloud, and the sound
+roused her to action. Slipping from the horse, she fumbled at the pack
+strings of the saddle and loosened the canvas bag. She reached into
+it, and stood erect holding a light hand-axe. Once more she consulted
+her map. "Stake l. c.," she read. "That's lode claim--and then that
+funny wiggly mark, and then the word center." Her brows drew together
+as she studied the ground. Suddenly her face brightened. "Why, of
+course!" she exclaimed. "That mark represents the crack, and daddy
+meant to stake the claim with the crack for the center. Well, here
+goes!" She vehemently attacked a young sapling, and ten minutes later
+viewed with pride her four roughly hacked stakes. Picking up one of
+them and the axe, she paced off her distance, and as she reached the
+first corner point, stared in surprise at the ground. The claim had
+already been staked! Eagerly she stooped to examine the bit of wood.
+It had evidently been in place for some time--how long, the girl could
+not tell. Long enough, though, for its surface to have become
+weather-grayed and discolored. "Daddy's stakes," she breathed softly,
+and as her fingers strayed over the surface two big tears welled into
+her eyes and trickled unheeded down her cheeks. "If he staked the
+claim, I wonder why he didn't file," she puzzled over the matter for a
+moment, and dismissed it. "I don't know why. But, anyway, the thing
+for me to do is to get in my own stakes--only, I'll file, just as soon
+as I can get to the register's office."
+
+After considerable difficulty, she succeeded in planting her own stake
+close beside the other, which marked the southwest corner of the claim, a
+short time later the northwest corner was staked, and the girl stared again
+at the rock wall. "Why, I've got to put in my eastern boundary stakes up on
+top--three hundred feet back from the edge!" she exclaimed; "maybe I'll
+find his notice on one of those stakes." It required only a moment to
+locate a ravine that led to the top of the ledge which was not nearly so
+high as the one that formed the opposite side of the valley. She found the
+old stakes, but no sign of a notice. "The wind, and the snow, and the rain
+have destroyed it long ago," she muttered. "And, now for my own notice."
+Producing from her bag a pencil and a piece of paper, she wrote her
+description and affixed it to a stake by means of a bit of wire. Then,
+descending once more into the valley, she produced her luncheon and threw
+herself down beside the little creek. It was mid-afternoon, and she
+suddenly discovered that she was ravenously hungry. With her back against a
+rock fragment, she sat and feasted her eyes upon her claim--hers--HERS! Her
+thoughts flew backward to the enthusiasm of her father over this very
+claim. She remembered how his eyes had lighted as he told her of its hidden
+treasure. She remembered the jibes, and doubts, and covert sneers of the
+Middleton people, her father's death, her own anger and revolt, when she
+had suddenly decided, in the face of their council, entreaties, and
+commands to take up his work where he had left it. With kaleidoscopic
+rapidity her thoughts flew over the events of the ensuing months--the
+meeting with Vil Holland, her disappointment in the Watts ranch, her eager
+acceptance of the sheep camp, the long weary weeks of patiently riding
+along rock walls, taking each valley in turn, the growing fear of running
+out of funds before she could locate the claim. She shuddered as she
+thought of Monk Bethune, and of how nearly she had fallen a victim to his
+machinations. Her thoughts returned to Vil Holland, her "guardian devil of
+the hills," who had turned out to be in reality a guardian angel in
+disguise. "Very much in disguise," she smiled, "with his jug of whisky."
+Nobody who had helped make up her little world of people in the hill
+country was forgotten, the Thompsons, the Samuelsons, and the Wattses--she
+thought of them all. "Why, I--I love every one of them," she cried, as
+though the discovery surprised her. "They're all, every one of them, real
+friends--they're not like the others, the smug, sleek, best citizens of
+Middleton. And I'll not forget one of them. We'll file that whole vein from
+one end to the other!" Catching up her horse, she mounted, and sat for a
+moment irresolute. "I could make town, sometime to-night," she mused, and
+then her eyes rested for a moment upon her horse's neck where the white
+alkali dust lay upon the rough, sweat-dried hair. "No," she decided. "We'll
+go back to the cabin, and you can rest up, and to-morrow we'll start at
+daylight."
+
+"Mr. Christie was right," she smiled, as she took the back trail for
+Monte's Creek. "I don't have to teach school. But, I wonder how he
+could have gotten that 'hunch,' as he called it? When I've been
+searching for the claim for months?"
+
+In a little valley that ran parallel to Monte's Creek, Patty
+encountered Microby Dandeline. The girl was lying stretched at full
+length upon the ground and did not notice her approach until she was
+almost on her, then she leaped to her feet, regarded her for a moment,
+and, with a frightened cry, sprang into the bush and scrambled out of
+sight along the steep side of a ravine. In vain Patty called, but her
+only answer was the diminishing sounds of the girl's scrambling
+flight. "What in the world has got into her of late," she wondered, as
+she proceeded on her way. Certain it was that the girl avoided her,
+not only at the Watts ranch, but whenever they had chanced to meet in
+the hills. At first she had attributed it to anger or resentment over
+her own treatment of her when she had tried to get possession of the
+map. But, surely, even the dull-witted Microby must know that the
+incident had been forgotten. "No," she decided, "there is something
+else." Somehow, the girl no longer seemed the simple child-like
+creature of the wild. There was a furtiveness about her, and she had
+developed a certain crafty side glance, as though constantly seeking a
+means of escape from something. Her mother had noticed the change,
+and had confided to Patty that she was "gittin' mo' triflin' every
+day, a-rammin' 'round the hills a-huntin' her a mine." "There's
+something worrying her," muttered the girl. "Something that she don't
+dare tell anyone, and it's sapping what little wit she has."
+
+It was late that evening when Patty ate her solitary supper. The sun
+had long set, and the dusk of the late twilight had settled upon the
+valley of Monte's Creek as she wiped the last dish and set it upon the
+shelf of her tiny cupboard. Suddenly she looked up. A form darkened
+the doorway, and quick as a flash, her eyes sought the six-gun that
+lay in its holster upon the bunk.
+
+"You won't need that." The voice was reassuring. It was Vil Holland's
+voice; she had recognized him a second before he spoke and greeted him
+with a smile, even as she wondered what had brought him there. Only
+three times before had he come to her cabin, once to ascertain who was
+moving into the sheep camp, once when he had pitched Lord Clendenning
+into the creek, and again, only a few days before, when he had come to
+teach her to shoot. The girl noted that he seemed graver than usual,
+if that were possible. Certain it was that he appeared to be holding
+himself under restraint. She wondered if he had come to warn her of
+the proximity of Bethune.
+
+"I was in town, to-day," he came directly to the point. "An' Len
+Christie told me you're goin' to teach school." He paused and his eyes
+rested upon her face as if seeking confirmation.
+
+Patty laughed; she could afford to laugh, now that the necessity for
+teaching did not exist. "I asked him if he could find a school for me
+sometime ago," she replied, trying to fathom what was in his mind.
+
+There was a moment of silence, during which Patty saw the man's
+fingers tighten upon his hat brim. "I don't want you to do that. It
+ain't fit work--for you--teachin' other folks' kids."
+
+Patty stared at him in surprise. The words had come slowly, and at
+their conclusion he had paused.
+
+"Maybe you could suggest some work that is more fit?"
+
+The man ignored the hint of sarcasm. "Yes--I think I can." His head
+was slightly bowed, and Patty saw that it was with an effort he
+continued: "That is, I don't know if I can make you see it like I do.
+It's awful real to me--an' plain. Miss Sinclair, I can't make any fine
+speeches like they do in books. I wouldn't if I could--it ain't my
+way. I love you more than I could tell you if I knew all the words in
+the language, an' how to fit 'em together. I loved you that day I
+first saw you--back there on the divide at Lost Creek. You was afraid
+of me, an' you wouldn't show it, an' you wouldn't own up that you was
+lost--'til I'd made the play of goin' off an' leavin' you. An' I've
+loved you every minute since--an' every minute since, I've fought
+against lovin' you. But, it's no use. The more I fight it, the
+stronger it gets. It's stronger than I am. I can't down it. It's the
+first time I ever ran up against anything I couldn't whip." Again he
+paused. Patty advanced a step, and her eyes glowed softly as they
+rested upon the form that stood in her doorway silhouetted against the
+after-glow. She saw Buck rub his velvet nose affectionately up and
+down the man's sleeve, and into her heart leaped a great longing for
+this man who, with the unconscious dignity of the vast open places
+upon him, had told her so earnestly of his love. She opened her lips
+to speak but there was a great lump in her throat, and no words came.
+
+"That's why," he continued, "I know it ain't just a flash in the
+pan--this love of mine ain't. All summer I've watched you, an' the
+hardest thing I ever had to do was to set back an' let you play a
+lone hand against the worst devil that ever showed his face in the
+hills. But the way things stacked up, I had to. You had me sized up
+for the one that was campin' on your trail, an' anything I'd have done
+would have played into Bethune's hand. I know I ain't fit for you--no
+man is. But, I'll always do the best I know how by you--an' I'll
+always love you. As for the rest of it, I never saved any money. I
+know there's gold here in the hills, an' I've spent years huntin' it.
+I'll find it, too--sometime. But, I ain't exactly a pauper, either.
+I've got my two hands, an' I've got a contract with Old Man Samuelson
+to winter his cattle. I didn't want to do it first, but the figure he
+named was about twice what I thought the job was worth. I told him so
+right out, an' he kind of laughed an' said maybe I'd need it all, an'
+anyhow, them cattle was all grade Herefords, an' was worth more to
+winter than common dogies. So, you see, we could winter through, all
+right, an' next summer, we could prospect together. The gold's here,
+somewhere--your dad knew it--an' I know it."
+
+Receiving no answering pat, the buckskin left off his nuzzling of the
+man's sleeve, and turned from the doorway. As he did so the brown
+leather jug scraped lightly against the jamb. The girl's eyes flew to
+the jug, and swiftly back to the man who stood framed in the doorway.
+She loved him! For days and days she had known that she loved him, and
+for days and nights her thoughts had been mostly of him--this
+unsmiling knight of the saddle--her "guardian devil of the hills."
+Without exception, the people whose regard was worth having respected
+him, and liked him, even though they deplored his refusal to accept
+steady work. They're just like the people back home, she thought. They
+have no imagination. To their minds the cowpuncher who draws his forty
+dollars a month, year in and year out, is in some manner more
+dependable than the man whose imagination and love of the boundless
+open lead him to stake his time against millions. What do they know of
+the joys and the despairs of uncertainty? In a measure they, too, love
+the plains and the hills--but their love of the open is inextricably
+interwoven with their preconceived ideas of conduct. But, Vil Holland
+is bound by no such convention; his "outfit," a pack horse to carry
+it, and his home--all outdoors! Her father had imagination, and year
+after year, in the face of the taunts and jibes of his small town
+neighbors, he had steadfastly allowed his imagination full sway, and
+at last--he had won. She had adored her father from whom she had
+inherited her love of the wild. But--there was the jug! Always her
+thoughts of Vil Holland had led up to that brown leather jug until she
+had come to hate it with an unreasoning hatred.
+
+"I see you have not forgotten your jug."
+
+"No, I got it filled in town." The man's reply was casual, as he would
+have mentioned his gloves, or his hat.
+
+"You said you had never run up against anything you couldn't whip,
+except--except----"
+
+"Yes, except my love for you. That's right--an' I never expect to."
+
+"How about that jug? Can you whip that?"
+
+"Why, yes, I could. If there was any need. I never tried it."
+
+"Suppose you try it for a while, and see."
+
+The man regarded her seriously. "You mean, if I leave off packin' that
+jug, you'll----"
+
+"I haven't promised anything." The girl laughed a trifle nervously.
+"But, I will tell you this much. I utterly despise a drunkard!"
+
+Vil Holland nodded slowly. "Let's get the straight of it," he said.
+"I didn't know--I didn't realize it was really hurtin' me any. Can you
+see that it does? Have I ever done anything that you know of, or have
+heard tell of, that a sober man wouldn't do?"
+
+The girl felt her anger rising. "Nobody can drink as much as you do,
+and not be the worse for it. Don't try to defend yourself."
+
+"No, I wouldn't do that. You see, if it's hurtin' me, there wouldn't
+be any defense--an' if it ain't, I don't need any."
+
+For an instant Patty regarded the man who stood framed in the doorway.
+"Clean-blooded," the doctor had called him, and clean-blooded he
+looked--the very picture of health and rugged strength, clear of eye
+and firm of jaw, not one slightest hint or mark of the toper could she
+detect, and the realization that this was so, angered her the more.
+
+Abruptly, she changed the subject, and the moment the brown leather
+jug was banished from her mind, her anger subsided. In the doorway,
+Vil Holland noted the undercurrent of suppressed excitement in her
+voice as she said: "I have the most wonderful news! I--_I found
+daddy's mine!_" Seconds passed as the man stood waiting for her to
+proceed. "I found it to-day," she continued, without noting that his
+lean brown hand gripped the hat brim even more tightly than before,
+nor that his lips were pressed into a thin straight line. "And my
+stakes are all in, and in the morning I'm going to file."
+
+Vil Holland interrupted. "You--you say you located Rod Sinclair's
+strike? You really located it?" Somehow, his voice sounded different.
+
+The girl sensed the change without defining it. "Yes, I really found
+it!" she answered. "Do you want to know where?" Hastily she turned to
+the cupboard and taking a match from a box, lighted the lamp. "You
+see," she laughed, "I am not afraid to trust you. I'm going to show
+you daddy's map, and his photographs, and the samples. Oh, if you knew
+how I've hunted and hunted through these hills for that rock wall! You
+see, the map was like so much Greek to me, until I happened by
+accident to learn how to read it. Before that, I just rode up and down
+the valleys hunting for the wall with the broad crooked crack in it.
+Here it is." The man had advanced to the table, and was bending over
+the two photographs, examining them minutely. "And here's his map." He
+picked up the paper and for several minutes studied the penciled
+directions. Then he laid it down, and turned his attention to the
+samples.
+
+"High grade," he appraised, and returned them to the table beside the
+photographs. "So, you don't have to teach school," he said, speaking
+more to himself than to her. "An' you'll be goin' out of the hill
+country for good an' all. There's nothin' here for you, now that
+you've got what you come after. You'll be goin' back--East."
+
+Patty laughed, and as Vil Holland looked into her face he saw that her
+eyes held dancing lights. "I'm not going back East," she said. "I've
+learned to love--the hill country. I have learned that--perhaps--there
+is more here for me than--than even daddy's mine."
+
+Vil Holland shook his head. "There's nothin' for you in the hills," he
+repeated, slowly, and abruptly extended his hand. "I'm glad for your
+sake your luck changed, Miss Sinclair. I hope the gold you take out of
+there will bring you happiness. You've earnt it--every cent of it, an'
+you've got it, an' now, as far as the hill country goes--the books are
+closed. Good-night, I must be goin', now."
+
+Abruptly as he had offered his hand, he withdrew it, and turning,
+stepped through the door, mounted his horse, and rode out into the
+night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER
+
+
+Beside the little table Patty Sinclair listened to the sound of hoofs
+splashing through the shallows of the creek and thudding dully upon
+the floor of the valley beyond. When the sounds told her that the
+horseman had disappeared into the timber, she walked slowly to the
+door, and leaning her arm against the jamb, stared for a long time
+into the black sweep of woods that concealed the trail that led upward
+to the notch in the hills, just discernible against the sky where the
+stars showed through the last faint blush of after-glow in winking
+points of gold.
+
+"Nothing here for me," she repeated dully. "Nothing but trees, and
+hills--and gold. He loves me," she laughed bitterly. "And yet, between
+me, and his jug, he chose--the jug." She closed the door, slipped the
+bar into place, thrust the photographs and map into her pocket, and
+threw herself face downward upon the bunk. And, in the edge of the
+timber, Vil Holland turned his horse slowly about and headed him up
+the ravine. At the notch in the hills he slipped to the ground and,
+throwing an arm across the saddle, removed his Stetson and let the
+night wind ripple his hair. Standing alone in the night with his
+soul-hurt, he gazed far downward where a tiny square of yellow light
+marked the window of the cabin.
+
+"It's hell--the way things work out," he said, thoughtfully. "Yes,
+sir, Buck, it sure is hell. If Len had told me a week ago about her
+havin' to teach school, or even yesterday--she might have--But,
+now--she's rich. An' that cracked rock claim turnin' out to be
+_hers_--" He swung abruptly into the saddle and headed the buckskin
+for camp.
+
+Patty spent a miserable night. Brief periods of sleep were
+interspersed with long periods of wakefulness in which her brain
+traveled wearily over and over a long, long trail that ended always at
+a brown leather jug that swung by a strap from a saddle horn. She had
+found her father's claim--had accomplished the thing she had started
+out to accomplish--had vindicated her father's judgment in the eyes of
+the people back home--had circumvented the machinations of Bethune,
+and in all probability, the moment that she recorded her claim would
+be the possessor of more gold than she could possibly spend--and in
+the achievement there was no joy. There was a dull hurt in her heart,
+and the future stretched away, uninviting, heart-sickening,
+interminable. The world looked drab.
+
+She ate her breakfast by lamplight, and as objects began to take form
+in the pearly light of the new day, she saddled her horse and rode up
+the trail to the notch in the hills--the trail that was a short cut,
+and that would carry her past Vil Holland's little white tent,
+nestling close beside its big rock at the edge of the little plateau.
+"He will still be asleep, and I can take one more look at the far snow
+mountains from the spot that might have been the porch of--our cabin."
+
+Carefully keeping to the damp ground that bordered the little creek,
+she worked her way around the huge rock, and drew up in amazement. The
+little white tent was gone! Hastily, her eyes swept the plateau. The
+buckskin was gone, and the saddle was not hanging by its stirrup from
+its accustomed limb-stub. Crossing the creek, the girl stared at the
+row of packs, the blanket roll, and the neat tarpaulin-covered
+bundles that were ranged along the base of the rock.
+
+"He has gone," she murmured, as if trying to grasp the fact and then,
+again: "He has gone." Slowly, her eyes raised to the high-flung peaks
+that reared their snowy heads against the blue. And as she looked, the
+words of Vil Holland formed themselves in her brain. "If there ain't
+any 'we,' there won't be any cabin--so there's nothing to worry
+about." "Nothing to worry about," she repeated bitterly, and touching
+her horse with a spur, rode out across the plateau toward the head of
+a coulee that led to the trail for town. "Where has he gone?" she
+wondered, and pulled up sharply as her horse entered the coulee.
+Riding slowly down the trail ahead, mounted on the meditative Gee Dot,
+was Microby Dandeline. Urging her horse forward Patty gained her side,
+and realizing that escape was hopeless, the girl stared sullenly
+without speaking.
+
+"Why, Microby!" she smiled, ignoring the sullen stare, "you're miles
+from home, and it's hardly daylight! Where in the world are you
+going?"
+
+"Hain't a-goin' nowher'. I'm prospectin'."
+
+"Where's Vil Holland, have you seen him?"
+
+The girl nodded: "He's done gone to town. He's mad, an' he roden fas'
+as Buck kin run, an' he says, 'I'm gonna file one more claim, an' to
+hell with the hill country, tell yo' dad good-by!'"
+
+Patty sat for an instant as one stunned. "Gone to town! Mad! File one
+more claim!" What did it mean? Why was Vil Holland riding to town as
+fast as his horse could run? And what claim was he going to file? He
+had mentioned no claim--and if he had just made a strike, surely he
+would have mentioned it--last night. She knew that he already had a
+claim, and that he considered it worthless. He told her once that he
+hadn't even bothered to work out the assessments--it was no good. Was
+it possible that he was riding to file _her claim_? Was he no better
+than Bethune--only shrewder, more patient, richer in imagination?
+
+With a swish the quirt descended upon her horse's flanks. The animal
+shot forward and, leaving Microby Dandeline staring open-mouthed,
+horse and rider dashed headlong down the coulee. Into the long white
+trail they swept, through the canyon, and out among the foothills
+toward Thompsons'. "Why did I show him the map, and the pictures? Why
+did I trust him? Why did I trust anybody? I see it all, now! His
+continual spying, and his plausible explanation that he was watching
+Bethune. He asked me to marry him, and when, like the poor little fool
+I was, I showed him the location, he was only too glad to get the mine
+without being saddled with me."
+
+If Vil Holland reached town first--well, she could teach school.
+Scalding tears blinded her as with quirt and spur she crowded her
+horse to his utmost. Only one slender hope remained. With Thompson's
+fresh horse, Lightning, she might yet win the race. The chance was
+slim, but she would take it! Her own horse was laboring heavily, a
+solid lather of sweat, as his feet pounded the trail that wound white
+and hot through the foothills. "It's your last hard ride," she sobbed
+into his ear as she urged him on. "Win or lose, boy, it's your last
+hard ride--and we've got to make it!"
+
+She whirled into Thompson's lane and, in the dooryard, threw herself
+from her horse almost into the arms of the big ranchman who stared at
+her in surprise. "Must be somethin's busted loose in the hills, that
+folks is all takin' to the open!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Where's Lightning?" cried the girl. "Quick! I want him!"
+
+"Lightnin'?" repeated Thompson. "Why, Lightnin's gone--Vil Holland
+come along an hour or so ago, an' rode him on to town. Turned Buck
+into the corral, yonder--he was rode down almost as bad as yourn."
+
+Patty's brain reeled dizzily as from a blow. Lightning gone! Her one
+slim chance of saving her mine had vanished in a breath. She felt
+suddenly weak, and sick, and leaning against her saddle for support,
+she closed her eyes and buried her face in her arm.
+
+"What's the matter, Miss? Somethin' wrong?"
+
+The girl laughed, a dry hard laugh, and raising her head, looked into
+the man's face. "Oh, no!" she said. "Nothing's wrong--nothing except
+that I've lost my father's claim--lost it because I relied on your
+horse to carry me into town in time to file ahead of _him_."
+
+"Lost yer pa's claim?" cried Thompson. "What do you mean--lost? Has
+that devil dared to show his face after the horse raid?" He paused
+suddenly and smiled. "Now don't you go worryin' about that there
+claim. Vil Holland's on the job! I know'd there was somethin' in the
+wind when he come a-larrupin' in here an' jerked his kak offen Buck
+an' throw'd it on Lightnin' without hardly a word. Vil, he'll head
+him! An' when he does, Bethune'll be lucky if he lives long enough to
+git hung!"
+
+"Bethune! Bethune!" cried the girl bitterly. "Bethune's got nothing to
+do with it! It's Vil Holland himself that's going to file my claim.
+Have you got another horse here?" she cried. "If you have I want him.
+I'm not beaten yet! There's still a chance! Maybe Lightning will go
+down, or something. Quick--change my saddle!"
+
+Catching up a rope, Thompson ran to the corral and throwing his loop
+over the head of a horse led him out and transferred the girl's saddle
+and bridle.
+
+"I don't git the straight of it," he said, eying her with a puzzled
+frown. "But if it's a question of gittin' to town before Vil Holland
+kin beat you out of yer claim--you've got plenty of time--if you
+walk."
+
+Patty shot the man one glance of withering scorn. "You're all _crazy_!
+He's got you hypnotized! Everybody thinks he's a saint----"
+
+Thompson grinned. "No, Miss, Vil ain't no saint--an' he ain't no
+devil--neither. But somewheres between the two of 'em is the place
+where good men fits in--an' that's Vil. You're all het up needless,
+an' barkin' up the wrong tree, as folks used to say back where I come
+from. Just come and have a talk with Miz T. She'll straighten you
+around all right. I'll slip in an' tell her to set the coffee-pot on,
+an' you kin take yer time about gittin' to town." Thompson disappeared
+into the kitchen, and a moment later when he returned with his wife,
+the two stared in amazement at the flying figure that was just
+swinging from the lane into the long white trail.
+
+Hours later the girl crossed the Mosquito Flats, forded the river, and
+passed along the sandy street of the town. Her eyes felt hot and tired
+from continual straining ahead in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of
+a fallen horse, whose rider must continue his way on foot. But the
+plain was deserted, and the only evidence that anyone had proceeded
+her was an occasional glimpse of hoof prints in the white dust of the
+trail.
+
+A short distance up the street, standing "tied to the ground" before
+the hitching rail of a little false-front saloon, was Lightning. Patty
+noted as she passed that he showed signs of hard riding, and that the
+inevitable jug dangled motionless from the saddle horn. Her lips
+stiffened, and her hand tightened on the bridle reins, as she forced
+her eyes to the front. Farther on, she could see the little
+white-painted frame office of the register. She would pass it by--no
+use for her to go there. She must find Len Christie and tell him she
+had come to teach his school. A great wave of repugnance swept over
+her, engulfed her, as her eyes traveled over the rows of small wooden
+houses with their stiff, uncomfortable porches, their treeless yards,
+and their flaunting paintiness.
+
+"And to think, that I've got to _live_ in one of them!" she murmured,
+dully. "Nothing could be worse--except the hotel."
+
+Opposite the register's office she pulled up, and gazed in fascination
+at the open door. Then deliberately she reined her horse to the
+sidewalk and dismounted. The characteristic thoroughness that had
+marked the progress of her search for her father's claim, and had
+impelled her to return to the false claim and procure the notice, and
+that very morning had prompted her to ride against the slender chance
+of Vil Holland's meeting with a mishap, impelled her now to read for
+herself the entry of her father's strike.
+
+The register shoved his black skull-cap a trifle back upon his shiny
+head, adjusted his thick eyeglasses, and smiled into the face of the
+girl. "Things must be looking up out in the hills," he hazarded.
+"You're the second one to-day and it ain't noon yet."
+
+"I presume Mr. Holland has been here."
+
+"Yes, Vil come in. I guess he's around somewheres. He----"
+
+"Relinquished one claim and filed another?"
+
+"That's just what he done."
+
+Patty nodded wearily. She was gamely trying to appear disinterested.
+
+"Did you want to file?" asked the man, whirling a large book about,
+and pushing it toward her. "Just enter your description there, an'
+fill out the application fer a patent, an' file your field notes, and
+plat."
+
+The girl's glance strayed listlessly over the adjoining page, her eyes
+mechanically taking in the words. Suddenly, she became intensely
+alert. She leaned over the book and reread with feverish interest the
+written description. The location was filed in Vil Holland's
+name--but, _the description was not of her claim_!
+
+"Where--where is this claim?" she gasped.
+
+The old register turned the book and very deliberately proceeded to
+read the description. In her nervous excitement Patty felt that she
+must scream, and her fingers clutched the counter edge until the
+knuckles whitened. Finally the man looked up. "That must be somewheres
+over on the Blackfoot side," he announced. "Must be Vil's figuring on
+pulling over there. Too bad we won't be seeing him much no more." He
+swung the book back, as the import of his words dawned upon the girl
+she leaned weakly against the counter.
+
+"Ain't you feeling well?" asked the old man, eying her with concern.
+
+Without hearing him Patty picked up the pen, and as she wrote, her
+hand trembled so that she could scarcely form the letters. At last it
+was done, and the register once again swung the book and read the
+freshly penned words.
+
+"Well, I'll be darned!" he exclaimed, when he had finished.
+
+The blood had rushed back into the girl's face and she was regarding
+him with shining eyes. "What's the matter? Isn't it right? Because if
+it isn't you can show me how to do it, and I'll fix it."
+
+"Oh it's right--all right." He was eying her quizzically. "Only it's
+blamed funny. That there's the claim Vil Holland just relinquished."
+
+"_Just relinquished!_" gasped the girl, reaching out and shaking the
+old man's sleeve in her excitement. "What do you mean? Tell me!"
+
+"Mean just what I said--here's the entry."
+
+"Vil--Holland--just--relinquished," she repeated, in a dazed voice.
+"When did he file it?"
+
+"I don't recollect--it was back in the winter, or spring." The man
+began to turn the pages slowly backward. "Here it is, March, the
+thirteenth."
+
+"Why, that was before I came out here!"
+
+"How?"
+
+"Why did he relinquish?" The words rushed eagerly from her lips, and
+she awaited breathless, for the answer.
+
+"It wasn't no good, I guess, or he found a better one--that's most
+generally why they relinquish."
+
+"No good! Found a better one!" From the chaos of conflicting ideas the
+girl's thoughts began to take definite form. "The stakes in the ground
+were _his_ stakes. Her father had never staked--would never have
+staked until ready to file."
+
+Gradually it dawned upon her that, without knowing it was her
+father's, Vil Holland had staked and filed the claim. It was his. He
+did not know its value as her father had. He believed it to be
+worthless, but when he learned, only last night, back there in the
+cabin on Monte's Creek, that it was really of enormous value--that it
+was the claim Rod Sinclair had staked his reputation on, the claim
+for which Rod Sinclair's daughter had sought all summer--when he
+learned this he had relinquished--that she might come into her own!
+Hot tears filled her eyes and caused the objects in the little room to
+blur and swim together in hopeless jumble. She knew, now, the meaning
+of his furious ride, and why he had changed horses at Thompson's. And
+_this_ was the man she had doubted! She, alone of all who knew him,
+had doubted him. Her cheeks burned with the shame of it. Not once, but
+again and again, she had doubted him--she, who loved him! This was the
+man with whom she had quarreled because he had carried a jug. Suddenly
+she realized why he had turned away from her--there in the little
+cabin. She recalled the words that came slowly from his lips, as, for
+a brief moment he stood holding her hand. "There is nothing for you in
+the hills." "And now, he is going away--his outfit's all packed, and
+he's going away!" With a sob she dashed from the office. As she
+blotted the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief that had been her
+father's, a wild, savage joy surged up within her. He should _not_ go
+away! He was hers--_hers_! If he went, she would go too. He should
+never leave her! And never, never would she doubt him again!
+
+She glanced down the street and her eyes fell upon Lightning, standing
+as he had stood a few minutes before. Only a moment she hesitated, and
+her spurs clicked rapidly as she hurried down the sidewalk. The door
+of the saloon stood open and she walked boldly in. Vil Holland stood
+at the bar shaking dice with the bartender. The latter looked up
+surprised, and Vil followed his glance to the figure of the girl who
+had paused just inside the doorway. She beckoned to him and he
+followed her out onto the sidewalk, and stood, Stetson in hand,
+regarding her gravely, unsmiling as was his wont.
+
+"Vil--Vil Holland," she faltered, as a furious blush suffused her
+cheeks. "I've changed my mind."
+
+"You mean----"
+
+"I mean, I will marry you--I wanted to say it--last
+night--only--only----" her voice sounded husky, and far away.
+
+"But, now, it's too late. It was different--then. I didn't know you'd
+made your strike. I thought we were both poor--but, now, you've struck
+it rich."
+
+"Struck it rich!" flared the girl. "Who made it possible for me to
+strike it rich? Don't you suppose I know you relinquished that claim?
+Relinquished it so I could file it!"
+
+"Old Grebble talks too much," growled the man. "The claim wasn't any
+good to me. I never went far enough in to get samples like those of
+your dad's. I'd have relinquished it anyway, as soon as I'd located
+another."
+
+"But, you knew it was rich when you did relinquish it."
+
+"A man couldn't hardly do different, could he?"
+
+"Oh, Vil," there were tears in the girl's eyes, and she did not try to
+conceal them. The words trembled on her lips. "A man couldn't--your
+kind of a man! But--they're so hard to find. Don't--don't rob me of
+mine--now that I've found him!"
+
+A shrill whistle tore the words from her lips. She glanced up,
+startled, to see Vil Holland take his fingers from his teeth. She
+followed his gaze, and a block away, in front of the wooden
+post-office, saw the Reverend Len Christie whirl in his tracks. The
+cowboy motioned him to wait, and taking the girl gently by the arm,
+turned her about, and together they walked toward the "Bishop of All
+Outdoors," who awaited them with twinkling eyes.
+
+"It's about the school, I presume," he greeted. "Everything is all
+arranged, Miss Sinclair. You may assume your duties to-morrow."
+
+"If I was you, Len," replied Vil Holland, dryly, "I wouldn't go
+bettin' much on that presoomer of yours--it ain't workin' just right,
+an' Miss Sinclair has decided to assoom her duties to-day. So, havin'
+disposed of presoom, an' assoom, we'll rezoom, as you'd say if you was
+dealin' from the pulpit, an' if you ain't got anything more important
+on your mind, we'll just walk over to the church an' get married."
+
+The Reverend Len Christie regarded his friend solemnly. "I didn't
+think it of you, Vil--when I bragged to you yesterday about the
+excellent teacher I'd got--I didn't think you would slip right out and
+get her away from me!"
+
+"Oh, I'm so sorry! Really, Mr. Christie, I didn't mean to disappoint
+you in this way, at the last minute----"
+
+"Don't you go wastin' any sympathy on that old renegade," cut in Vil.
+
+"That's right," laughed Christie, noting the genuine concern in the
+girl's eyes. "As a matter of fact, I have in mind a substitute who
+will be tickled to death to learn that she is to have the regular
+position. Didn't I tell you out at the Samuelsons' that I had a hunch
+you'd make your strike before school time? Of course, everyone knows
+that Vil is the one who made the real strike, but you'll find that the
+claim you've staked isn't so bad, and that after you get down through
+the surface, you will run onto a whole lot of pure gold."
+
+Patty who had been regarding him with a slightly puzzled expression
+suddenly caught his allusion, and she smiled happily into the face of
+her cowboy. "I've already found pure gold," she said, "and it lies
+mighty close to the surface."
+
+In the little church after the hastily summoned witnesses had
+departed, the Reverend Len Christie stood holding a hand of each.
+"Never in my life have I performed a clerical office that gave me so
+much genuine happiness and satisfaction," he announced.
+
+"Me, neither," assented Vil Holland, heartily, and, then--"Hold on,
+Len. You're too blame young an' good lookin' for such tricks--an'
+besides, I've never kissed her, myself, yet----!"
+
+"Where will it be now?" asked Holland, when they found themselves once
+more upon the street.
+
+"Home--dear," whispered his wife. "You know we've got to get that
+cabin up before snow flies--our cabin, Vil--with the porch that will
+look out over the snows of the changing lights."
+
+"If the whole town didn't have their heads out the window, watchin' us
+I'd kiss you right here," he answered, and strode off to lead her
+horse up beside his own.
+
+Swinging her into the saddle, he was about to mount Lightning, when
+she leaned over and raised the brown leather jug on its thong. "Why,
+it's empty!" she exclaimed.
+
+"So it is," agreed Holland, with mock concern.
+
+"Really, Vil, I don't care--so much. If it don't hurt men any more
+than it has hurt you, I won't quarrel with it. I'll wait while you get
+it filled."
+
+"Maybe I'd better," he said, and swinging it from the saddle horn,
+crossed the street and entered the general store. A few minutes later
+he returned and swung the jug into place.
+
+"Why! Do they sell whisky at the store? I thought you got that at a
+saloon."
+
+"Whisky!" The man looked up in surprise. "This jug never held any
+whisky! It's my vinegar jug. I don't drink."
+
+Patty stared at him in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me you carry a
+jug of vinegar with you wherever you go?"
+
+For the first time since she had known him she saw that his eyes were
+twinkling, and that his lips were very near a smile. "No, not exactly,
+but, you see, that first time I met you I happened to be riding from
+town with this jug full of vinegar. I noticed the look you gave it,
+an' it tickled me most to death. So, after that, every time I figured
+I'd meet up with you I brought the jug along. I'd pour out the vinegar
+an' fill it up with water, an' sometimes I'd just pack it empty--then
+when I'd hit town, I'd get it filled again. I bet Johnson, over there,
+thinks I'm picklin' me a winter's supply of prickly pears. I must have
+bought close to half a barrel of vinegar this summer."
+
+"Vil Holland! You carried that jug--went to all that trouble, just
+to--to _tease_ me?"
+
+"That's about the size of it. An' Gosh! How you hated that jug."
+
+"It might have--it nearly did, make me hate _you_, too."
+
+"'Might have,' an' 'nearly,' an' 'if,' are all words about alike--they
+all sort of fall short of amountin' to anythin'. It 'might have'--but,
+somehow, things don't work out that way. The only thing that counts
+is, it didn't."
+
+Out on the trail they met Watts riding toward town. "Wher's Microby?"
+he asked, addressing Patty.
+
+"Microby! I haven't seen Microby since early this morning. She was
+riding down a coulee not far from Vil's camp."
+
+"Didn't yo' send for her?"
+
+"I certainly did not!"
+
+The man's hand fumbled at his beard. "Bethune was along last evenin'
+an' hed a talk with her, an' then he done tol' Ma yo' wanted Microby
+should come up to yo' place, come daylight. When I heern it, I
+mistrusted yo' wouldn't hev no truck with Bethune, so after I done the
+chores, I rode up ther'. They wasn't no one to hum." The simple-minded
+man looked worried. "Bethune, he could do anything he wants with her.
+She thinks he's grand--but, I know different. Then I met up with Lord
+Clendennin' in the canyon, an' he tol' me how Bethune wus headin' fer
+Canady. He said, had I lost anythin'. An' I said 'no,' an' he laffed
+an' says he guess that's right."
+
+As Vil Holland listened, his eyes hardened, and at the conclusion,
+something very like an oath ground from his lips. Patty glanced at him
+in surprise--never before had she seen him out of poise.
+
+"You go back home," he advised Watts, in a kindly tone, "to the wife
+and the kids. I'll find Microby for you!"
+
+When the man had passed from sight into the dip of a coulee, Vil
+leaned over and, drawing his wife close to his breast, kissed her lips
+again and again. "It's too bad, little girl, that our honeymoon's got
+to be broke into this way, but you remember I told you once that if I
+won you'd have to be satisfied with what you got. You didn't know what
+I meant, then, but you know, now--an' I'm goin' to win again! I'm
+goin' to find that child! The poor little fool!" Patty saw that his
+eyes were flashing, and his voice sounded hard:
+
+"You ride back to town and tell Len to get his white goods together
+an' ride back with you to Watts's. There's goin' to be a funeral--or
+better yet, a weddin' _an'_ a funeral in it for him by this time
+to-morrow, or my name ain't Vil Holland!" And then, abruptly, he
+turned and rode into the North.
+
+A wild impulse to overtake him and dissuade him from his purpose took
+possession of the girl. But the thought of Microby in the power of
+Bethune, and of the sorrowing face of poor Watts stayed her. She saw
+her husband hitch his belt forward and swiftly look to his six-gun,
+and as the sound of galloping hoofs grew fainter, she watched his
+diminishing figure until it was swallowed up in the distance.
+
+Impulsively she stretched out her arms to him: "Good luck to you, my
+knight!" she called, but the words ended in a sob, and she turned her
+horse and, with a vast happiness in her heart, rode back toward the
+town.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE TEXAN
+
+A Story of the Cattle Country
+
+By
+
+James B. Hendryx
+
+Author of "The Promise," etc.
+
+
+     A novel of the cattle country and of the mountains, by James
+     B. Hendryx, will at once commend itself to the host of
+     readers who have enthusiastically followed this brilliant
+     writer's work. Again he has written a red-blooded, romantic
+     story of the great open spaces, of the men who "do" things
+     and of the women who are brave--a tale at once turbulent and
+     tender, impassioned but restrained.
+
+
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+Now York London
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Gun-Brand
+
+By
+
+James B. Hendryx
+
+Author of "The Promise," etc.
+
+_12^o. Picture Wrapper and Color Frontispiece_
+
+_$1.50 net. By mail, $1.65_
+
+
+     A novel of the Northwest, where civilization and savagery
+     lock in the death struggle; where men of iron hearts are
+     molded by a woman's tenderness; where knave and knight cross
+     the barriers to confront each other in the great reckoning;
+     where nobility and courage throw down the gage to evil and
+     intrigue, and the gun-brand leaves its seared and indelible
+     impress upon the brow of a scoundrel. Here's a novel of love
+     and life, danger and daring.
+
+
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+New York London
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+The Untamed
+
+By
+
+Max Brand
+
+
+     A tale of the West, a story of the Wild; of three strange
+     comrades,--Whistling Dan of the untamed soul, within whose
+     mild eyes there lurks the baleful yellow glare of beast
+     anger; of the mighty black stallion Satan, King of the
+     Ranges, and the wolf devil dog, to whom their master's word
+     is the only law,--and of the Girl.
+
+     How Jim Silent, the "long-rider" and outlaw, declared feud
+     with Dan, how of his right-hand men one strove for the Girl,
+     one for the horse, and one to "'get' that black devil of a
+     dog," and their desperate efforts to achieve their ends,
+     form but part of the stirring action.
+
+     A tale of the West, yes--but a most unusual one, touched
+     with an almost weird poetic fancy from the very first page,
+     when over the sandy wastes sounds the clear sweet whistling
+     of Pan of the desert, to the very last paragraph when the
+     reader, too, hears the cry and the call of the wild geese
+     flying south.
+
+
+G. P. Putnam's Sons
+
+New York London
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+THE MOON POOL
+
+BY
+
+A. MERRITT
+
+
+     Romance, real romance, and wonderful adventure,--absolutely
+     impossible, yet utterly probable! A story one almost regrets
+     having read, since one can then no longer read it for the
+     first time. Once in the proverbial blue moon there comes to
+     the fore an author who can conceive and write such a tale.
+     Here is one!
+
+     Few indeed will forget, who, with the Professor, watch the
+     mystic approach of the Shining One down the moon path,--who
+     follow with him and the others the path below the Moon Pool,
+     beyond the Door of the Seven Lights;--and would there were
+     more characters in fiction like Lakla the lovely and Larry
+     O'Keefe the lovable.
+
+     Perhaps you readers will know who were those weird and
+     awe-inspiring Silent Ones.
+
+
+G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
+
+NEW YORK LONDON
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gold Girl, by James B. Hendryx
+
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