[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 andgazed helplessly around her. The trail that had grown fainter andfainter with its ascent of the creek bed disappeared entirely at theslope of loose rock and bunch grass that slanted steeply to thedivide. In vain she scanned the deeply gored valley that lay beforeher and the timbered slopes of the mountains for sign of humanhabitation. Her horse lowered his head and snipped at the bunch grass. Stiffly the girl dismounted. She had been in the saddle since earlynoon with only two short intervals of rest when she had stopped todrink and to bathe her fare in the deliciously cold waters of mountainstreams--and now the trail had melted into the hills, and the broadshadows of mountains were lengthening. Every muscle of her body achedat the unaccustomed strain, and she was very hungry. She envied herhorse his enjoyment of the bunch grass which he munched with muchtongueing of the bit and impatient shaking of the head. With bridlereins gripped tightly she leaned wearily against the saddle. 

"I'm lost, " she murmured. "Just plain _lost_. Surely I must have comefifty miles, and I followed their directions exactly, and now I'mtired, and stiff, and sore, and hungry, and lost. " A grim little smiletightened the corners of her mouth. "But I'm glad I came. If AuntRebecca could see me now! Wouldn't she just gloat? 'I told you so, mydear, just as I often told your poor father, to have nothing whateverto do with that horrible country of wild Indians, and ferociousbeasts, and desperate characters. '" Hot tears blurred her eyes at thethought of her father. "This is the country he loved, with itsmountains and its woods and its deep mysterious valleys--and I want tolove it, too. And I _will_ love it! I'll find his mine if it takes meall the rest of my life. And I'll show the people back home that hewas right, that he did know that the gold was here, and that hewasn't just a visionary and a ne'er-do-well!"

A rattle of loose stones set her heart thumping wildly and caused herto peer down the back trail where a horseman was slowly ascending theslope. The man sat loosely in his saddle with the easy grace of theslack rein rider. A roll-brim Stetson with its crown boxed into a peakwas pushed slightly back upon his head, and his legs were encased tothe thighs in battered leather chaps whose lacings were studded withsilver _chonchas_ as large as trade dollars. A coiled rope hung from astrap upon the right side of his saddle, while a leather-covered jugwas swung upon the opposite side by a thong looped over the horn. Allthis the girl took in at a glance as the rangy buckskin picked his wayeasily up the slope. She noted, also, the white butt-plates of therevolver that protruded from its leather holster. Her first impulsewas to mount and fly, but the futility of the attempt was apparent. Ifthe man followed she could hardly hope to elude him upon a horse thatwas far from fresh, and even if she did it would be only to plungedeeper into the hills--become more hopelessly lost. Aunt Rebecca'swords "desperate character" seemed suddenly to assume significance. The man was very close now. She could distinctly hear the breathing ofhis horse, and the soft rattle of bit-chains. Despite her defiantdeclaration that she was glad she had come, she knew that deep down inher heart, she fervidly wished herself elsewhere. "Maybe he's aranchman, " she thought, "but why should any honest man be threadingunfrequented hill trails armed with a revolver and a brown leatherjug?" 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 sinewyleanness of health. His gray flannel shirt rolled open at the throat, about which was loosely drawn a silk scarf of robin's-egg blue, heldin place by the tip of a buffalo horn polished to an onyx luster. Thehand holding the bridle reins rested carelessly upon the horn of hissaddle. 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 manshowed no surprise at the statement, neither did he smile. Instead, he raised his head and gravely inspected the endless succession ofmountains and valleys and timbered ridges. 

"It's a right nice place, " he agreed. To her surprise the girl couldfind no hint of sarcasm in the words, nor was there anything toindicate the "desperate character" in the way he leaned forward tostroke his horse's mane, and remove a wisp of hair from beneath theheadstall. It was hard to maintain her air of cold reserve with thissoft-voiced, grave-eyed young stranger. She wondered whether a"desperate character" could love his horse, and felt a wild desire totell him of her plight. But as her eyes rested upon the brown leatherjug she frowned. 

The man shifted himself in the saddle. "Well, I must be goin', " hesaid. "Good evenin'. "

Patty bowed ever so slightly, as he replaced the Stetson upon his headand 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 thedivide a feeling of loneliness that was very akin to terror grippedthe girl. The sunlight showed only upon the higher levels, and theprospect of spending the night alone in the hills without food orshelter produced a sudden chilling sensation in the pit of herstomach. 

"Oh! Please----"

The buckskin turned in his tracks, and once more the man was besideher 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, someoneseems to have removed all the signs. "

"They ought to put 'em up again, " opined the stranger in the samegrave tone with which he had bid her good evening. 

"They told me in town that I was to take the left hand trail where itforked 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 creekbeyond the canyon, and I haven't seen the slightest intimation of aranch. "

"No, you see, this little creek don't count, because most of the timeit's dry; an' this ain't a regular trail. It's an' old winter roadthat was used to haul out cord wood an' timber. Monte's Creek is twomiles farther on. It's a heap bigger creek than this, an' the trail'sbetter, too. Watts's is about three mile up from the fork. You can'tmiss 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 soyou'd find it. There's no trail, an' it's up one coulee an' downanother till you get there. I'm goin' through that way; if you'd liketo come along you're welcome to. "

For a moment Patty hesitated but her eyes returned to the jug and shedeclined, a trifle stiffly. "No, thank you. I--I think I will goaround by the trail. "

Either the man did not notice the curtness of the reply, or he choseto ignore it, for the next instant, noting the gasp of pain and thesudden tightening of the lips that accompanied her attempt to raiseher foot to the stirrup, he swung lightly to the ground, and beforeshe divined what he was about, had lifted her gently into the saddleand pressed the reins into her hand. Without a word he returned to hishorse, and with face flushed scarlet, the girl glared at the powerfulgray shoulders as he picked up his reins from the ground. The nextmoment she headed her own horse down the back trail and rode into thedeepening shadows. Gaining the main trail she urged her horse into arun. 

"He--he's awfully strong, " she panted, "and just _horrid!_"

From the top of the divide the man watched until she disappeared, thenhe stroked softly the velvet nose that nuzzled against his cheek. 

"What d'you reckon, Buck? Are they goin' to start a school for thatlitter of young Wattses? There ain't another kid within twentymile--must be. " As he swung into the saddle the leather covered jugbumped lightly against his knee. There was a merry twinkle of laughterin his blue eyes as, with lips solemn as an exhorter's, he addressedthe offending object. "You brown rascal, you! If it hadn't be'n foryou, 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 tillmidnight. "

"Anyway, she ain't no kin to the Wattses, " he added reflectively, "notan' that clean, she ain't. "

CHAPTER II

AT THE WATTS RANCH

It was with a decided feeling of depression that Patty Sinclairapproached the Watts ranch. Long before she reached the buildings anair of shiftless dilapidation was manifest in the ill-lined barbedwire fences whose rotting posts sagged drunkenly upon loosely strungwire. A dry weed-choked irrigation ditch paralleled the trail, itswooden flumes, like the fence posts, rotting where they stood, and itswalls all but obliterated by the wash of spring freshets. Thedepression increased as she passed close beside the ramshackle logstable, where her horse sank to his ankles in a filthy brown seepageof mud and rotting straw before the door. Two small, slouchily builtstacks of weather-stained hay occupied a fenced-off enclosure, besidewhich, with no attempt to protect them from the weather, stood adish-wheeled hay rake, and a rusty mowing machine, its cutter-barburied in weeds. 

Passing through a small clump of cottonwoods, in which three or fourraw-boned horses had taken refuge from the mosquitoes, she camesuddenly upon the ranch house, a squat, dirt-roofed cabin of unpeeledlogs. So, _this_ was the Watts ranch! Again and again in the deliriumthat preceded her father's death, he had muttered of Monte's Creek andthe Watts ranch, until she had come to think of it as a place of coolhalls and broad verandahs situated at the head of some wide mountainvalley in which sleek cattle grazed belly-deep in lush grasses. 

A rabble of nondescript curs came snapping and yapping about herhorse's legs until dispersed by a harsh command from the dark interiorof the cabin. 

"Yere, yo' git out o' thet!"

The dogs slunk away and their places were immediately taken by ahalf-dozen ill-kempt, bedraggled children. A tousled head was thrustfrom the doorway, and after a moment of inspection a man stepped outupon the hard-trodden earth of the dooryard. He was bootless and agreat toe protruded from a hole in the point of his sock. He wore afaded hickory shirt, and the knees of his bleached-out overalls werepatched with blue gingham. 

"Howdy, " he greeted, in a not unkindly tone, and paused awkwardlywhile the protruding toe tried vainly to burrow from sight in the hardearth. 

"Is--is this the Watts ranch?" The girl suppressed a wild desire toburst into tears. 

"Yes, mom, this is hit--what they is of hit. " His fingers pickedvaguely 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 harshvoice. "Lawzie me, John Watts, what's ailin' yo' now--got a burr inunder yo' gallus?" A tall woman with a broad, kindly face pushed pastthe man, wiping suds upon her apron from a pair of very large and veryred hands. 

"Sakes alive, if hit hain't a lady! Hain't yo' done tol' her to gitoff 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 downoffen thet cayuse, dearie, an' come on in the house. John, yo' oncinchthet saddle, an' then, Horatius Ezek'l, yo' an' David Golieth, takenthe hoss to the barn an' see't he's hayed an' watered 'fore yo' comeback. Microby Dandeline, yo' git a pot o' tea abilin' an' fry up abate 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 'emback 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 theground, "hain't yo' that sore an' stiff! Yo' must a-rode clean fromtown, an' hits fifty mile, an' yo' not use to ridin' neither, to tellby 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 ashake-down. Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth kin go out an' crawl inthe hay an' yo' c'n hev theirn. " Words flowed from Ma Watts naturallyand continuously without effort, as water flows from a spring. Pattywho had made several unsuccessful attempts to speak, interruptedabruptly. 

"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 plumbwild. When yo've got worshed up come on right in the kitchen an' setby. 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'rea mind to, an' ef not hit don't make no difference. We hain'tpartic'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 isSinclair. Patty Sinclair, of Middleton, Connecticut. My father----"

"Land o' love! So yo're Mr. Sinclair's darter! Yo' do favor him a miteabout 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 theydon't favor neither one. Take Microby Dandeline, here, 'tain't no onecould say she hain't Watts's, an' Horatius Ezek'l, he favors me, butfer's the rest of 'em goes, they mightn't b'long to neither one ofus. " Microby Dandeline placed the food upon the table and sank, quietas a mouse into a chair beneath the glass bracket-lamp with her largedark eyes fixed upon Patty, who devoured the unappetizing food with anenthusiasm born of real hunger, while the older woman analyzed volublythe characteristics, facial and temperamental, of each and several ofthe numerous Watts progeny. 

Having exhausted the subject of offspring, Ma Watts flashed a directquestion. "How's yer pa, an' where's he at?"

"My father died last month, " answered the girl without raising hereyes from her plate. 

"Fer the land sakes, child! I want to know!"

"Watts! Watts!" The lank form appeared in the doorway. "This here'sMr. Sinclair's darter, an' he's up an' died. "

The man's fingers fumbled uncertainly at his beard, as his wife pausedfor 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 inTennessee, 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 hecome to die, he got so's 't he couldn't eat nothin', an' he wus thethet up with the fever he like to burnt up, an' his head ached him fitto bust, an' he wus out of hit fer four days, an' I mistrust thet-allmought 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 wasthe eetch, or mebbe hit wus jest his time hed come, he couldn't tellwhich. I've wondered sence if mebbe we'd got a town doctor he moughtof lived. But Doctor Swanky wus a mountain man an' we wus, too, so wetaken him. But, he wus more of a hoss doctor, an' seems like, he neverdid hev no luck, much, with folks. "

Her nerves all a-jangle from trail-strain and the depressingatmosphere of the Watts ranch, it seemed to Patty she must shriekaloud 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 hisstrike, an' hit wus quartz gold, an' how he'd gone back to git moneyto work hit. Mr. Bethune thought so, an' Lord Clendenning. They mustof be'n thicker'n thieves with yer pa, 'cordin' to their tell. " Thewoman 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 plumbwore out, what with ridin' all day, an' a-tellin' me all aboutyo'se'f. I'll slip in an' turn them blankets an' yo' kin jest crawlright into 'em an' sleep 'til yo' slep' out. "

Ma Watts bustled away, and Microby Dandeline began to clear away thedishes. 

"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 likeMr. Bethune, an' Lord Clendenning, an' that Vil Holland. I likeeverybody. Folks is nice, hain't they?"

"Why--yes, " agreed Patty, smiling into the big serious eyes. "How oldare 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 onGee Dot, but he chases me away, an' sometimes he gits mad. "

"What is Gee Dot?" Patty stared in amazement at this girl with themind of a child. 

"Oh, he's my pony. I reckon Mr. Bethune wouldn't git mad, but I don'tknow 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' DavidGolieth sleeps on a shake-down, an' they-all shoves an' kicks, an'sometimes when I want to sleep, Chattenoogy Tennessee sets up asquarkin' an' I cain't. Babies is a lot of bother. An' they's a lot ofdishes an' chores an' things. Wisht I hed a dress like yo'n!" The girlpassed 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 kindo' 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. Jestgo on right in, don't mind Watts. Hit's dark in thar, an' he's rolledin. We hain't only one bed an' me an' Watts an' the baby sleeps inhit, on 'tother side the room. Watts, he aims to put up some bunkswhen he gits time. "

Sick at heart, and too tired and sore of body to protest against anyarrangement that would allow her to sleep the girl murmured her thanksand crossed to the door of the bedroom. Not at all sure of herbearings she paused uncertainly in the doorway until a sound of heavybreathing located the slumbering Watts, and turning toward theopposite side of the room, proceeded cautiously through the blacknessuntil her feet came in contact with her "shake-down, " which consistedof a pair of blankets placed upon a hay tick. The odor of the blanketswas anything but fresh, but she sank to the floor, and with mucheffort and torturing of strained muscles, succeeded in removing herboots and jacket and throwing herself upon the bed. Almost at themoment her head touched the coarse, unslipped pillow, she fell into adeep sleep, from which hours later she was awakened by an insistenttap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. "Someone has forgotten to pull up thecanoe and the waves are slapping it against the side of the dock, " shethought drowsily. "Did I have it last?" She stirred uneasily and thepain of movement caused her to gasp. She opened her eyes, and insteadof her great airy chamber in Aunt Rebecca's mansion by the sea, shewas greeted by the sight of the hot, stuffy room of the Watts cabin. Arumpled pile of blankets was mounded upon the bed against the oppositewall, and a shake-down similar to her own occupied a space beside theopen door through which hot, bright sunlight streamed. 

Several hens pecked assiduously at some crumbs, and Patty realizedthat it was the sound of their bills upon the wooden floor that hadawakened her. She succeeded after several painful attempts in pullingon her boots, and as she rose to her feet, Ma Watts thrust her head inat 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'. 'Theyain'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 gitstime. 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 gratefulas the girl dashed it over her face and hands from the little tinwash-basin on the bench beside the door. Watts sat with his chairresting upon its rear legs and its back against the shady west wall ofthe 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 'emwhen 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 rainnone to speak, but hit kep' a body hatin' to start workin' fer fear itwould. An' las' year hit never looked like rain none, so hit wasn't nouse 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 studyout _whut_ he'd ort to do. " Watts rose slowly to his feet, andpicking up his chair, walked deliberately around to the east side ofthe house, where he planted it with the precision born of longpractice in the exact spot that the shadow would be longest at theconclusion of the midday meal. 

Patty entered the cabin and a few minutes later the sound of voicesreached her ears. Ma Watts hurried to the window. 

"Well, if hit ain't Mr. Bethune an' Lord Clendenning! Ef you see oneyou 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 nobilitylike over to England where he come from, only over yere they call 'emremittance 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, Iallus like him. He's got manners, an' hit don't stan' to reason nobreed would have manners. "

Patty could distinctly see the two riders as they lounged in theirsaddles. The larger, whose bulging blue eyes and drooping blondmustache gave him a peculiar walrus-like expression, she swept at aglance. The other was talking to Watts and the girl noted the slenderfigure with its almost feminine delicacy of mold, and the finelychiseled features dominated by eyes black as jet--eyes that glowedwith a velvety softness as he spoke. 

"We have been looking over your upper pasture, " he said. "A fellownamed Schmidt over in the Blackfoot country will be delivering somehorses across the line this summer and he wants to rent some pasturesat different points along the trail. How about it?"

Watts rubbed his beard uncertainly. "Them fences hain't hoss tight. Ibe'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 somestaples. "

"My ax hain't fitten to chop with no mo', an' I druv over the spadean' bruk the handle. I hain't got no luck. "

Reaching into his pocket, Bethune withdrew a gold piece which hetossed to Watts. "Maybe this will change your luck, " he smiled. "Thefact 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 isSchultz. The point is, he'll pay you five dollars a month to hold thepasture, and five dollars for every day or night he uses it. That tenspot pays for the first two months. Better buy a new ax and spade andsome staples and get to work. The exercise will do you good, andSchultz 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'sa 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 ofher father's name. It was as though a point of polished steel hadsplit their velvet softness. Yet there was no hostility in the glance;rather, it was a gleam of intense interest. The girl's own interest inthe quarter-breed had been casual at most, hardly more than thataccorded by a passing glance until she had chanced to hear him referto the man in the Blackfoot country in one breath as Schmidt, and inthe next as Schultz. She wondered at that and so had remained standingbeside Mrs. Watts, screened from the outside by the morning-gloryvines that served as a curtain for the window. The trifling incidentof the changed name was forgotten in the speculation as to why herfather's return to the hill country should be a matter of evidentimport to this sagebrush cavalier. So intent had she become that shehardly 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 eagernessthat 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 betold. Rod Sinclair was one of the best friends I had, and if he hasgone I'm right here to see that his daughter gets a square deal. Ofcourse if she has the location, she's all right. " Patty wonderedwhether the man had purposely raised his voice, or was it herimagination?

Ma Watts had started for the door. "Come on out, honey, an' I'll makeyo' acquainted with Mr. Bethune. He wus a friend of yo' pa, an' Lordtoo. " As she followed the woman to the door, the girl was conscious ofan indefinable feeling of distrust for the man. Somehow, his words hadnot rung true. 

As the two women stepped from the house the horsemen swung from theirsaddles 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 presentmy friend Lord Clendenning. "

The Englishman bowed low. "The prefix is merely a euphonism MissSinclair. What you really behold in me is the decayed part of adecaying 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 Is'pose yo' mean yo' cain't stay. But they's a plenty, an' yo'welcome. " Again Bethune declined and as the woman re-entered thehouse, he turned to the girl. 

"I only just learned of your father's untimely death. Permit me toexpress my sincerest sympathy, and to assure you that if I can be ofservice to you in any way I am yours to command. "

"Thank you, " answered Patty, flushing slightly under the scrutiny ofthe black eyes. "I am here to locate my father's claim. I want to doit alone, but if I can't I shall certainly ask assistance of hisfriends. "

"Exactly. But, my dear Miss Sinclair, let me warn you. There are menin these hills who suspected that your father made a strike, who wouldstop at nothing to wrest your secret from you. " The girl nodded. "Isuppose 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 yoursheep man off. "

Watts rubbed his beard. "Well, I do'no. The cattlemen pays me same asthat sheep man done. Vil Holland tended to that. "

"That isn't the point. What right has Vil Holland and others of hisilk to tell you, or me, or anybody else who we shall, or shall notrent to? It is the principle of the thing. The running off of thosesheep was a lawless act, and the sooner lawlessness, as exemplified byVil Holland is stamped out of these hills, the better it will be forthe community. He better not try to bulldoze me. " Bethune turned toPatty. "That Vil Holland is the man I had in mind, Miss Sinclair, whenI warned you to choose your friends wisely. He would stop at nothingto gain an end, even to posing as a friend of your father. In allprobability he will offer to assist you, but if you have any map ordescription of your father's location do not under any circumstancesshow 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 forwardto meeting you again. Shall you remain here?"

"I have made no plans, " she answered, and as she watched the tworiders disappear down the creek trail her lips twisted into a smile. "May pose as a friend of your father . .. And probably will offer toassist you;" she repeated under her breath. "Well, Mr. Bethune, Ithank you again for the warning. "

CHAPTER III

PATTY GOES TO TOWN

Ma Watts called loudly from the doorway and numerous small Wattsesappeared as if by magic from the direction of the creek and thecottonwood thicket. Dinner consisted of flabby salt pork, swimming inits own grease, into which were dipped by means of fingers or forks, huge misshapen slices of sour white bread. There was also an abundanceof corn pone, black molasses, and a vile concoction that Ma Wattscalled coffee. Flies swarmed above the table and settled upon the foodfrom which they arose in clouds at each repetition of the dippingprocess. 

How she got through the meal Patty did not know, but to her surpriseand disgust, realized that she had actually consumed a considerableportion of the unappetizing mess. Watts arose, stretched prodigiously, and sauntered to his chair which, true to calculation was already justwithin the shadow of the east side of the house. 

Baby on hip, Ma Watts, assisted by Microby Dandeline and LillianRussell, attacked the dishes. All offers of help from Patty weredeclined. 

"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-coversomewheres around an' them young-uns kin rig 'em up a tent an' sleepin 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 yourhospitality. I hope I can repay you some day, but I cannot think ofsettling myself upon you this way. My work will take me out into thehills and----"

"Jest like yo' pa usta say. He wus that fond o' rale home cookin' thethe'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'tno one tell from one day to 'nother where he'd be at. But, he neverwus 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 hosswhich 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 tofix 'em when he gits time. "

"I don't know much about tents, but I guess I'll have to use it, thatis, if there isn't another ranch, or a--a house, or something, where Ican rent a room all to myself. "

"Great sakes, child! They hain't another ranch within twenty-fivemile, an' thet's towards town. " As if suddenly smitten with an idea, she paused with her hand full of dishes and called loudly to herspouse:

"Watts! Watts!"

The chair was eased to its four legs, and the lank form appeared inthe doorway. "Yeh?"

"How about the sheep camp?"

The man's fingers fumbled at his beard and he appeared plunged intodeep 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 webuilt 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--thecattlemen 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 driveoff the sheep?"

"Oh, he's a cowpuncher--they say they hain't a better cowpuncher inMontany, when he'll work. But he won't work only when he takes anotion--'druther hang around the hills an' prospeck. He hain't nevermade no strike, but he allus aims to, like all the rest. Ef he'dsettle 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. Howmuch will you rent it to me for?"

"'Tain't wuth nothin' at all, " said Watts. "'Tain't doin' no goodsettin' 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 fifteenfo' 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 norobbers. "

"I'll take it, " said Patty. "And now I'll have to have a lot of thingsfrom 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 overthe prospect of having a cabin all her very own. "But, about the otherthings: 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 cloudlessblue. "Hit mought rain to-morrow, an' hit moughtn't. The front ex onthe wagon needs fixin'--le's see, this here's a Wednesday. How'd nextSunday, a week do?"

The girl stared at him in dismay. Ten days of Ma Watts's "homecooking" 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 howmany 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 tomiss him. "

"Why can't I go to town. I know the way. Will you rent me your horsesand 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 ofMicroby Dandeline. She turned to Ma Watts. "And maybe you would letMicroby 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. Wattswill 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 metry. "

Watts rubbed his beard reflectively. "Well, no, I reckon it's mebbethe wheels needs greasin'. 'Twouldn't take no sight o' time to do, ifa 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 withMa. 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 withexcitement, as she wrung out her dish towel and hung it to dry in thesun. 

"Why, yas, I reckon yo' mought's well--but seem's like yo' allusa-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. Theywus a circust. "

"I know Mr. Christie. He lives to town. "

"He's the preacher. He's a 'piscopalium preacher, an' one time thatVil 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 allbabitized?' I hadn't never thought much 'bout hit, but thar wus thepreacher, an' he seemed to think mighty proud of hit, an' hit didn'tcost nothin', so I tol' him to go ahead. He started in on MicrobyDandeline--we jest called her Dandeline furst, bein' thet yallar withjanders when she wus a baby, but when she got about two year, I wus areadin' a piece in a paper a man left, 'bout these yere littlemicrobys thet gits into everywheres they shouldn't ort to, jest likeshe 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. Isays, we'll name her Microby Dandeline Watts an' Watts, he didn't careone 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, Icouldn't think of no name fer her 'cept Chattenoogy Tennessee, where Icome 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, hehain'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 Iwas sayin' there hit wus in the almanac the name 'twould of fitten thebaby to a T. Vernal Esquimaux, hit said, March 21, 5:26 A. M. The babywas 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 hecouldn't onbabitize her, an' he reckoned Chatenoogy Tennessee wus asgood as Vernal Esquimaux, anyhow, an' we could save Vernal Esquimauxfer the next one--jest's ef yo' could hev 'em like a time table!"

The afternoon was assiduously devoted to overhauling the contents of ahuge tin trunk in an effort to find a frock suitable for the momentousoccasion of Microby Dandeline's journey. The one that had served forthe previous visit, a tight little affair of pink gingham, provedentirely inadequate in its important dimensions, and automaticallybecame the property of the younger and smaller Lillian Russell. Patty's suggestion of a simple white lawn that reposed upon the verybottom of the trunk was overruled in favor of a betucked andbeflounced creation of red calico in which Ma Watts had beamed uponthe gay panoply of the long remembered "circust. " An hour's work withscissors and needle reduced the dress to approximately the requiredsize. When the task was completed Watts appeared with the informationthat he reckoned the wagon would run, and that the "young-uns" wereout in the hills hunting the "hosses. "

At early dawn the following morning Patty was awakened by a timid handupon her shoulder. 

"Hit's daylight, an' Pa's hitchin' up the hosses. " Arrayed in the reddress, her eyes round with excitement and anticipation, MicrobyDandeline was bending over her whispering excitedly, "An' breakfus'sready, an' me an' Ma's got the lunch putten up, an' hit's a pow'fullong ways to town, an' we better git a-goin'. "

"Stay right clost an' don't go gittin' lost, " admonished Ma watts, asshe stood in the doorway and surveyed her daughter with approval bornof motherly pride. The pink gingham sunbonnet that matched the tightlittle dress had required only a slight "letting out" to make it "do, "and taken in conjunction with the flaming red dress, made a study incolor that would have delighted the heart of a Gros Ventre squaw. Thick, home-knit stockings, and a pair of stiff cow-hide shoescompleted the costume, and made Microby Dandeline the center of anadmiring 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 cartracks, 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. " Hehanded 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 wassaying good-by to the small brothers and sisters, the man leanedcloser. "Ef they's any change left over I wisht yo'd give her aboutten cents to spend jest as she pleases. "

The girl nodded, and as Microby Dandeline scrambled up over the wheeland 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 sidleddangerously along narrow rock ledges, and plunged by steep pitchesinto the creek bed and out again. Partly by sheer luck, partly bybits of really skillful driving, but mostly because the horses, themselves knew every foot of the tortuous trail, the descent of thecreek was made without serious mishap. It was with a sigh of reliefthat Patty turned into the smoother trail that lead down through thecanyon toward town. In comparison with the bumping and jolting of thespringless lumber wagon, she realized that the saddle that had rackedand tortured her upon her outward trip had been a thing of ease andcomfort. Released from her post at the brake-rope, Microby Dandelineimmediately proceeded to remove her shoes and stockings. Pattyventured remonstrance. 

"Hit's hot an' them stockin's scratches. 'Tain't no good to wear 'emin the summer, nohow, 'cept in town, an' I kin put 'em on when we gitthere. Why does folks wear 'em in town?"

"Why, because it is nicer, and--and people couldn't very well goaround barefooted. "

"I kin. I like to 'cept fer the prickly pears. Is they prickly pearsin town?" Without waiting far a reply the girl chattered on, as sheplaced the offending stockings within her shoes and tossed them backupon 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. Wegoin' to sleep in under the wagon?"

"Certainly not! We will go to the hotel. "

"The hotel, " breathed the girl, rapturously. "An' kin we eat theretoo?"

"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 ahorseman who was negotiating the descent of what looked like animpossibly steep ridge. 

"That's Buck!" exclaimed Microby Dandeline, as she followed the girl'sgaze. The rider completed the descent of the ridge with an abruptslide that obscured him in a cloud of dust from which he emerged toapproach the trail at a swinging trot. Long before he was near enoughfor Patty to distinguish his features, she recognized him as her lonehorseman of the hills. "If it is his intention to presume upon ourchance meeting, " she thought, "I'll----" The threat was unexpressedeven in thought, but her lips tightened and she flushed hotly as sheremembered how he had picked her up as though she had been a child andplaced her in the saddle. 

"Who did you say he is?" she asked, with a glance toward the girl ather side. 

"He's Vil Holland, an' his hoss's name is Buck. I like him, onlysometimes he chases me home. "

"Vil Holland!" she exclaimed aloud, and her lips pressed tighter. Sothis man was Vil Holland--_that_ Vil Holland, everybody called him. The man who had chased an inoffensive sheep herder from the range, andwhose name stood for lawlessness in the hill country! So AuntRebecca's allusion to desperate characters had not been sofar-fetched, after all. He looked the part. Patty's glance took in thevivid blue scarf with its fastening of polished buffalo horn, the hugerevolver that swung in its holster, and the brown leather jug thatdangled from the horn of his saddle. 

"Good-mornin'!" He drew up beside the trail, and the girl reined inher horses, flushing slightly as she did so--she had meant to drivepast without speaking. She acknowledged the greeting with a formalbow. 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 whothrow'd the chunk! Goin' to town to take in the picture show, an allthe 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 redto it. An' that bonnet just sets it off right. That'll make folks setup 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 hispockets. "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 lookthat encompassed both the man and his jug, she struck the horses withher 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 neverto take any money from men--and especially from that man. "

Microby glanced back wistfully, and as the wagon rumbled on her eyesclosed 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' totown. "

"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 nohosses an' hit squarked louder'n a settin' hen an' went faster'n whata hoss kin run. "

"You go to sleep and if there is anything to see I'll wake you up. Ifyou don't sleep now you'll have to sleep when you get to town and I'msure you don't want to do that. "

"No, mom. Mebbe ef I hurry up an' sleep fast they won't nonortymobiles come, but if they does, you wake me. "

"I will, " promised Patty, and thus assured the girl curled up in thehay 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 thoughtsranged from plans for locating her father's lost claim, to thearrangement of her cabin; and from Vil Holland to the welfare of thegirl, a pathetic figure as she lay sprawled upon the hay, with herbare legs, and the gray dust settling thickly upon her red dress andvivid 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 amuffled banjo. And Raoul Bethune, with the flush of liquor upon hispale cheeks, joined in the laugh that followed, and replenished hisglass from the black bottle he had contrived to smuggle from thehospital stores when he had been returned to his room in thedormitory. And "Monk" Bethune he was solemnly rechristened by thehalf-dozen admiring satellites who had foregathered to celebrate hisrecovery from an illness. All this was long ago. Monk Bethune'sdormitory life had terminated abruptly--for the good of the school, but the name had fastened itself upon him after the manner of namesthat fit. It followed him to far places, and certain red-coatedpolicemen, who knew and respected his father, the Hudson Bay Company'sold 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 andboasted openly of his winnings. He was soft of voice and mild ofmanner and aside from his passion for gambling, his conduct so far aswas known was irreproachable. But, there were wise and knowing onesamong the officers of the law, who deemed it worth their while to makecareful and unobtrusive comparison between the man's winnings and hisexpenditures. These were the men who knew that certain Indians werebeing systematically supplied with whisky, and that there were certainhorses in Canada whose brands, upon close inspection, showed signs ofhaving been skillfully "doctored, " and which bore unmistakableevidence of having come from the ranges to the southward of theinternational boundary. 

But, try as they might, no slightest circumstance of evidence couldthey unearth against Bethune, who was wont to disappear from his usualhaunts for days and weeks at a time, to reappear smiling anddebonaire, as unexpectedly as he had gone. Knowing that the men of theMounted suspected him, he laughed at them openly. Once, upon a streetin Regina, Corporal Downey lost his temper. 

"You'll make a mistake sometime, Monk, and then it will be our turn tolaugh. "

"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 thegamblers' trade! But, granted that sometime I shall make amistake--shall lose for the moment, my skill; I shall still have myluck--and your mistakes. You are a good boy, Downey, but you'll be aglum one if you wait to laugh at my mistakes. If I were a chickenthief instead of a--gambler, I should fear you greatly. "

Downey recounted this jibe in the barracks, and the officers redoubledtheir vigilance, but the Indians still got their whisky, and newhorses appeared from the southward. 

When Monk Bethune refused Ma Watts's invitation to dinner, and rodeoff down the creek followed by Lord Clendenning, the refusal did notmeet the Englishman's unqualified approval, a fact that he was notslow in imparting when, a short time later, they made noonday camp ata 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 youthrew away an excellent opportunity. "

Bethune grinned. "Anything that involves the loss of a square meal, isa lost opportunity. You're too beefy, Clen, a couple of weeks on pilotbread 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 jokesaside, this particular lady ought to be worth our while. "

Bethune nodded, as he scraped the burning ends of the little stickscloser about the teapot. "Yes, decidedly worth while, my dear Clen, and that's where the important business comes in. Those who live bytheir wits must use their wits or they will cease to live. I live bymy wits, and you by your ability to follow out my directions. In thepresent instance, we had no plan. We could only have sat and talked, but talk is dangerous--when you have no plan. Even little mistakes arecostly, and big ones are fatal. Let us go over the ground, now andcheck off our facts, and then we can lay our plans. " As he talked, Bethune munched at his pilot bread, pausing at intervals for a swallowof scalding tea. 

"In the first place, we know that Rod Sinclair made a strike. And weknow that he didn't file any claim. Why? Because he knew that peoplewould guess he had made a strike, and that the minute he placed hislocation on record, there would be a stampede to stake the adjoiningclaims--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 hehad struck a pocket he would have staked and filed at once--and takenno chances. I tell you he went back East to let his friends in. Thefool!"

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. Ifshe had the description she would not have come alone. The friends ofher father would have been with her, and they would have filed theminute they hit the country. It's either a map, or nothing but hisword. "

"And in either case we've got a chance. "

"Yes, " answered Bethune, viciously. "And this time we are not going tothrow away our chance!" He glanced meaningly at the Englishman, whopuffed contentedly at his pipe. 

"Sinclair was too shrewd to have carried anything of importance, andthere would have been blood on our hands. As it is, we sleep good ofnights. "

Bethune gave a shrug of impatience. "And the gold is still in thehills, 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 wasin guarding the secret, if she has it. If she hasn't it our chance isas good as hers. "

"And so is Vil Holland's! He believes Sinclair made a strike, and nowthat Sinclair is out of the way, you may be sure he will leave nostone unturned to horn in on it. The gold is in these hills and I'mgoing 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 hisvoice. "However, one could wish the girl had delayed her visit for acouple of weeks. A person slipped me the word he could handle abouttwenty head of horses. "

The Englishman's face lighted. "I thought so when you began to dickerwith Watts for his pasture. We'll get him his bally horses, then. Thishorse 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 adollar, except your remittance, until you threw in with me. And we'dhave been rich now, if it hadn't been for you. I tell you I knowSinclair 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 goodof nights, and I've--" he halted abruptly, and when he spoke again hiswords grated harsh. "I tell you this is a fang and claw existence--alllife is fang and claw. The strong rip the flesh from the bones of theweak. And the rich rip their wealth from the clutch of a thousandpoor. What a man has is his only so long as he can hold it. One man'sgain is another man's loss, and that is life. And it makes nodifference in the end whether it was got at the point of the pistolin defiance of law, or whether it was got within the law under theguise of business. And I don't need you to preach to me about what iswrong, either. "

The Englishman laughed. "I'm not preaching, Monk. Anyone engaged inthe business we're in has got no call to preach. "

"We're no worse than most of the preachers. They peddle out, formoney, what they don't believe. "

"Heigh-ho! What a good old world you've painted it! I hope you'reright, and I'm not as bad as I think I am. "

Bethune interrupted, speaking rapidly in the outlining of a plan ofprocedure, and it was well toward the middle of the afternoon when thetwo saddled up and struck off into the hills in the direction of theircamp. 

 * * * * *

Twilight had deepened to dusk as Patty Sinclair pulled her team to astandstill upon the rim of the bench and looked down upon thetwinkling lights of the little town that straggled uncertainly alongthe sandy bank of the shallow river. 

"Hain't it grand lookin'?" breathed Microby Dandeline who satdecorously booted and stockinged upon the very edge of the board seat. "You wouldn't think they wus so many folks, less'n you seen 'emyers'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 valleyand 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-pitcheddrone, and settled upon the horses in a close-fitting blanket of gray. The girls tried to fight off the stinging pests that attacked theirfaces and necks in whirring clouds. But they fought in vain and invain 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 thewhip, the animals plodded along in the unvarying walk they hadmaintained 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 onlyus-uns an' a few more. " As the girl talked the horses splashed intothe shallow water of the ford and despite all effort to urge themforward, halted in mid-stream, and sucked greedily of thecrystal-clear water. It seemed an hour before they moved on andassayed a leisurely ascent of the opposite bank. The air becamepungent with the smell of smoke. They were in town, now, and as thewagon wheels sank deeply into the soft sand of the principal street, Patty noted that in front of the doors of most of the houses, slowfires were burning--fires that threw off a heavy, stifling smudge ofsmoke that spread lazily upon the motionless air and hung thick andlow to the ground. 

"Skeeter smudges, " explained Microby proud of being the purveyor ofinformation, "towns has 'em, an' then the skeeters don't bite. Oh, look at the folks! Lest hurry up! They might be a fight! Las' timethey wus a fight an' a breed cut a man Pap know'd an' the man got thebreed down an' stomped on his face an' the marshal come an' sp'ilthit, 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 theimminent risk of her neck, peering over the heads of the crowd thatthronged the sidewalk. 

"Sit down!" commanded Patty, sharply, as she noted the amused glanceswith which those on the outskirts of the crowd viewed the ridiculousfigure in the red dress and the pink sunbonnet. "They are waiting forthe movie to open. 

"Whut's a movie? Is hit like the circust? Kin I go?" The questionscrowded each other, as the girl scrambled to her seat, her eyes werebig with excitement. 

"Yes, to-morrow. "

"Looky, there's Buck!" Patty's eyes followed the pointing finger, andshe frowned at sight of the rangy buckskin tied with half a dozenother horses to the hitching rail before the door of a saloon. Itseemed as she glanced along the street that nearly every building intown was a saloon. Half a block farther on she drew to the sidewalkand stopped before the door of a two-story wooden building thatflaunted across its front the words "MONTANA HOTEL. " As Patty climbedstiffly to the sidewalk each separate joint and muscle shrieked itsaching protest at the fifteen-hour ride in the springless, joltingwagon. Microby placed her foot upon the sideboard and jumped, hercow-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 chairwith his feet upon the window ledge, glanced up indifferently as theyentered and crossed to the desk, and returned his gaze to the window, beyond which objects showed dimly in the gathering darkness. After amoment of awkward silence Patty addressed him. "Is the proprietoranywhere 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 getaccommodation for the night?"

"That's about the size of it. "

"Can't we get anything to eat, either?" It was with difficulty Pattyconcealed her rage at the man's insolence. "If you knew how hungry weare--we've been driving since daylight with only a cold lunch forfood. " She did not add that the cold lunch had been so unappetizingshe 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'restarved. " The girl's rage increased as she noticed the gleam thatlighted the heavy eyes. That, evidently was what he had been waitingfor. 

"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 todouble up. An' with these here cowpunchers that comes high. I might--"The opening of the screen door drew all eyes toward the man whoentered and stood just within the room. As Patty glanced at thesoft-brimmed hat, the brilliant scarf, and noticed that the yellowlamplight glinted upon the tip of polished buffalo horn, and the ivorybutt of the revolver, her lips tightened. But the man was not lookingat her--seemed hardly aware of her presence. The burly proprietorsmiled. 

"Hello, Vil. Somethin' I kin do fer you?"

"Yes, " answered the man. He spoke quietly, but there was that in hisvoice that caused the other to glance at him sharply. "You can standup. "

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 couldtake the team over to the livery barn for my--neighbors, yonder. Thedoor 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' cheatwomen, an'----"

"I hain't lied, an' I hain't cheated no one. An' what business is itof yourn if I did? All my rooms is full up, an' the help's all gone tothe pitcher show. "

"An' there's about a dozen or so cowmen stoppin' here to-night--theones you talked of payin' to double up--an' there ain't one of 'emthat wouldn't be glad to double up, or go out an' sleep on the streetif he couldn't get nowhere else to sleep, if you even whispered thatthere was a lady needed his room. The boys is right touchy when itcomes to bein' lied about. "

The proprietor's face became suddenly serious. "Aw looky here, Vil, Ididn'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 agood hot supper. Plenty of ham _and_, hot Java, potatoes, an' whateveryou got. "

"But the help's----"

"Get it yourself, then. It ain't so long since you was runnin' a shortorder dump. You ain't forgot how to get up a quick feed, an' to givethe 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'lldo 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 tallhillman, without taking his eyes from the other's face. 

The man disappeared, muttering incoherently, and Vil Holland turned tothe door. 

"I want to thank you, " ventured Patty. "Evidently your word carriesweight with mine host. "

"It better, " replied the cowpuncher, dryly. "An' you're welcome. I'lltake the team across to the livery barn. " He spoke impersonally, withscarcely a glance in her direction, and as the screen door bangedbehind him the girl flushed, remembering her own rudeness upon thetrail. 

"Lawless he may be, and he certainly looks and acts the part, " shemurmured to herself as the wagon rattled away from the sidewalk, "buthis propensity for turning up at the right time and the right place israpidly becoming a matter of habit. " A door beside the desk stoodajar, and above it, Patty read the words "WASH ROOM. " Pushing it openshe glanced into the interior which was dimly lighted by a murky oillamp that occupied a sagging bracket beside a distorted mirror. Twotin wash basins occupied a sink-like contrivance above which a singleiron faucet protruded from the wall. Beside the faucet was tacked abroad piece of wrapping paper upon which were printed in a laboriousscrawl the following appeals:

 NOTISS

Ples DoNT LEEv THE WaTTer RUN ITS hANPumpt. PLes DONT Waist THE ToWL. Kome AN BREsh AN TOOTH BResH IS INtoTHR Rak BESIDS THE MiRRoW. PLeS PUTEM baCK. THes IS hoUSE RULes AN WANts TO be OBayDKINLY. 

 F. RuMMEL, PROP. 

Removing the trail dust from their faces and hands, the girls returnedto 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'veet, " 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 Pattythat never before had food tasted so good. Twenty minutes later, whenthey returned to the office the landlord indicated the stairway with ajerk of his thumb. "First door to the right from the top of thestairs, lamp's lit, extry blankets in the closet, breakfast from five'till half-past-seven. " The words rattled from his lips in a singlebreath as he sat staring into the outer darkness. 

"If Aunt Rebecca could see me, now, " smiled Patty to herself, as sheled the way up the uncarpeted stairs, with Microby Dandeline'scow-hide boots clattering noisily in her wake. 

CHAPTER V

SHEEP CAMP

If Patty Sinclair had anticipated annoyance from the forced attentionof her tall horseman of the hills, she was disappointed, for neitherat meals, nor during the shopping tour that occupied the whole of thefollowing day, nor yet upon the long homeward drive, did he appear. The return trip was slower and more monotonous even than the journeyto town. The horses crawled along the interminable treeless trail withthe heavily loaded wagon bumping and rattling in the choking cloud ofits own dust. 

The expedition had been a disappointing one to Microby. The "pitchershow" did not compare in interest with the never forgotten "circust. "There had been no "fight" to break the monotony of purchasingsupplies. 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 andmisgiving that Patty contemplated the devious trail up Monte's Creek. The descent of this trail by daylight had taxed the girl's knowledgeof horsemanship to the limit, and now to attempt its ascent with aheavily loaded wagon in the darkness--Microby Dandeline seemed to readher thoughts. 

"We-all cain't git up the crick, I don't reckon, " she hazarded, buteven as she spoke there was a flicker of light flashed through thedarkness and, lantern in hand, Watts rose from his comfortable seat ina niche of rock near the fork of the trail and greeted them with hiskindly 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 jisttake the lantern an' foller 'long ahead I reckon we'll make hit allright. 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 anda half later halted before the door of the Watts cabin, where theybecame the center of an admiring group of young Wattses who munchedtheir candy soberly as they gazed in reverent awe at the homingargonauts. 

The three mile walk up the rough trail did wonders for Patty'sstiffened muscles, and it was with a feeling of agreeable surprisethat she rose from her shake-down the following morning with scarcelyan ache or a pain in her body. 

"Yer gittin' bruk in to hit, " smiled Ma Watts, approvingly, as thegirl sat down to her belated breakfast. But the surprise at her fitcondition 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 gitsettled like. They taken yer pa's outfit along, too, an' when they gityo' onloaded they're a-goin' to work on the upper pasture fence. WhenPa gits sot on a thing he goes right ahead an' does hit. Some thinkshe's lazy, but hit hain't thet. He's easy goin'--all the Wattseswus--but when they git sot on a thing all kingdom come cain't stop 'ema-doin' hit. Trouble with Pa is he's got sot on settin'. " Ma Wattstalked on and on, and at the conclusion of the meal Patty drew a billfrom her purse. But the woman would have none of it. "No siree, we-allhain't a-runnin' no _hotel_. Folks is welcome to come when they likean' stay as long as they want to, an' we're glad to hev 'em. Yercayuse is a-waitin' out yender. The boys saddled him up fer yo'. Comedown an' take pot luck whenever yo're a mind. Microby Dandeline, sheketched up Gee Dot an' went a-taggin' 'long fer to help yo' gitsettled. Ef she gits in the way jist send her home. Foller up thecrick, " she called, as Patty mounted her horse. "Yo' cain't miss thesheep camp, hit's about a mild 'bove the upper pasture. "

Watts and the boys were just finishing the unloading of her supplieswhen Patty slipped from her horse and surveyed the little cabin withits dark background of pines. 

"Hit hain't so big as some, " apologized the man, as he climbed intothe 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 untidylitter of rusty tin cans and broken bottles that ornamented itsdooryard, and the warped and broken panels of the abandoned corralthat showed upon the weed-choked flat across the creek. Stepping tothe door, she peered into the interior where Microby was industriouslysweeping the musty hay from the bunk with the brand-new broom. Thumbedand torn magazines littered the floor, a few discarded garments hungdejectedly from nails driven into the wall, while from the saggingdoor of the rough board cupboard bulged a miscellaneous collection ofrubbish. A sense of depression obsessed her; _this_ was to be herhome! She sneezed and drew back hastily from the cloud of dust raisedby Microby's broom. As she dabbed at her eyes and nose with a smalland ridiculously inadequate handkerchief, she was conscious of anuncomfortable lump in her throat, and the moisture that dampened thehandkerchief could not all be accredited to the sneeze tears. "What ifI have trouble locating the mine and have to stay here all summer?"she was thinking, and instantly recalling the Watts ranch with its airof shiftless decay, the smelly Watts blankets in the overcrowdedsleeping room, the soggy meals, the tapping of chickens' bills uponthe floor, and the never ending voice of Ma Watts, she smiled. It wasa weak, forced little smile, at first, but it gradually widened into areal smile as her eyes swept the little valley with its long vista ofpine-clad hills that reached upward to the sky, their mighty sides andshoulders gored by innumerable rock-rimmed coulees and ravines. Somewhere amid the silence of those mighty slopes and high-flung peaksher father had found Eldorado--had wrested nature's secret from theguardianship of the everlasting hills. Her heart swelled with thepride of him. She was ashamed of that sudden welling of tears. Thefeeling of depression vanished and her heart throbbed to the lure ofthe land of gold. The two small Wattses had scrambled into thewagon-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 fatherloved these hills, and I shall love them. And, as for the cabin! WhenMicroby and I get through with it, it's going to be the dearest littleplace imaginable. "

"Hit wus a good sheep camp, " admitted Watts, his fingers fumblingjudiciously at his head. "An' they's a heap o' good feed goin' towaste in this yere valley. But ef the cattlemen wants to pay fer whatthey 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 herein the hills. "

"Vil Holland, he claimed they cain't no sheeps stay in the hillcountry. He claims sheeps is like small-poxt. Onct they git a-goin'they spread, an' like's not, the hull country's ruint fer cattlerange. "

"It seems that Vil Holland runs this little corner of Montana. "

"He kind o' looks after things fer the cattlemen, but the prospectin'sgot into his blood, an' he won't stick to the cattle, only on theround-up, 'til he gits him a grub-stake. He's a good man--Vil is--efit wusn't fer foolin' 'round with the prospectin'. "

Instantly, the girl's eyes flashed. "If it wasn't for theprospecting!" she exclaimed, in sudden anger. "My father was aprospector--and there was never a better man lived than he! Why is itthat everyone looks askance at a prospector? You talk like the peopleback home! But, I'll show you all. My father made a strike. He told meof it on his death-bed, and he gave me the map, and the photographsand his samples. Maybe when I locate this mine and begin taking outmore gold every day than most of you ever saw, you won't talk ofpeople 'fooling around' prospecting. I tell you prospectors are thefinest men in the world! They must have imagination, and unendingpatience, and the heart to withstand a thousand disappointments--" Shebroke off suddenly as the soft rattle of bit-chains sounded frombehind her, and whirled to face Vil Holland. The man regarded hergravely, unsmiling. A gauntleted hand raised the Stetson from hishead. As her eyes took in every detail, from the inevitable leatherjug, to the tip of polished buffalo horn, she flushed. How long had hestood 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 helphearin' what you said about the prospectors. You're right in themain. "

"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 forbringing my things up so early. " She turned to the cowboy who satregarding the outfit indifferently. "I hope you'll overlook my lack ofhospitality, but really I must get to work and help Microby or she'llhave the whole house cleaned before I get started. "

"I saw the team here, an' thought I'd swing down to find out if Wattswas 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 thiscabin--am taking up my father's work where he left off. I suppose Ishould ask your permission to prospect in the hill country. "

"No, " replied the man, gravely. "Just help yourself, only don't getlost, an' remember yer dad knew enough to play a lone hand. I must begoin', now. Good day. " He turned his horse to see Microby standing inthe doorway. "Hello, Microby Dandeline! House cleanin', eh? I s'pectyou 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 mendfence, an' I'm a-goin' to stay yere an' he'p her clean up the sheepcamp. "

The cowpuncher turned to Watts. "What's the big hurry about thefences, 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 inBlackfoot country. Five dollars a month, I git fer hit, an' fivedollars fer every day er night they's hosses in hit. He done paid twomonths' rent a'ready. "

Vil Holland's brows puckered slightly. "Schultz, you say? Over in theBlackfoot country?"

"Yas, he's aimin' to trail hosses from there over into Canady an' hewants 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 forSchultz. "

Patty noted an almost imperceptible narrowing of the cowpuncher'seyes, an expression, slight as it was, that spoke disapproval. Theman's attitude angered her. Here was poor Watts, about to undertakethe first work he had done in years, judging by the condition of theranch, under stimulus of the few dollars promised him by Bethune, andthis cowboy disapproved. "Are horses under the ban, too?" she askedquickly. "Hasn't Mr. Watts the right to rent his land for a horsepasture?"

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 hewants to. Good day. " Before the girl could reply he reined his horseabruptly about, and disappeared in the timber upon the opposite sideof the creek. 

"Reckon I better be gittin' 'long, too, " said Watts. "Microby'swelcome to stay an' he'p yo'-all git moved in, but please mom, tosee'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 thegirl in the dusty interior of the cabin. The musty hay, the discardedgarments, and the two bushels or more of odds and ends with which thepack rats had filled the cupboard made a smudgy, smelly bonfire besidewhich Patty paused with an armful of discarded magazines. "Wouldn'tyou like to take these home?" she asked. 

"Which?" inquired Microby, deftly picking a small stick from theground 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 abook--an' a bible, too, " she added, with a touch of pride. "Davey, hekin mos' read, an' he kin drawer pitchers, too. Reckon he'll be apreacher when he's grow'd up, like Preacher Christie. He done readouten a book when he babitized us-uns. I don't like to read. Ma, sheaimed 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 comebedtime. 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 opportunityafforded, she would carry on the interrupted education. 

Microby's literary delinquency in no wise impaired her willingness towork. She had inherited none of her father's predilection towardeternal rest, and all day, side by side with Patty, she scraped, andscoured, and scrubbed, and washed, until the little cabin and itscontents fairly radiated cleanliness. The moving in was great fun forthe mountain girl. Especially the unpacking of the two trunks thatresisted all efforts to lift them until their contents had beenremoved. But at last the work was finished even to the arrangement ofdishes and utensils, the stowing of supplies, and the blowing up ofthe air mattress that replaced the musty hay of the sheep herder. Andas the long shadows of mountains crept slowly across the little valleyand began to climb the opposite slope, Patty stood in the door of hercabin and watched Microby mount the superannuated Indian pony andproceed slowly down the creek, her bare feet swinging awkwardly in theloops of rope that served as stirrups of her dilapidated stock saddle. 

When horse and rider disappeared into a grove of cottonwoods, Patty'sgaze returned to her immediate surroundings--her saddle-horsecontentedly snipping grass, the waters of the shallow creek burblingnoisily over the stones, the untidy scattering of tin cans, and theleaning panels of the old sheep corral. She frowned at the panels. "I'll just use you for firewood, " she muttered. "And that reminds methat I've got to wake up to my responsibility as head of thehousehold--even if the household does only consist of one bay cayuse, named Dan, and a tiny one-room cabin, and two funny littlesquirrel-tailed pack rats, and me. " She reached for her brand new ax, and picking her way from stone to stone, crossed the creek, andattacked a sagging panel. 

Patty Sinclair was no hot-house flower, and the hand that gripped theax was strong and brown and capable. Back home she had been known tothe society reporters as "an out-door girl, " by which it wasunderstood that rather than afternoon auction at henfests, sheaffected tennis, golf, swimming, and cross-country riding. She couldsaddle her own horse, and paddle a canoe for hours on end. Even the axwas no stranger to her hand, for upon rare occasions when her fatherhad returned during the summer months from his everlastingprospecting, he had taken her to camp in the mountains, and there fromthe quiet visionary whom she loved more than he ever knew, she learnedthe ax, and the compass, and a hundred tricks of camp lore that wereto stand her well in hand. Partly inherited, partly acquired throughassociation with her father upon those never-to-be-forgottenpilgrimages to the shrine of nature, her love of the vast solitudesshone 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 themountains, down their darkening sides, to the dusk-enshrouded reachesof her valley. "He used to watch the sun go down, and he never weariedat the wonder of it, " she breathed, softly. "And then, as the darknessdeepened and the bull-bats came wheeling overhead, and thewhip-poor-wills began calling from the thickets, he would light hispipe, and I would cuddle up close to him, and the firelight would growredder and brighter and the soft warm dark would grow blacker. Thepine trees would lose their shapes and blend into the formless nightand mysterious shadow shapes would dance to the flicker of the littleflames. 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 ofpines; of reeking craters, parched deserts, ice-locked barrens, andthe wind-lashed waters of lakes. 'And some day, little daughter, ' hewould say, 'some day you are going with daddy and see all these thingsfor yourself--things whose grandeur you have never dreamed. It won'tbe long, now--I'm on the right track at last--only till I've made mystrike. ' Always--'it won't be long now. ' Always--'I'm on the righttrack, at last. ' Always--'just ahead is the strike'--that lure, thatmocking chimera that saps men's lives! And now, he is--gone, and I amchasing the chimera. " Salt tears stung her eyes and blurred thetimbered slopes. "They said he was a--a ne'er-do-well. He becamealmost a joke--" the words ended in a dry sob, as the bright blade ofthe ax crashed viciously into the rotting panel. A few moments latershe picked up an armful of wood, and retracing her steps, piled itneatly behind the stove. She lighted the fire, fetched a pail of waterfrom the spring, and moved the picketed cayuse to a spot beside thecreek where the grass was green and lush. She had intended aftersupper to study her map and familiarize herself with the two smallphotographs that were pinned to it. But, when the meal was over andthe dishes washed and put away she was too sleepy to do anything butdrop the huge wooden bar that the sheep herder had contrived to insurehimself against a possible night attack from his enemies into itsplace 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 theWattses' stuffy room. 

Somewhere, way off in the hills, a wolf howled and almost before thesound 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 andglanced about her with a sigh of satisfaction. Warm June sunlightstreamed through the open door and lay in a bright oblique patch uponthe scrubbed floor. The girl's glance strayed past the door and restedwith approval upon the little flat across the creek where a neat pileof panels replaced the broken sheep corral. She had spent hours inuntwisting the baling wire with which they had been fastened to theposts and dragging them to the pile, and other hours in chopping asupply of firewood, and picking up the cans and broken bottles andpitching them into the deep ravine of a side coulee. Also she hadbuilt a little reservoir of rocks about her spring, and had found timeto add a few touches to the interior of the cabin. "It's just as homeyand cozy as it can be, " she murmured, as her eyes strayed from thelittle window where the colored chintz curtain stirred lightly in thebreeze, to the neatly arranged "dressing table" that she had contrivedwith the aid of four light packing boxes and a bit of figuredcretonne. Another packing case, covered to match, served as a stool, and upon the wall above the table hung a small mirror. Four or fiveprints, looking oddly out of place, hung upon the dark logwalls--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 fondimagination had pictured them adorning the walls of her "apartment"which was to be located in a spacious wing of the great Watts ranchhouse. "I don't care, I'm glad there wasn't any big ranch house, " shemuttered. "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 alwayswanted a house of my very own. Ten times better!" she exclaimedvehemently. "There won't be anybody to ask me every day or two if I'vemade my strike yet? And how much gold I brought back to-day? And allthe other fool questions that seem so humorous to questioners andhearers, but which hurt and sting and rankle when you're sick at heartwith disappointment, and gritting your teeth to keep up your courageand your belief in yourself. Oh I know! Daddy didn't know I knew, butI did--how it hurt when the village wits would slyly wink at eachother as they asked their cruel questions. Even when I was a littlegirl I knew, and I could have _killed_ them!" Her glance rested uponthe canvas covered pack that lay in the corner at the foot of thebunk. "There are his things--his outfit, they call it here. I'm goingto examine it. " The sack of stiff oiled canvas, with its contents, washeavy, but the girl dragged it to the middle of the floor andsquatting beside it, stared in dismay at the stout padlock and thechain that threaded a set of grommets. She was about to search for thekey among the contents of her father's pockets which she had placed inthe tray of her trunk, when her eye fell upon a thin slit close alongthe edge of the hem that held the grommets--a slit that, pulled wide, disclosed an aperture through which the contents of the sack could beeasily removed but withal so cunningly contrived as to escape casualinspection. With an angry exclamation the girl stared at the gapinghole. "Someone has cut it!" she cried. "He doesn't seem to have takenmuch, though. It's about as full as it can be. " She began hurriedlyto remove the contents, piling them about her upon the floor. "Iwonder if--if he left any papers, or note books, or maps, or thingsthat would enable anyone to locate the claim? If he did, " shemuttered, 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 thesack, wet with its splash of hot tears. "Here's his coffee pot, andhis plate, and frying pan, and his old pipe--" the pipe she did notreplace, but put it with the other things in her trunk. "Andhere--why, it's a revolver and a belt of cartridges--like VilHolland's! And a hat like his, too! And I thought he was a desperadobecause he wore them!" She jumped to her feet and, hurrying to themirror, tried on the hat, pinching the crown into a peak, tilting itthis way and that, and arranging and rearranging the soft roll brim. "It fits!" she cried, delighted as a child, and then with eyessparkling, picked up the belt with its row of yellow cartridges andits ivory handled six gun dangling in the holster. Buckling the beltabout her waist, she laughed aloud as the buckle tongue came to rest afull six inches beyond the last hole. "I'll look just as desperate ashe does, now--except for his old jug. Daddy didn't have any jug, andI'm glad--that's where the difference is--it's the jug. But, I wish hehad had one of those black horn effects for his scarf. " She knottedthe brilliant red scarf with its zigzag border of yellow, about herneck, and snatching a small pair of scissors from the dressing table, removed the heavy belt, and proceeded to bore a tongue hole at thepoint she had marked with her finger nail. So engrossed she became inthe work, that she failed to hear the approach of horses' feet, andstarted violently at the sound of a voice from the doorway. "Permitme. " The six shooter thudded to the floor, and sweeping the hat fromhis head, Monk Bethune crossed the room, and replaced it upon thetable. He smiled as he noticed the scar left upon the thick leather bythe scissor points; and repeated. "Permit me, please. " He drew apenknife from his pocket, and picked up the belt. "A knife is so muchbetter. "

Ashamed of having been startled, Patty smiled. "Yes, please do. I hadno idea it was so tough, or that scissors could be so dull. "

Deftly twirling the penknife, Bethune bored a neat hole in theleather. "There should be several holes, " he smiled, "for there areoccasions in the hill country when one fails to connect with thecommissary, and then it is that the tightening of the belt answers thepurpose of a meal. " Drilling as he talked, he soon finished the taskand held up the belt for inspection. "Rod Sinclair's gun, " hecommented, sorrowfully. "And Rod's scarf, and hat, too. Ah, there wasa man, Miss Sinclair! I doubt if even you yourself knew him as I knewhim. You must ride and work with a man, in fair weather and foul; youmust share his hardships, and his disappointments, yes and his joys, too, to really know him. " A look of genuine affection shone from theman's eyes as he stood drawing his fingers gently along the rims ofthe shiny cartridges. He seemed to be speaking more to himself than tothe girl. His manner, the look in his eyes, the very tone of hisvoice, were so intrinsically honest in their expression of unboundedsympathy with his subject, and his mood fitted so thoroughly with herown, that the girl's heart suddenly warmed toward this man who spokeso feelingly of her father. She flushed slightly as she rememberedthat upon the occasion of their previous meeting, his words hadengendered a feeling of distrust. 

"You knew him--well?" she asked. 

"Like a brother. For two years we have worked together in our searchfor the mother lode that both believed lay concealed deep within thebosom of these hills. A dozen times during those two years our hopeshave risen, as only the hopes can rise, of those who seek gold. Adozen times it seemed certain that at last we had reached our goal. But, always it was the same--a false lead--shattered hopes--and afresh start. Those were the times, Miss Sinclair, that your fathershowed the stuff that was in him. He was a better man than I. It washis Spartan acceptance of disappointment, his optimism, and hisunshaken faith in ultimate success, that kept me going. I suppose itis my French ancestry that is responsible for my lack of just thequalities that made your father the man he was. I lacked hisstability--his balance. I had imagination--vision, possibly greaterthan his. And under the stimulus of apparent success, my spirits wouldrise to heights his never knew. But I paid for it--no one knows howbitterly I paid. For when apparent success turned into failure, minewere depths of despair he never descended to. At first, before Ilearned that his disappointment was as bitter as my own, his smilingacceptance of failure, used to goad me to fury. There were times Icould have killed him with pleasure--but that was only at first. Before we had been long together God knows how I came to depend onthose smiles. Then, at last, we struck it--and poor Rod--" The man'svoice which had dropped very low, broke suddenly. He cleared histhroat and turning abruptly, stared out the door toward the greensweep of pines on the mountain slopes. 

There was a long silence during which the words kept repeatingthemselves in the girl's brain. "_Then, at last, we struck it. _" Whatdid he mean? His back was toward her, and she saw that the muscles ofhis neck worked slowly, as though he were swallowing repeatedly. 

When at last she spoke, her voice sounded strangely dull to her ownears. "Do you mean that you and my father were partners, and that youknow 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 relationshipthat existed between Rod Sinclair and me. There was never anyagreement of partnership, rather a sort of tacit understanding, thatwhen we struck the lode, we should work it together. Your father knewvastly more about rock than I, although I had long suspected theexistence of this lode. But extensive interests to the northwardprevented me from making any continued search for it. However, I foundtime at intervals to spend a month or six weeks in these hills, and itwas upon one of these occasions that we struck up the acquaintancethat ripened into a sort of mutuality of interest. Neighbors are fewand far between in the hill country, and those not exactly of the typethat attract men of education. I think each found in the other a manof his own stripe, and thus a friendship sprang up between us thatgradually led to a merging of interests. His were by far the mostvaluable activities in the field, while I, from time to time, advancedcertain funds for the carrying on of the work. 

"But let us not talk of business matters. Time enough for that. " Hestepped to the doorway and glanced down the creek. "Here comes Clenand we must be going. While he stopped at Watts's to reset a shoe Irode on to inquire if there is any way in which I may serve thedaughter of my friend. 

"Oh-ho! I see Clen is carrying something very gingerly. He hasprevailed upon the good Mrs. Watts to sell him some eggs. A greatgourmand--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 thelocation of my father's mine?"

Bethune turned from the door, smiling. Patty noticed with surprisethat the dark, handsome features looked almost boyish when he smiled. There had been no hint of boyishness before, in fact something ofbaffling inscrutability in the black eyes, gave the man an expressionof extreme sophistication. "Do not call it a mine, " he laughed. "Atleast, not yet. A mine is a going proposition. If your father actuallysucceeded in locating the lode, it is a strike. Had he filed, it wouldbe a claim. Had he started operation it would be a proposition--butnot 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 believehe did succeed. In fact, knowing Rod Sinclair as I did, I am certainof it. "

"But the location of the--the strike, " she persisted, "do you knowit?"

Bethune shook his head sadly. "Had your father filed the claim, allwould have been well. But, who am I to question Rod's judgment? For onthe other hand, if he had filed, word of the strike would have spreadbroadcast, and the whole hill country would immediately have beenoverrun by stampeders--those vultures that can scent a gold strike forfive thousand miles. No one knows where they come from, and no oneknows where they go. It was to guard our secret from these thatprompted your father not to file. We had planned to establish ourfriends on the adjoining claims, and thus build up a syndicate of ourown choosing. So he did not file, but it was through no fault of histhat I remain ignorant of the location, but rather it was the resultof a combination of unforeseen circumstances. You shall judge foryourself. 

"I was deep in the wilds of British Columbia, upon another matter, when Rod unearthed the lode, and, not knowing this, he hastened atonce to my camp. He found Clen there and after expressingdisappointment at my absence, sat down and hurriedly sketched a map, and taking from his pocket a photograph, he wrapped both in a pieceof oilskin, and handed them to Clen, with instructions to travel nightand day until he had delivered the packet to me. He told him that hehad located the lode and was hurrying East to procure the necessarycapital and would return in the early spring for immediate operation. "Bethune paused and, with his eyes upon the Englishman who wasdismounting, continued:

"Poor Clen! He did his best, and I do not hold his failure againsthim, for his was a journey of hardship and peril such as few men couldhave survived. Upon receiving the packet he started within the hour. That night he camped at the line, and that night, too, came the firstsnow of the season. He labored on next day to the railway and took atrain to Edmonton, and from there, to Fort George, where he succeededin procuring an Indian guide for the dash into the wilderness beyondthe railway. The early months of last winter were among the mostterrible in the history of the North. Storm after storm hurtled out ofthe Arctic, and between storms the bitter winds from the barrens tothe eastward roared with unabated fury. Yet Clen and his guide pushedon, fighting the cold and the snow. Up over the Height of Land, to theHudson Bay Post at the head of the Parsnip, where I was making myheadquarters, and where I had lain snowbound for ten days. It wasduring the descent of Crooked River, a quick water, treacherousstream, whose thin ice was covered with snow, that the accidenthappened that cost me the loss of the location, and nearly cost Clenhis life. The Indian guide was mushing before, bent low with theweight of his pack, and head lowered to the sweep of the wind. Clenfollowed. At the head of a newly frozen rapid, the Englishman suddenlybroke 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 theIndian was far ahead, his ears were muffled in his fur cap, and thewind roared through the scrub, drowning Clen's voice. The icy watersnumbed him and sucked at his body seeking to drag him to his doom. Theheavy pack was dragging him slowly backward, and his hold upon the icewas slipping. Then, and not until then, Clen did what any other manwho possessed the strength, would have done. He worked the knife fromhis belt and cut the straps of his pack sack. In an instant itdisappeared beneath the ice, and with it the location of yourfather's strike. Relieved of the weight upon his shoulders, Clen had afighting chance for his life, but it is doubtful if he would have wonhad it not been that the Indian, missing him at last, returned in thenick of time, and with the aid of a loop of _babiche_, succeeded indrawing him from the water. The rest of the day was spent in dryingClen's clothing beside a miserable fire of brushwood, and the next daythey made Fort McLeod, more dead than alive. "

"Lord" Clendenning had dismounted, deposited his precious basket ofeggs upon the ground, and stood in the doorway as Bethune concludedhis narrative. When the man ceased speaking the Englishman shook hishead sadly. "Yes, yes, it seemed to me then, as I clung to the edge ofthe bloomin' ice, freezin' from my feet up, that my only chance was inbein' rid of the pack. But, I've thought since that maybe if I'd heldon just a few minutes longer, the bloody Injun would have got there intime to save both me an' the pack to boot. "

"There you go again!" exclaimed Bethune, with a trace of impatience inhis voice. "How many times have I told you to quit thisself-accusation. A man who covered fifty miles on horseback, sevenhundred on the train, and then nearly a hundred a-foot, underconditions such as you faced, has nothing to be ashamed of in thefailure of his mission. It is your loss as well as mine, for you alsowere to have profited by the strike. It is possible, however, that allwill be well--that Miss Sinclair has her father's original map, and aduplicate of the photograph, or better yet, the film from which theprint was made. "

Pausing he glanced at the girl significantly, but she was gazing pasthim--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 tospeak of it, to-day. Really, we must be going. If I can be of serviceto you in any way, Miss Sinclair, I am yours to command. We will dropin again, after you have had time to get used to your surroundings, and lay our plans for the rediscovery of the mother lode. " Smiling hepointed 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 isa clever combination of the virtues of several of the standard packs, and an elimination of the evils of all. " He stooped closer. "What'sthis? 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, andleave 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 itin 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 closeto 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 ofRod'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 ofthem. No. The man who cut that pack, was the man who carried itthere----"

"Vil Holland!" exclaimed Lord Clendenning. "My word, d'ye think he'ddare? Yes, Watts told us that he brought in the pack because Sinclairwas 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 thereevidence of their having been tampered with?"

"I'm sure I don't know. If he left any papers or maps or things likethat in there it most certainly has been tampered with, for they arenot there now. "

The man smiled. "I think we are safe in assuming that there were nomaps or papers of value in the outfit. Your father was far too shrewdto have left anything of the sort to the tender mercies of VilHolland. By cutting the pack Vil merely gave evidence of hisunscrupulous methods without in any way profiting by it. And, as forthe map and photographs in your possession, I should advise you tofind some good hiding place for them and not trust to carrying themabout upon your person. " Swiftly Patty glanced at the speaker. Thatlast injunction, somehow, did not ring quite true. But he had turnedto 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 rodeaway. 

CHAPTER VII

IN THE CABIN

For a long time after the departure of her visitors, Patty Sinclairsat thinking. Was it true, all this man had told her? She rememberedvividly the beautiful tribute he had paid her father and the emotionthat had gripped him as he finished. Surely his words rang true. Theywere true, or else the man was a consummate actor as well as anunscrupulous knave. She recalled the boyish smile, the story of LordClendenning's terrible journey, and the impatience with which he hadsilenced the Englishman's self-criticism. What would be more naturalthan that two men thrown together in the middle of the hill country, as her father and Bethune had been thrown together, should have pooledtheir interests, especially if each possessed an essential that theother did not. There had been somehow a sincerity about the man thatcarried conviction. She liked his ready admission that her father'sknowledge of mining greatly exceeded his own. And the assertion thathe had advanced sums of money for the carrying on of the work soundedplausible enough, for the girl knew that her father's income had beensmall--pitiably small, but enough, he had always insisted, for hismeager needs. Unquestionably, up to that point the man's words hadcarried the ring of truth. Then came the false notes; the openaccusation of Vil Holland, and the warning as to the concealment ofthe map and photos which she had twice purposely refused to admit thatshe possessed. This was the second time he had gone out of his way towarn her against Vil Holland. On occasion of their previous meeting, he had hinted that Holland might pose as a friend of her father--apose Bethune, himself, boldly assumed. Perhaps Vil Holland had been afriend of her father. In the matter of the pack sack, to whom would aman intrust his belongings, if not to a friend? Surely not to anenemy, nor to one he had reason to suspect. And now Bethune openlyaccused him of cutting the pack sack, and intimated that he would nothesitate to rob her of her secret. 

For a long time she sat with her elbow on the table and her chinresting in her palm, staring out at the overshadowing hills. "If therewas only somebody, " she muttered. "Somebody I could--" Suddenly sheleaped to her feet. "No, I'm glad there isn't! I'll play the gamealone! I came out here to do it, and I'll do it, in spite of forty VilHollands, and Bethunes, and Lord Clendennings! I'll find the minemyself--and I'll call it a mine, too, if I want to! And then, after Ifind it, if Mr. Monk Bethune can show me that he is entitled to ashare in it, I'll give it to him--and not before. I'll stay right heretill I find it, or till my money gives out, and when it does, I'llearn some more and come back again till that's gone!" Crossing theroom, she stamped determinedly out the door, threw the saddle onto hercayuse, and rode rapidly down the creek. Horseback riding alwaysexhilarated her, even back home where she had been obliged to keep toroads, or the well-worn courses of the hunt club. But here in thehills where the very air was a tonic that sent the blood coursingthrough her veins, and where tier after tier, the mighty mountainsrolled away into the distance, as if flaunting a challenge to come andexplore their secrets, and unscarred valleys gave glimpses of alluringvistas, the exhilaration amounted almost to intoxication. As herhorse's feet thudded the ground, and splashed in and out of theshallows 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'supper pasture, and her eyes rested with approval upon the straightenedposts and taut wire. "At last Mr. Watts has bestirred himself. I hopehe will keep on, now, that he's got the habit, and fix up the rest ofthe ranch. I wonder why that Vil Holland disapproved when he mentionedthat he had leased his pasture. It seems as though nothing can happenin this country unless Vil Holland is mixed up in it someway. And, nowI'm down this far, I'll just find out whether Vil Holland did takethat pack down here for daddy. And if he did I'll let him know mightyquick, the next time I see him, that I know all about it's being cutopen. "

With her tubs on a bench, and the baby propped and tied securely in anold wooden rocker, Ma Watts was up to her elbows in her "week'sworsh. " Watts sat in his accustomed place, his chair tilted againstthe shady side of the house. "Laws sakes, ef hit hain't Mr. Sinclair'sdarter!" cried the woman, shaking the suds from her bare arms, "How beyo', honey? An' how's the sheep camp? Microby Dandeline tellen us howyo'-all scrubbed, an' scraped, an' cleaned 'til hit shined like anigger's heel. Hit's nice to be clean, that-a-way ef yo' got time, butwith five er six young-uns to take keer of, an' a passel of chickensa-runnin' in under foot all day, seems like a body cain't keep cleannohow. Microby says how yo' got a rale curtin' in yo' winder, an' allkinds of pert doin' an' fixin's. That's hit, git right down off yerhorse. 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 likeyo' could say 'Howdy' when anyone comes a visitin'. "

"I aimed to, " mumbled Watts apologetically, as he dragged a chair fromthe kitchen, "I wus jest a-aidgin' 'round fer a chanct. "

"I can't stay but a minute, see, the shadows are already half wayacross the valley. I just thought I'd take a little ride beforesupper. "

"Law, yes, some folks likes to ride hossback, but fer me, I'd a heapruther go in a jolt wagon. Beats all the dif'fence in folks. Seemslike 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 tostart prospecting to-morrow. " She glanced back along the valley, "Isuppose my father came along this way when he left his pack on his wayEast, " she said. 

"No, mom, " Watts rubbed his chin, reflectively. "Hit wus Vil Hollandbrung in his pack. Seems like yo' pa wus in a right smart of a hurrywhen he left, so Vil taken his pack down yere an' me an' the boys puthit in the barn fer to keep hit saft. Then Vil he rud on down thecrick, 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 tillyo' pa come back, an' larruped off. "

Patty rose from the chair and gathered up her bridle reins. "I must begoing, 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. " Shemounted, and turned to Ma Watts: "Can't you come up some day and bringthe children? I'd love to have you. Let's arrange the day now, so Iwill be sure to be home. "

"Lawzie, I'd give a purty! Listen at thet, now, Watts. Cain't we fixto 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 upat the sky, and gave careful scrutiny to the horizon. "How'd Sunday aweek suit yo'--ef hit don't rain?"

"Fine, " agreed the girl, smiling. "And, by the way, I came down pastthe upper pasture. The fence looks grand. It didn't take long to fixit, did it?"

"Well, hit tuk quite a spell--all day yeste'day, an' up 'til noonto-day. We only got one side an' halft another done, an' they's twosides 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 heerdfrom 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, " opinedWatts, 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 runacrost yo' pa in the hills, 'pears like he wus allus alone er elsenVil 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'tlet hit go, 'cause thet hain't the way Vil said, an' Mr. Bethune, hestarted in to git mad, but then he laffed, an' said hit didn't make nodiff'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' Pahe hadn't ort to. Lessen yo' runnin' a still, yo' hain't no call toshoot folks comin' 'round. "

"Shoot him!" exclaimed Patty, staring in surprise at the easy-goingWatts. 

"Yas, he aimed to take thet pack anyways. So I went in an' got downthe ol' rifle-gun an' pintedly tole him I'd shoot him dead ef he laidholt 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 hedto. "

Patty rode home slowly and in silence--thinking. And that evening, bythe light of her coal-oil lamp she puzzled over the roughly sketchedmap with its cryptic signs and notations. There were a half-dozensamples, too--chips of rough, heavy rock that didn't look a bit likegold. "High grade, " her daddy had called them as he babbledincessantly upon his death-bed. But they looked dull and unpromisingto the girl as they lay upon the table. She returned to the sketch. With the exception of a single small dot, placed beside what wasevidently the principal creek of the locality, the map consisted onlyof lines and shadings which evidently indicated creeks andmountains--no cross, no letter, no number--nothing to indicatelandmark or location, only a confusing network of creeks and feedersbranching out like the limbs of a tree. Along the bottom of the paperthe 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 wouldbe to anyone who is used to maps, but as for doing me any good, hemight as well have copied a line from the Chinese dictionary. "

She stared hopelessly at the unintelligible line, and then at the twophotographs. One, taken evidently from a point well up the side of ahill, showed a narrow valley, flanked upon the opposite side by a highrock wall. Toward the upper end of the wall an irregular crack orcleft split it from top to bottom. The other was a "close up" taken atthe very base of the cleft, and showed only the narrow aperture in therock, and the ground at its base. For a long time she sat studying thephotographs, memorizing every feature and line of them; theconformation of the valley, the contour of the rock wall, the positionand 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 littlevalley, of the rock wall, and of the cleft that would mark thelocation. "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 tinycreek, and then the rock cliff, it must be about as high as--abouttwice as tall as the trees that grow along the foot of it, and it'shighest at the upper end, then there's a big tree standing alonealmost in the middle of the valley, and the gnarled, scraggly treesthat grow along the top of the rocks, and the valley must be as wideas from here to that clump of trees beyond my wood-pile--about ablock, I guess. And there's the big crack in the cliff that startsstraight, " she traced the course of the crack with her finger upon thetable top, "and then zigzags to the ground. " Her glance returned tothe 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, andthen--" The little clock on the shelf beside the mirror ticked loudly. Her thoughts strayed far beyond the confines of the little cabin onMonte's Creek, as she planned how she would spend the golden streamthat was to flow from the foot of the rock ledge. 

Gradually her vision became confused, the incessant ticking of thelittle clock sounded farther, and farther away, her head settled torest upon her folded arms, and she was in the midst of a struggle ofsome kind, in which a belted cowboy and a suave, sloe-eyedquarter-breed were fighting to gain possession of her mine--or, werethey trying to help her locate it? And what was it daddy was trying totell her? She couldn't quite hear. She wished he would talklouder--but it was something about the mine, and the men who werestruggling. .. . She awoke with a start, and glanced swiftly about thecabin. The roots of her hair along the back of her neck tingleduncomfortably. She felt she was not alone--that somewhere eyes werewatching her. The chintz curtain that screened the open window swayedlightly in the night breeze and she jumped nervously. "I'm a perfectfool!" she exclaimed, aloud: "As if any 'Jack the Peeper' would beprowling around these mountains! It's just nerves, that's all it is. "

Slipping the map and the photographs beneath a plate, she crossed tothe door and made sure the bar was in place, took the white buttedrevolver from its holster, and with a determined tightening of thelips, stepped to the window, drew the curtain aside, and stood peeringout into the dark. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock, andthe purling of the water as it rushed among the stones of the shallowford. Overhead the stars winked brightly, in sharp contrast to thevelvet blackness of the pines. The sound of the water soothed her, andshe laughed--a forced little laugh, but it made her feel better. Crossing to the table she blew out the lamp and, placing her revolverat the head of her bunk, undressed in the darkness. She raised theplate, took the map and the two precious photographs, placed them intheir envelope, and slipped the chain about her neck. 

For a long time she lay between her blankets, wide awake, consciousthat she was straining her ears to catch some faint sound. A halfdozen times she caught herself listening with nerves on edge andmuscles taut, and each time forced herself to relax. But always shecame back to that horrible, tense listening. She charged herself withcowardice, and pooh-poohed her fears, but it was no use, and she woundup 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 Ikeep these, " her hand clutched the little oiled packet, "he'll have tocome again, that's all. "

It was nearly an hour later that Monk Bethune quitted his post closeagainst the cabin wall, at the point where the chinking had fallenaway from the logs, and slipped silently into the timber. 

CHAPTER VIII

PROSPECTING

The gray of early morning was just beginning to render objects in thelittle room indistinguishable when Patty awoke. She made a hastytoilet, lighted the fire, and while the water was heating for hercoffee, delved into the pack sack and drew out a gray flannel shirtwhich she viewed critically from every conceivable angle. She tried iton, turning this way and that, before the mirror. "Daddy wasn't somuch 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 willbe better than that riding jacket. It will look less citified, andmore--more prospecty. " A few moments sufficed for the alteration andas the girl stood before the mirror and carefully knotted herbrilliant scarf, she nodded emphatic approval. 

Breakfast over, she washed her dishes and as she put them on theirshelf her glance rested upon the bits of broken rock fragments. Instantly, her thoughts flew to the night before, and the feeling thatsomeone had been watching her. Rapidly her glance flashed about thecabin searching a place to hide them. "They're too heavy to carry, "she murmured. "And, yet, " her eyes continued their search, lingeringfor a moment upon some nook or corner only to flit to another, andanother, "every place I can think of seems as though it would be thevery first place anyone would look. " Her eyes fell upon the emptytomato can that she had forgotten to throw into the coulee after lastnight's supper. She placed the samples in the can. "I might put itwith the others in the cupboard, but if anybody looked there theywould be sure to see that it had been opened. Where do people hidethings? I might go out and dig a hole and bury it, but if anyone werewatching--" Suddenly her eyes lighted: "The very thing, " she cried:"Nobody would think of looking among those old bottles and cars. " Andplacing the can in the pan of dish-water, she carried it out and threwit onto the pile of rubbish in the coulee. Returning to the cabin, sheput on her father's Stetson, slipped his revolver into its holster, and buckling the belt about her waist, gave one last approving glanceinto the mirror, closed the door behind her, and saddled her horse. With the bridle reins in her hand she stood irresolute. In whichdirection should she start? Obviously, if she must search the wholecountry, she should begin somewhere and work systematically. She feltin the pocket of her skirt and reassured herself that the compass shehad taken from the pack sack was there. Her eyes swept the valley andcame to rest upon a deep notch in the hills that flanked it upon thewest. A coulee sloped upward to the notch, and mounting, the girlcrossed the creek and headed for the gap. It was slow and laboriouswork, picking her way among the loose rocks and fallen trees of thedeep ravine that narrowed and grew steeper as she advanced. Looserocks, disturbed by her horse's feet, clattered noisily behind her, and marks here and there in the soil told her that she was not thefirst to pass that way. "I wonder who it was?" she speculated. "EitherMonk Bethune, or Vil Holland, or Lord Clendenning, I suppose. They allseem to be forever riding back and forth through the hills. " At lastshe gained the summit, and pulled up to enjoy the view. Judging bythe trampled buffalo grass that capped the divide, the rider whopreceded her had also stopped. She glanced backward, and there, showing above the tops of the trees that covered the slope, stood herown cabin, looking tiny and far away, but with its every detailstanding out with startling clearness. She could even see the axstanding where she had left it beside the door, and the box she hadplaced at the end of the log wall to take the place of the cupboard asa home for the pack rats. "Whoever it was could certainly keep trackof my movements from here without the least risk of being discovered, "she thought, "and if he had field glasses!" She blushed, and turnedher eyes to survey the endless succession of peaks and passes andvalleys that lay spread out over the sea of hills. "How in the worldam I ever going to find one tiny little valley among all these?" shewondered. Her heart sank at the vastness of it all, and at her ownhelplessness, and the utter hopelessness of her stupendous task. "Oh, I can never, never do it, " she faltered, "--never. " And, instantlyashamed of herself, clenched her small, gloved fist. "I will do it! Mydaddy 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 foundit. I'd find it if there were twice as many hills and valleys. It maytake me years--and I may find it to-day--just think! This very day Imay ride into that little valley--or to-morrow, or the next day. Itcan't be far away. Mrs. Watts said daddy was always to be found withinten miles of the ranch. "

She headed her horse down the opposite slope that slanted at a mucheasier gradient than the one she had just ascended. The trees on thisside of the divide were larger and the hillside gradually flattenedinto a broad, tilted plateau. She gave her horse his head and breatheddeeply of the pine-laden air as the animal swung in beside a tinycreek that flowed smooth and black through the dusky silence of thepines whose interlacing branches, high above, admitted the sunlight inirregular splashes of gold. There was little under-brush and the horsefollowed easily along the creek, where here and there, in the softersoil of damp places, the girl could see the hoof marks of the riderwho had crossed the divide. "I wonder whether it was he who watched melast night? There was someone, I could feel it. "

The creek sheered sharply around an out-cropping shoulder of rock, andthe next instant Patty pulled up short, and sat staring at a littlewhite tent that nestled close against the side of the huge monolithwhich stood at the edge of a broad, grassed opening in the woods. Theflaps were thrown wide and the walls caught up to allow free passageof air. Blankets that had evidently covered a pile of boughs in onecorner, were thrown over the ridgepole from which hung a black leatherbinocular case, and several canvas bags formed an orderly row alongone side. A kettle hung suspended over a small fire in front of thetent, and a row of blackened cooking utensils hung from a wooden barsuspended between two crotched stakes. Out in the clearing, a man wasbridling a tall buckskin horse. The man was Vil Holland. Curbing adesire to retreat unobserved into the timber, the girl advanced boldlyacross the creek and pulled up beside the fire. At the sound the manwhirled, and Patty noticed that a lean, brown hand dropped swiftly tothe 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 thereins, advanced hat in hand, leading the horse. "I beg your pardon, "he said, gravely, "I didn't know who it was, when your horse splashedthrough the creek. "

"You have enemies in the hills? Those you would shoot, or who wouldshoot you?"

He dropped the bridle reins, allowing them to trail on the ground. "Ifsome kinds of folks wasn't a man's enemy he wouldn't be fit to haveany friends, " he said, simply. "And here in the hills it's just aswell to be forehanded with your gun. Won't you climb down? I supposeyou'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 thereins are hangin'. It's the way they're broke--'tyin' 'em to theground, ' we call it. " He glanced at her horse's feet, and pointed to aplace beneath the fetlock from which the hair had been rubbed: "Ropeburnt, " he opined. "You oughtn't to put him out on a picket rope. Usehobbles. 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 heavystraps fastened together by a bit of chain and a swivel. "These arehobbles, they work like this. " He stooped and fastened the strapsabout the forelegs of the horse just above the fetlock. "He can getaround all right, but he can't get far, and there is no rope to snaghim. "

Patty nodded. "Thank you, " she said. "I'll try it. But how do you knowthere are hobbles in dad's pack?"

"Where would they be? He had a couple of pair. All his stuff is inthere. 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 bythe trail, so he left his outfit here and struck straight through thehills. "

"Why was he in a hurry?"

The man placed the dishes in a pan and poured water over them. "I'vegot 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'sabout the size of it. "

His attitude angered the girl. "And I have heard he was not the onlyone in the hills that was in a hurry that day, and I suppose I canhave my 'good guess' at that, and I can have my 'good guess' as to whocut 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 ather 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 theholster'll carry on yer right side--or else leave it to home. "

The coldly impersonal tone angered the girl. "Much better leave ithome, " 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 withme, or keep them hidden in a safe place. "

"You carry 'em on you!" commanded the man, gruffly. "It's a good dealsafer'n _cachin_' 'em. " He laid his dishes aside, poured the waterfrom the pan, wiped it, hung it in its place, and picking up hissaddle 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 alone hand?"

"You knew he made a strike?"

"That's what folks think. But I suppose he told Monk Bethune all aboutit. "

The thinly veiled sneer goaded the girl to anger. "Yes, he did, " sheanswered, 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 madehis strike, Mr. Bethune happened to be away up in British Columbia, and daddy told Lord Clendenning that he had made his strike, and hedrew 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 filetill 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 ariver. 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 thecowpuncher, but his back was toward her, and he was busy with hiscinch. "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. Hollandwas deliberately strapping the brown leather jug to his saddle horn, and gathering up her reins, she mounted. "At least, Mr. Bethune is agentleman, " she emphasized the word nastily. 

"An' they can't hang him for that, anyway, " he flung back, and swunglightly 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 kindof half believe Monk about the partnership. But you don't believe Icut 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 rememberwhat 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 aglance behind him, headed his horse down the little creek. 

The girl watched him for a moment with angry eyes, and then, urgingher horse forward, crossed the plateau at a gallop, and headed up thevalley. "Of all the--the _boors_! He certainly is the limit. And theworst of it is I don't know whether he deliberately tries to insultme, or whether it's just ignorance. Anyway, I wouldn't trust him asfar as I could see him. And I do believe he cut daddy's pack sack, sothere!" The heavy revolver dangling at her side attracted herattention, and she pulled up her horse and changed it to the oppositeside. "I suppose I did look like a fool, " she admitted, "but heneedn't have told me so. And I bet I know as much about a compass ashe does, anyway. And I'll tie my horse up with a rope if I want to. "

Beyond the plateau, the valley narrowed rapidly, and innumerableravines and coulees led steeply upward to lose themselves among thetimbered slopes of the mountain sides. Crossing a low divide at thehead of the valley, she reined in her horse and gazed with thumpingheart into the new valley that lay before her. There, scarcely a mileaway, stretched a rock ledge--and, yes, there were scraggly treesfringing its rim, and the valley was strewn with rock fragments! Hervalley! The valley of the photographs! She laughed aloud, and urgedher horse down the steep descent, heedless of the fact that upon theprecarious, loose rock footing of the slope, a misstep would meanalmost certain destruction. 

Directly opposite the face of the rock wall she pulled her horse to astand. "Surely, this must be the place, but--where is the crack? Itshould be about there. " Her eyes searched the face of the cliff forthe zigzag crevice. "Maybe I'm too close to it, " she muttered. "Thepicture was taken from a hillside across the valley. That must be thehill--the one with the bare patch half way up. That's right where hemust have stood when he took the photograph. " The hillside roseabruptly, and abandoning her horse, the girl climbed the steep ascent, pausing at frequent intervals for breath. At last, she stood upon thebare shoulder of the hill and gazed out across the valley, and as shegazed, her heart sank. "It isn't the place, " she muttered. "There isno big tree, and the rock cliff isn't a bit like the one in thepicture--and I thought I had found it sure! I wonder how many of thoserock walls there are in the hills? And will I ever find the rightone?"

Once more in the saddle, she crossed another divide and scannedanother rock wall, and farther down, another. "I believe every singlevalley in these hills has its own rock ledge, and some of them threeor four!" she cried disgustedly, as she seated herself beside a tinyspring that trickled from beneath a huge rock, and proceeded to devourher lunch. "I had no idea how hungry I could get, " she stared ruefullyat the paper that had held her two sandwiches. "Next time I'll bringabout six. "

Producing her compass, she leveled a place among the stones. "Let'ssee if I can point to the north without its help. " She glanced at thesun and carefully scanned the tumultuous skyline. "It is there, " sheindicated a gap between two peaks, and glanced at the compass. "I knewI wouldn't get turned around, " she said, proudly. "I didn't miss itbut just a mite--anyway it's near enough for all practical purposes. If that's north, " she speculated, "then I must have started east andthen turned south, and then west, and then south again, and my cabinmust be almost due north of me now. " She returned the compass to herpocket. "I'll explore a little farther and then work toward home. "

Mounting, she turned northward, and emerging abruptly from a clump oftrees, caught a glimpse of swift motion a quarter of a mile away, where her trail had dipped into the valley, as a horse and riderdisappeared like a flash into the timber. "He's following me!" shecried angrily, "sneaking along my trail like a coyote! I'll tell himjust what I think of him and his cowardly spying. " Urging her horseinto a run, she reached the spot to find it deserted, although itseemed incredible that anyone could have negotiated the divideunnoticed in that brief space of time. "I saw him plain as day, " shemurmured, as she turned her horse toward the opposite side of thevalley. "I couldn't tell for sure that it was he--I didn't even seethe color of the horse--but who else could it be? He knew I startedout this way, and he knew that I carried the map and photos, and washunting 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 cango that he will not follow. Even in my own cabin, I'll always feelthat eyes are watching me. And when I do find the mine, he'll know itas 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 themine, Mr. Vil Holland is going to have the race of his life!"

Another parallel valley, and another, she explored before turning herhorse's head toward the high divide that she had reasoned separatedher from Monte's Creek at a point well above her cabin. Comparativelylow ridges divided these valleys, and as she topped each ridge, thegirl swerved sharply into the timber and, concealing herself, intentlywatched the back trail--a maneuver that caused the solitary horsemanwho watched from a safe distance, to chuckle audibly as he carefullywiped the lenses of his binoculars. 

The sunlight played only upon the higher peaks when at last, weary anddispirited, she negotiated the steep descent to Monte's Creek at apoint a mile above the sheep camp. "If he'd only photographedsomething besides a rock wall, " she muttered, petulantly, "I'd standsome show of finding it. " At the door of the cabin she slipped fromher saddle, and pausing with her hand on the coiled rope, dropped hereyes to the rubbed place below her horse's fetlock. A moment later sheknelt 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 thecold water. Entering the cabin, she lighted the lamp and stared abouther. Her glance traveled one by one over the objects of the littleroom. Everything was apparently as she had left it--yet--anuncomfortable, creepy sensation stole over her. She knew that the roomhad been searched. 

CHAPTER IX

PATTY TAKES PRECAUTIONS

During the next few days Patty Sinclair paid scant attention to rockledges. Each morning she saddled her cayuse and rode into the hills tothe southward, crossing divides and following creeks and valleys fromtheir sources down their winding, twisting lengths. After the firsttwo or three trips she left her gun at home. It was heavy andcumbersome, and she realized, in her unskilled hand, useless. Alwaysshe felt that she was being followed, but, try as she would, nevercould catch so much as a fleeting glimpse of the rider who lurked onher trail. Nevertheless, during these long rides which she made forthe sole purpose of familiarizing herself with all the short cutsthrough the hills, she derived satisfaction from the fact that, whilethe trips were of immense value to her, Vil Holland was having histrouble for his pains. 

Ascertaining at length that, after crossing the high divide at thehead of Monte's Creek, any valley leading southward would prove adirect outlet onto the bench and thereby furnish a short cut to town, she returned once more to her prospecting--to the exploration oflittle valleys, and the examination of innumerable rock ledges. 

Accepting as part of the game the fact that her cabin was searchedalmost daily during her absence she derived grim enjoyment incontemplation of the searcher's repeated disappointment. Severalattempts to surprise the marauder at his work proved futile, and shewas forced to admit that in the matter of shrewdness and persistence, his ability exceeded her own. "The real test will come when I locatethe mine, " she told herself one evening, as she sat alone in herlittle cabin. "Then the prize will go to the fastest horse. " She drewa small folding check-book from her pocket and frowningly regarded itslatest stub. "A thousand dollars isn't very much, and--it's halfgone. "

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 outupon the bench, and waited for the rancher, who drove up beside a hugestack 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. Withoutanswering, he called to the man: "Take the lady's horse along an' givehim a feed. "

"It's noon, " he explained, turning to the girl. "You'll stay ferdinner. " He pointed toward the house. "You'll find Miz T. In thekitchen. If you want to wash up, she'll show you. "

The ranch hand was leading her horse toward the barn. "But, " objectedPatty, "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. Wealways 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. Sheliked him from the first. There was a ponderous heartiness about him, and she liked the way his little brown eyes sparkled from out theirnetwork of sun-browned wrinkles. "You trot along in, now, an' tell MizT. She can begin dishin' up whenever she likes. We'll be 'longd'rectly. They'll be plenty time to talk horse after we've et. My workteams earns a good hour of noonin', an' I don't begrudge 'em an houran' a half, hot days. "

Patty found Mrs. Thompson slight and quiet as her husband was big andhearty. But her smile was as engaging as his, and an indefinablesomething about her made the girl feel at home the moment she crossedthe threshold. "I came to see Mr. Thompson about a horse, and heinsisted 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 beforeThompson an' the hands comes, they always slosh everything allup--they don't wash, they waller. "

"Mr. Thompson said to tell you you could begin to dish up wheneveryou're ready. "

The woman smiled. "Yes, an' have everythin' set an' git cold, whilethey 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 'tilyou see him comin'. Seems like no matter how hungry they be, if they'ssome little odd job they can find to do just when you get the grub seton, they pick that time to do it. 'Specially if it's somethin' thatdon't 'mount to anythin', an' like's not's b'en layin' 'round in plainsight a week. "

Patty laughingly admitted she was not married. "But, I'd teach 'em alesson, " 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 thedoor: "Here they come now, " she said, and proceeded to carry heapingvegetable dishes and a steaming platter of savory boiled meat from thestove to the table. There was a prodigious splashing outside the doorand a moment later Thompson appeared, followed by his two ranch hands, hair wet and shining, plastered tightly to their scalps, and facesaglow from vigorous scrubbing. "You mind Mr. Sinclair, that used toprospect in the hills, " introduced Mrs. Thompson; "this is hisdaughter. "

Her husband bowed awkwardly: "Glad to know you. We know'd yerpaw--used to stop now an' again on his way to town. He was a smartman. Liked to talk to him. He'd be'n all over. " The man turned hisattention to his plate and the meal proceeded in solemn silence to itsconclusion. The two ranch hands arose and disappeared through thedoor, and tilting back in his chair Thompson produced a match from hispocket, and proceeded to whittle it into a toothpick. "I heard in townhow you was out in the hills, " he began. "They said yer paw went backEast--" he paused as if uncertain how to proceed. 

Patty nodded: "Yes, he went back home, and this spring he died. Hetold me he had made a strike and I came out here to locate it. "

The kindly brown eyes regarded her intently: "Ever do anyprospectin'?"

"No. This is my first experience. "

"I never, either. But, if I was you I'd kind of have an eye on myneighbors. "

"You mean--the Wattses?" asked the girl in surprise. 

The brown eyes were twinkling again: "No, Watts, he's all right! Onlytrouble with Watts is he sets an' herds the sun all day. But, they'sothers besides Watts in the hills. "

"Yes, " answered the girl, quickly, "I know. And that is the reason Icame 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 Iwant to crowd him. But, I need another just as good and as fast as heis. 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, " shesaid. "How much is he worth?"

Thompson considered: "A horse ain't like a cow-brute. There ain't noregular market price. Horses is worth just as much as you can getfolks to pay fer 'em. But it looks like one horse ort to be enough toprospect 'round the hills on. "

"It isn't that, " explained the girl. "If I buy him I shall try toarrange with you to leave him right here where I can get him at amoment's notice. I shall probably never need him but once, but when Ido, I shall need him badly. " She paused, but without comment the manwaited for her to proceed: "I believe I am being followed, and if Iam, when I locate the claim, I am going to have to race for theregister's office. "

Thompson leaned forward upon the table and chewed his toothpickrapidly: "By Gosh, an' you want to have a fresh horse here for achange!" 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 outthere in the corral that'll run rings around anythin' in this countryunless it's that there buckskin of Vil Holland's--an' I guess youain't goin' to have no call to race him. "

Patty was on the point of exclaiming that the buckskin was the veryhorse she would have to race, but instead she smiled: "But, if yourhorse started fresh from here, and even Vil Holland's horse had runclear from the mountains, this one could beat him to town, couldn'the?"

"Could do it on three legs, " laughed the man. 

"How much do you ask for him?" The girl waited breathless, thinking ofher 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 horsehandy, a-waitin' fer word from the hills--an' when it comes, they'sgoin' to be the biggest horse-thief round-up the hill country everseen. An' unless I miss my guess they'll be some that's carried theirnose 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 isbad 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, ifit come to hangin', Thompson would be the one to try an' talk 'em outof it. Why, he won't even brand his own colts an' calves--makes thehands 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, " persistedthe 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 alwayshere--right in the corral when he ain't in the stable, an' eitherplace, 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 needhim. An' if they's anything else I can do to help you beat out anyornery cuss that'd try an' hornswaggle you out of yer claim, you cancount on me doin' it! An' whether you know it 'er not, I ain't theonly one you can count on in a pinch neither. " The man waved herthanks aside with a sweep of a big hand, and rose from the table. "MizT. An' me'd like fer you to stop in whenever you feel like----"

"Yes, indeed, we would, " seconded the little woman. "Couldn't you comeover an' bring yer sewin' some day?"

Patty laughed: "I'm afraid I haven't much sewing to bring, but I'llcome 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 sometime. "Now let him follow me all he wants to, " she muttered. "But Iwonder why Mr. Thompson said I wouldn't have to race the buckskin. Andwho did he mean I could count on in a pinch--Watts, I guess, or maybehe meant Mr. Bethune. "

As she saddled her horse next morning, Bethune presented himself atthe cabin. "Where away?" he smiled as he rode close, and swunglightly 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, MissSinclair, 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 willhappen--a misstep on a dangerous trail--a broken cinch--any one of ahundred things may happen in the wilds that mean death or seriousinjury, even to the initiated. And the danger is tenfold in the caseof 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 downby a street car or an automobile. And I can't be blown up by a gasexplosion, or fall into a coal hole. "

"But there are other dangers, " persisted the man. "A woman, alone inthe hills--especially you. "

"Why 'especially me'? Plenty of women have lived alone before inplaces more dangerous than this, and have gotten along very well, too. You men are conceited. You think there can be no possible safetyunless members of your own sex are at the helm of every undertaking orenterprise. But you are wrong. "

Bethune shook his head: "But I have reason to believe that there is atleast one person in these hills who believes you possess the secret ofyour father's strike--and who would stop at nothing to obtain thatsecret. "

"I suppose you mean Vil Holland. I agree that he does seem to takemore than a passing interest in my comings and goings. But he doesn'tseem 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 comingsand goings?" The question seemed a bit eager. "Surely he has not beenfollowing you!"

"Hasn't he? Then possibly you can tell me who has?"

"The scoundrel! And when you discover the lode he'll wait 'til youhave set your stakes and posted your notice, and have gotten out ofsight, and then he'll drive in his own stakes, stick up his own noticebeside them and beat you to the register. "

Patty laughed: "Race me, you mean. He won't beat me. Remember, I shallhave at least a half-hour's start. "

"A half-hour!" exclaimed Bethune. "And what is a half-hour in afifty-mile race against that buckskin. Why, my dear girl, with all duerespect for that horse of yours, Vil Holland's horse could give youtwo 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. Notthat alone, " he hastened to add. "For I would ride far any day tospend a few moments with so charming a lady--and indeed, I should nothave delayed my visit this long but for some urgent business to thenorthward. 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 feltirresistibly impelled to take this man into her confidence--to enlisthis help in the working out of her unintelligible map, and to admithim to full partnership in her undertaking. There would be enough forboth if they succeeded in uncovering the lode. Her father hadintended that he should share in his mine. She recalled his eulogy ofher father, and his frank admission that there had been no agreementof partnership. If anyone ever had the appearance of perfect sincerityand candor this man had. She remembered her seriously depleted bankaccount. Bethune had money, and in case the search should provelong--Suddenly the words of Vil Holland flashed into her brain withstartling abruptness: "Remember yer dad knew enough to play a lonehand. " And again. "Did yer dad tell you about this partnership?" Andthe significant emphasis he placed upon the "Oh, " when she hadanswered in the negative. 

Bethune evidently had taken her silence for assent. He was speakingagain: "The first thing to do is to find the starting point on the mapand work it out step by step, then when we locate the lode, you andClen and I will file the first three claims, and we'll file all theWattses on the adjoining claims. That will give us absolute control ofa big block of what is probably a most valuable property. "

Again Bethune had referred directly to the map which she had neveradmitted she possessed. He had not said, "If you have a map. " Theman's assumption angered her: "You still persist in assuming that Ihave a map, " she answered. "As a matter of fact, I'm dependingentirely upon a photograph. I am riding blindly through the hillstrying to find the spot that tallies with the picture. "

Bethune frowned and shook his head doubtfully: "You might ride thehills for years, and pass the spot a dozen times and never recognizeit. If you do not happen to strike the exact view-point you mighteasily fail to recognize it. Then, too, the landscape changes with theseasons of the year. However, " his face brightened and the smilereturned to his lips; "we have at least something to go on. We are notabsolutely in the dark. Who knows? If the goddess of luck sits uponour shoulders, I myself may know the place well--may recognize itinstantly! For years I have ridden these hills and I flatter myselfthat no one knows their hidden nooks and byways better than I. Even ifI should not know the exact spot, it may be that I can tell by thegeneral features its approximate locality, and thus limit our searchto a comparatively small area. "

Patty knew that her refusal to show the photograph could not fail toplace her in an unfavorable position. Either she would appear todistrust this man whom she had no reason to distrust, or her actionwould be attributed to a selfish intention to keep the secret toherself, even though she knew she could only file one claim. The man'sargument had been entirely reasonable--in fact, it seemed the sensiblething to do. Nevertheless, she did refuse, and refuse flatly: "Ithink, Mr. Bethune, that I would rather play a lone hand. You see, Istarted in on this thing alone, and I want to see it through--for thepresent, at least. After a while, if I find that I cannot succeedalone, I shall be glad of your assistance. I suppose you think me afool, but it's a matter of pride, I guess. "

Was it fancy, or did the black eyes flash a gleam of hate--a glitterof rage beneath their long up-curving lashes? And did the swarthy faceflush a shade darker beneath its tan? Patty could not be sure, for thenext moment he was speaking in a voice under perfect control: "I canwell understand your feeling in the matter, Miss Sinclair, and I havenothing of reproach. I do think you are making a mistake. With VilHolland knowing what he does of your father's operations, time may bea vital factor in the success of your undertaking. Let me caution youagain against carrying the photograph upon your person. "

"Oh, I keep that safely hidden where no one would ever think ofsearching for it, " smiled the girl, and Bethune noted that her eyesinvoluntarily 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 carryon some prospecting upon my own account. If I can be of any assistanceto you--if you should need any advice, or help of any kind, a wordwill 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 acottonwood thicket he dismounted and watched the girl ride away in theopposite direction, noted that Lord Clendenning swung stealthily, intothe trail behind her, and swinging into his saddle rode swiftly towardthe cabin. 

In his high notch in the hills, Vil Holland chuckled audibly, andcatching up his horse, headed for his camp. 

CHAPTER X

THE BISHOP OF ALL OUTDOORS

The days slipped into weeks, as Patty Sinclair, carefully andmethodically traced valleys to their sources, and explored innumerablecoulees and ravines that twisted and turned their tortuous lengthsinto the very heart of the hills. Rock ledges without number shescanned, many with deep cracks and fissures, and many without them. But not once did she find a ledge that could by any stretch of theimagination be regarded as the ledge of the photograph. Disheartened, but not discouraged, the girl would return each evening to hersolitary cabin, eat her solitary meal, and throw herself upon her bunkto brood over the apparent hopelessness of her enterprise, or to readfrom the thumbed and tattered magazines of the dispossessed sheepherder. She rode, now, with a sort of dogged persistence. There wasnone of the wild thrill that, during the first days of her search, she experienced each time she topped a new divide, or entered a newvalley. 

Three times since she had informed him she would play a lone hand inthe 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 wasthankful to him for that--she had not forgotten the hurt in herfather's eyes as the taunting questions of the scoffers struck home. Always she had known of the hurt, but now, with the disheartening daysof her own failure heaping themselves upon her, she was beginning tounderstand the reason for the hurt. And, guessing this, Bethunerefrained from questioning, but talked gaily of books, and sunsets, and of life, and love, and the joy of living. A supreme optimist, shethought him, despite the half-veiled cynicism that threaded hissomewhat fatalistic view of life, a cynicism that but added thenecessary _sauce piquante_ to so abandoned an optimism. 

Above all, the man was a gentleman. His speech held nothing of theabrupt bluntness of Vil Holland's. He would appear shortly after herearly supper, and was always well upon his way before the latedarkness began to obscure the contours of her little valley. An hour'schat upon the doorstep of the cabin and he was gone--riding down thevalley, singing as he rode some old _chanson_ of his French forebears, with always a pause at the cottonwood grove for a farewell wave of hishat. And Patty would turn from the doorway, and light her lamp, andproceed to enjoy the small present which he never failed to leave inher hand--a box of bon-bons of a kind she had vainly sought for in thelittle town--again, a novel, a woman's novel written by a man whothought he knew--and another time, just a handful of wild flowersgathered in the hills. She ate the candy making it last over severaldays. She read the book from cover to cover as she lay upon her airmattress, tucked snugly between her blankets. And she arranged thewild flowers loosely in a shallow bowl and watered them, and talked tothem, and admired their beauty, and when they were wilted she threwthem out, but she did not gather more flowers to fill the bowl, instead she wiped it dry and returned it to its shelf in thecupboard--and wondered when Bethune would come again. She admitted toherself that he interested--at least, amused her--helped her to throwoff for the moment the spirit of dull depression that had fasteneditself 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 himvanished in the frank boyishness of his personality. The incidentsthat had engendered the distrust--the substitution of the name Schultzfor Schmidt in the matter of the horse pasture, his abrupt warningagainst Vil Holland, and his attempt to be admitted into herconfidence as a matter of right, were for the moment forgotten in thespell of his presence--but always during her lonely rides in thehills, the half-formed doubt returned. Pondering the doubt, sherealized that the principal reason for its continued existence was notso much in the incidents that had awakened it, as in the simplequestion asked by Vil Holland: "You say your dad told you all aboutthis partnership business?" And in the "Oh, " with which he had greetedthe reply that she had it from the lips of Bethune. With therealization, her dislike for Vil Holland increased. She characterizedhim as a "jug-guzzler, " a "swashbuckler, " and a "ruffian"--and smiledas she recalled the picturesque figure with the clean-cut, bronzedface. "Oh, I don't know--I hate these hills! Nobody seems sincereexcepting the Wattses, and they're--impossible!"

She had borrowed Watts's team and made a second trip to town forsupplies, and the check that she drew in payment cut her bank accountin half. As before she had offered to take Microby Dandeline, but thegirl declined to go, giving as an excuse that "pitcher shows wasn't asgood as circusts, an' they wasn't no fights, an' she didn't liketowns, nohow. "

Upon her return from town Patty stopped at the Thompsons' for dinnerwhere she was accorded a royal welcome by the genial rancher and hiswife, and where also, she met the Reverend Len Christie, the mostpicturesque, and the most un-clerical minister of the gospel she hadever seen. To all appearances the man might have been a cowboy. Heaffected chaps of yellow hair, a dark blue flannel shirt, againstwhich flamed a scarf of brilliant crimson caught together by means ofa vivid green scarab. He wore a roll brimmed Stetson, and carried asix-gun at his belt. A pair of high-heeled boots added a couple ofinches to the six feet two that nature had provided him with, and heshook hands as though he enjoyed shaking hands. "I've heard of you, Miss Sinclair, back in town and have looked forward to meeting you onmy first trip into the hills. How are my friends, the Wattses, thesedays? And that reprobate, Vil Holland?" He did not mention that it wasVil Holland who had spoken of her presence in the hills, nor that thecowboy had also specified that she utterly despised the ground he rodeon. 

To her surprise Patty noticed that there was affection rather thandisapprobation in the word reprobate, and she answered a triflestiffly: "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 toThompson: "By the way, Tom, why isn't Vil riding the round-up thisyear? Has he made his strike?"

Thompson grinned: "Naw, Vil ain't made no strike. Facts is, they'sbe'n some considerable horse liftin' goin' on lately, an' thestockmen's payin' Vil wages fer to keep his eye peeled. He's out inthe hills all the time anyhow with his prospectin', an' they figgerthe thieves won't pay no 'tention to him, like if a stranger was tobegin kihootin' 'round out there. "

"Have they got a line on 'em at all?"

"Well, " considered Thompson. "Not as I know of--exactly. Monk Bethunean' that there Lord Clendennin' is hangin' 'round the hills--that'sabout 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 hisgran'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, whichshould make him doubly dangerous. Well, I must be going. I've got toride clear over onto Big Porcupine. I heard that old man Samuelson'svery sick. There's a good man--old Samuelson. Hope he'll pullthrough. "

"You bet he's a good man!" assented Thompson, warmly. "He seen BillWinters through, when they tried to prove the murder of Jack Bronsononto him, an' it cost him a thousan' dollars. The districk attorneyhad it in fer Bill, count of him courtin' his gal. "

"Yes, and I could tell of a dozen things the old man has done forpeople that nobody but I ever knew about--in some instances even thepeople themselves didn't know. " He turned to Patty: "Good-by, MissSinclair. I'm mighty glad to have met you. I knew your father verywell. If you see the Wattses, tell them I shall try and swing aroundthat way on my return. " The parson mounted a raw-boned, Roman-nosedpinto, whose vivid calico markings, together with the rider'sbrilliant scarf gave a most unministerial, not to say bizarre effectto the outfit. "So long, Tom, " he called. 

"So long, Len! If they's anything we can do, let us know. An' be surean' stop in comin' back. " Thompson watched the man until he vanishedin 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'ssick! Well, he's worth all the doctors an' nurses in the State ofMontany. He'll make you git well just 'cause he wants you to. An' theyain't nothin' too much trouble--an' they ain't no work too hard forhim to tackle. There ain't no piousness stickin' out on him fer folksto hang their hat on, neither. He'll mix with the boys, an' listen tothe natural cussin' an' swearin' that goes on wherever cattle'shandled, an' enjoy it--but just you let some shorthorn start what youmight call vicious or premeditated cussin'--somethin' special wickedor 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 ofteeth. There's one parson can fight, an' the boys know it, an' what'smore they know he _will_ fight--an' they ain't one of 'em thatwouldn't back up his play, neither. An' preach! Why he can tear loosean' make you feel sorry for every mean trick you ever done--not forfear of any punishment after yer dead--but just because it wasn'tplayin' the game. That's him, every time. An' he ain't alwayshollerin' about hell--hearin' him preach you wouldn't hardly know theywas a hell. 'The Bishop of All Outdoors, ' they call him--an' they sayhe 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 hegets 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 trailPatty's brain revolved wearily about its problem. "I've made almost acomplete circle of the cabin, and I haven't found the rock ledge withthe 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 andfarther into the hills on my rides. Mr. Bethune said I might notrecognize the place when I come to it!" she laughed bitterly. "If heknew how that photograph has burned itself into my brain! I can closemy eyes and see that rock wall with its peculiar crack, and therock-strewn valley, and the lone tree--_recognize_ it! I would know itin 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 Ican earn some more money. The prices out here are outrageous. It's thefreight, the man told me. Five cents' freight on a penny's worth offood! But what in the world can I do to make money? What can anybodydo 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_!" Resentmentagainst her accident of birth cooled, and her mind again took up itsburden of thought. "There is one way, " she muttered. "And that is toadmit failure and take Mr. Bethune into partnership. He will advancethe money and help with the work--and, surely there will be enough fortwo. And, I'm not so sure but that--" She broke off shortly and feltthe hot blood rise in a furious blush, as she glanced guiltily abouther--but in all the vast stretch of plain was no human being, and shelaughed aloud at the antics of the prairie dogs that scolded andbarked saucily and then dove precipitously into their holes as a leancoyote trotted diagonally through their "town. "

What was it they had said at Thompson's about Mr. Bethune? Despiteherself she had approved the outlandishly dressed preacher with thesmiling blue eyes. He was so big, and so wholesome! "The Bishop of AllOutdoors, " Thompson had called him. She liked that--and somehow thename seemed to fit. Looking into those eyes no one could doubt hissincerity--his every word, his every motion spoke unbounded enthusiasmfor his work. What was it he had said? "Do you know, Tom, I believethere's a bad Injun. " And Thompson had referred to Bethune as "apretty slick article. " Surely, Thompson, whole-souled, generousThompson, would not malign a man. Here were two men whom the girl knewinstinctively she could trust, who stood four-square with the world, and whose opinions must carry weight. And both had spoken withsuspicion of Bethune and both had spoken of Vil Holland as one ofthemselves. "I don't understand it, " she muttered. "Everybody seems tobe against Mr. Bethune, and everybody seems to like Vil Holland, inspite of his jug, and his gun, and his boorishness. Maybe it's becauseMr. Bethune's a--a breed, " she speculated. "Why, they even hinted thathe's a--a horse-thief. It isn't fair to despise him for his Indianblood. Why should he be made to suffer because his grandmother was anIndian--the daughter of a Cree chief? It sounds interesting andromantic. The people of some of our very best families point withpride to the fact that they are descendants of Pocahontas! Poorfellow, everybody seems down on him--everybody that is, but Ma Wattsand Microby. And, as a matter of fact, he appears to better advantagethan 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 shestarted. She was no nearer the solution of her problem of the hills. And her lurking doubt of Bethune still remained despite the excusesshe invented to account for his unpopularity, nor had her opinion ofVil Holland been altered in the least. 

Upon arriving at her cabin she was not at all surprised to find thatit had been thoroughly searched, albeit with less care than thesearcher had been in the habit of bestowing upon the readjustment ofthe various objects of the room exactly as she had left them. Cannedgoods and dishes were disarranged upon their shelves, and the loosesection of floor board beneath her bunk that had evidently served asthe secret _cache_ of the sheep herder, had been fitted clumsily intoits place. The evident boldness, or carelessness of this latestoutrage angered her as no previous search had done. Heretofore eachobject had been returned to its place with painstaking accuracy sothat it had been only through the use of fine-spun cobwebs andcarefully arranged bits of dust that she had been able to verify hersuspicion that the room had really been searched--and there had beentimes when even the dust and the cobwebs had been replaced. Whoeverhad 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, hadceased to care whether or not she knew of his visits? The girlrecalled the three weary days she had spent watching from thehillside. And how she had decided to buy a lock for her door, untilthe futility of it had been brought home to her by the discovery thather trunks were being searched along with her other belongings, andtheir locks left in perfect condition. So far, he might well scorn herpuny attempts at discovery. Or, had a new factor entered the game? Hadsomeone of cruder mold undertaken to discover her secret? The thoughtgave her a decided uneasiness. Tired out by her trip, she did notlight the fire, and after disposing of the cold lunch Mrs. Thompsonhad put up for her, affixed the bar, and went to bed, with her six-gunwithin reach of her hand. 

For a long time she lay in the darkness, thinking. "The way it wasbefore, I haven't been in any physical danger. Mr. Vil Holland knowsthat if what he is searching for is not here I must carry it on myperson. The obvious way to get it would be to take it away from me. Ofcourse the only way he could do that without my seeing him would be tokill me. He hesitates at murder. Either there are depths of moralturpitude into which he will not descend--or, he fears theconsequences. He has imagination. He assumes that sometime I'll leavethat packet at home--either through carelessness, or because I havelearned its contents by heart and don't need it. In the meantime, inaddition to his patient searching of the cabin, he is taking nochances, and while he waits for the inevitable to happen he isfollowing me so if I do succeed in locating the claim, he can beat meto the register. It's a pretty game--no violence--only patience andbrains. But this other, " she shuddered, "there is something positivelybrutal in the crude awkwardness of his work. If he thinks I carry whathe wants with me, would he hesitate at murder? I guess I'll have tocarry that gun again--and I better practice with it, too. If I canonly get rid of this last one, I believe I've got a scheme forcatching the other!" She sat bolt upright in bed. "Oh, if I onlycould! 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 uponher 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 cookstove. Instead of the "cold fire" of neatly arranged wood andkindlings that she had built before leaving for town a pile of grayashes and blackened ends of charcoal greeted her. 

"Whoever it was knew he had plenty of time at his disposal so hehelped himself to a meal, " she muttered angrily. "He might, at least, have cut me some kindlings. I'm surprised that he had the good graceto wash up his dirty dishes. " A few moments later, as the firecrackled merrily in the stove, she picked up the water pail andstepping through the door, threw back her head and breathed deeply ofthe crisp mountain air. "Oh, it's wonderful just to be alive!" shewhispered. "Even if everybody is against you. It's just like a greatbig 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 ata mark in the mud at the edge of the tiny rill formed by the overflowfrom the catch basin. She leaned over and examined the mark moreclosely. It was the track of a bare foot. Then, for the first time inmany days, the girl threw back her head and laughed. "MicrobyDandeline!" she cried. "And I was picturing some skulking murdererlying in wait to pounce on me at the first opportunity. And here itwas only poor little Microby who happened along, and with her naturalcuriosity pawed over everything in the cabin, and then decided itwould be a grand stunt to cook herself a meal and eat it at mytable--and I haven't the least doubt that she arrayed herself in oneof my dresses when she did it. " Patty hummed a light tune as, waterpail in hand, she made her way up the path to the cabin. "Whee! butit's a relief to feel that I won't have to ride these hills peeringbehind every tree and rock for a lurking assassin. And I won't have tocarry that horrid heavy old gun, either. "

After breakfast she saddled her horse and headed up the ravine thatshe had followed upon the morning of her first ride. At the top of thedivide she pulled up her horse and gazed downward at the little cabin. As before she was impressed by the startling distinctness with whicheach object was visible. "Anyway, I'm glad my window is not on thisside, " she muttered, as her eyes strayed to the ground at her horse'sfeet. For yards around, the buffalo grass had been trampled and paweduntil scarcely a spear remained. "Here's where he watches me start outeach morning, then he follows me until he's sure I'm well away fromthe valley, then he slips back and searches the cabin, and then takesup my trail again. The miserable sneak!" she cried, angrily. "If Mr. Thompson, and Watts, and that cowboy preacher knew what I knew abouthim, they wouldn't seem so impressed with him. Anyway, " she added, defiantly, "Mr. Bethune and Lord Clendenning know him for what heis-and so do I. "

It was in a very wrathful mood that she turned her horse's head andstruck into the timber, being careful to avoid Vil Holland's camp by awide margin. Crossing the timbered plateau, she topped a low divideand found herself at the head of a deep, rocky valley, whose courseshe 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 amongthe rock fragments and patches of scrub timber that littered itsfloor. She had proceeded for perhaps an hour when, in passing themouth of a ravine that slanted sharply into the hills, she wasstartled by a rattling of loose stones, and a horse and rider emergedalmost directly into her path. The next moment Vil Holland raised theStetson from his head and addressed her gravely: "Good mornin' MissSinclair, I sure didn't mean to come out on you sudden, that way, butBuck 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 havemade that. "

"Oh no. We've slipped before. Fact is, we've been into about everykind of a jack-pot the hills can deal. We rolled half way down amountain once, an' barrin' a little skinnin' up, we come out of it allto 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 Pattysniffed. He appeared not to notice. "How you comin' on with theprospectin'? 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 fileit, wouldn't I?"

"Well, I expect maybe you would. But that horse of yours is prettyhandy on his feet. Used to belong to Bob Smith--that's his brand--thatKN on the left shoulder. "

"Yes, " answered the girl, meaningly. "I understand there is only onehorse in the hills that could outrun him. "

"Buck can. I won ten dollars off Bob one time. We run a mile, an' Buckwon, easy. But the best thing about Buck, he's a distance horse. He'sgot the wind--an' he don't know what it means to quit. He could runall day if he had to, couldn't you, Buck?" The man stroked thebuckskin's neck affectionately as he talked. 

Patty's eyes glinted angrily: "The stakes would have to be prettyhigh 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' inthe East where there's lots of folks around all the time. "

"Oh, not at all, " answered the girl, quickly. "Some of my neighborsare 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 athome. He is a genius for detail--that one. Sharp eyes, and a lighttouch. 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 thehills. "

"Maybe he figures that the stakes are higher, and the risk less--herein the hills. "

"Of course, " sneered Patty. "And I must say his reasoning does himcredit. If he should succeed in burglarizing even the biggest bank inthe richest city, he could not expect to carry off a gold mine. And, here in the hills, instead of burglar-proof devices and armedpolicemen, he has only an unlocked cabin, and a woman to contendwith. Yes, the risk is far less here in the hills. His location speakswell for his reasoning--if not for his courage. "

"I suppose he figures that plenty of brutes have got courage, but onlyhumans can reason, " answered the man, blandly. "But, ridin' out in thehills this way--that must be a lonesome job. "

"Not at all, " she answered, in a voice that masked the anger againstthe man who sat calmly baiting her. "In fact, I never ride alone. Ihave an unseen escort, who accompanies me wherever I go. 'My guardiandevil of the hills' I call him, and even when I'm at home I know thathe is watching from his notch in the rim of the hills. "

"Guardian devil, " the man repeated. "That's pretty good. " He did notsmile, in fact, Patty recalled, as she sat looking squarely into hiseyes, that she had never seen him smile--had never seen him expressany emotion. Without a trace of anger in tone or expression he hadordered the grasping hotel-keeper about--and had been obeyed to theletter. And without the slightest evidence of annoyance or displeasurehe had listened, upon several occasions to her own sarcastic outburstsagainst him. Here was a man as devoid of emotion as a fish, or onewhose complete self-mastery was astounding. "Pretty good, " herepeated. "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 ofinterest here, too. "

"Such as horse-thieving?" suggested the girl. "I heard you were paidto run down a gang of horse-thieves. I was wondering when you foundtime to earn your money. "

"Yeh, there's some hair artists loose in the hills, an' some of theoutfits 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 mouthdrew into a sarcastic smile. 

"'Settin' a thief to catch a thief, ' is what you're thinkin'. We ain'tso well acquainted yet as what we will be--when you get your eye teethcut. "

"I suppose our real acquaintance will begin when the game we areplaying 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 willbegin!"

The cowboy nodded: "That's fair an' square. An' if I win--_you'll haveto be satisfied with what you get_. Good-day, I've fooled away timeenough already. " And, with a word to his horse, Vil Hollanddisappeared up the valley in the direction from which the girl hadcome. 

When her anger had cooled sufficiently, Patty smiled, a rather grim, tight-lipped little smile. "If he wins I'll have to be satisfied withwhat 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 nearthe point of its intersection with Monte's Creek. Turning up thecreek, she stopped for a few minutes' chat with Ma Watts. 

"Law sakes! Climb right down an' set a while. I wus sayin' to Wattslas' night how we-all hain't see nawthin' of yo' fer hit's goin' on acouple of weeks 'cept yo' hirein' the team, an' not stoppin' in tospeak of, comin' er goin'. How be yo'? An' I 'spect yo' hain't foundyer pa's claim yet. I saved yo' up a dozen of aigs. Hed to mighty nearfight off that there Lord Clendennin' he wanted 'em so bad. But Idone 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'tbreak. No sir, I tol' him how he couldn't hev' 'em if he wus twolords. An' all the time we wus a-augerin', Mr. Bethune an' MicrobyDandeline 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 towardthe girl. "Set down an' take hit easy a spell. "

"Where is Microby?" she asked, refusing the proffered seat with asmile, and leaning lightly against her saddle. 

"Land sakes, I don't know! She's gittin' that no 'count, she goespokin' off somewhere's in the hills on Gee Dot. Says she'sa-prospectin'--like they all says when they're too lazy to do reg'larwork. "

"My father was a prospector, " answered the girl, quickly, "and therewasn't a lazy bone in his body. And I'm a prospector, and I'm sure I'mnot lazy. "

"Law, there I went an' done hit!" exclaimed Ma Watts, contritely. "Ididn't mean no real honest-to-Gawd, reg'lar prospectors like yo' pawus, an' yo', an' Mr. Bethune. But there's that Vil Holland, he's acowpuncher, when he works, and a prospector when he don't. An' there'sLord Clendennin', he's a prospector all the time, 'cause he don'tnever work--an' that's the way hit goes. An' Microby Dandeline'sa-gittin' as triflin' as the rest. Mr. Bethune, he tellin' her howshe'd git rich ef she could find a gol' mind, an' how she could buyher some fine clos' like yourn, an' go to the city to live like thefolks 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 ofmanners--says they don't 'mount to nawthin'. But thet's 'cause hehain'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 donetol' yo'. Ef I wus you I'd marry up with him, an----"

"Why, Mrs. Watts! What do you mean?" exclaimed the girl flushing withannoyance. 

"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 goodas his'n. "

The humor of the mountain woman's serious effort at match-makingstruck Patty, and she interrupted with a laugh: "There are severalobjections to that arrangement, " she hastened to say. "In the firstplace Mr. Bethune has never asked me to marry him. He may have seriousobjections, 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 betMr. Bethune hain't abuzzin' 'round up an' down this yere crick fernawthin'. Law sakes, child, when I tuk a notion to take Watts, come asupper 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 mewelswith nothin' on but a rope halter, an' wus headin' down the branchwith pa an' my brother Lafe a-cuttin' through the lau'ls with theirrifle-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 asight o' killin' that's what I done. Yo' see, Miss, my pa wus sot onme 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' palowed he'd shore kill him daid ef he didn't mind his ownbusiness--so'd my brothers, they wus five of 'em, an' nary one thatwusn't mighty handy with his rifle-gun. 

"So Watts, he quit a-comin' to the cabin, but me an' him made hit upthet he'd hide out on t'other side o' the branch an' holler like aowl, an' then I'd slip out the back do'--an' that's the way we doneour co'tin'. My folks didn't hev no truck with the Wattses thet livedon t'other side the mountain, 'count of them killin' two Strunkses away back, the Strunkses bein' my pa's ma's folks, over a hawg. Eventhen I didn't hev no notion o' marryin' Watts, jest done hit to bea-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. Wattslowed they was comin' doggone clust to him a time er two, an' how heaimed 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'ndrug into hit, along of the Wattses an' the Scrogginses. So I tukWatts, an' we went to live with his folks, an' we sent back the mewelwith Job Swenky, who they wouldn't nobody kill 'cause he wus a daftie. An' pa brung back the mewel hisself, come alone, an' 'thouten hisrifle-gun. He says seem' how Watts hed got me fair an' squr, an' wewus reg'lar married, he reckoned the ol' grudge wus dead, theStrunkses wasn't no count much, nohow, an' we wus welcome to keep themewel to start on. So Watts's pa killed a shoat, an' brung out a bigjug 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 notime to git ready, onct yo' git in the notion. "

"I'm afraid I haven't the same provocation, " Patty laughed, as shepicked up her pail of eggs and swung into the saddle. "Good-by, and besure and tell Microby Dandeline to come up and see me. Maybe she'dlike to come up on Sunday. I never ride on Sunday. "

"She'll come fast enough, " promised Ma Watts, and watched theretreating girl until a bend of the creek carried her out of sight. 

The long shadows of the mountains were slowly climbing the oppositewall of the valley, as the girl rode leisurely up Monte's Creek. Andas she rode, she smiled: "Why is it that every married woman--andespecially the older ones, thinks it is her bounden duty to pounceupon and marry off every single one? It is not one bit different outhere 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 thatI 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. Helooks like a tailor's model, and acts like a Rolls-Royce. And, Idon't see any supreme bliss about Mrs. Watts's married existence, although she's perfectly satisfied, I guess, poor thing. I love thesubtle finesse with which she tried to arrange a match between me andMr. 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 getArchie and me into the same canoe! And when she did, the blamed thingtipped over and ruined the only decent summer things I had, allbecause that fool Archie thought he had to stand up to fend the canoeoff the pier. .. . At least, Mr. Bethune has got some sense, and he isgood looking, and he seems to have money, and there is a certain dashand verve about him that one would hardly expect to find here in thehills--and yet--there's something--it isn't his Indian blood, I don'tcare a cent about that--but sometimes, there's something about himthat makes me wonder if he's genuine. "

She passed through the cottonwood grove and emerged into the open onlya few hundred yards below the sheep camp. A moment later she haltedabruptly and stared toward the cabin. Two saddled horses stood beforethe 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 thecover of the grove and watched with intense interest the two formsthat weaved precariously above the deep pool formed by a sudden bendin the creek. The horses she recognized as Vil Holland's buckskin, andthe big, blaze-faced bay ridden by Lord Clendenning. In the gatheringdusk she could not make out the faces of the two men, but by theirheaving, circling, swaying figures she knew that mighty muscles werebeing strained to their utmost, and that soon one or the other mustgive in. A dozen questions flashed through the girl's brain. What werethey doing there? Why were they fighting at the very door of hercabin? And, above all, what would be the outcome? Would one of themkill the other? Would one of them be left maimed and bleeding for herto bind up and coax back to life?

The men were on the very verge of the cut-bank, now, and it seemedinevitable that both must go crashing into the creek. "Serve 'em rightif they would, " muttered Patty, "I'd like to give 'em a push. " Withthe words on her lips, she saw a blur of motion, one of the formsleaped lightly back, and the other poised for a second, arms wavingwildly in a vain effort to regain his balance, then fell suddenlybackward and toppled headlong into the creek. Patty could distinctlyhear the mighty splash with which he struck the water, as the otheradvanced to the edge and peered downward. She knew that this other wasVil Holland, and a moment later he turned away and catching up thereins of the buckskin, swung into the saddle, splashed through theford, and disappeared into the scrub timber of the opposite side ofthe valley. 

Patty urged her horse forward, at the imminent risk of injury to herpail of eggs. When she had almost reached the cabin, a grotesque, dripping form crawled heavily from the creek bed, gave one hurriedglance in her direction, mounted his horse, and disappeared in athunder of galloping hoofs. 

CHAPTER XII

BETHUNE TRIES AGAIN

For several days following the incident of the two strugglinghorsemen, Patty rode, extending her quest farther and farther into thehills, and thus widening the circle of her exploration. She hadoverhauled her father's photographic outfit and found it containedcomplete supplies for the development and printing of his ownpictures, and having brought several rolls of films from town, sheproceeded to amuse herself by photographing the more striking bits ofscenery she encountered upon her daily rides. 

It was mid-summer, now, the sun shone hot and brassy from a cloudlesssky, and the buffalo grass was beginning to exchange its freshgreenness for a shade of dirty tan. Only the delicious coolness of theshort nights made bearable the long, hot, monotonous days during whichthe girl stuck doggedly to her purpose. Upon these rides she met noone. It was as if human beings had entirely forsaken the world andleft it to the prairie dogs, the coyotes, and the lazily coiledrattle-snakes that lay basking upon the rocks in the hot glare of thesun. Even the occasional bunches of range cattle did not eye her withtheir accustomed interest, but lay in straggling groups close besidethe cold waters of tiny streams. 

And it was upon one of these hot days, long past the noon hour, thatPatty dismounted in a narrow valley near the head of a cold mountainstream and, affixing the hobbles to her horse's legs, threw off thesaddle and bridle, and spread the sweat-dampened blanket to dry in thesun. Freed of his accouterments, the horse shook himself, shuffled tothe stream, and burying his muzzle to the eyes, sucked up great gulpsof the cold water, and playfully thrashing his head, sent volleys ofsilver drops flying from side to side, as he churned the tiny poolinto a veritable mud wallow. Tiring of that, he rolled luxuriously, the crisping buffalo grass scratching the irking saddle-feel from hisback and sides: and as the girl spread her luncheon upon a clean whitenapkin in the shade of a stunted cottonwood, fell to grazingcontentedly. 

As Patty chipped at the shell of a hard-boiled egg she glanced towardthe horse, which had stopped grazing and stood facing down stream withears nervously alert. A few moments later the soft rattle ofbit-chains and the low shuffling of hoofs told her that a rider wasapproaching at a walk. "Probably my guardian devil, ostensibly payingstrict attention to his own business of prospecting, or trying tostrike the trail of the horse-thieves, but in reality hot on the trailof little me. I just wish I could find the mine. He'll have to stopand drive his stakes and fix his notice, and if his old buckskin is asgood 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 facewhen I pass him, that's all!"

The horseman came suddenly into view a few yards distant, and the girllooked up into the black eyes of Monk Bethune. 

"Well, well, my dear Miss Sinclair!" The quarter-breed's tone was oneof glad surprise, as he dismounted and advanced, hat in hand. "This isindeed an unexpected pleasure. La, la, la, the luck of it! Shall wesay, the romance? Hot and saddle-weary from a long ride, to comesuddenly upon the fairest of ladies, at luncheon alone in the mostcharming 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 beallowed to contribute my just share toward the feast. " As he talked, Bethune fumbled at his pack-strings, and brought forth a small canvasbag, from which he drew sandwiches of fried trout and bacon thrustbetween two slabs of doubtful looking baking-powder bread. "No daintylunch prepared by woman's hand, " he apologized, "but we of the hills, no matter how exotic or æsthetic our tastes may be, must of sternnecessity descend to the common level of cowboys and offscourings inthe matter of our eating. See, beside your own palatable food, thisrough fare of mine presents an appearance unappetizing almost torepugnance. "

"At least, it looks eminently satisfying, " said Patty, eyeing thethick sandwiches. 

"Satisfying, I grant you. Satisfying to the beast that is in man, inthat it stays the pangs of hunger. So is the blood-dripping carcass ofthe fresh-killed calf satisfying to the wolf, and carrion satisfyingto the buzzard. But, not at all satisfying to the unbestial ego--tothe thing that makes man, man. "

"You should have been a poet, " smiled the girl. "But come, even poetsmust eat. "

"God help the man who has no poetry in his soul--no imagination!"exclaimed Bethune, a trifle sententiously, thought the girl, as sheresumed the chipping of her egg. "Imagination, " the word hoveredelusively in her brain--she had applied that word only recently tosomeone--oh, yes, the man whose habit it was to search her cabin. Shesmiled ever so slightly as she glanced sidewise at Bethune who wasnibbling at one of his own sandwiches. 

"Please try one of mine, " she urged, "and there are some pickles, andan olive or two. I have loads of them at home, and really I believe Ishould like that other sandwich of yours. I haven't tasted fish forages. "

"Take it and welcome, " smiled the man. "But do not deny yourself thepleasure of eating all the fish you want. Why, with a bent pin, a bitof thread, and housefly, you can catch yourself a mess of trout anymorning without venturing a hundred yards from your own door. Monte'sCreek is alive with them, and taken fresh from the water and fried toa crisp in butter, they make a breakfast fit for a king, or in thepresent 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 lazyto do the honest work for which he is fitted, he roams the hills underpretense of prospecting. "

"But, how does he make a living?"

Bethune shrugged. "Who can tell? I know for a certainty that he hasnever made a cent out of his alleged prospecting. It is true he ridesthe round-up for a couple of months in the spring and fall, but fourmonths' work at forty dollars a month will hardly suffice for a man'syearly needs. " He unconsciously lowered his voice, and continued:"Several ranchers have complained of losing horses and only a few daysago, up near the line, my good friend Corporal Downey, of the Mounted, told me that a number of American horses, with brands skillfullydoctored, had been regularly making their appearance in Canada. It isan ugly suspicion, and I am making no open accusation, but--one maywonder. "

The man finished his sandwich, dipped his fingers into the creek, wipedthem upon his handkerchief, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. "Speaking ofVil 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 anyway 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 dangerousman!" Bethune puffed shortly at his cigarette, hurled it from him, andfaced the girl with glowing eyes: "Ah, Miss Sinclair, why don't youend this uncertainty? Why do you continue every day to jeopardize yourinterests--yes, your very life----?"

"Do you mean, " interrupted the girl, "why don't I form a partnershipwith you?"

"A partnership! Ah, no, not a--and, yet--yes, a partnership. Apartnership of life, and love, and happiness!" The man moved close, and the black eyes seemed, in the intensity of their gaze to devourher very soul. "There I have said it--the thing I have been wanting tosay, yet have feared to say. " Patty's lips moved, as if to speak, butthe man forestalled the words with a gesture. "Before you answer, letme tell you how, since you first came into the hills, I have lived inthe shadow of a mighty fear--I, who have lived my life among men, andhave never known the meaning of fear, have been harassed by amultitude of fears. From the moment of our first meeting I have lovedyou. And, by all the saints, I swear you are the only woman I haveever loved! And, yet, I feared to tell you of that love. Twice thewords have trembled on my tongue, and remained unspoken, because Ifeared 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 youin locating your father's strike, and then people would say, 'he lovesher for her wealth. ' I even thought that you, yourself, mightdoubt--might ask yourself why he waited until I became rich before hetold me of his love? But, believe me, my dear lady, for your wealth, Icare not the snap of my fingers--so!" He snapped his fingers loudlyand continued: "But say the word, and we will go far from the hillcountry, and leave your father's secret to the guardianship of hisbeloved mountains. For I am rich. I own mines, mines, mines! What isone mine more or less to me?"

Patty Sinclair felt herself drifting under the spell of his compellingardor. "Why not?" she asked herself. "Why not marry this man and giveup the hopeless struggle?" She thought of her depleted bank account. At best, she could not hope to hold out much longer. Bethune had takenher hand as he talked, and she had not withdrawn it from his palm. Swiftly he bent his head and pressed the brown hand passionately tohis lips. She felt his grip tighten as the burning kisses covered herhand--her wrist. She drew the hand away. 

"But, I do not want to leave the hill country, " she said, quitecalmly. "I shall never leave it until I have vindicated my father'scourse in the eyes of the people back home--the men who scoffed athim, and called him a ne'er-do-well, and a dreamer--who refused toback his judgment with their miserable dollars--who killed him withtheir cruelty, and their doubt!"

"I hoped you would say that!" exclaimed Bethune, his eyes alight withapproval. "I knew you would say it! The daughter of your father couldnot 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 theworld. Listen, together we will remain, and together we will locatethe lost strike, if it takes every cent I own. " The man's voicegripped in its intensity, and Patty's eyes returned from the distancewhere the summer haze bathed far mountain tops in soft purple, andlooked into the eyes of velvet black. 

"But, why should you want to marry me?" she inquired, a puzzled littlefrown wrinkling her forehead. "You hardly know me. You have not alwayslived in the hills. You have met many women. "

"A man meets many women. He marries but one. You ask me why I want tomarry you. I cannot tell you why. Many times since we first met I haveasked myself why. I, who have openly scoffed at the yoke, and boastedproudly of my freedom. I do not know why, unless it is that to me youare the embodiment of all womanhood--of all that is desirable andworth while, or maybe the reason is in the fact that while I am withyou I am supremely happy, and while I am absent from you I amrestless and unhappy--a prey to my fears. I suppose it all sums up inthe reason--world-old, but ever new--because I love you. " The man wasupon his feet, now, bending toward her with arms outstretched. Forjust an instant Patty hesitated, then shook her head. 

"No!" she cried and struggling to her feet, faced him across theremains of the luncheon. "No, it would not be playing the game. I havemy work to do, and I'll do it alone. It would be like quitting--likecalling for help before I am beaten. This is my work--not yours, thisvindication of my father!"

"But think, " interrupted Bethune, "you will not let such Quixoticideals stand between us and happiness! You have your right tohappiness, and so have I, and in the end 'twill be the same, yourfather's name will be cleared of any suspicion of unworthiness. "

"It is my work, " Patty repeated, stubbornly, "and besides, I do notthink I love you. I do not know----"

"Ah, but you will love me!" cried Bethune. "Such love as mine will notbe denied!" The black eyes glowed, and he took a step toward her, butthe 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 tohis sides. Patty had suddenly drawn herself erect and looked him eyefor eye: and as she looked, from behind the soft glow of the velveteyes, leaped a wolfish gleam--a glint of baffled rage, a flash ofhate. 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. " Thevoice had lost its intense timbre, and sounded dull, as if held undercontrol only by a mighty effort of will. And in that moment a strangefear of him took possession of the girl, so that her own voicesurprised her with its calm. 

"I must be going, now. "

Bethune bowed. "I will saddle your horse, while you clear up thetable. " He nodded toward the napkin spread upon the grass with theremains of the luncheon upon it. "My way takes me within a shortdistance of your cabin; may I ride with you?" he asked a few momentslater, 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 along divide. 

"Oh, yes, from Vil Holland, " she repeated slowly, as she drew inbeside 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 onemoment forget him. Your secret is not safe. Your person is not safe. He dogs your footsteps. He visits your cabin during your absence. Heis bad--_bad!_ And here I must tell you of an incident--or ratherexplain an incident, the unfortunate conclusion of which you saw withyour own eyes. Poor Clen! He is beside himself with mortification atthe sorry spectacle he presented when you rode up and saw him crawldripping from the creek. 

"I was away to the northward, on important business, and knowing thatit had become my custom to ride over occasionally to see how youfared, he decided to do the same during my absence. Arriving at thecabin, he was surprised to see Vil Holland's horse before the door. Herode boldly up, dismounted, and caught the scoundrel in the act ofsearching among your effects. The sight, together with the memory ofthe cut pack sack, enraged him to such an extent that, despite thefact that the other was armed, he attacked him with his fists. In thefighting 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 himselfover the top, he was horrified to see you approaching. Above allthings Clen is a gentleman, and rather than appear before you in hisbedraggled condition, he fled. Upon my return he insisted that I seeyou and explain the awkward situation to you in person. I beg of younever to refer to the incident in Clen's presence, especially not inlevity, for he has, more strongly than anyone I ever knew, theEnglishman's horror of appearing ridiculous. "

Patty smiled: "It was too funny for words. The way he gave onehorrified glance in my direction and then scrambled into his saddleand dashed away, with the water flowing from him in rivulets. But ofcourse, I shall never mention it to Lord Clendenning, and I wish youwould thank him for his valiant championship of my cause. "

Bethune shot her a swift sidewise glance. Was there just a trace ofmockery in the tone? If so, her expression masked it perfectly. 

They rode in silence for a time, following down the course of a broadvalley, and presently came out onto the trail. A rider approached themat a walk, the low-hung white dust cloud in his wake marking thecourse of the long, hot trail. Bethune scrutinized the man intently. "Jack Pierce, " he announced. "He runs a little yak outfit, a few headof horses, and some cattle over on Big Porcupine. " A moment laterBethune 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 theanimal continued down the trail at a brisk trot. 

"Surly devil, " growled Bethune, as he gazed for a moment at theretreating horseman, and this time Patty was sure she detected thesnake-like gleam in the black eyes. He dug his horse viciously withhis 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 himat Thompson's. "

"Oh, so you know the soul-puncher, do you? Makes a big play with hisyellow chaps and six-gun. Suppose he had to be there to see that oldSamuelson 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. OldSamuelson's rich. Christie goes over and pulls a long face, and sendsup a hatful of prayers, and if he gets well Samuelson will hand him anice 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 thesoul-puncher have anything to say about me?"

"About you?" asked the girl in apparent surprise. "Why should he sayanything about you?"

"Because they all take a crack at me!" said Bethune in an injuredtone. "You just saw how Pierce answered a civil question. They allhate me because I have made money. They never made any, and they neverwill, and they're jealous of my success. They never lose a chance tomalign and injure me in every way possible--but I'll show them! Damnthem! I'll show them all!" They rode for a short distance in silence, then Bethune laughed. It was the ringing boyish laugh that held nohint of bitterness or sneer. "I hope you will pardon my outburst. Ihave 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 meannessof soul in their envy of my success. We part here for the time. I mustride over onto the east slope--a little matter of some horses. " Againhe laughed: "In a few days I shall return--I give you fairwarning--return to win your love. And I will win--I am Monk Bethune--Ialways win!" Without waiting for a reply, the man drove his spursinto his horse's sides and, swerving abruptly from the trail, disappeared down a narrow rock chasm that led directly into the heartof the hills. 

CHAPTER XIII

PATTY DRAWS A MAP

That evening after supper, Patty sat upon her doorstep and watched theslowly fading opalescent glow in which the daylight surrendered toencroaching darkness. "How wonderful it all is, and how beautiful!"she breathed. "The indomitable ruggedness of the hills--rough andforbidding, but never ugly. Always beckoning, always challenging, yetalways repulsing. Guarding their secrets well. Their rock walls andmighty precipices frowning displeasure at the presumptuous meddling ofthe intruder, and their valleys gaping in sardonic grins at the punyattempts to wrest their secret from them. Always, the mountains mock, even as they stimulate to greater effort with their wonderful air, andsoothe bitter disappointment with the soft caress of twilight'safter-glow. I love it--and yet, how I hate it all! I can't hold outmuch longer. I'm like a general who has to withdraw his forces, notbecause he is beaten, but because he has run short of ammunition. Itis August, and by the end of September I'll be done. " She clenched herfists until the nails dug into her palms. "But I'll come back, " shecried, 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 haveexplored every single one of these mountains from the littlestfoothill to the top of the highest peak. And someday, I'll win!"

"Mr. Bethune is rich. " She started. The thought flashed upon herbrain, vivid as whispered words. Involuntarily, she shuddered at thememory of his burning eyes, the hot touch of his lips upon herhand--her arm. She remembered the short, curt answers of the hard-eyedPierce. And the thinly veiled distrust of Bethune, voiced by VilHolland, Thompson, and the preacher whom he had affectionatelyreferred to as "The Bishop of All Outdoors. " Could it be possible--wasit reasonable, that these were all so mean and contemptible of soulthat their words were actuated by jealousy of Bethune's success? Pattythought not. Somehow, the characters did not fit the rôle. "If he'dhave explained their dislike upon the grounds of his Indian blood, itmight have carried the ring of truth--at least, it would have beenreasonable. But, jealousy--as Mr. Vil Holland would say, 'I don't grabit. '"

She recalled the wolfish gleam that flashed into Bethune's eyes, andthe malicious hatred expressed in his insinuations and accusationsagainst these men. Could it be possible that her distrust of VilHolland was unfounded? But no, there was the repeated searching of hercabin--and had not Lord Clendenning caught him in the act? There wasthe trampled grass of the notch in the hills from which he wasaccustomed to spy upon her. And the cut pack sack--somehow, she wasnot 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--Icould see the evil glitter in his eyes. And, how do I know that hetold the truth about Lord Clendenning and Vil Holland?" Darknesssettled upon the valley and Patty sought her bunk where, for arestless hour, she tossed about thinking. 

The following morning the girl paused, coffee pot in hand, in the actof preparing breakfast, and listened. Distinct and clear above thesound 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 songceased, and presently from the cottonwood thicket emerged a horse andrider. The rider wore a roll-brimmed hat and brilliant yellow chaps, and he was mounted upon a fantastically spotted pinto. "It's--'TheBishop of All Outdoors', " she smiled, as she returned to the stove. "He certainly has a voice. I don't blame Mr. Thompson for being crazyabout 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 manon the pinto. 

"Breakfast! Bless you, I didn't stop for breakfast. I figured onbreakfasting with my friend, The Villain, over across the ridge. "

"The Villain?"

"Vil Holland, " laughed the man. "His name, I believe is, Villiers. Ishortened it to Villain, and the natives hereabouts have bobbed itdown to Vil. But he'll have to breakfast alone this morning, asusual. I've changed my mind. You see, I share the proverbial weaknessof the clergy for a good meal. And against so charming a hostess, oldVil hasn't a chance in the world. " Dismounting, the Reverend LenChristie removed his saddle and bridle and, with a resounding slap onthe flank turned the pinto loose. "Get along, old Paint, and lay insome of this good grass!" he laughed as the pinto, cavorting like acolt, galloped across the creek to join Patty's hobbled cayuse. 

"My, that bacon smells good, " he said, a moment later, as he stood inthe doorway and watched the girl turn the thin strips in the pan. "Dolet me furnish part of the breakfast, " he cried, eagerly and beganswiftly 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 takeit right from your own dooryard in just about two jiffies. " He affixeda reel, threaded a cobweb line, and selected a fly. "Just save thatbacon fry for a few minutes and we'll have some speckled beauties inthe pan before you know it. "

Pushing the frying pan to the back of the stove, Patty accompanied himto the bank of the stream where she watched enthusiastically as, oneafter another, he pulled four glistening trout from the water. 

"That's enough, " he said, as the fourth fish lay squirming upon thegrass. And in what seemed to the girl an incredibly short time, he hadthem cleaned, washed, and ready for the pan. While she fried them hebusied himself with his outfit, wiping his rod and carefully returningit to its case, and spreading his line to dry. And a few moments laterthe two sat down to a breakfast of hot biscuits, coffee, bacon, andtrout, 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 somedrawing paper and pencils for David Golieth. Do you know, I've anotion 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 andshows me pictures he has drawn with charcoal wherever there is a pieceof flat rock. He's as shy and sensitive as a girl, until he begins totalk about his drawing, then his big eyes fairly glow with enthusiasmas he points out the good points of some of his creations, and thedefects of others. All of them, of course, are crude as the pictorialefforts of the Indians, but it seems to me that here and there I cansee 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 discoveredhim? And I guess lots of them do come from just as unpromisingparentage. "

"It wouldn't be so remarkable, " smiled the man. "Watts, himself is agenius--for inventing excuses to rest. "

"How is the sick man?" asked Patty. "The one you went to see, over onBig Porcupine, wasn't it?"

"Yes, old man Samuelson. Fine old fellow--Samuelson. I sure hope he'llpull through. Doc Mallory came while I was there, and he told me he'sgot a good fighting chance. And a fighting chance is all that oldfellow 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 ridefrom 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'vean 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 theycan't reach him. Decidedly I think it would do those old people aworld 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 meaningsoul. She's going over and 'stay a spell' with the Samuelsons, just assoon as she can 'fix to go. ' Mrs. Samuelson is a really superior oldlady, refined and lovable in every way. You'll like her immensely. I'msure. And I know she will enjoy you. "

"Thank you, " Patty bowed elaborately. "Poor thing, she must befrightfully lonely. "

"Yes. Of course, the neighbors do all they can. But neighbors are fewand far between. Vil Holland has been over a couple of times, and JackPierce stopped work right in the middle of his upland haying to go totown for some medicine. I tell you, Miss Sinclair, a person soonlearns 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'sstock--you see, there are some shady characters in the hills, and oldman Samuelson runs horses as well as cattle. It is very possible theymay decide to get busy while he is laid up. 

"By the way, Miss Sinclair, may I ask if you are making satisfactoryheadway 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, andadmired him very much. I'm satisfied he made a strike, and I do hopeyou can locate it. "

The girl shook her head. "No, nothing, thank you, " she answered andthen 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. Bythe end of next month it will be gone, and I must get a job. " The mannoticed that the girl was doing her best to meet the situationbravely. 

"Indeed I will help you!" he exclaimed. "In fact, I think I can rightnow promise that whenever you get ready to accept it, there will be aposition waiting. "

"Even if it is only a country school--just so I can make enough moneythis winter to come back next summer. "

"I couldn't think of letting a country school get you. We need youright 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 tolose my job. " Stepping to the door, he whistled shrilly, and a momentlater the piebald cayuse trotted to his side. When the horse stoodsaddled and bridled, the man turned to Patty: "Oh, about theSamuelsons--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 aminute. " Leaning over the table, the man sketched rapidly upon thepaper. "We'll say this is the Watts ranch, and mark it R. That's ourstarting point. Then you follow down the creek to the ford--here, atF. Then, instead of following the trail, you turn due east, and followup a little creek about ten miles. This arrow pointing upward means upthe creek. When you come to a sharp pinnacle that divides yourvalley--we'll mark that [^] so--you take the right hand branch, andfollow it to the divide. That leads, let's see, southeast--we'll markit S. E. 3 to D; it runs about three miles to the divide which youcross. Then you follow down another creek four or five miles until itempties into Big Porcupine, 4 E. To P. , and from there it's easy. Justturn up Porcupine, pass Jack Pierce's ranch, and about five milesfarther 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 theford and rode out of sight up the coulee that led to the trampled notch inthe hills, she threw herself down at the table and with eyes big withexcitement, drew her father's map from its silk envelope and spread it outbeside Christie's roughly sketched one. "What a fool I am not to haveguessed that those letters must stand for the points of the compass!" shecried. "It ought to be plain as day, now. " Carefully, she read thecabalistic 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. " Herbrow drew into a puzzled frown "SC, " she repeated. "S stands for south, butwhat 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 isR--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 wishhe'd put his letters right on the map like this one, instead of all in arow 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 merejumble of meaningless sounds. "S must stand for South, " she insisted, "andC could stand for creek, or cave, only there are no caves around here thatI've seen, or camp--South Camp--that don't do me any good, I don't knowwhere any of his camps were. And he'd hardly say Creek, that would be tooindefinite. Let's see, C--cottonwood--south cottonwood--short cottonwood, scarred cottonwood, well if I have to hunt these hills over for a shortcottonwood or a scarred cottonwood, when there are millions of both, Imight 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 thestarting point figured out, the rest would be easy. It says one milesouth, one and one half miles east, one mile south, then the arrowheadpointing up, must mean up a creek or a mountain to something thatlooks 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 saysto stake L. C. --L. C. , is lode claim, at least, I know that much, andit can be 1500 feet long along the vein, and 300 feet each way fromthe center. But what does he mean by the wiggly looking mark beforethe word center? I guess it isn't going to be quite as easy as itlooks, " she concluded, "even when I know that the letters stand forthe points of the compass. If I could only figure out where to startfrom I could find my way at least to the a. B. Part--and that would besomething. 

"Anyway, I know how to make a map, now, and that is just exactly whatI needed to know in order to set my trap for the prowler who iscontinually searching this cabin. It's all ready but the map, and Imay as well finish up the job to-day as any time. " From the pocket ofher shirt she drew a photograph and examined it critically. "It looksa good deal like the close-up of one of daddy's, " she saidapprovingly, "and it certainly looks as if it might have been carriedfor a year. " Returning the picture to her pocket, she folded thepreacher'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 orthree of her father's ore samples. These, together with a lightminer's pick, she placed in an empty flour sack which she secured toher saddle and struck out northwestward into the hills. 

At the top of the first divide she stopped, carefully studied the backtrail, and producing paper and pencil made a rough sketch which shemarked 1 NW. She rode on, mapping her trail and adding letters andfigures to denote distance and direction. 

Her continued scrutiny of the back trail satisfied her that she wasnot followed. Two hours brought her to her journey's end, a rock wallsome seven miles from her cabin. Producing the photograph, sheverified the exact location, and with her pick, proceeded to stir upthe ground and loose rocks at the base of the ledge. For an hour sheworked steadily, then carefully replaced the dirt and small fragments, taking care to leave the samples from her sack where they would appearto have been tossed with the other fragments. Indicating the spot by adot on the photograph she rode back to her cabin and spent the entireafternoon covering sheets of paper with trail maps, and letters, andfigures, in an endeavor to produce a sketch that would pass as aprospector's hastily prepared field map. At last she produced severalthat compared favorably with her father's and taking a blank leaf froman old notebook she found in the pack sack, drew a very creditablerough sketch. 

"Now, for putting in the letters and figures, " she said, as she heldthe paper up for inspection. "Let's see, where would daddy havestarted from? Watts's ranch, maybe, or he could have started fromhere. This cabin was here then, and that would make it seem all themore reasonable that I should have chosen this for my home. C standsfor cabin, or, let's see, what did they call this place. The sheepcamp, here goes SC--Why! SC--SC! That's the starting point on daddy'smap! And here I sat right in this chair and nearly went crazy tryingto figure out what SC meant! And, if it weren't so late, I'd startright out now to find my mine! If it weren't for that a. B. Part Icould ride right to it, and snap my fingers at the prowler. But, itmay 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. " Shecontinued her work, and a half-hour later examined the resultcritically. "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 putthe a. Down on the map. " With a sigh of satisfaction the girlcarefully placed the new map and photograph in the silk envelope, andplacing 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 thecabin, her dejected old Indian pony, ears a-flop, placing one footbefore the other with the extreme deliberation that characterized hisevery movement. Patty smiled as her eyes took in the details of thegrotesque figure; the old harness bridle with patched reins and oneblinder dangling, the faded gingham sunbonnet hanging at the back ofthe girl's neck, held in place by the strings knotted tightly beneathher chin, the misshapen calico dress caught over the saddle-horn in amanner that exposed the girl's bare legs to the knees, and the thickbare feet pressed uncomfortably into the chafing rope stirrups--truly, a grotesque, and yet, Patty frowned--a pitiable figure, too. The ponyhalted before the door, and Patty greeted the girl who scrambledclumsily to the ground. 

"Well, well, if it isn't Microby Dandeline! You haven't been to see melately. 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--butwhy? Was it because she feared displeasure at the invasion of thecabin. Patty thought not, for such was the established custom of thecountry. The girl did not look at her, but stood boring into the dirtwith her bare toe. 

"Well, you're here now, anyway, " smiled Patty. "Come on in and help meget supper, and then we'll eat. You get the water, while I build thefire. "

When the girl returned from the spring, Patty tried again: "While Iwas in town somebody came here and cooked a meal, and when they gotthrough they washed all the dishes and put them away so nicely Ithought sure it was you, and I was glad, because I like to have youcome 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 brungDavy some pencils an' a lot o' papers fer to draw pitchers. Pa 'lowedhow Davy'd git to foolin' away his time on 'em, an' Mr. Christie sayshow ef he learnt to drawer good, folks buys 'em, an' then Davy'll gitrich. 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'tthey?"

"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 decidingupon a mysterious moonlight-on-the-waves effect, lifted it from thewall and placed it in the girl's hands. 

Microby Dandeline stared at it without enthusiasm: "I want a tookone, " she said, at length. 

"A what?"

"A one tooken with that, " she pointed at the camera that adorned thetop of the little cupboard. 

"Oh, " smiled Patty, "you want me to take your picture! All right, I'dlove to take your picture. You can get on Gee Dot, and I'll take youboth. But we'll have to wait till there is more light. The sun hasgone down and it's too dark this evening. "

The girl shook her head, "Naw, I don't want none like that. Thathain't no good. I want one like yo' pa tookened of his mine. Then I'llgit 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 timeshe and Lord Clendenning had been wrangling over the eggs, Bethune andMicroby had "talked an' laughed, friendly as yo' please. "

"How do you know my father took any pictures of his mine?" askedPatty, 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 adoughy 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. Comeon--speak!" The shaking continued. 

"Hit--wu-wu-wus--V-V-Vil Hol-Holland!" she sniffled readily--all tooreadily to be convincing, thought Patty, as she released her grip onthe 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 killme. "

"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 killyo', too--an' I'll be glad! An' he says he's gonna By God git thatpitcher ef he's gotta kill yo', an' Vil Holland, an' everyone in thesedamn hills--an' I'm glad of hit! I don't like yo' no more--an' pitchershows _hain't_ as good as circusts--an' I don't like towns--an' Ihain't a-gonna wear no shoes an' stockin's--an' I'm a-gonna tell mayo' shuck me--an' she'll larrup yo' good--an' pa'll make yo' git outo' ar sheep camp--an' I'm glad of hit!" She rushed from the cabin, andmounting her pony, headed him down the creek, turning in the saddleevery few steps to make hateful mouths at the girl who stood watchingfrom the doorway. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE SAMUELSONS

Patty retired that night with her thoughts in a whirl. So, it was MonkBethune who, all along, had been plotting to steal the secret of herfather's strike? Monk Bethune, with his suave, oily manner, hisprofessed regard for her father, and his burning words of love! Foolthat she couldn't have penetrated his thin mask of deceit! It allseemed so ridiculously plain, now. She remembered the flash ofdistrust that her first meeting with him engendered. And, step, bystep, she followed the course of his insidious campaign to instillhimself into her good graces. She thought of the blunt warning of VilHolland when he told her that her father always played a lone hand, and his almost scornful question as to whether her father had told herof his partnership with Bethune. And she remembered her defiance ofHolland, and her defense of Bethune. And, with a shudder, sherecollected the moments when, in the hopelessness of her repeatedfailures, she had trembled upon the point of surrendering to hispersuasive eloquence. 

With the villainous scheming of Bethune exposed, her thoughts turnedto the other, to her "guardian devil of the hills. " What of VilHolland? Had she misjudged this man, even as she had so nearly becomethe dupe of Bethune? She realized now, that nearly everyone with whomshe had come into contact, distrusted Bethune, and that they trustedVil Holland. She realized that her own distrust of him rested to agreat extent upon the open accusations of Bethune, and the fact thathe was blunt to rudeness in his conversations with her. If he were tobe taken at his neighbors' valuation, why was it that he watched hercomings and goings from his notch in the hills? Why did he follow herabout upon her rides? And why did he carry that disgusting jug? Sheadmitted that she had never seen him the worse for indulgence in thecontents of the jug, but if he were not a confirmed drunkard, whyshould he carry it? She knew Bethune hated him--and that counted apoint in his favor--now. But it did not prove that he was not as badas Bethune. But why had Bethune told Microby that he would get thatpicture if he had to kill her and Vil Holland? What had Vil Hollandto do with his getting the picture! Surely, Bethune did not believethat Vil Holland shared her secret! Vil Holland _must_ be lawless--therunning of the sheep herder out of the hills was a lawless act. Why, then, were such men as Thompson and the Reverend Len Christie hisfriends? This question had puzzled her much of late, and not findingthe answer, she realized her own dislike of the man had wanedperceptibly. Instinctively, she knew that Len Christie was genuine. She liked this "Bishop of All Outdoors, " who could find time to ride ahundred miles to cheer a sick old man; who would think to bringpencils and drawing paper to a little boy who roamed over thehillsides with a piece of charcoal, searching for flat rocks uponwhich to draw his pictures; and who sang deep, full-throated balladsas he rode from one to the other of his scattered hill folk, upon hisoutlandish pinto. Surely, such men as he, and the jovial, whole-hearted Thompson--men who had known Vil Holland foryears, --could not be deceived. 

"Is it possible I've misjudged him?" she asked herself. And when atlast she dropped to sleep it was to plunge into a confused jumble ofdreams whose dominant figure was her lone horseman of the hills. 

Patty resolved to keep her promise to Christie and ride over to theSamuelson ranch, before she started to work out the directions of herfather's map. "I may be weeks doing it if I continue to be as dumb asI have been, " she laughed. "And when I get started I know I'll neverwant to stop 'til I've worked it out. "

Immediately after breakfast she saddled her horse and returning to thecabin, picked up the little oiled silk packet that containedphotograph and map. Where should she hide it? Her glance traveled fromthe locked trunks to the loose board in the floor. Each had beensearched time and again. "Whoever he is, he'd think it was funny thatI decided all at once to hide the map, when I've been carrying it withme so persistently, " she muttered. Her eyes rested upon the littledressing table. "The very thing!" she cried. "I'll leave it right outin plain sight, and he'll think I forgot it. " Her first impulse was toremove the thin gold chain but she shook her head: "No, it will lookmore as if I'd just slipped it off for the night if I leave the chainon. And besides, " she smiled, "he ought to get some gold for hispains. " With a last glance of approval at the little packet lying asif forgotten upon the dressing table, she closed the door and headeddown the creek. 

It was evident to Patty, upon reaching the Watts ranch that MicrobyDandeline had not carried out her threat to "tell ma" about theshaking. For the mountain woman was loquaciously cordial as usual:"Decla'r ef hit hain't yo', up an' a-ridin' fo' sun-up! Yo' shorefavor 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' Wattsset a hour, an' nary word between the two of 'em. 'Pears like they'sjest satisfied to be a-lightin' matches an' a-puffin' they pipes. Wimmin folks hain't like thet. They jest nachelly got to let out aword now an' then, 'er bust--one. "

"Microby Dandeline!" there was a sudden rush of bare feet upon thewooden floor, and Patty caught a flick of calico and a flash of barelegs as the girl disappeared around the corner of the barn. 

"Land sakes! Thet gal acts like she's p'ssessed! She tellin' whut anice time she had to yo' place las' evenin', an' then a-runnin' awaylike 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 cussher 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 thismawnin'. " A cry from the baby brought a torrent of recrimination uponthe apathetic husband: "Watts! Watts! Looks like yo' ort to could lookafter Chattenoogy Tennessee, that Microby Dandeline run off an' leftalone. Like's not she's et a nail thet yo' left a han'ful of on thefloor thet day yo' aimed fer to fix me a shelft. "

"She never et no nail, " confided the man, as he returned a momentlater carrying the infant. "She done fell out the do' an' them henswus apeckin' her. She's scairt wuss'n hurt. "

"Well, " smiled Patty. "I must go. Tell Microby to come up to my cabinright 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 heernit a spell back, an' Mr. Christie done tol' us over again. They do sayhe'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' tellMiz Samuelson I aim to git over soon's I kin. I'll bring along thebaby 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 MizSamuelson I say not to git down in the mouth. They all got to dieanyhow. An' 'taint so bad, onct it's over an' done. But lots of 'emgits well, too. So they hain't no call to do no diggin' right up tothe 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 toboth times, an' then, couple days later, he up an' died on 'em 'thoutnary rattle. So yo' cain't never tell--men's thet ornery, even thebest of 'em. "

Christie's prediction that Patty would like Mrs. Samuelson proved tobe conservative in the extreme. From the moment the slight gray-hairedlittle woman greeted her, the girl felt as though she were talking toan old friend. There was something pathetic in the old lady's cheerfuloptimism, something profoundly pathetic in the endeavor to transformher bit of wilderness into some semblance to the far-away home she hadknown in the long ago. And she had succeeded admirably. To cross theSamuelson threshold was to step from the atmosphere of the cow-countryand the mountains into a region of comfort and quiet that contrastedsharply with the rough and ready air of the neighboring ranches. Thehouse itself was not large, but it was built of lumber, not logs. Thelong living room was provided with tastefully curtained casementwindows, and rugs of excellent quality took the place of theinevitable carpet upon the floor. A baby grand piano projected intothe 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 inthis 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 deeplygrieved to hear the sad news of your father. We used to enjoy hisoccasional brief visits. "

"How is Mr. Samuelson?" asked Patty, as she pressed the little woman'sthin, blue-veined hand. 

"He seems better to-day. "

The girl noted the hopeful tone of voice. "Is there anything I cando?" 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. Thebathroom is at the head of the stairs. I'll take a peep at my invalidand when you are ready we'll see what Wong Yie has for us. "

Patty looked hungrily at the porcelain tub--"A real bathroom!" shebreathed, "out here in the mountains--and books, and a piano!"

Mrs. Samuelson awaited her at the foot of the stair and led the way tothe dining room. When she was seated at the round mahogany table shesmiled across at the old lady in frank appreciation. 

"It seems like stepping right into fairyland, " she said. "Like the oldstories when the heroes and heroines rubbed magic lamps, or steppedonto enchanted carpets and were immediately transported from theirmiserable hovels to castles of gold inhabited by beautiful princes andprincesses. "

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 anabandoned sheep camp for months and prepared your own meals on abroken stove, and eaten them all alone on a bumpy table covered with apiece of oilcloth, and taken your bath in an icy cold creek and thenonly on the darkest nights for fear someone were watching, and read afew magazines over and over 'til you knew even the advertisements byheart--then suddenly found yourself seated in a room like this, withreal china and silver, and comfortable chairs and a _luncheoncloth_--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, welived for years in that little shack--you can see it from where yousit--it's the tool house, now. Mr. Samuelson built it with his ownhands when there weren't a half-dozen white men in the hills, anduntil 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 thispart of the hill country to live. This was the first ranch to beestablished in the hills, but we have a good many neighbors now--andsuch nice neighbors! One never really appreciates friends andneighbors until a time--like this. Then one begins to know. A longtime ago, before I knew, I used to hate this place. Sometimes I usedto think I would go crazy, with the loneliness--the vastness of itall. I used to go home and make long visits every year, and then--thechildren came, and it was different. " The woman paused and her eyesstrayed to the open window and rested upon the bold headland of amighty mountain that showed far down the valley. 

"And--you love it, now?" Patty asked, softly, as she poured Frenchdressing over crisp lettuce leaves. 

"Yes--I love it, now. After the children came it was all different. Inever want to leave the valley, now. I never shall leave it. I am anold woman, and my world has narrowed down to my home, and myvalley--my husband, and my friends and neighbors. " She looked upguiltily, with a tiny little laugh. "Do you know, during those firstyears I must have been an awful fool. I used to loathe it all--loathethe country--the men, who ate in their shirt sleeves and blew intotheir saucers, and their women. It was the uprising that brought me toa realization of the true worth of these people--" The little woman'svoice trailed off into silence, and Patty glanced up from her salad tosee that the old eyes were once more upon the far blue headland, andthe woman's thoughts were evidently very far away. She came back tothe present with an apology: "Why bless you, child, forgive me! My oldwits were back-trailing, as the cowboys would say. You have finishedyour salad, come, let's go out onto the porch, where we can get theafternoon breeze and be comfortable. " She led the way through theliving-room where she left the girl for a moment, to tiptoe upstairsfor a peep at the sick man. "He's asleep, " she reported, as theystepped out onto the porch and settled themselves in comfortablewicker rockers. 

"What was the uprising?" asked Patty. "Was it the Indians? I'd love tohear about it. "

"Yes, the Indians. That was before they were on reservations and theywere 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 bunchesdon't look like they'd be'n any cut out of 'em. But, about them whitefaces--Lodgepole's most dried up. Looks like we'd ort to throw 'emover onto Sage Crick. "

The little woman looked thoughtful. "Let's see, there are about sixhundred 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 fourof us had ort to do it in three or four days. "

The old lady shook her head. "No, the cattle will have to wait. Iwant you boys to stay right around close 'til you hear from VilHolland. Keep your best saddle horses up and at least one of you stayright here at the ranch all the time. The rest of you might ridefences, and you better take a look at those mares and colts in the bigpasture. "

The cowboy's eyes twinkled: "I savvy, all right. Guess I'll take thebunk-house shift myself this afternoon. Got a couple extry guns toclean up an' oil a little. "

"Whatever you do, you boys be careful, " admonished the woman. "And incase anything happens and Vil Holland isn't here, send one of the boysafter him at once. "

The other laughed: "Guess they ain't much danger, if anything happenshe won't be a-ridin' right on the head of it. " The cowboy gathered uphis reins, dropped them again, and his gloved fingers fumbled with hisleather hat band. The smile had left his face. 

"Anything else, Bill?" asked Mrs. Samuelson, noting his evidentreluctance 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 aheap 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 youmean?"

"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 theState. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's this way. When he was goin' back to town yesterday I laidfor him. You see, the Old Man--er, I mean--you know, ma'am, the BigBoss, he's a pretty sick man--an' it looks to us boys like things hadort to break pretty quick, one way er another. So, I says, 'Doc, how'she gittin' on?' an' the doc he says, jest like you done, 'good ascould be expected. ' When you come right down to cases, that don't tellyou 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 hegoin' 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, ' hesays. 'Fer how much?' I asks him. I didn't have but thirty-fivedollars on me, but I shook that in under his nose. You see, I wantedto 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 moneytalks. Here's the Missus payin' you good wages fer to cure up the OldMan. You goin' to do it, an' earn them wages, or ain't you? Here'sthirty-five dollars that says you can't cure him. '"

The corners of the old lady's mouth were twitching behind thehandkerchief she held to her lips: "What did the doctor say?" sheasked. 

"Tried to laugh it off, " declared the cowboy in disgust. "But Ireminds him that this here ain't no laughin' matter. 'D'you s'pose, ' Isays, '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 hereto do all the "confidently hopin'" that's needed. What you got to dois to git busy with them pills an' make him well, ' I says, 'or quitan' let someone take holt that kin. '" The man paused and regarded thewoman seriously. "What I'm gittin' at is this: If this here doc ain'tgot confidence enough in his own dope to back it with a bet, it's timewe got holt of one that will. Now, ma'am, you better let me send oneof Jack Pierce's kids to town to see Len Christie an' tell him to gitthe best doc out here they is. I'll write a note to Len on the sidean' tell him to tell the doc he kin about double his wages, 'cause therest of the boys feels just like I do, an' we'll all bet agin him so'tit'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 itisn't considered proper. Doctor Mallory is doing all any mortal mancan 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 saysgoes 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 OldMan needs right now to fix him up good as ever is a big stiff jolt ofwhisky an' bitters. " The cowboy rode away, muttering and shaking hishead, but not until he was well out of sight round the corner of thehouse did the little woman with the gray hair smile. 

"I hope Doctor Mallory will understand, " she said, a trifleanxiously, "I have some rather trying experiences with my boys, and ifBill has gone and insulted the doctor I'll have to get Jack Pierce togo to town and explain. "

"This Bill seems to just adore Mr. Samuelson, " ventured Patty. "Whyhis voice was almost--almost reverent when he said 'the Old Man. '"

The little lady nodded: "Yes, Bill thinks there's no one like him. Yousee, Bill shot a man, one day when--he was not quite himself. Over inthe Blackfoot country, it was, and Vil Holland knew the facts in thecase, and he rode over and told Mr. Samuelson all about it, and theyboth went and talked it over with the prosecuting attorney, and withold Judge Nevers, with the result that they agreed to give the boy achance. So Mr. Samuelson brought him here. That was five years ago. Bill is foreman of this outfit now, and our other three riders areboys that were headed the same way Bill was. Vil Holland brought oneof 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 outfitin Montana that can boast a more capable or loyal, or a straighterquartet of riders than this one. "

As Patty listened she understood something of what was behind thewords 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, everybodyspoke well of him, and apparently everybody but herself trusted himimplicitly. 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 facethat when she found her father's claim she would have a race on herhands, and that if she were beaten she would have to be satisfied withwhat she would get. 

But Vil Holland, his comings and his goings were soon forgotten in theabsorbing interest with which Patty listened as her little gray-hairedhostess recounted incidents and horrors of the Indian uprising, thefirst sporadic depredations, the coming of the troops, and finally theforcing of the belligerent tribes onto their reservations. 

It had been Patty's intention to ride back to her cabin in theevening, but Mrs. Samuelson would not hear of it. And, indeed the girldid not insist, for despite the fact that she had become thoroughlyaccustomed to her surroundings, the anticipation of a dinner preparedand served by the highly efficient Wong Yie, in the tastefullyappointed dining room, with its real silver and china, provedsufficiently attractive to overcome even her impatience to begin theworking out of her father's map. And the realization fully justifiedthe anticipation. When the meal was finished the two women had talkedthe long evening away before the cheerful blaze of the wood fire, andwhen at last she was shown to her room, the girl retired to luxuriatein 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 andlistening, sitting bolt upright in bed. Moonlight flooded the roomthrough the windows thrown wide to admit the chill night air. Beyondthe valley floor, green with the luxuriant second crop of alfalfa, shecould see the mountains looming dim and mysterious in the half-light. 

The whole world seemed silent as the grave--and yet, something musthave awakened her. She shuddered, partly at the chill that struck ather thinly clad shoulders, and partly at the recollection of some ofthe scenes those selfsame mountains had witnessed, during theuprisings, and which her hostess had so vividly recounted. The girlsmiled, and gazing toward the mountains, pictured long lines of nakedhorsemen stealing silently into the valley. She started violently. Through the open window came sounds, the muffled thud of hoofs uponthe soft ground, the low rattle of bit-chains and spur-rowels, and thecreak of saddle leather. There _were_ horsemen in the valley, and thehorsemen were passing almost beneath her windows--and they were movingstealthily. 

For a moment her heart raced madly--the fancy of those conjuredhorsemen, and then the mysterious sounds from the night that were notfancy, combined in just the right proportion to overcome her with amomentary terror. She realized that the sounds were passing--growingfainter, and leaping from the bed, rushed to the window and peeredout. Only silence--profound, unbroken silence, and the moonlight. Invain 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 houseand the pole horse-corral. Her windows commanded the eastern wall ofthe valley, and its upper reaches. Had there actually been horsemen, or were the sounds part of her vivid vision of the long ago? "No, " shemuttered, "those sounds were real, " and she leaned far out of thewindow in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of the trail that led downthe creek toward Pierce's. 

For some time she remained at the window and then, shivering, creptback to bed, where she lay speculating upon the identity of thesehorsemen who passed in the night. She knew that a horse raid had beenexpected. Could these raiders have had the audacity to pass throughthe very dooryard of the ranch, knowing as they must have known, thatfour armed and determined cowboys occupied the bunk house?

And who were these raiders? At Thompson's she had heard Monk Bethune'sname mentioned in connection with possible horse-thieving. Bethune hadspoken of hurried trips, "to the northward. " She remembered that uponthe occasion of their first meeting, she had heard him dickering withWatts for the rent of his horse pasture, and she recollected theincident of the changed name. Then, again, only a few days before, shehad parted with him when he struck off the trail to the eastward withthe excuse that he was going over onto the east slope on a matterhaving to do with some horses. Bill had mentioned, in talking to Mrs. Samuelson, that he had been riding through the horses on the eastslope. Could it be possible that the suave Bethune was a horse-thief?On the other hand, Bethune had openly hinted that Vil Holland was ahorse-thief--and yet, these other people all believed that he waspersistently on the trail of the horse-thieves. 

For a long time she lay thinking, guessing, trying to recall littlescraps of evidence that would bear upon the case. Again, a slightsound brought her to a sitting posture. This time it was the openingof a door across the hall from her room. The sound was followed by thesoft padding of slippered feet in the hall, the low tapping, evidentlyat another door, a few low-voiced words, and a return of the paddingsteps. A few moments later other steps hurried along the hall past herdoor and rapidly descended the stairs. Patty heard the opening of anoutside door, and once more stealing to the window she saw theChinaman hurry across the moonlit yard to the bunk house and throwopen the door. He entered to emerge a moment later and rush to thehorse-corral, where he peered between the poles for a moment and thenmade his way swiftly back to the house. 

Without lighting the lamp Patty dressed hurriedly. Was the Samuelsonranch a place of mystery? What was the meaning of the lightsounds--the soft tramp of horses, and the padding of feet upon thestairs? The footsteps paused at the door across the hall. Therefollowed a whispered colloquy and the steps retreated rapidly to thelower regions. Patty opened her door to see Mrs. Samuelson, her faceexpressing the deepest agitation, and one thin hand catching togetherthe 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 heavybreathing. "I am afraid he is worse, " she whispered. "Wong Yie went tothe 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'tunderstand it, " she cried. "I told them not to go away. They know, that with my husband sick, we are in momentary danger from thehorse-thieves, and they know that their place is right here. "

"You told Bill to stay until he heard from Vil Holland, " remindedPatty. "Maybe they heard from him, and left without disturbing you. "

"That's it, of course!" cried the woman. "I ought to have known Icould trust them. But, for a moment it seemed that--" She stoppedabruptly and glanced anxiously into the girl's face, "But what in theworld will we do? Wong Yie can't ride a step, and if he could, I needhim here----"

"I'll ride to Pierce's!" exclaimed Patty. "And get Mr. Pierce to gofor the doctor, and bring Mrs. Pierce back with me. My horse is in thecorral, and I can get down there in no time. "

"Oh, can you? Will you? And you are not afraid--alone at night in thehills? Under any other circumstances I wouldn't think of letting youdo it, child--especially with the horse-thieves about. But, it seemsthe 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 momentslater swung into the trail that led down the creek. She glanced at herwatch; it was one o'clock. The moon floated high in the heavens andthe valley was almost as light as day. Urging her horse into a run, she found a wild exhilaration in riding through the night, splashingacross shallows and shooting across short level stretches to plungethrough the water again. 

After what seemed an interminable wait, Pierce himself appeared at thedoor in answer to her persistent pounding. Patty thought he eyed hercuriously as he stood aside and motioned her into the kitchen. Verydeliberately he lighted the lamp and listened in silence until she hadfinished. Then, coolly, he eyed her from top to toe: "'Pears to meI'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' onpullin' 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' thelay, so's to tip 'em off, an' now you come down here an' tell me theOld Man's worst so's I'll take out to town fer the doc--an' one lessposse-man in the hills. Yer a pretty slick article, Miss, but ithain't a-goin' to work. "

Patty listened, speechless with rage. When the man finished she foundher tongue. "You--you accuse me of being a--a horse-thief?" shechoked. 

"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 ownboys 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 Iguess if we get all the he ones out of yer gang we kin leave youloose. 'Tain't likely you could run off no horses single-handed. "

A woman whose appearance showed an evident hasty toilet had steppedfrom an inner room, and stood listening to the man. Patty was about toappeal to her when, from the outside came a thunder of hoofs, andsuddenly a man burst into the room. Patty recognized him as Bill, ofthe Samuelson ranch. "Come on, Jack, quick! Git yer gun, while I slamthe kak on yer cayuse. The raid's on, they've cut out a bunch of themthree 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 hadplunged toward the corral, followed by Pierce, buckling on hiscartridge 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 havebelieved me?" she cried. "He thinks I'm one of that detestable gang ofthieves! But, you--surely you don't think I'm a horse-thief?" Inbroken sentences she related the facts to the woman, and finished bybegging her to go up to the Samuelson ranch. "I'll ride on to townfor the doctor myself!" she exclaimed. "And surely you can do thatmuch for your neighbor. "

"Do that much fer 'em!" the woman exclaimed. "I reckon they ain'tnothin' I wouldn't do fer _them_. Mebbe Jack's right, an' mebbe he'swrong. I've saw him be both, 'fore now. Anyways, it ain't a-goin' todo Samuelsons no harm, nor the horse-thieves no good fer me to go upthere. You hit the trail fer town, an' I'll ride up the crick. " Thewoman cut short the girl's thanks. "You better take straight on downPorky 'til it crosses the trail, " she advised. "It's a little longerbut you won't git lost that way, an' chances is you would if I triedto tell you the short cut. Thompsons is great friends withSamuelsons, " called the woman, as Patty mounted. "Better change horsesthere! Or, mebbe Thompson'll go on to town fer you. "

Below the Pierce ranch the trail was not so good but, unheeding, thegirl held her horse to his pace. In her heart now was no wildexhilaration of moonlight, nor was there any lurking fear of unknownhorsemen, only a mighty rage--a rage engendered by Pierce'saccusation, but which expanded with each leap of her horse until itincluded Vil Holland, Bethune, the Samuelson cowboys, and even LenChristie and the Samuelsons themselves--a senseless, consuming ragethat caused the blood to throb hotly to her temples and found viciousexpression in driving the rowels into her horse's sides until theanimal tore down the rough, half-lit trail at a pace that sent theloose stones flying from beneath his hoofs in rattling volleys. 

Possibly, it was the rattling of loose stones, possibly her angerdulled her sensibilities to the point where they were incapable oftaking note of her surroundings, but the fact remains that as sheapproached the mouth of a wide coulee that gave into the valley fromthe eastward, she did not hear the rumble of hundreds of poundinghoofs that each second grew louder and more ominous, until as shereached the mouth of the coulee a rider swept into the valley, hishorse straining every muscle to keep ahead of the herd that thunderedin his wake. 

Apparently the horseman did not notice her, and the next moment Pattywas engulfed in the herd. The girl lived one wild moment of terror. Infront, behind, upon each side were madly plunging horses, eyesstaring, mouths agape exposing long white teeth that flashed wickedlyin the moonlight, manes tossing wildly, and air whistling throughwide-flaring nostrils. On and on they swept down the valley. The roarof hoofs rose to a mighty crescendo of thunder, above which, now andthen, the terrified girl caught fierce yells from the flank of theherd. So close were the terrorized horses running that it wasimpossible for the girl to see the ground before her. Sweating, plunging bodies surged against her legs threatening each moment toscrape her feet from the stirrups. Gripping the horn with both handsshe rode in a sort of daze. 

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught an occasional flash of white asthe men on the flanks waved sheets above their heads, whose flapping, fluttering folds urged the maddened horses into a perfect frenzy ofaction. 

In front, and a little to one side of Patty, a horse went down, a bigroan colt, and she got one horrible glimpse of a grotesquely twistedneck, and a tangle of thrashing hoofs as another horse plunged ontohis fallen comrade. A horrible scream split the air as he, too, wentdown, and the sudden side-surge of the herd all but unseated theclinging girl. In a second it was over and the herd thundered on. Patty closed her eyes, and with white, tight-pressed lips, wonderedwhen her horse would go down. She pictured the bloody, battered_thing_ that had been herself, lying flattened and gruesome, in themoonlight when the pounding hoofs swept past. 

Time and distance ceased to be. Patty was carried helplessly on, apart of that frenzied flood of flesh, muscles rigid, braintense--waiting for the inevitable moment--the horrible moment that wasto mark the climax of this ride of horrors. She wondered if it wouldhurt, or would merciful unconsciousness come with the first impact ofthe fall. 

Suddenly she opened her eyes. She sensed a change in the rumble ofhoofs. Horses surged together and the pace slackened from a wild rushto a wilder thrashing of uncertainty. In the forefront a thin redspurt of flame leaped forth and above the pounding hoofs rang thereport of a shot. The leaders seemed to have stopped and the main bodyof the herd pressed and struggled against the unyielding front. Otherspurts of flame pierced the night, and shots rang viciously from allsides. The horses were milling, churning, about in a huge maelstrom, in which Patty found herself being slowly forced to the outside as theunencumbered free horses crowded to the center away from theterrifying stabs of flame and the crack of guns. She could see amounted form before her. Evidently it was the man who had ridden inthe forefront of the herd. The rider was very close, now, his horsekeeping pace with her own which had nearly reached the outer rim ofthe churning mass of animals. The brim of his hat shadowed his facebut Patty could see that the gauntleted hand held a six-gun. A shiftof position brought the moonlight full upon the man's front--upon ascarf of robin's-egg blue caught together at the throat with thepolished tip of buffalo horn. No other horsemen were in sight, but anoccasional sharp report sounded from the opposite side of the herd. "Vil!" she screamed. "Vil Holland!" The form stiffened in the saddleand the girl caught the flash of his eyes beneath the hat brim. Thenext instant the gun had given place to a heavy quirt in his hand, histall, rangy horse plunged straight toward her, the wild horses, crowding frenziedly to escape the blows as the rider lashed furiouslyto 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 ofthem--and I nearly--" The man leaned suddenly forward and grasped thebit-chain of her bridle. As if knowing exactly what was expected ofthem, side by side the two horses fought their way free of the herd, the big buckskin with ears laid back, snapping viciously at thecrowding horses. A six-gun roared twice. Patty felt a sudden brush ofair against her cheek and the next instant the two horses plunged downthe steep side of a narrow ravine. In the bottom the man released herbridle. "You stay here!" he commanded gruffly. 

"But, the Samuelsons! Mr. Samuelson is--" The words were drowned in ashower of gravel as the rangy buckskin scrambled up the bank anddisappeared over the top. The rapid transition from anger to terror, and from terror to relief, proved too much for the girl's nerves andshe burst into a violent fit of sobbing. The tears enraged her and sheshouted at the top of her voice. "I won't stay here!" but the wordssounded puny and weak, and she knew that they had not penetratedbeyond the rim of the ravine. "I won't do it! I won't stay here!" shekept repeating, the sentences broken by the hysterical sobbing. Nevertheless, stay there she did, until with a mighty rumble of hoofsand a scattering volley of shots, the horse herd swept northward, andwhen finally she succeeded in gaining the upper level, the sounds cameto her ears faint and far away. 

Hurriedly she glanced about her. What was that stretching to thesouthward, a long ribbon of white in the moonlight? "The trail!" shecried. "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 firstimpulse was to put spurs to her horse and fly down that long whiteribbon of trail--to place distance between herself and the thing thatlay sprawled upon the grass. Then a thought flashed into her brain. Suppose it were he? Vil Holland, the man whom everybody trusted--theman who had calmly braved the shots of the horse-thieves to rescue herfrom that churning maelstrom of horror. 

Unconsciously, but surely, under the influence of those upon whosejudgment she knew she could rely, her suspicion and distrust of himhad weakened. She had half-realized the fact days ago, when at thoughtof him she found herself forced to enumerate his apparent offensesover and over again to keep the distrust alive. She thought of him nowas he had fought his way to her, lashing the infuriated horses fromhis path. He had appeared, somehow--different. She closed her eyes andclean cut as though chiseled upon her brain was the picture of him ashe forced his way to her side. Like a flash the detail of differencebroke upon her--The jug was missing! And close upon the heels of thediscovery came the memory of the strange thrill that had shot throughher as his leg pressed hers when their horses had been forced togetherby the milling herd, and the sense of security and well being thatreplaced the terror in her heart from the moment she had called hisname. A sudden indescribable pain gripped her breast, as though icyfingers reached up and slowly clutched her heart. With staring eyesand breath coming heavily between parted lips, she rode toward thething on the ground. As she drew near, her horse stopped, sniffingnervously. She attempted to urge him forward, but he quivered, shiedsidewise, and, snorting his fear, circled the sprawling object withnostrils a-quiver. 

Fighting a terrible dread, the girl forced her eyes to focus upon thegruesome form, and the next instant she uttered a quick little cry ofrelief. The man's hat had fallen off and lay at some distance from thebody. She could see a shock of thick black hair, and noticed that hewore a cheap cotton shirt that had once been white. There were nochaps. One leg of his blue overalls had rolled up and exposed sixinches of bare skin which gleamed whitely in the moonlight above thetop of his shoe. The sight sickened, disgusted her, and whirling herhorse she dashed southward along the trail forgetting for the momentthe Samuelsons, the doctor, and everything else in a wild desire toput distance between herself and that awful thing on the ground. 

Not until her horse's hoofs rang upon the hard rock of the canyonfloor, did Patty slacken her pace. Thompson's was only a few milesfarther on. It was dark in the high walled canyon and she slowed herhorse to a walk. He stopped to drink in the shallow creek and the girlglanced over the back trail. Where was he now! Thundering along withthe recaptured horse herd, or following the thieves in a mad flightthrough the devious fastnesses of the mountains. Was it possible thateven at this moment he was lying upon the yellow-brown grass, or amongthe broken rock fragments of some coulee, twisted, and shapeless, andstill--like that other who lay repulsive and ugly, with his bare legshining white in the moonlight? She shuddered. "No, no, no!" she criedaloud, "they can't kill him. They're cowards--and he is brave!" Hervoice rang hollow and thin in the rocky chasm, and she started at thesound of it. Her horse moved on, tongueing the bit contentedly. "Theywere right, and I was wrong, " she muttered. "And--and, I'm _glad_. "

The canyon was left behind and before her the trail wound among thefoothills that rolled away to the open bench. She noticed that themoon had sunk behind the mountains, yet it was not dark. Glancingtoward the east, she realized that it was morning. She urged her horseinto a lope, and reached Thompson's just as the ranchman and his twohands were starting for the barn. 

"Well, dog my cats, if it ain't Miss Sinclair!" exclaimed the man, andstood silent for a second as if trying to remember something. Herushed toward her excitedly. "You want that horse?" he cried, andwithout 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 comesa-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'ta-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 aleetle 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'sa-saddlin' up. It's a long drag to town, even on Lightnin', an' youain'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 asage hen's head off twenty rod with that rifle!" Patty had madeseveral unsuccessful attempts to speak--attempts to which Thompsonpaid no attention whatever. At last, she managed to make himunderstand. "No, no! It isn't the claim, Mr. Thompson--but, let himsaddle the horse just the same. Mr. Samuelson is worse and I'm ridingfor the doctor. "

"You!" exclaimed the astonished Thompson. "What's the matter with Billor 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 caughtthem, and had a battle, and I was in it, and there is a dead man lyingback there beside the trail. " Patty talked rapidly, and Thompsonstared open-mouthed. 

"Run off Samuelson's horses--battle--dead man--you was in it!" herepeated, 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'swith them--with the Samuelson cowboys and that horrid Pierce, andthat's why I had to ride for the doctor--because the cowboys were withVil 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, " sighedThompson, resignedly, as the girl concluded the somewhat muddledexplanation. "If the raid's come off, why wasn't I in on it--an' mekeepin' Lightnin' up an' ready fer it's goin' on three months? They'sa thing or two I do know, though. For one, you've rode fer enough. " Hecalled 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 hullcinched onto Lightnin', you fork him an' hightail fer town an' fetchDoc Mallory out to Samuelson's. Tell him the Old Man's worse. Betterfetch Len Christie along, too. If there's a dead man, even if he's ahorse-thief, it's better he was buried accordin' to the book. TakeMiss 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 beginat 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 VilHolland, all right, fer not lettin' me in on that there raid. "

"Maybe he didn't have time, " suggested the girl, and suppressed adesire to smile at the readiness with which she sprang to the defenseof 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 atthe ranch, and mounting her horse, headed for the cabin on Monte'sCreek. 

Once through the canyon, she turned abruptly into the hills and as herhorse, unguided, topped low divides, and threaded mile after mile ofnarrow valleys, her thoughts wandered from the all-absorbing topic ofher father's location, to the man for whom she had so recentlyexperienced such a signal revulsion of feeling. "How could I ever havebeen deceived by that disgusting Monk Bethune?" she muttered. "Especially after he warned me against him. It's a wonder I couldn'thave seen him for the sleek oily devil that he is. I must have beencrazy. " She shuddered at the recollection of that day in the littlevalley when he boldly made love to her. "It's just blind luckthat--that something _awful_ didn't happen. I could see the lurkingdevil 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 falseexplanation as to why people hate and distrust him. " At the top of alow divide, she turned her horse into a valley that was not, by anymeans, the most direct route to the little cabin on Monte's Creek. Ahalf hour later she came out onto the plateau, upon the edge of whichVil Holland's little tent nestled against its towering rock fragment. 

For just an instant she hesitated, then, blushing, rode boldly acrossthe open space toward the little patch of white that showed throughthe scrub timber. Pulling up before the tent door the girl glancedabout her. Everything was in its place. Her eyes rested approvinglyupon the well-scoured cooking utensils that hung in an orderly row. Evidently the camp had not been used the night before. She drew offher glove and, leaning over, felt the blankets that were thrown overthe ridgepole. They were still wet with the heavy dew, and thedampened ashes showed that no fire had been built that morning. "Oh, where is he?" whispered the girl, glancing wildly about, "Surely, hehas had time to reach here--if he's--all right. " After a few momentsof silence she laughed nervously: "He's all right, " she assuredherself with forced cheerfulness. "Of course, he wouldn't return hereright away. He probably had to help drive those horses back, or--orhelp bury that man, or something. I wonder what he thinks of me?Pierce will tell him his suspicions, and then--finding me mixed inwith those horses--he'll think I've 'thrown in' with Bethune, as hewould say. I must see him. I must!"

Deciding to return later in the day, Patty headed her horse for thedivide and soon found herself at the much trampled notch in the hills. For some moments she sat staring down at the ground. She glancedtoward the cabin that showed so distinctly in the valley below. "Hecertainly watches from here, " she mused. "And not just occasionallyeither. " Suddenly, she straightened in her saddle, and her eyesglowed: "I wonder if--if he has been watching--Monk Bethune? Watchingto see that no harm comes to--me? Oh, if I only knew--if I only knewthe real meaning of this trampled grass!" Resolutely, she gathered upher reins. "I _will know_!" she muttered. "And I'll know before verylong, too. That is, I _hope_ I will, " she qualified, as the bay cayusebegan to pick his way carefully down the steep descent to Monte'sCreek. 

CHAPTER XVI

PATTY FINDS A GLOVE

Dismounting before her cabin, Patty dropped her reins, pushed open thedoor, and entered. Her eyes flew to the little dressing table. Thepacket was gone! With a thrill of exultation she carefully inspectedthe room. Everything was exactly as she had left it. No blunderingMicroby had been here during her absence, for well she knew thatMicroby could no more have invaded the cabin without leaving traces ofher visit than she could have flown to the moon. It was midday. Shehad intended to rest when she reached the cabin, but her impatience toestablish once for all the identity of the cunning prowler dispelledher weariness, and after a hurried luncheon, she was once more in thesaddle. "We've both earned a good rest, old fellow, " she confided toher horse, as he threaded the coulee she had marked 1 NW, "but it'sonly six or seven miles, and we simply must know who it is that hasbeen calling on us so persistently. And when I find daddy's mine andhave just oodles of money, I'm going to make it up to you for workingyou 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, andyou're going to have oats three times a day, and you're never going tohave to work any more, and every day I'll saddle you myself and we'lltake a ride just for fun. "

Having disposed of her horse's future in this eminently satisfactorymanner, the girl fell to planning her own. She would build a big houseand live in Middleton, and fairly flaunt her gold in the faces ofthose who had scoffed at her father--no, she _hated_ Middleton! Shewould go there once in a while, to visit Aunt Rebecca, but mainly toshow the narrow, hide-bound natives what they had missed by notbacking her father with a few of their miserable dollars. She wouldlive in New York--in Washington--in Los Angeles. No, she would liveright here in the hills--the hills, that daddy had loved, and whosesecret he had wrested from their silent embrace. And when she tired ofthe hills she would travel. Not the slightest doubt as to her abilityto locate her father's claim assailed her, now that she had learnedto read his map. 

It was wonderfully good to be alive. Her glance traveled from the tinycreek whose shallow waters purled and burbled about her horse's feet, to the high-flung peaks of the mountains, their loftier reachesrearing naked and craggy above the dark green girdle of pines. Slowlyand majestically, hardly more than a speck against the blue, an eaglesoared. It was a good world--courage and perseverance made things workout right. It was cowardly to despair--to become disheartened. Shewould find her father's mine--but, first she would prove that Bethunewas a scoundrel of the deepest dye. And she would prove, she admittedto herself she wanted to prove, that Vil Holland was all his friendsbelieved him to be. But, she blushed with shame--what must he think ofher? Of her defense of Bethune, of her deliberate rudeness, and worstof all, of her night ride with the horse-thieves? He knew she hadsuspected him--had even accused him. Would he ever regard her as otherthan a silly fool? Vividly she pictured him as he had looked lashinghis way to her through the wildly crowding horse herd, determined, capable, masterful--and wondered vaguely what her answer would havebeen had he made love to her as Bethune had done? She smiled at thethought of Vil Holland, the unsmiling, the outspoken, theself-sufficient Vil Holland making love!

Upon the summit of a high ridge she paused and gazed down into thelittle valley where she had located the false claim. A few momentsmore and she would know to a certainty the identity of the prowler whohad repeatedly searched her cabin. Certain as she was whose stakes shewould find marking the claim, it was with a rapidly beating heart thatshe urged her horse into the valley and across the creek toward therock wall. Yes, there was a stake! And another! And there was the plotof ground she had laboriously broken at the foot of the wall. Sheswung from the saddle and examined the spot. The rock fragments shehad selected from her father's samples were gone! And now to find thenotice! As she turned to search for the other stakes, her glancerested upon an object that held her rooted in her tracks. For a momenther heart stopped beating as she stared at the little patch of graybuckskin that lay limp and neglected where it had fallen. Slowly shewalked to it, stooped, and recovered it from the ground. It was agauntleted 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 redand green silk upon its back. 

For a long time she stared at the green and red horseshoe. So it wasVil Holland, after all, and not Monk Bethune, who had systematicallysearched her cabin. Vil Holland, who had watched continually from hisnotch in the hills. She had been right in the first place, and theothers had been wrong. Everybody disliked Bethune, and disliking him, had attributed to him all the crookedness of the hill country, and allthe time, under their very noses, Vil Holland was the realplotter--and they liked him! She could see it all, now--how, withBethune for the scapegoat, he was enabled, unsuspected, to plan andcarry out his various schemes, and with no possible chance ofdetection--for he himself was the confidential employee of theranchmen--the man whose business it was to put an end to thelawlessness of the hill country. 

Patty was surprised that she was not angry. Indeed, she was notconscious of any emotion. She realized, as she stood there holding thegaily embroidered glove in her hand, that the rapture, the gladnessof mere existence had left her, and that where only a few minutesbefore, her heart had throbbed with the very joy of living, it nowseemed like a thing of weight, whose heaviness oppressed her. She feltstrangely alone and helpless. She glanced about her. The sun stillshone on the green pines and the sparkling waters of the creek, andabove the high-tossed crags the eagle still circled, but the thrill ofjoy in these things was gone. Slowly she turned and, still holding theglove, mounted, and headed for the cabin on Monte's Creek. 

At the door she unsaddled her horse, hobbled him, and turned himloose. She realized that she was very tired, and threw herself downupon the bunk. When she awoke the cabin was in darkness. The doorstood wide open as she had left it. For a moment she lay trying tocollect her bewildered senses. Through the open door, dimlysilhouetted against the starry sky, she made out the notch in thevalley rim. Her sense rallied with a rush, and she started nervouslyas a pack rat scurried across the floor and paused upon the door sillto peer inquisitively at her with his beady eyes. Crossing the room, she closed and barred the door, and lighted the lamp. It was twelveo'clock. She peered at herself in the glass and with an exclamation ofanger, dampened her wash-cloth and scrubbed furiously at her cheekwhere, in deep tracery appeared the perfect shape of a horseshoe. 

She was very hungry, and rummaging in the cupboard set out a coldlunch which she devoured to the last crumb. Then she blew out the lampand, removing her riding boots, threw herself down upon the bunk tothink. She was angry now, and the longer she thought the angrier shegot. "I can see it all as plain as day, " she muttered. "There isn'tanything he wouldn't do! He _did_ cut that pack sack, and he ran thesheep man out of the hills because he knew it would be dangerous forhim to have a neighbor that might talk. And the Samuelson horse raid!Of all the diabolical plotting! With his outlaw friends holdingtrusted positions on the ranch, and old Mr. Samuelson sick in bed! Oh, it was cleverly planned! And that Pierce was right in with them. Nowonder 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 openat the throat, and the moonlight shining whitely upon the bare leg. "Some loyal rancher, probably, who dared to oppose the outlaws. It'smurder!" she cried aloud. "And yesterday I thought he was watching upthere in the hills to see that no harm came to me!" She laughed--ahard, bitter laugh that held as much of mirth as the gurgle of a tiderip. "But he's come to the end of his rope! I'll expose him! I'm notafraid of his lawless crew! He'll find out it will take more thanrescuing me from that herd of wild horses to buy my silence! I'll ridestraight to Samuelson's ranch in the morning, and from there toThompson's, and I'll tell them about his part in the raid, and abouthis watching like a vulture from his notch in the hills, and about hisstealing what he thought was daddy's map, and about his filing theclaim. And did show 'em the glove and--" She paused abruptly: "What afool I was to come away without the notice! That would have proved itbeyond any doubt, even if he hasn't recorded the claim!" For a longtime she lay in the darkness planning her course for the day. Allthought of sleep had vanished, and her eyes continually sought thewindow for signs of approaching light. 

At the first faint glow of dawn the girl caught up her horse andheaded for the false claim. It was but the work of a moment to locatethe 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 thecabin where she ate breakfast before starting for the Samuelson ranch. Hurriedly washing the dishes, she picked up the glove and thrust itinto the bosom of her shirt, and drawing the crumpled notice from herpocket, smoothed it out upon the table. Her glance traveled rapidlyover the penciled words to the signature, and she stared like one in adream. The blood left her face. She closed her eyes and passed herhand slowly over the lids. She opened them, and with a nervelessfinger, 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 inthe doorway and gazed toward the notch in the hills until hot tearswelled into her eyes and blurred the distant skyline. The next momentshe was upon her bunk, where she lay shaken between fits of sobbingand hysterical laughter. She drew the glove, with its fringed gauntletand its gaudily embroidered horseshoe from her shirt front and ran herfingers along its velvety softness. Impulsively, passionately, shepressed the horseshoe to her lips, and leaping to her feet, thrust theglove inside her shirt and stepping lightly to the table reread thepenciled lines upon the crumpled paper, and over and over again sheread the signature; RAOUL BETHUNE, known also as MONK BETHUNE. 

The atmosphere of the little cabin seemed stifling. Crumpling thepaper into her pocket, she stepped out the door. She must dosomething--go some place--talk to someone! Her horse stood saddledwhere she had left him, and catching up the reins she mounted andheaded him at a gallop for the ravine that led to the trampled notchin the hills. During the long upward climb the girl managed to collecther scattered wits. Where should she go? She breathed deeply of thepine-laden air. It was still early morning. A pair of magpies flittedin short flights from tree to tree along the trail, scoldingincessantly as they waited to be frightened on to the next tree. Patches of sunlight flashed vivid contrasts in their black and whiteplumage, and set off in a splendor of changing color the green andpurple and bronze of their iridescent feathering. A deer bounded awayin a blur of tan and white, and a little farther on, a porcupinelumbered lazily into the scrub. It was good to be alive! Whatdifference did it make which direction she chose? All she wanted thismorning was to ride, and ride, and ride! She had her father's map withher but was in no mood to study out its intricacies, nor to rideslowly up and down little valleys, scrutinizing rock ledges. She wouldvisit the Samuelson ranch, and find out about the horse raid, andinquire after Mr. Samuelson, and then--well, there would be plenty oftime to decide what to do then. But first, she would swing around bythe 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 howit was she had been riding with the horses--and, she must give himback his glove. She blushed as she felt the pressure of its soft bulkwhere it rested just below her heart. Surely, he would need hisglove--and maybe, if she were nice to him, he would tell her how itcame to be there--and maybe he would explain--_this_. Her horse hadstopped voluntarily after his steep climb, and she glanced down at thetrampled grass, and from that to her own little cabin far below onMonte's Creek. 

She wondered, as she rode through the timber how it was she had beenso quick to doubt this grave, unsmiling hillman upon such a meretriviality as the finding of a glove. And then she wondered at herchanged attitude toward him. She had feared him at first, thendespised him. And now--she recalled with a thrill, the lean ruggednessof him, the unwavering eyes and the unsmiling lips--now, at least, sherespected him, and she no longer wondered why the people of the hillsand the people of the town held him in regard. She knew that he hadnever sought to curry her favor--had never deviated a hair's breadthfrom the even tenor of his way in order to win her regard and, intheir chance conversations, he had been blunt even to rudeness. And, yet, against her will, her opinion of him had changed. And this changehad nothing whatever to do with her timely rescue from the horseherd--it had been gradual, so gradual that it had been an accomplishedfact 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 camesuddenly upon his camp. A blackened coffee pot was nestled closeagainst a tiny fire upon which a pair of trout and some strips ofbacon sizzled in a frying pan. She glanced toward the creek, at thesame moment that Vil Holland turned at the sound of her horse'sfootsteps, 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'llslip into my shirt. "

And suddenly Patty realized that he was stripped to the waist, but hereyes never left the point high on his upper arm, almost against theshoulder, where a blood-stained bandage dangled untidily. 

"You're hurt!" she cried, swinging from the saddle and running towardhim. 

"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 toanything--don't even hurt, to speak of. I can let that go, if you'lljust----"

"Well, I won't just go away--or just anything else, except just attendto that wound--so there!" She was at his side, examining the clumsybandage. "Sit right down beside the creek, and I'll look at it. Thefirst 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 placeto tie up, left-handed. "

Scooping up water in her hand Patty applied it to the bandage, andafter repeating the process several times, began very gently toremove the cloth. "Why it's clear through!" she cried, as the bandagecame away and exposed the wound. 

"Just through the meat--it missed the bone. That cold water feelsgood. It was gettin' kind of stiff. "

"What did you put on it?"

"Nothin'. Didn't have anything along, an' wouldn't have had time tofool 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 outthis wound. "

The man shook his head. "No, the jug's plumb empty an' dry. I ain'tbe'n to town for 'most a week. "

Patty was fumbling at her saddle for the little "first aid" kit thatshe faithfully carried, and until this moment, had never found usefor. "Probably the only time in the world it would ever do you anygood, you haven't got it!" she exclaimed, disgustedly, as she unrolleda strip of gauze from about a tiny box of salve. 

"I'm sorry there ain't any whisky in the jug. I never thought ofkeepin' 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 breakfastand then we're going to ride straight to Samuelson's ranch. The doctorwill be there and he can dress this wound right. "

"It's all right, just the way it is, " said Holland. "I've seen fellowsdone up in bandages, one way an' another, but not any that was better'tended to than that. " He glanced approvingly at the neatly bandagedarm. "Anyhow, this is nothin' but a scratch an' it'll be all healedup, 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 whenyou're through, you call me. I've had breakfast but I can drink a cupof 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 thecreek. " He pointed to a light fishing pole with hook and line attachedthat leaned against a tree. "It ain't as fancy as the outfit LenChristie packs, but it works just as good, an' ain't any bother totake care of. "

A few minutes later Vil Holland emerged from the tent. "Sorry I ain'tgot a table, " he apologized, "but a fryin' pan outfit's always suitedme best--makes a fellow feel kind of free to pull stakes an' driftwhen 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 everyplace 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 oftimber, an' this little creek's the coldest, an' it always seems tome, its water is the sparklin'est of 'em all. An' then, away off theretowards the big mountains, early in the mornin' an' late in theevenin', when it's all kind of dim down here, you can see the sunlighton the snow--purple, an' pink, an' sometimes it shines like silver an'gold. It lays fine for a ranch. Sometime, maybe, I'm goin' tohomestead 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 thelights 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. Itwas horrible. "

"Yes, an' a couple of more went the same way, further on. We'd ratherhave got 'em alive, but they'd had their orders, an' they took theirmedicine. 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 boysdidn't know nothin' about it--except Pierce--an' he guessed wrong. "

Patty laughed. "He accused me of being one of the gang, and eventhreatened 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 wasworse, and there was no one else to go. And when I started on fortown, 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 totown. 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 marriedmen. 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 thehills that it don't make any difference to anyone if we come back ornot. I didn't figure on lettin' Pierce in. "

When they had finished washing the dishes the girl glanced toward thebuckskin that was snipping grass in the clearing: "It's time we weregoing. The doctor may start for town this morning and we'll meet himon 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 itdoesn't make a particle of difference how fine it feels. It needsattention. And, surely you won't refuse to do this for me, after Ibandaged it all up? Because, if anything should go wrong it would bemy fault. "

Without a word the man picked up his bridle and walking to thebuckskin, slipped it over his head and led him in. He saddled thehorse with one hand, and as he turned toward the girl she held out theglove. 

"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 toyou. 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 MonkBethune has just staked a claim. And he staked that particular claimbecause it was the spot I had indicated on a map that I preparedespecially for the benefit of the man who has been searching my cabinall summer. "

Holland nodded gravely, without showing the slightest trace ofsurprise. "Oh, that's where I dropped it, eh? I figured Monk thoughthe'd found somethin', the way he come out of your cabin the last timehe 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, Pattythought she detected a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "He didn'twaste much time there--just clawed around a few minutes where you'dpecked up the dirt, an' then sunk his stakes, an' wrote out hisnotice, an' high-tailed for the register's office. That was a prettysmart trick of yours but it wouldn't have fooled anyone that knowsrock. Bethune's no prospector. He's a Canada crook--whisky runner, an'cattle rustler, an' gambler. Somehow, he'd got a suspicion that yourfather made a strike he'd never filed, an' he's been tryin' to getholt of it ever since. I looked your plant over after he'd hit fortown 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 beendaddy'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 anadventure 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' thefake Lord, too. "

"Is that the reason you threw Lord Clendenning into the creek, thatday?"

"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, butI'd got so far along with it I couldn't help finishin'. You thoughtthe 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 wassearchin' your cabin, too. An' of course I didn't hate you because youcouldn't hardly help figurin' that way after you'd run onto the placein the rim-rocks where I watched from. If it wasn't for the trees Icould have strung along in a different place each time, but that's theonly 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'tas bad as Bethune, for all he's throw'd in with him. The days Bethunefollowed you, I followed Bethune. An' when Clendenning followed you, Iprospected, mostly. "

"You thought Bethune might have--have attacked me?"

"I wasn't takin' any chances--not with him, I wasn't. One day, Ithought 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 stoppedjust exactly one step this side of hell, that day. "

Patty regarded the cowboy thoughtfully: "And Bethune told me he had togo over onto the east slope to see about some horses. It was after wehad met Pierce, and Bethune asked about Mr. Samuelson and Piercesnubbed him. I believe Bethune planned that raid. And seeing ustogether that day, Pierce jumped to the conclusion that I was in withhim. "

"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 onthe trail, an' watched him plan out the route they'd take with thehorses. Then I done some plannin' of my own. That's why we was able tohead 'em off so handy. We didn't get Bethune an' Clendenning but I'llget 'em yet. "

They had mounted and were riding toward Samuelson's. "Maybe he's madehis 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 thinkwe 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, Pattyfound opportunity to study the lean brown face. 

"Where's your gun?" The man asked the question abruptly, withoutremoving his eyes from the fore-trail. 

"I left it home. I only carried it once or twice. It's heavy, andanyway it was silly to carry it, I don't even know how to fire it, letalone 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'seye with a six-gun, either handed. Practice is all it takes, an'----"

"But, why should I carry it? Bethune would hardly dare harm me, andanyway, now that he thinks he has stolen my secret, he wouldn't haveany 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 layfor you just to get even, or he'll see that he gets the right dopenext time--an' maybe you know what that means, an' maybe youdon't--but I do. "

The girl nodded, and as the horses scrambled up the steep slope of alow divide, her eyes sought the hundred and one hiding places amongthe loose rocks and scrub that might easily conceal a lurking enemy, and she shuddered. As they topped the divide, both reined in and satgazing silently down the little valley before them. It was the placeof their first meeting, when the girl, tired, and lost anddiscouraged, had dismounted upon that very spot and watched theunknown horseman with his six-shooter, and his brown leather jugslowly ascend the slope. She glanced at him now, as he sat, rugged andlean, with his eyes on the little valley. He was just the same, graveand unsmiling, as upon the occasion of their first meeting. Shenoticed that he held his Stetson in his hand, and that the windrippled his hair. "Just the same, " she thought--and yet--. She wasaware that her heart was pounding strangely, and that instead of afear of this man, she was conscious of a wild desire to throw herselfinto his arms and cry with her face against the bandage that bulgedthe shirt sleeve just below the shoulder. 

"I call this Lost Creek, " said Holland, without turning his head. "Icome here often--" and added, confusedly, "It's a short cut from mycamp to the trail. "

Patty felt an overpowering desire to laugh. She tried to think ofsomething 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 tochange my mind, at that. "

Patty felt herself blushing furiously for no reason at all: "But--Ihave changed my mind--or I wouldn't be here, now. "

Vil Holland nodded: "I expect I'll ride to town from Samuelson's. Myjug's empty, an' I guess I might's well file that homestead 'foresomeone else beats me to it. I've got a hunch maybe I'll be rollin' upthat cabin--before snow flies. "

CHAPTER XVII

UNMASKED

At the Samuelson's ranch they found not only the doctor but LenChristie. Mr. Samuelson's condition had taken a sudden turn for thebetter and it was a jubilant little group that welcomed Patty as sherode up to the veranda. Vil Holland had muttered an excuse and gonedirectly to the bunk house where the doctor sought him out a fewminutes later and attended to his wound. From the top of "Lost Creek"divide, the ride had been made almost in silence. The cowboy'sreference to his jug had angered the girl into a moody reserve whichhe 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 theranch, and Mrs. Samuelson blamed herself unmercifully for havingallowed the girl to venture down the valley alone. Whichself-accusation was promptly silenced by Patty, who gently forced theold lady into an arm chair, and called her Mother Samuelson, andseated herself upon the step at her feet, and assured her that shewouldn'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 herpart in the night's adventure, "there'll be you and Mr. Christie, andDoctor Mallory, and the boys from the bunk house, and Vil Holland, andit will be in honor of Mr. Samuelson's turn for the better, and yourescape, and the successful routing of the horse-thieves. "

"Too late to count Vil Holland in, " smiled the doctor, who hadreturned to the veranda in time to hear the arrangement, "said he hadimportant business in town, and pulled out as soon as I'd got his armrigged up. " And, in the doorway, the Reverend Len Christie smiledbehind a screen of cigarette smoke as he noted the toss of the head, and the decided tightening of the lips with which Patty greeted theannouncement. 

"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 buckswith a flesh wound. As far as fitness is concerned, he can ride toJericho if he wants to. Too bad he won't quit prospecting and settledown. He'd make some girl a mighty fine husband. "

Christie laughed. "I don't think Vil is the marrying kind. In thefirst 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. Heonly stops when driven to it by necessity, then he only works longenough to save up a grub-stake and he's off for the hills again. Ican't imagine that high priest of the pack horse and the frying panliving in a house!"

And so the talk went, everyone participating except Patty, who sat andlistened with an elaborate indifference that caused the Reverend Lento smile again to himself behind the gray cloud of his cigarettesmoke. 

"You haven't forgotten about my school?" asked Patty next morning, asChristie and the doctor were preparing to leave for town. 

"Indeed, I haven't!" laughed the Bishop of All Outdoors. "School opensthe first of September, and that's not very far away. But badly as weneed 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 beforethat time you will have made your strike. "

"I hope so!" she exclaimed fervidly. "I know I shall just hate toteach school--and I'd never do it, either, if I didn't need agrub-stake. "

As she watched him ride away, Patty was joined by Mrs. Samuelson whostepped from the house and thrust her arm through hers. "My husbandwants to meet you, my dear. He's so very much better thismorning--quite himself. And I must warn you that that means he's roughas an old bear, apparently, although in reality he's got the tenderestheart in the world. He always puts his worst foot foremost withstrangers--he may even swear. "

Patty laughed: "I'm not afraid. You seem to have survived a good manyyears of him. He really can't be so terrible!"

"Oh, he's not terrible at all. Only, I know how much depends uponfirst impressions--and I do want you to like us. "

Patty drew the old lady's arm about her waist and together theyascended the stairs: "I love you already, and although I have nevermet him I am going to love Mr. Samuelson, too--you see, I have heard agood deal about him here in the hills. "

Entering the room, they advanced to the bed where a big-framed manwith a white mustache and a stubble of gray beard lay propped up onpillows. Sickness had not paled the rich mahogany of theweather-seamed face, and the eyes that met Patty's from beneath theirbushy 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 realprospector. Knew his business, an' went at it business fashion. Wasn'tlike most of 'em--makin' their rock-peckin' an excuse to get out ofworkin'. 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 oldlong-horn like me. That's stuff! Didn't know they bred it east of theMizoo. The ones mama an' I've seen around the theaters an' restaurantson our trips East would turn a man's stomach. Why, damn it, youngwoman, if I ever caught a daughter of mine painted up like a Piutean' stripped to the waist smokin' cigarettes an' drinkin' cocktails ina public restaurant, I'd peel the rest of her duds off an' turn herover 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 withmischief, 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 couldnot see any visitors yet. He made a special exception of MissSinclair, for just a few minutes. "

"I wish you would call me Patty, " smiled the girl. "Miss Sinclairsounds so--so formal----"

"Me, too!" exclaimed the invalid. "I'll go you one better, an' callyou 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 sheepcamp. If you should happen to run across that reprobate of a VilHolland, 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'resick--but, I'm all right now, an' the quicker he finds out I didn'thire 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 thehorses. He's the only cowman in the hills I'd trust them white faceswith, an' he's got to winter 'em for me. He's a natural born cowmanan' there's big money in it after he gets a start. I'll give him hisstart. 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 hillswhittled down as flat as North Dakota, an' the wind'll blow us allover 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 getpretty lonesome sometimes--especially mama. You see, I've got all thebest of it--I've got her, an' she's only got me!"

As Patty threaded the hills toward her cabin her thoughts followed theevents of the past few days; the visit of Len Christie in the earlymorning, when he had inadvertently showed her how to read her father'smap, the staking of the false claim, the visit to the Samuelson ranch, the horse raid, the finding of Vil Holland's glove and the bitterdisappointment that followed, then the finding of the notice thatdisclosed the identity of the real thief, and her genuine joy in thediscovery, 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 hehardly seemed to notice--unless--I wonder what he _did_ mean abouthaving a hunch that he would build that cabin before snow flies?"

For some time she rode in silence, then she burst out vehemently: "Idon't care! I could love him--so there! I could just adore him! And Idon't wonder everybody likes him. He seems always so--so capable--soconfident. You just can't help liking him. If it weren't for that oldjug! He had to drag that in, even up there when he stood on the spotwhere we first met--and then at the Samuelsons' he wouldn't even waitfor dinner he was so crazy to get his old whisky jug filled. It neverseems to hurt him any, " she continued. "But nobody can drink as muchas he does and not be hurt by it. I just know he meant that the cabinwas going to be for me--or, did he know that Mr. Samuelson was goingto ask him to winter the cattle? He's a regular cave man--I don't knowwhether I've been proposed to, or not!"

She crossed the trail for town and struck into a valley that shouldbring her out somewhere along the Watts fences. So engrossed was shein her thoughts that she failed to notice the horseman who slippednoiselessly into the scrub a quarter of a mile ahead. Slowly she rodeup the valley: "If he comes to teach me how to shoot, I'll tell himthat Mr. Samuelson wants to see him, and if he says any more about thecabin, or--or anything--I'll tell him he can choose between me and hisjug. And, if he chooses the jug, and I don't find daddy's mine--itisn't long 'til school opens. I don't mind--he has to work to get hisgrub-stake, and so will I. "

Her horse snorted and shied violently, and when Patty recovered herseat it was to find her way blocked by a horseman who stood not tenfeet in front of her and leered into her eyes. The horseman was MonkBethune--a malignant, terrifying Bethune, as he sat regarding her withhis sneering smile. The girl's first impulse was to turn and fly, butas if divining her thoughts, the man pushed nearer, and she saw thathis eyes gleamed horribly between lids drawn to slits. Had hediscovered that she had tricked him with a false claim? If not why theglare of hate and the sneering smile that told plainer than words thathe had her completely in his power, and knew it. 

"So, my fine lady--we meet again! We have much to talk about--you andI. But, first, about the claim. You thought you were very wise withyour lying about not having a map. You thought to save the whole loaffor yourself--you thought I was fool enough to believe you. If you hadlet me in, you would have had half--now you have nothing. The claim isall staked and filed, and the adjoining claims for a mile are stakedwith the stakes of my friends--and you have nothing! You were thefool! You couldn't have won against me. Failing in my story ofpartnership with your father, I had intended to marry you, and failingin that, I should have taken the map by force--for I knew you carriedit with you. But I dislike violence when the end may be gained byother means, so I waited until, at last, happened the thing I knewwould happen--you became careless. You left your precious map andphotograph in plain sight upon your little table--and now you havenothing. " So he had not discovered the deception, but, throughaccident or design, had seized this opportunity to gloat over her, andtaunt her with her loss. His carefully assumed mask of suavecourtliness had disappeared, and Patty realized that at last she wasface to face with the real Bethune, a creature so degenerate that heboasted openly of having stolen her secret, as though the factredounded greatly to his credit. 

A sudden rage seized her. She touched her horse with the spur: "Let mepass!" she demanded, her lips white. 

The man's answer was a sneering laugh, as he blocked her way: "Ho! notso fast, my pretty! How about the Samuelson horse raid--your part init? Three of my best men are in hell because you tipped off that raidto Vil Holland! How you found it out I do not know--but women, of acertain kind, can find out anything from men. No doubt Clen, in somesweet secret meeting place, poured the story into your ear, althoughhe denies it on his life. "

"What do you mean?"

"Ha! Ha! Injured innocence!" He leered knowingly into her flashingeyes: "It seems that everyone else knew what I did not. But, I am of aforgiving nature. I will not see you starve. Leave the others and cometo me----"

"_You cur!_" The words cut like a swish of a lash, and again the manlaughed:

"Oh, not so fast, you hussy! I must admit it rather piqued me to bebested in the matter of a woman--and by a soul-puncher. I was on handearly that morning, to spy upon your movements, as was my custom. Ispeak of the morning following the night that the very ReverendChristie spent with you in your cabin. I should not have believed ithad 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 nothaving 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'ssides. The animal leaped against Bethune's horse, forcing him aside. The quarter-breed reached swiftly for her bridle reins, and as heleaned forward with his arm outstretched, Patty summoned all herstrength and, whirling her heavy braided rawhide quirt high above herhead, brought it down with the full sweep of her muscular arm. Thefeel of the blow was good as it landed squarely upon the inflamedbrutish face, and the shrill scream of pain that followed, sent a wildthrill of joy to the very heart of the girl. Again, the lash swunghigh, this time to descend upon the flank of her horse, and beforeBethune 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 girlshot a swift glance over her shoulder. Bethune's horse was gettingunder way in frantic leaps that told of cruel spurring, and with hereyes to the front, she bent forward over the horn and slapped herhorse's neck with her gloved hand. She remembered with a quick gasp ofrelief that Bethune prided himself upon the fact that he never carrieda gun. She had once taunted Vil Holland with the fact, and he hadreplied that "greasers and breeds were generally sneaking enough to beknife men. " Again, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled grimly asshe noted that the distance between the two flying horses hadincreased by half. "Good old boy, " she whispered. "You can beathim--can 'run rings around him, ' as Vil would say. It would be a longknife that could harm me now, " she thought, as she pulled her Stetsontight against the sweep of the rushing wind. The ground was becomingmore and more uneven. Loose rock fragments were strewn about inincreasing numbers, and the valley was narrowing to an extent thatnecessitated frequent fording of the shallow creek. "He can't make anybetter time than I can, " muttered the girl, as she noted theslackening of her horse's speed. She was riding on a loose rein, giving her horse his head, for she realized that to force him mightmean a misstep and a fall. She closed her eyes and shuddered at thethoughts of a fall. A thousand times better had she fallen and beenpounded to a pulp by the flying hoofs of the horse herd, than to fallnow--and survive it. The ascent became steeper. Her horse was stillrunning, but very slowly. His neck and shoulders were reeking withsweat, and she could hear the labored breath pumping through hisdistended 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 inevery ten did not. Suppose this one that she had chosen at randomterminated in a cul-de-sac? The way became steeper. Running was out ofthe question, and her horse was forging upward in a curiousscrambling walk. A noise of clattering rocks sounded behind her, andPatty glanced backward straight into the face of Bethune. Reckless ofa fall, in the blind fury of his passion, the quarter-breed had forcedhis horse to his utmost, and rapidly closed up the gap until scarcelyten yards separated him from the fleeing girl. 

In a frenzy of terror she lashed her laboring horse's flanks as theanimal dug and clawed like a cat at the loose rock footing of thesteep ascent. White to the lips she searched the foreground for aravine or a coulee that would afford a means of escape. But before herloomed only the ever steepening wall, its surface half concealed bythe scattering scrub. Once more she looked backward. The breath waswhistling through the blood-red flaring nostrils of Bethune's horse, and her glance flew to the face of the man. Never in her wildestnightmares had she imagined the soul-curdling horror of that face. Thelips writhed back in a hideous grin of hate. A long blue-red weltbisected the features obliquely--a welt from which red blood flowedfreely at the corner of a swollen eye. White foam gathered upon thedistorted lips and drooled down onto the chin where it mingled withthe blood in a pink meringue that dripped in fluffy chunks upon hisshirt front. The uninjured eye was a narrow gleam of venom, and thebreath swished through the man's nostrils as from the strain of greatphysical labor. 

"Oh, for my gun!" thought the girl. "I'd--I'd _kill_ him!" With a wildscramble her horse went down. "Vil! Vil!" she shrieked, in a frenzy ofdespair, and freeing herself from the floundering animal, shestruggled to her feet and faced her pursuer with a sharp rock fragmentupraised in her two hands. 

Monk Bethune laughed--as the fiends must laugh in hell. A laugh thatstruck a chill to the very heart of the girl. Her muscles went limp atthe sound of it and she felt the strength ebbing from her body likesand from an upturned glass. The rock fragment became an insupportableweight. It crashed to the ground, and rolled clattering to Bethune'sfeet. He, too, had dismounted, and stood beside his horse, his fistsslowly clenching and unclenching in gloating anticipation. Pattyturned to run, but her limbs felt numb and heavy, and she pitchedforward upon her knees. With a slow movement of his hand, Bethunewiped the pink foam from his chin, examined it, snapped it from hisfingers, 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 voicesounded in her ear: "I don't reckon he's 'round yere, Miss. I hain'tsaw Vil this mo'nin'. " Rifle in hand, Watts stepped from behind ascrub pine, and as his eyes fell upon Bethune, he stood fumbling hisbeard 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 rodeagain' a limb!"

"Shut up, and get out of here!" screamed the quarter-breed. "And, ifyou know what's good for you, you'll forget that you've seen anyonethis morning. "

"B'en layin' up yere in the gap fer to git me a deer. I heerd yo'-allcomin', like, so's I waited. "

"Get out, I tell you, before I kill you!" cried Bethune, besidehimself with rage. "Go!" The man's hand plunged beneath his shirt andcame 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'sa 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 ofWatts'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 'roundan' 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 thetrigger. Ef I'd git a little scairt, er a little riled, er my foot 'udslip, yo'd have to be drug down to wher' the diggin's easy, an'buried. "

Bethune deliberately slipped the knife back into his shirt, andlaughed: "Oh, come, now, Watts, a joke's a joke. I played a joke onMiss Sinclair to frighten her----"

"Yo' done hit, all right, " interrupted Watts. "An' thet's the endon't. "

The rifle muzzle still covered Bethune's chest in the precise regionof 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, oranyone else knows. I've located Rod Sinclair's strike and filed it. Ifyou just slip quietly off about your business, and forget that youever saw anyone here this morning--and see to it that you neverremember it again, you'll never regret it. I'll make it right withyou--I'll file you next to discovery. "

"Yo' mean, " asked Watts, slowly, "thet you've stoled the mine offenSinclair'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 themine--is thet what yo' tryin' to git at?"

"Put it anyway you want to, damn you! Words don't matter, but forGod's sake, get out! If she once gets through the gap----"

"Bethune, " Watts drawled the name, even more than was his wont, andthe quarter-breed noticed that the usually roving eyes had set into ahard 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, ordevil. 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 aquirt-lick than a limb. Thet ort to hurt like fire fer a couple adays, an' when it lets up yo' face hain't a-goin' to be so purty aswhat hit wus. Ef she'd jest of drug the quirt along a little when hitlanded she c'd of cut plumb into the bone--but hit's middlin' fair, ashit stands. I'm a-goin' to give yo' a chanct--an' a warnin', too. Nexttime I see yo' I'm a-going' to kill yo'--whenever, or wherever hit'sat. I'll do hit, jest as shore as my name is John Watts. Yo' kin gonow--back the way yo' come, pervidin' yo' go fast. I'm a-goin' tocount 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'trec'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'ssee, one comes fust--yere goes, then: One . .. Two. .. . " For a singleinstant, Bethune gazed into the man's eyes and the next, he spranginto the saddle, and dashing wildly down the steep slope, disappearedinto the scrub. 

"Spec' I'd ort to killed him, " regretted the mountaineer, as helowered the rifle, and gazed off down the valley, "but I hain't got noappetite fer diggin'. "

CHAPTER XVIII

PATTY MAKES HER STRIKE

It was noon, one week from the day she had returned from the Samuelsonranch, and Patty Sinclair stood upon the high shoulder of a butte andlooked down into a rock-rimmed valley. Her eyes roved slowly up anddown the depression where the dark green of the scrub contrastedsharply with the crinkly buffalo grass, yellowed to spun gold beneaththe rays of the summer sun. 

She reached up and stroked the neck of her horse. "Just think, oldpartner, three days from now I may be teaching school in that horridlittle town with its ratty hotel, and its picture shows, and itssaloons, and you may be turned out in a pasture with nothing to do buteat 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 hadappeared, true to his promise, and instructed her in the use of herfather's six-gun. At the end of an hour's practice, she had been ableto kick up the dirt in close proximity to a tomato can at fifteensteps, and twice she had actually hit it. "That's good enough for anyuse you're apt to have for it, " her instructor had approved. "The mainthing is that you ain't afraid of it. An' remember, " he added, "a gunain't made to bluff with. Don't pull it on anyone unless you gothrough with it. Only short-horns an' pilgrims ever pull a gun thatdon't need wipin' before it's put back--I could show you the graves ofseveral of 'em. I'm leavin' you some extry shells that you can shootup the scenery with. Always pick out somethin' little to shootat--start in with tin cans and work down to match-sticks. When you canbreak six match-sticks with six shots at ten steps in ten secondsfolks will call you handy with a gun. " He had made no mention of histrip to town, of his filing a homestead, or of their conversation uponthe top of Lost Creek divide. When the lesson was finished, he hadrefused Patty's invitation to supper, mounted his horse, anddisappeared up the ravine that led to the notch in the hills. Althoughneither had mentioned it, Patty somehow felt that he had heard fromWatts of her encounter with Bethune. And now a week had passed and shehad seen neither Vil Holland nor the quarter-breed. It had been a weekof anxiety and hard work for the girl who had devoted almost everyhour of daylight to the unraveling of her father's map. Simple as thedirections seemed, her inability to estimate distances had proven aserious handicap. But by dogged perseverance, and much retracing ofsteps, and correcting of false leads, she finally stood upon the rimof the valley she judged to lie two miles east of the humpbacked buttethat 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. "AndI've got to-day and to-morrow to explore it. " She wondered at herindifference--at her strange lack of excitement at this, the crucialmoment of her long quest, even as she had wondered at her absence offear, believing as she did, that Bethune was still in the hills. Thefeeling inspired by the outlaw had been a feeling of rage, rather thanterror, and had rapidly crystallized in her outraged mind into anabysmal soul-hate. She knew that, should the man accost her again, shewould kill him--and not for a single instant did she doubt her abilityto kill him. Vaguely, as she stood looking out over the valley, shewondered if he were following her--if at that moment he were lyingconcealed, somewhere among the surrounding rocks or patches of scrub?Yet, she was conscious of no feeling of fear. She even attempted noconcealment as, standing there upon the bare rock, she drew herfather's map and photographs from her pocket and subjected them to along and minute scrutiny. And then, still holding them in her hand, gazed once more over the valley. "To 'a, ' to 'b, '" she repeated. "Whatis there that daddy would have designed as 'a, ' and 'b?'" Suddenly, her glance became fixed upon a point up the valley that lay justwithin her range of vision. With puckered eyes and hat-brim drawn lowupon her forehead, she stared steadily into the distance. She knewthat she had never before seen this valley, and yet the place seemed, somehow, strangely familiar. With a low cry she bent over one of thephotographs. Her hands trembled violently as her eyes once more flewto the valley. Yes, there it was, spread out before her just the wayit was in the photograph--the rock-strewn ground--she could evenidentify the various rocks with the rocks in the picture. There wasthe lone tree, and the long rock wall, higher at its upper end, and--yes, she could just discern it--the zigzag crack in the rockledge! Jamming the papers into her pocket she leaped into the saddleand dashed toward a fringe of scrub that marked the course of a couleewhich led downward into the valley. Over its edge, and down itsbrush-choked course, slipping, sliding, scrambling, she urged herhorse, reckless of safety, reckless of anything except that her weary, and at times it had seemed her hopeless, search was about to end. Shehad stood where her daddy had stood when he took that photograph--hadseen with her own eyes--the jagged crack in the rock wall!

In the valley the going was better, and with quirt and spur she urgedher horse to his best, her eyes on the lone pine tree. At the rockwall beyond, she pulled up sharply and stared at the jagged crevicethat bisected it from top to bottom. It was the crevice of thephotograph! Very deliberately she began at the top and traced itscourse to the bottom. She noted the scraggly, stunted pines thatfringed the rim of the wall and that the crack started straight, andthen zigzagged to the ground. Producing the "close up" photograph, shecompared it with the reality before her--an entirely superfluous andneedless act, for each minute detail of the spot at which she staredwas indelibly engraved upon her memory. For hours on end, she hadstudied those photographs, and now--she laughed aloud, and the soundroused her to action. Slipping from the horse, she fumbled at the packstrings of the saddle and loosened the canvas bag. She reached intoit, and stood erect holding a light hand-axe. Once more she consultedher map. "Stake l. C. , " she read. "That's lode claim--and then thatfunny wiggly mark, and then the word center. " Her brows drew togetheras she studied the ground. Suddenly her face brightened. "Why, ofcourse!" she exclaimed. "That mark represents the crack, and daddymeant to stake the claim with the crack for the center. Well, heregoes!" She vehemently attacked a young sapling, and ten minutes laterviewed with pride her four roughly hacked stakes. Picking up one ofthem and the axe, she paced off her distance, and as she reached thefirst corner point, stared in surprise at the ground. The claim hadalready been staked! Eagerly she stooped to examine the bit of wood. It had evidently been in place for some time--how long, the girl couldnot tell. Long enough, though, for its surface to have becomeweather-grayed and discolored. "Daddy's stakes, " she breathed softly, and as her fingers strayed over the surface two big tears welled intoher eyes and trickled unheeded down her cheeks. "If he staked theclaim, I wonder why he didn't file, " she puzzled over the matter for amoment, and dismissed it. "I don't know why. But, anyway, the thingfor me to do is to get in my own stakes--only, I'll file, just as soonas I can get to the register's office. "

After considerable difficulty, she succeeded in planting her own stakeclose beside the other, which marked the southwest corner of the claim, ashort time later the northwest corner was staked, and the girl stared againat the rock wall. "Why, I've got to put in my eastern boundary stakes up ontop--three hundred feet back from the edge!" she exclaimed; "maybe I'llfind his notice on one of those stakes. " It required only a moment tolocate a ravine that led to the top of the ledge which was not nearly sohigh as the one that formed the opposite side of the valley. She found theold stakes, but no sign of a notice. "The wind, and the snow, and the rainhave 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 herdescription 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 threwherself down beside the little creek. It was mid-afternoon, and shesuddenly discovered that she was ravenously hungry. With her back against arock fragment, she sat and feasted her eyes upon her claim--hers--HERS! Herthoughts flew backward to the enthusiasm of her father over this veryclaim. She remembered how his eyes had lighted as he told her of its hiddentreasure. She remembered the jibes, and doubts, and covert sneers of theMiddleton people, her father's death, her own anger and revolt, when shehad suddenly decided, in the face of their council, entreaties, andcommands to take up his work where he had left it. With kaleidoscopicrapidity her thoughts flew over the events of the ensuing months--themeeting with Vil Holland, her disappointment in the Watts ranch, her eageracceptance of the sheep camp, the long weary weeks of patiently ridingalong rock walls, taking each valley in turn, the growing fear of runningout of funds before she could locate the claim. She shuddered as shethought of Monk Bethune, and of how nearly she had fallen a victim to hismachinations. Her thoughts returned to Vil Holland, her "guardian devil ofthe hills, " who had turned out to be in reality a guardian angel indisguise. "Very much in disguise, " she smiled, "with his jug of whisky. "Nobody who had helped make up her little world of people in the hillcountry was forgotten, the Thompsons, the Samuelsons, and the Wattses--shethought of them all. "Why, I--I love every one of them, " she cried, asthough the discovery surprised her. "They're all, every one of them, realfriends--they're not like the others, the smug, sleek, best citizens ofMiddleton. And I'll not forget one of them. We'll file that whole vein fromone end to the other!" Catching up her horse, she mounted, and sat for amoment irresolute. "I could make town, sometime to-night, " she mused, andthen her eyes rested for a moment upon her horse's neck where the whitealkali dust lay upon the rough, sweat-dried hair. "No, " she decided. "We'llgo back to the cabin, and you can rest up, and to-morrow we'll start atdaylight. "

"Mr. Christie was right, " she smiled, as she took the back trail forMonte's Creek. "I don't have to teach school. But, I wonder how hecould have gotten that 'hunch, ' as he called it? When I've beensearching for the claim for months?"

In a little valley that ran parallel to Monte's Creek, Pattyencountered Microby Dandeline. The girl was lying stretched at fulllength upon the ground and did not notice her approach until she wasalmost 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 ofsight along the steep side of a ravine. In vain Patty called, but heronly answer was the diminishing sounds of the girl's scramblingflight. "What in the world has got into her of late, " she wondered, asshe 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 inthe hills. At first she had attributed it to anger or resentment overher own treatment of her when she had tried to get possession of themap. But, surely, even the dull-witted Microby must know that theincident had been forgotten. "No, " she decided, "there is somethingelse. " Somehow, the girl no longer seemed the simple child-likecreature of the wild. There was a furtiveness about her, and she haddeveloped a certain crafty side glance, as though constantly seeking ameans of escape from something. Her mother had noticed the change, and had confided to Patty that she was "gittin' mo' triflin' everyday, a-rammin' 'round the hills a-huntin' her a mine. " "There'ssomething worrying her, " muttered the girl. "Something that she don'tdare tell anyone, and it's sapping what little wit she has. "

It was late that evening when Patty ate her solitary supper. The sunhad long set, and the dusk of the late twilight had settled upon thevalley of Monte's Creek as she wiped the last dish and set it upon theshelf of her tiny cupboard. Suddenly she looked up. A form darkenedthe doorway, and quick as a flash, her eyes sought the six-gun thatlay in its holster upon the bunk. 

"You won't need that. " The voice was reassuring. It was Vil Holland'svoice; she had recognized him a second before he spoke and greeted himwith a smile, even as she wondered what had brought him there. Onlythree times before had he come to her cabin, once to ascertain who wasmoving into the sheep camp, once when he had pitched Lord Clendenninginto the creek, and again, only a few days before, when he had come toteach her to shoot. The girl noted that he seemed graver than usual, if that were possible. Certain it was that he appeared to be holdinghimself under restraint. She wondered if he had come to warn her ofthe proximity of Bethune. 

"I was in town, to-day, " he came directly to the point. "An' LenChristie told me you're goin' to teach school. " He paused and his eyesrested upon her face as if seeking confirmation. 

Patty laughed; she could afford to laugh, now that the necessity forteaching did not exist. "I asked him if he could find a school for mesometime ago, " she replied, trying to fathom what was in his mind. 

There was a moment of silence, during which Patty saw the man'sfingers tighten upon his hat brim. "I don't want you to do that. Itain't fit work--for you--teachin' other folks' kids. "

Patty stared at him in surprise. The words had come slowly, and attheir 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 headwas slightly bowed, and Patty saw that it was with an effort hecontinued: "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 finespeeches like they do in books. I wouldn't if I could--it ain't myway. I love you more than I could tell you if I knew all the words inthe language, an' how to fit 'em together. I loved you that day Ifirst saw you--back there on the divide at Lost Creek. You was afraidof me, an' you wouldn't show it, an' you wouldn't own up that you waslost--'til I'd made the play of goin' off an' leavin' you. An' I'veloved you every minute since--an' every minute since, I've foughtagainst lovin' you. But, it's no use. The more I fight it, thestronger it gets. It's stronger than I am. I can't down it. It's thefirst time I ever ran up against anything I couldn't whip. " Again hepaused. Patty advanced a step, and her eyes glowed softly as theyrested upon the form that stood in her doorway silhouetted against theafter-glow. She saw Buck rub his velvet nose affectionately up anddown the man's sleeve, and into her heart leaped a great longing forthis man who, with the unconscious dignity of the vast open placesupon him, had told her so earnestly of his love. She opened her lipsto 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 thepan--this love of mine ain't. All summer I've watched you, an' thehardest thing I ever had to do was to set back an' let you play alone hand against the worst devil that ever showed his face in thehills. But the way things stacked up, I had to. You had me sized upfor the one that was campin' on your trail, an' anything I'd have donewould have played into Bethune's hand. I know I ain't fit for you--noman is. But, I'll always do the best I know how by you--an' I'llalways love you. As for the rest of it, I never saved any money. Iknow 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 Samuelsonto winter his cattle. I didn't want to do it first, but the figure henamed was about twice what I thought the job was worth. I told him soright 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 towinter than common dogies. So, you see, we could winter through, allright, 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 theman's sleeve, and turned from the doorway. As he did so the brownleather jug scraped lightly against the jamb. The girl's eyes flew tothe 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, andfor days and nights her thoughts had been mostly of him--thisunsmiling knight of the saddle--her "guardian devil of the hills. "Without exception, the people whose regard was worth having respectedhim, and liked him, even though they deplored his refusal to acceptsteady work. They're just like the people back home, she thought. Theyhave no imagination. To their minds the cowpuncher who draws his fortydollars a month, year in and year out, is in some manner moredependable than the man whose imagination and love of the boundlessopen lead him to stake his time against millions. What do they know ofthe joys and the despairs of uncertainty? In a measure they, too, lovethe plains and the hills--but their love of the open is inextricablyinterwoven with their preconceived ideas of conduct. But, Vil Hollandis bound by no such convention; his "outfit, " a pack horse to carryit, and his home--all outdoors! Her father had imagination, and yearafter year, in the face of the taunts and jibes of his small townneighbors, he had steadfastly allowed his imagination full sway, andat last--he had won. She had adored her father from whom she hadinherited her love of the wild. But--there was the jug! Always herthoughts of Vil Holland had led up to that brown leather jug until shehad 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 wouldhave 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' thatjug, 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 yousee that it does? Have I ever done anything that you know of, or haveheard 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'tbe 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 helooked--the very picture of health and rugged strength, clear of eyeand firm of jaw, not one slightest hint or mark of the toper could shedetect, and the realization that this was so, angered her the more. 

Abruptly, she changed the subject, and the moment the brown leatherjug was banished from her mind, her anger subsided. In the doorway, Vil Holland noted the undercurrent of suppressed excitement in hervoice as she said: "I have the most wonderful news! I--_I founddaddy's mine!_" Seconds passed as the man stood waiting for her toproceed. "I found it to-day, " she continued, without noting that hislean brown hand gripped the hat brim even more tightly than before, nor that his lips were pressed into a thin straight line. "And mystakes are all in, and in the morning I'm going to file. "

Vil Holland interrupted. "You--you say you located Rod Sinclair'sstrike? You really located it?" Somehow, his voice sounded different. 

The girl sensed the change without defining it. "Yes, I really foundit!" she answered. "Do you want to know where?" Hastily she turned tothe cupboard and taking a match from a box, lighted the lamp. "Yousee, " she laughed, "I am not afraid to trust you. I'm going to showyou daddy's map, and his photographs, and the samples. Oh, if you knewhow I've hunted and hunted through these hills for that rock wall! Yousee, the map was like so much Greek to me, until I happened byaccident to learn how to read it. Before that, I just rode up and downthe 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 overthe two photographs, examining them minutely. "And here's his map. " Hepicked up the paper and for several minutes studied the pencileddirections. Then he laid it down, and turned his attention to thesamples. 

"High grade, " he appraised, and returned them to the table beside thephotographs. "So, you don't have to teach school, " he said, speakingmore to himself than to her. "An' you'll be goin' out of the hillcountry for good an' all. There's nothin' here for you, now thatyou'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 hereyes held dancing lights. "I'm not going back East, " she said. "I'velearned to love--the hill country. I have learned that--perhaps--thereis more here for me than--than even daddy's mine. "

Vil Holland shook his head. "There's nothin' for you in the hills, " herepeated, slowly, and abruptly extended his hand. "I'm glad for yoursake your luck changed, Miss Sinclair. I hope the gold you take out ofthere 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 areclosed. 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 thenight. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER

Beside the little table Patty Sinclair listened to the sound of hoofssplashing through the shallows of the creek and thudding dully uponthe floor of the valley beyond. When the sounds told her that thehorseman had disappeared into the timber, she walked slowly to thedoor, and leaning her arm against the jamb, stared for a long timeinto the black sweep of woods that concealed the trail that led upwardto the notch in the hills, just discernible against the sky where thestars showed through the last faint blush of after-glow in winkingpoints of gold. 

"Nothing here for me, " she repeated dully. "Nothing but trees, andhills--and gold. He loves me, " she laughed bitterly. "And yet, betweenme, and his jug, he chose--the jug. " She closed the door, slipped thebar into place, thrust the photographs and map into her pocket, andthrew herself face downward upon the bunk. And, in the edge of thetimber, Vil Holland turned his horse slowly about and headed him upthe ravine. At the notch in the hills he slipped to the ground and, throwing an arm across the saddle, removed his Stetson and let thenight wind ripple his hair. Standing alone in the night with hissoul-hurt, he gazed far downward where a tiny square of yellow lightmarked 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 herhavin' 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 buckskinfor camp. 

Patty spent a miserable night. Brief periods of sleep wereinterspersed with long periods of wakefulness in which her braintraveled wearily over and over a long, long trail that ended always ata brown leather jug that swung by a strap from a saddle horn. She hadfound her father's claim--had accomplished the thing she had startedout to accomplish--had vindicated her father's judgment in the eyes ofthe people back home--had circumvented the machinations of Bethune, and in all probability, the moment that she recorded her claim wouldbe the possessor of more gold than she could possibly spend--and inthe 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 formin the pearly light of the new day, she saddled her horse and rode upthe 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 snowmountains 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. Thelittle white tent was gone! Hastily, her eyes swept the plateau. Thebuckskin was gone, and the saddle was not hanging by its stirrup fromits accustomed limb-stub. Crossing the creek, the girl stared at therow of packs, the blanket roll, and the neat tarpaulin-coveredbundles 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 peaksthat reared their snowy heads against the blue. And as she looked, thewords of Vil Holland formed themselves in her brain. "If there ain'tany 'we, ' there won't be any cabin--so there's nothing to worryabout. " "Nothing to worry about, " she repeated bitterly, and touchingher horse with a spur, rode out across the plateau toward the head ofa coulee that led to the trail for town. "Where has he gone?" shewondered, 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 sullenlywithout speaking. 

"Why, Microby!" she smiled, ignoring the sullen stare, "you're milesfrom home, and it's hardly daylight! Where in the world are yougoing?"

"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' tohell with the hill country, tell yo' dad good-by!'"

Patty sat for an instant as one stunned. "Gone to town! Mad! File onemore claim!" What did it mean? Why was Vil Holland riding to town asfast as his horse could run? And what claim was he going to file? Hehad mentioned no claim--and if he had just made a strike, surely hewould have mentioned it--last night. She knew that he already had aclaim, and that he considered it worthless. He told her once that hehadn't even bothered to work out the assessments--it was no good. Wasit possible that he was riding to file _her claim_? Was he no betterthan Bethune--only shrewder, more patient, richer in imagination?

With a swish the quirt descended upon her horse's flanks. The animalshot forward and, leaving Microby Dandeline staring open-mouthed, horse and rider dashed headlong down the coulee. Into the long whitetrail they swept, through the canyon, and out among the foothillstoward Thompsons'. "Why did I show him the map, and the pictures? Whydid I trust him? Why did I trust anybody? I see it all, now! Hiscontinual spying, and his plausible explanation that he was watchingBethune. He asked me to marry him, and when, like the poor little foolI was, I showed him the location, he was only too glad to get the minewithout 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 herhorse to his utmost. Only one slender hope remained. With Thompson'sfresh horse, Lightning, she might yet win the race. The chance wasslim, but she would take it! Her own horse was laboring heavily, asolid lather of sweat, as his feet pounded the trail that wound whiteand hot through the foothills. "It's your last hard ride, " she sobbedinto his ear as she urged him on. "Win or lose, boy, it's your lasthard ride--and we've got to make it!"

She whirled into Thompson's lane and, in the dooryard, threw herselffrom her horse almost into the arms of the big ranchman who stared ather in surprise. "Must be somethin's busted loose in the hills, thatfolks 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 Hollandcome along an hour or so ago, an' rode him on to town. Turned Buckinto the corral, yonder--he was rode down almost as bad as yourn. "

Patty's brain reeled dizzily as from a blow. Lightning gone! Her oneslim chance of saving her mine had vanished in a breath. She feltsuddenly 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 intothe man's face. "Oh, no!" she said. "Nothing's wrong--nothing exceptthat I've lost my father's claim--lost it because I relied on yourhorse to carry me into town in time to file ahead of _him_. "

"Lost yer pa's claim?" cried Thompson. "What do you mean--lost? Hasthat devil dared to show his face after the horse raid?" He pausedsuddenly and smiled. "Now don't you go worryin' about that thereclaim. Vil Holland's on the job! I know'd there was somethin' in thewind when he come a-larrupin' in here an' jerked his kak offen Buckan' throw'd it on Lightnin' without hardly a word. Vil, he'll headhim! An' when he does, Bethune'll be lucky if he lives long enough togit hung!"

"Bethune! Bethune!" cried the girl bitterly. "Bethune's got nothing todo 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 godown, or something. Quick--change my saddle!"

Catching up a rope, Thompson ran to the corral and throwing his loopover the head of a horse led him out and transferred the girl's saddleand bridle. 

"I don't git the straight of it, " he said, eying her with a puzzledfrown. "But if it's a question of gittin' to town before Vil Hollandkin beat you out of yer claim--you've got plenty of time--if youwalk. "

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 nodevil--neither. But somewheres between the two of 'em is the placewhere 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 comefrom. Just come and have a talk with Miz T. She'll straighten youaround 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 disappearedinto the kitchen, and a moment later when he returned with his wife, the two stared in amazement at the flying figure that was justswinging from the lane into the long white trail. 

Hours later the girl crossed the Mosquito Flats, forded the river, andpassed along the sandy street of the town. Her eyes felt hot and tiredfrom continual straining ahead in a vain effort to catch a glimpse ofa fallen horse, whose rider must continue his way on foot. But theplain was deserted, and the only evidence that anyone had proceededher was an occasional glimpse of hoof prints in the white dust of thetrail. 

A short distance up the street, standing "tied to the ground" beforethe hitching rail of a little false-front saloon, was Lightning. Pattynoted as she passed that he showed signs of hard riding, and that theinevitable jug dangled motionless from the saddle horn. Her lipsstiffened, and her hand tightened on the bridle reins, as she forcedher eyes to the front. Farther on, she could see the littlewhite-painted frame office of the register. She would pass it by--nouse for her to go there. She must find Len Christie and tell him shehad come to teach his school. A great wave of repugnance swept overher, engulfed her, as her eyes traveled over the rows of small woodenhouses 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 fascinationat the open door. Then deliberately she reined her horse to thesidewalk and dismounted. The characteristic thoroughness that hadmarked the progress of her search for her father's claim, and hadimpelled her to return to the false claim and procure the notice, andthat very morning had prompted her to ride against the slender chanceof Vil Holland's meeting with a mishap, impelled her now to read forherself the entry of her father's strike. 

The register shoved his black skull-cap a trifle back upon his shinyhead, adjusted his thick eyeglasses, and smiled into the face of thegirl. "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, andplat. "

The girl's glance strayed listlessly over the adjoining page, her eyesmechanically taking in the words. Suddenly, she became intenselyalert. She leaned over the book and reread with feverish interest thewritten description. The location was filed in Vil Holland'sname--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 toread the description. In her nervous excitement Patty felt that shemust scream, and her fingers clutched the counter edge until theknuckles whitened. Finally the man looked up. "That must be somewheresover on the Blackfoot side, " he announced. "Must be Vil's figuring onpulling over there. Too bad we won't be seeing him much no more. " Heswung the book back, as the import of his words dawned upon the girlshe 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, herhand trembled so that she could scarcely form the letters. At last itwas done, and the register once again swung the book and read thefreshly 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 regardinghim with shining eyes. "What's the matter? Isn't it right? Because ifit 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'sblamed funny. That there's the claim Vil Holland just relinquished. "

"_Just relinquished!_" gasped the girl, reaching out and shaking theold 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 manbegan to turn the pages slowly backward. "Here it is, March, thethirteenth. "

"Why, that was before I came out here!"

"How?"

"Why did he relinquish?" The words rushed eagerly from her lips, andshe awaited breathless, for the answer. 

"It wasn't no good, I guess, or he found a better one--that's mostgenerally why they relinquish. "

"No good! Found a better one!" From the chaos of conflicting ideas thegirl's thoughts began to take definite form. "The stakes in the groundwere _his_ stakes. Her father had never staked--would never havestaked until ready to file. "

Gradually it dawned upon her that, without knowing it was herfather's, Vil Holland had staked and filed the claim. It was his. Hedid not know its value as her father had. He believed it to beworthless, but when he learned, only last night, back there in thecabin on Monte's Creek, that it was really of enormous value--that itwas the claim Rod Sinclair had staked his reputation on, the claimfor which Rod Sinclair's daughter had sought all summer--when helearned this he had relinquished--that she might come into her own!Hot tears filled her eyes and caused the objects in the little room toblur and swim together in hopeless jumble. She knew, now, the meaningof 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, butagain and again, she had doubted him--she, who loved him! This was theman with whom she had quarreled because he had carried a jug. Suddenlyshe realized why he had turned away from her--there in the littlecabin. She recalled the words that came slowly from his lips, as, fora brief moment he stood holding her hand. "There is nothing for you inthe hills. " "And now, he is going away--his outfit's all packed, andhe's going away!" With a sob she dashed from the office. As sheblotted the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief that had been herfather's, a wild, savage joy surged up within her. He should _not_ goaway! He was hers--_hers_! If he went, she would go too. He shouldnever leave her! And never, never would she doubt him again!

She glanced down the street and her eyes fell upon Lightning, standingas he had stood a few minutes before. Only a moment she hesitated, andher spurs clicked rapidly as she hurried down the sidewalk. The doorof the saloon stood open and she walked boldly in. Vil Holland stoodat the bar shaking dice with the bartender. The latter looked upsurprised, and Vil followed his glance to the figure of the girl whohad paused just inside the doorway. She beckoned to him and hefollowed 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 hercheeks. "I've changed my mind. "

"You mean----"

"I mean, I will marry you--I wanted to say it--lastnight--only--only----" her voice sounded husky, and far away. 

"But, now, it's too late. It was different--then. I didn't know you'dmade your strike. I thought we were both poor--but, now, you've struckit rich. "

"Struck it rich!" flared the girl. "Who made it possible for me tostrike 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 anygood to me. I never went far enough in to get samples like those ofyour dad's. I'd have relinquished it anyway, as soon as I'd locatedanother. "

"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 toconceal them. The words trembled on her lips. "A man couldn't--yourkind of a man! But--they're so hard to find. Don't--don't rob me ofmine--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. Shefollowed his gaze, and a block away, in front of the woodenpost-office, saw the Reverend Len Christie whirl in his tracks. Thecowboy motioned him to wait, and taking the girl gently by the arm, turned her about, and together they walked toward the "Bishop of AllOutdoors, " who awaited them with twinkling eyes. 

"It's about the school, I presume, " he greeted. "Everything is allarranged, Miss Sinclair. You may assume your duties to-morrow. "

"If I was you, Len, " replied Vil Holland, dryly, "I wouldn't gobettin' 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 wasdealin' from the pulpit, an' if you ain't got anything more importanton your mind, we'll just walk over to the church an' get married. "

The Reverend Len Christie regarded his friend solemnly. "I didn'tthink it of you, Vil--when I bragged to you yesterday about theexcellent teacher I'd got--I didn't think you would slip right out andget her away from me!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Really, Mr. Christie, I didn't mean to disappointyou 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 thegirl's eyes. "As a matter of fact, I have in mind a substitute whowill be tickled to death to learn that she is to have the regularposition. Didn't I tell you out at the Samuelsons' that I had a hunchyou'd make your strike before school time? Of course, everyone knowsthat Vil is the one who made the real strike, but you'll find that theclaim you've staked isn't so bad, and that after you get down throughthe surface, you will run onto a whole lot of pure gold. "

Patty who had been regarding him with a slightly puzzled expressionsuddenly caught his allusion, and she smiled happily into the face ofher cowboy. "I've already found pure gold, " she said, "and it liesmighty close to the surface. "

In the little church after the hastily summoned witnesses haddeparted, the Reverend Len Christie stood holding a hand of each. "Never in my life have I performed a clerical office that gave me somuch 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 oncemore upon the street. 

"Home--dear, " whispered his wife. "You know we've got to get thatcabin up before snow flies--our cabin, Vil--with the porch that willlook out over the snows of the changing lights. "

"If the whole town didn't have their heads out the window, watchin' usI'd kiss you right here, " he answered, and strode off to lead herhorse up beside his own. 

Swinging her into the saddle, he was about to mount Lightning, whenshe 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 morethan it has hurt you, I won't quarrel with it. I'll wait while you getit 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 laterhe returned and swung the jug into place. 

"Why! Do they sell whisky at the store? I thought you got that at asaloon. "

"Whisky!" The man looked up in surprise. "This jug never held anywhisky! It's my vinegar jug. I don't drink. "

Patty stared at him in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me you carry ajug of vinegar with you wherever you go?"

For the first time since she had known him she saw that his eyes weretwinkling, 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 fromtown 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 figuredI'd meet up with you I brought the jug along. I'd pour out the vinegaran' fill it up with water, an' sometimes I'd just pack it empty--thenwhen 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 havebought close to half a barrel of vinegar this summer. "

"Vil Holland! You carried that jug--went to all that trouble, justto--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--theyall sort of fall short of amountin' to anythin'. It 'might have'--but, somehow, things don't work out that way. The only thing that countsis, 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 wasriding 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 Microbyshould come up to yo' place, come daylight. When I heern it, Imistrusted yo' wouldn't hev no truck with Bethune, so after I done thechores, I rode up ther'. They wasn't no one to hum. " The simple-mindedman 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 LordClendennin' in the canyon, an' he tol' me how Bethune wus headin' ferCanady. He said, had I lost anythin'. An' I said 'no, ' an' he laffedan' 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 himin surprise--never before had she seen him out of poise. 

"You go back home, " he advised Watts, in a kindly tone, "to the wifeand the kids. I'll find Microby for you!"

When the man had passed from sight into the dip of a coulee, Villeaned over and, drawing his wife close to his breast, kissed her lipsagain and again. "It's too bad, little girl, that our honeymoon's gotto be broke into this way, but you remember I told you once that if Iwon you'd have to be satisfied with what you got. You didn't know whatI meant, then, but you know, now--an' I'm goin' to win again! I'mgoin' to find that child! The poor little fool!" Patty saw that hiseyes were flashing, and his voice sounded hard:

"You ride back to town and tell Len to get his white goods togetheran' ride back with you to Watts's. There's goin' to be a funeral--orbetter yet, a weddin' _an'_ a funeral in it for him by this timeto-morrow, or my name ain't Vil Holland!" And then, abruptly, heturned and rode into the North. 

A wild impulse to overtake him and dissuade him from his purpose tookpossession of the girl. But the thought of Microby in the power ofBethune, and of the sorrowing face of poor Watts stayed her. She sawher husband hitch his belt forward and swiftly look to his six-gun, and as the sound of galloping hoofs grew fainter, she watched hisdiminishing figure until it was swallowed up in the distance. 

Impulsively she stretched out her arms to him: "Good luck to you, myknight!" she called, but the words ended in a sob, and she turned herhorse and, with a vast happiness in her heart, rode back toward thetown. 

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

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