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 Texan;* "The Gun-Brand," "The Promise;' "Prairie 
 
 Flowers" etc. 
 
 Frontispiece in Color 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arrangement with G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
Copyright, 1920 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES B. HENDRYX 
 
 This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London 
 
 'Cbc Iknfcfccrbockcr press, Hew J!?orft 
 
 Made in the United States of America 
 
The Gold Girl 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A HORSEMAN OF THE 'HILLS 
 
 Patty Sinclair reined in her horse at the top 
 of a low divide and gazed helplessly around her. 
 The trail that had grown fainter and fainter with 
 its ascent of the creek bed disappeared entirely 
 at the slope of loose rock and bunch grass that 
 slanted steeply to the divide. In vain she scanned 
 the deeply gored valley that lay before her and 
 the timbered slopes of the mountains for sign of 
 human habitation. Her horse lowered his head 
 and snipped at the bunch grass. Stiffly the girl 
 dismounted. She had been in the saddle since 
 early noon with only two short intervals of rest 
 when she had stopped to drink and to bathe her 
 face in the deliciously cold waters of mountain 
 streams — and now the trail had melted into the 
 
 M( [ it 
 
2 The Gold Girl 
 
 hills, and the broad shadows of mountains were 
 lengthening. Every muscle of her body ached at 
 the unaccustomed strain, and she was very hungry. 
 She envied her horse his enjoyment of the bunch 
 grass which he munched with much tongueing of 
 the bit and impatient shaking of the head. With 
 bridle reins gripped tightly she leaned wearily 
 against the saddle. 
 
 "I'm lost, " she murmured. "Just plain lost. 
 Surely I must have come fifty miles, and I followed 
 their directions exactly, and now I'm tired, and 
 stiff, and sore, and hungry, and lost." A grim 
 little smile tightened the corners of her mouth. 
 "But I'm glad I came. If Aunt Rebecca could 
 see me now ! Wouldn't she just gloat ? ' I told you 
 so, my dear, just as I often told your poor father, 
 to have nothing whatever to do with that horrible 
 country of wild Indians, and ferocious beasts, and 
 desperate characters.'" Hot tears blurred her 
 eyes at the thought of her father. "This is 
 the country he loved, with its mountains and 
 its woods and its deep mysterious valleys — and 
 I want to love it, too. And I will love it! I'll 
 find his mine if it takes me all the rest of my 
 life. And I'll show the people back home that he 
 was right, that he did know that the gold was 
 
A Horseman of the Hills 3 
 
 here, and that he wasn't just a visionary and a 
 ne'er-do-well!" 
 
 A rattle of loose stones set her heart thumping 
 wildly and caused her to peer down the back trail 
 where a horseman was slowly ascending the slope. 
 The man sat loosely in his saddle with the easy 
 grace of the slack rein rider. A roll-brim Stetson 
 with its crown boxed into a peak was pushed 
 slightly back upon his head, and his legs were 
 encased to the thighs in battered leather chaps 
 whose lacings were studded with silver chonchas as 
 large as trade dollars. A coiled rope hung from 
 a strap upon the right side of his saddle, while a 
 leather-covered jug was swung upon the opposite 
 side by a thong looped over the horn. All this the 
 girl took in at a glance as the rangy buckskin picked 
 his way easily up the slope. She noted, also, the 
 white butt-plates of the revolver that protruded 
 from its leather holster. Her first impulse was to 
 mount and fly, but the futility of the attempt was 
 apparent. If the man followed she could hardly 
 hope to elude him upon a horse that was far from 
 fresh, and even if she did it would be only to plunge 
 deeper into the hills — become more hopelessly 
 lost. Aunt Rebecca's words "desperate charac- 
 ter" seemed suddenly to assume significance. 
 
4 The Gold Girl 
 
 The man was very close now. She could distinctly 
 hear the breathing of his horse, and the soft rattle 
 of bit-chains. Despite her defiant declaration 
 that she was glad she had come, she knew that deep 
 down in her heart, she fervidly wished herself 
 elsewhere. "Maybe he's a ranchman," she 
 thought, "but why should any honest man be 
 threading unfrequented hill trails armed with a 
 revolver and a brown leather jug?" No answer 
 suggested itself, and summoning her haughtiest, 
 coldest look, she met the glance of the man who 
 drew rein beside her. His features were clean-cut, 
 bronzed, and lean — with the sinewy leanness of 
 health. His gray flannel shirt rolled open at the 
 throat, about which was loosely drawn a silk scarf 
 of robin's-egg blue, held in place by the tip of a 
 buffalo horn polished to an onyx luster. The hand 
 holding the bridle reins rested carelessly upon the 
 horn of his saddle. With the other he raised the 
 Stetson from his head. 
 
 "Good evenin', Miss," he greeted, pleasantly. 
 "Lost?" 
 
 "No," she lied brazenly, "I came here on pur- 
 pose — I — I like it here." She felt the lameness 
 of the lie and her cheeks flushed. But the man 
 showed no surprise at the statement, neither did 
 
A Horseman of the Hills 5 
 
 he smile. Instead, he raised his head and gravely 
 inspected the endless succession of mountains and 
 valleys and timbered ridges. 
 
 "It's a right nice place, " he agreed. To her 
 surprise the girl could find no hint of sarcasm in 
 the words, nor was there anything to indicate the 
 "desperate character" in the way he leaned for- 
 ward to stroke his horse's mane, and remove a wisp 
 of hair from beneath the headstall. It was hard 
 to maintain her air of cold reserve with this soft- 
 voiced, grave-eyed young stranger. She wondered 
 whether a "desperate character" could love his 
 horse, and felt a wild desire to tell him of her 
 plight. But as her eyes rested upon the brown 
 leather jug she frowned. 
 
 The man shifted himself in the saddle. "Well, 
 I must be goin'," he said. "Good evenin'. " 
 
 Patty bowed ever so slightly, as he replaced the 
 Stetson upon his head and touched his horse 
 lightly with a spur. "Come along, you Buck, 
 you!" 
 
 As the horse started down the steep descent on 
 the other side of the divide a feeling of loneliness 
 that was very akin to terror gripped the girl. The 
 sunlight showed only upon the higher levels, and 
 the prospect of spending the night alone in the 
 
6 The Gold Girl 
 
 hills without food or shelter produced a sudden 
 chilling sensation in the pit of her stomach. 
 
 "Oh! Please " 
 
 The buckskin turned in his tracks, and once 
 more the man was beside her upon the ridge. 
 
 "I am lost," she faltered. "Only, I hated to 
 admit it." 
 
 "Folks always do. I've be'n lost a hundred 
 times, an' I never would admit it." 
 
 1 ' I started for the Watts's ranch. Do you know 
 where it is?" 
 
 "Yes, it's over on Monte's Creek." 
 
 Patty smiled. "I could have told you that. 
 The trouble is, someone seems to have removed all 
 the signs." 
 
 "They ought to put 'em up again, " opined the 
 stranger in the same grave tone with which he had 
 bid her good evening. 
 
 "They told me in town that I was to take the 
 left hand trail where it forked at the first creek 
 beyond the canyon." 
 
 The man nodded. "Yes, that about fits the 
 case." 
 
 "But I did take the trail that turned to the left 
 up the first creek beyond the canyon, and I haven't 
 seen the slightest intimation of a ranch." 
 
A Horseman of the Hills 7 
 
 "No, you see, this little creek don't count, 
 because most of the time it's dry; an* this ain't a 
 regular trail. It's an' old winter road that was 
 used to haul out cord wood an* timber. Monte's 
 Creek is two miles farther on. It's a heap bigger 
 creek than this, an' the trail's better, too. Watts's 
 is about three mile up from the fork. You can't 
 miss it. It's the only ranch there." 
 
 "How far is it back to the trail?" asked the girl 
 wearily. 
 
 "About two mile. It's about seven mile to 
 Watts's that way around. There's a short cut, 
 through the hills, but I couldn't tell you so you'd 
 find it. There's no trail, an' it's up one coulee 
 an' down another till you get there. I'm goin' 
 through that way; if you'd like to come along 
 you're welcome to." 
 
 For a moment Patty hesitated but her eyes 
 returned to the jug and she declined, a trifle 
 stiffly. "No, thank you. I — I think I will go 
 around by the trail." 
 
 Either the man did not notice the curtness of 
 the reply, or he chose to ignore it, for the next 
 instant, noting the gasp of pain and the sudden 
 tightening of the lips that accompanied her at- 
 tempt to raise her foot to the stirrup, he swung 
 
8 The Gold Girl 
 
 lightly to the ground, and before the divined what 
 he was about, had lifted her gently into the saddle 
 and pressed the reins into her hand. Without a 
 word he returned to his horse, and with face flushed 
 scarlet, the girl glared at the powerful gray shoul- 
 ders as he picked up his reins from the ground. 
 The next moment she headed her own horse down 
 the back trail and rode into the deepening shadows. 
 Gaining the main trail she urged her horse into a 
 run. 
 
 "He — he's awfully strong," she panted, "and 
 just horrid!" 
 
 From the top of the divide the man watched 
 until she disappeared, then he stroked softly the 
 velvet nose that nuzzled against his cheek. 
 
 "What d'you reckon, Buck? Are they goin' to 
 start a school for that litter of young Wattses? 
 There ain't another kid within twenty mile — 
 must be." As he swung into the saddle the 
 leather covered jug bumped lightly against his 
 knee. There was a merry twinkle of laughter 
 in his blue eyes as, with lips solemn as an ex- 
 horter's, he addressed the offending object. "You 
 brown rascal, you! If it hadn't be'n for you, 
 me an' Buck might of made a hit with the 
 lady, mightn't we, Buck? Scratch gravel, now 
 
A Horseman of the Hills 9 
 
 you old reprobate, or we won't get to camp till 
 midnight." 
 
 "Anyway, she ain't no kin to the Wattses," he 
 added reflectively, "not an' that clean, she ain't." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 AT THE WATTS RANCH 
 
 It was with a decided feeling of depression that 
 Patty Sinclair approached the Watts ranch. Long 
 before she reached the buildings an air of shiftless 
 delapidation was manifest in the ill-lined barbed 
 wire fences whose rotting posts sagged drunkenly 
 upon loosely strung wire. A dry weed-choked 
 irrigation ditch paralleled the trail, its wooden 
 flumes, like the fence posts, rotting where they 
 stood, and its walls all but obliterated by the wash 
 of spring freshets. The depression increased as 
 she passed close beside the ramshackle log stable, 
 where her horse sank to his ankles in a filthy brown 
 seepage of mud and rotting straw before the door. 
 Two small, slouchily built stacks of weather- 
 stained hay occupied a fenced-off enclosure, beside 
 which, with no attempt to protect them from the 
 weather, stood a dish-wheeled hay rake, and a rusty 
 mowing machine, its cutter-bar buried in weeds. 
 
 10 
 
At the Watts Ranch n 
 
 Passing through a small clump of cottonwoods, 
 in which three or four raw-boned horses had taken 
 refuge from the mosquitoes, she came suddenly 
 upon the ranch house, a squat, dirt-roofed cabin 
 of unpeeled logs. So, this was the Watts ranch! 
 Again and again in the delirium that preceded 
 her father's death, he had muttered of Monte's 
 Creek and the Watts ranch, until she had come to 
 think of it as a place of cool halls and broad ver- 
 andahs situated at the head of some wide mountain 
 valley in which sleek cattle grazed belly-deep in 
 lush grasses. 
 
 A rabble of nondescript curs came snapping and 
 yapping about her horse's legs until dispersed by a 
 harsh command from the dark interior of the cabin. 
 
 " Yere, yo' git out o' thet! " 
 
 The dogs slunk away and their places were 
 immediately taken by a half-dozen ill-kempt, be- 
 draggled children. A tousled head was thrust from 
 the doorway, and after a moment of inspection a 
 man stepped out upon the hard-trodden earth of 
 the dooryard. He was bootless and a great toe 
 protruded from a hole in the point of his sock. 
 He wore a faded hickory shirt, and the knees of 
 his bleached-out overalls were patched with blue 
 gingham. 
 
12 The Gold Girl 
 
 "Howdy," he greeted, in a not unkindly tone, 
 and paused awkwardly while the protruding toe 
 tried vainly to burrow from sight in the hard earth. 
 
 "Is — is this the Watts ranch?" The girl sup- 
 pressed a wild desire to burst into tears. 
 
 "Yes, mom, this is hit — what they is of hit." 
 His ringers picked vaguely at his scraggly beard. 
 An idea seemed suddenly to strike him, and turn- 
 ing, he thrust his head in at the door. "Ma!" 
 he called, loudly, and again "Ma! Ma!" 
 
 The opening of a door within was followed by 
 the sound of a harsh voice. "Lawzie me, John 
 Watts, what's ailin' yo' now — got a burr in under 
 yo' gallus?" A tall woman with a broad, kindly 
 face pushed past the man, wiping suds upon her 
 apron from a pair of very large and very red hands. 
 
 "Sakes alive, if hit hain't a lady! Hain't yo' 
 done tol* her to git off an' come in? Looks like 
 yer manners, what little yo' ever hed of 'em, fell 
 in the crick an' got drownded. Jest yo' climb 
 right down offen thet cayuse, dearie, an' come on 
 in the house. John, yo' oncinch thet saddle, an' 
 then, Horatius Ezek'l, yo' an' David Golieth, 
 taken the hoss to the barn an' see't he's hayed an' 
 watered 'fore yo' come back. Microby Dandeline, 
 yo' git a pot o' tea abilin' an' fry up a bate o' 
 
At the Watts Ranch 13 
 
 bacon, an' cut some bread, an' warm up the rest 
 o' thet pone, an' yo', Lillian Russell, yo' finish 
 dryin' them dishes an' set 'em back on the table. 
 An' Abraham Lincoln Wirt, yo' fetch a pail o' 
 water, an' wrinch out the worsh dish, an' set a 
 piece o' soap by, an' a clean towel, an' light up the 
 lamp." 
 
 Under Ma Watts's volley of orders, issued with- 
 out pause for breath, things began to happen with 
 admirable promptitude. 
 
 "Land sakes!" cried the woman, as Patty 
 climbed painfully to the ground, "hain't yo' that 
 sore an' stiff! Yo' must a-rode clean from town, 
 an' hits fifty mile, an' yo' not use to ridin' neither, 
 to tell by the whiteness of yo' face. I'll help yo' 
 git off them hat an' gloves, an' thar sets the worsh 
 dish on the bench beside the do'. Microby Dan- 
 deline '11 hev a bite fer ye d'rec'ly an' I'll fix yo' up 
 a shake-down. Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth 
 kin go out an' crawl in the hay an' yo' c'n hev 
 theirn." Words flowed from Ma Watts naturally 
 and continuously without effort, as water flows 
 from a spring. Patty who had made several un- 
 successful attempts to speak, interrupted abruptly. 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't think of depriving the boys of 
 their bed. I " 
 
H The Gold Girl 
 
 "Now, honey, just yo' quit pesterin' 'bout thet. 
 Them young-uns 'druther sleep out'n in, any time. 
 Ef I'd let 'em they'd grow up plumb wild. When 
 yo've got worshed up come on right in the kitchen 
 an' set by. Us Wattses is plain folks an' don't 
 pile on no dog. We've et an' got through, but yo' 
 take all the time yo're a mind to, an' me an' 
 Microby Dandeline '11 set by an' yo' c'n tell us 
 who yo' be, ef yo're a mind to, an' ef not hit don't 
 make no difference. We hain't partic'lar out here, 
 nohow — we've hed preachers an' horse-thieves, 
 an r never asked no odds of neither. I says to 
 Watts " 
 
 Again the girl made forcible entry into the con- 
 versation. ' ' My name is Sinclair. Patty Sinclair, 
 of Middleton, Connecticut. My father " 
 
 "Land o' love! So yo're Mr. Sinclair's darter! 
 Yo' do favor him a mite about the eyes, come to 
 look; but yer nose is difl'rnt to hisn, an' so's yer 
 mouth — must a be'n yer ma's was like that. But 
 sometimes they don't favor neither one. Take 
 Microby Dandeline, here, 'tain't no one could say 
 she hain't Watts's, an' Horatius Ezek'l, he favors 
 me, but fer's the rest of 'em goes, they mightn't 
 b'long to neither one of us." Microby Dandeline 
 placed the food upon the table and sank, quiet as 
 
At the Watts Ranch 15 
 
 a mouse into a chair beneath the glass bracket- 
 lamp with her large dark eyes fixed upon Patty, 
 who devoured the unappetizing food with an en- 
 thusiasm born of real hunger, while the older 
 woman analyzed volubly the characteristics, 
 facial and temperamental, of each and several of 
 the numerous Watts progeny. 
 
 Having exhausted the subject of offspring, Ma 
 Watts flashed a direct question. "How's yer pa, 
 an' where's he at? " 
 
 "My father died last month, " answered the girl 
 without raising her eyes from her plate. 
 
 "Fer the land sakes, child! I want to know! " 
 
 1 ' Watts ! Watts ! ' ' The lank form appeared in 
 the doorway. "This here's Mr. Sinclair's darter, 
 an' he's up an' died." 
 
 The man's fingers fumbled uncertainly at his 
 beard, as his wife paused for the intelligence to 
 strike home. ' ' Folks does, ' ' he opined, judiciously 
 after a profound interval. 
 
 "That's so, when yo' come to think 'bout hit," 
 admitted Ma Watts. ' ' What did he die of ? " 
 
 1 'Cerebrospinal meningitis . ' ' 
 
 * ' My goodness sakes ! I should think he would ! 
 When my pa died — back in Tennessee, hit wus, 
 the doctor 'lowed hit wus the eetch, but sho', he'd 
 
i6 The Gold Girl 
 
 hed thet fer hit wus goin' on seven year. 'Bout 
 a week 'fore he come to die, he got so's 't he 
 couldn't eat nothin', an' he wus thet het up with 
 the fever he like to burnt up, an' his head ached 
 him fit to bust, an' he wus out of hit fer four days, 
 an* I mistrust thet-all mought of hed somethin' 
 to do with his dyin\ The doctor, he come an' 
 bled him every day, but he died on him, an' then 
 he claimed hit was the eetch, or mebbe hit wus 
 jest his time hed come, he couldn't tell which. I've 
 wondered sence if mebbe we'd got a town doctor 
 he mought of lived. But Doctor Swanky wus a 
 mountain man an* we wus, too, so we taken him. 
 But, he wus more of a hoss doctor, an' seems like, 
 he never did hev no luck, much, with folks." 
 
 Her nerves all a- jangle from trail- strain and the 
 depressing atmosphere of the Watts ranch, it 
 seemed to Patty she must shriek aloud if the 
 woman persisted in her ceaseless gabble. 
 
 "Yer pa wus a nice man, an' well thought of. 
 We-all know'd him well. It wus goin' on three 
 year he prospected 'round here in the hills, an* 
 many a time he's sot right where yo're settin' now, 
 an* et his meal o' vittles. Some said las' fall 'fore 
 he went back East how he'd made his strike, an' 
 hit wus quartz gold, an' how he'd gone back to git 
 
At the Watts Ranch 17 
 
 money to work hit. Mr. Bethune thought so, an* 
 Lord Clendenning. They must of be'n thicker'n 
 thieves with yer pa, 'cordin' to their tell." The 
 woman paused and eyed the girl inquisitively. 
 "Did he make his strike, an* why didn't he record 
 hit?" 
 
 ''I don't know, " answered the girl wearily. 
 
 "An' don't yo' tell no one ef yo' do know. I 
 b'lieve in folks bein' close-mouthed. Like I'm 
 alius a-tellin' Watts. But yo' must be plumb wore 
 out, what with ridin' all day, an' a-tellin' me all 
 about yo'se'f. I'll slip in an* turn them blankets 
 an' yo' kin jest crawl right into 'em an' sleep 'til yo' 
 slep' out." 
 
 Ma Watts bustled away, and Microby Dande- 
 line began to clear away the dishes. 
 
 " Can't I help?" offered Patty. 
 
 The large, wistful eyes regarded her seriously. 
 
 " No. I like yo'. Yo' hain't to worsh no dishes. 
 Yo're purty. I like Mr. Bethune, an' Lord Clen- 
 denning, an' that Vil Holland. I like everybody. 
 Folks is nice, hain't they?" 
 
 "Why — yes," agreed Patty, smiling into the 
 big serious eyes. "How old are you?" 
 
 "I'm seventeen, goin' on eighteen. Yo' come to 
 live with us-uns?" 
 
is The Gold Girl 
 
 "No — that is — I don't know exactly where I 
 am going to live." 
 
 "That Vil Holland, he's got a nice camp, an' 
 'tain't only him there. Why don't yo' live there? 
 I want to live there an' I go to his camp on Gee 
 Dot, but he chases me away, an' sometimes he 
 gits mad." 
 
 "What is Gee Dot?" Patty stared in amaze- 
 ment at this girl with the mind of a child. 
 
 "Oh, he's my pony. I reckon Mr. Bethune 
 wouldn't git mad, but I don't know where he 
 lives." 
 
 "I think you had better stay right here," ad- 
 vised Patty, seriously. "This is your home, you 
 know." 
 
 "Yes, but they hain't much room. Me, an' 
 Lillian Russell, an' David Golieth sleeps on a 
 shake-down, an' they-all shoves an' kicks, an' 
 sometimes when I want to sleep, Chattenoogy 
 Tennessee sets up a squarkin' an' I cain't. Babies 
 is a lot of bother. An' they's a lot of dishes an' 
 chores an' things. Wisht I hed a dress like yo'n ! " 
 The girl passed a timid ringer 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! 
 
At the Watts Ranch 19 
 
 Microby Dandeline Watts, where' s yo' manners?" 
 She turned to Patty. "Don't mind her, she's 
 kind o' simple, an' don't mean no harm. Yo' 
 shake-down's ready fer yo' an' I reckon yo' glad, 
 bein' that wore out. Hit's agin the east wall. 
 Jest go on right in, don't mind Watts. Hit's dark 
 in thar, an' he's rolled in. We hain't only one 
 bed an' me an' Watts an' the baby sleeps in hit, on 
 'tother side the room. Watts, he aims to put up 
 some bunks when he gits time." 
 
 Sick at heart, and too tired and sore of body to 
 protest against any arrangement that would allow 
 her to sleep the girl murmured her thanks and 
 crossed to the door of the bedroom. Not at all 
 sure of her bearings she paused uncertainly in the 
 doorway until a sound of heavy breathing located 
 the slumbering Watts, and turning toward the 
 opposite side of the room, proceeded cautiously 
 through the blackness until her feet came in con- 
 tact with her " shake-down, " which consisted of a 
 pair of blankets placed upon a hay tick. The odor 
 of the blankets was anything but fresh, but she 
 sank to the floor, and with much effort and tor- 
 turing of strained muscles, succeeded in removing 
 her boots and jacket and throwing herself upon the 
 bed. Almost at the moment her head touched the 
 
20 The Gold Girl 
 
 coarse, unslipped pillow, she fell into a deep sleep, 
 from which hours later she was awakened by an 
 insistent tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. "Someone 
 has forgotten to pull up the canoe and the waves 
 are slapping it against the side of the dock,'* she 
 thought drowsily. "Did I have it last?" She 
 stirred uneasily and the pain of movement caused 
 her to gasp. She opened her eyes, and instead of 
 her great airy chamber in Aunt Rebecca's mansion 
 by the sea, she was greeted by the sight of the hot, 
 stuffy room of the Watts cabin. A rumpled pile 
 of blankets was mounded upon the bed against 
 the opposite wall, and a shake-down similar to her 
 own occupied a space beside the open door through 
 which hot, bright sunlight streamed. 
 
 Several hens pecked assiduously at some crumbs, 
 and Patty realized that it was the sound of their 
 bills upon the wooden floor that had awakened her. 
 She succeeded after several painful attempts in 
 pulling on her boots, and as she rose to her feet, 
 Ma Watts thrust her head in at the door. 
 
 "Lawzie! Honey, did them hens wake yo' up? 
 Sho' ! ef I'd a thought o' thet, I'd o' fed 'em outside, 
 an' yo' could of kep' on sleepin'. 'They ain't 
 no thin' like a good long sleep when yo' tired, ' 
 Watts says, ah' he ort to know. He aims to build 
 
At the Watts Ranch 21 
 
 a house fer them hens when he gits time. Yo' 
 know where the worsh dish is, jest make yo'se'f 
 to home, dinner 11 be ready d'rec'ly." The feel of 
 the cold water was grateful as the girl dashed it 
 over her face and hands from the little tin wash- 
 basin on the bench beside the door. Watts sat 
 with his chair resting upon its rear legs and its 
 back against the shady west wall of the cabin. 
 
 "Mo'nin', " he greeted. ''Hit's right hot; I be'n 
 studyin' 'bout fixin' them thar arrigation ditches." 
 
 Patty smiled brightly. "All they need is clean- 
 ing out, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yas, mom. Thet an' riggin' up them flumes. 
 But it's a right smart o' work, an' then the re- 
 sevoy's busted, too. I be'n aimin' to fix 'em when 
 I git time. They hain't had no water in 'em fer 
 three year. Yb' see, two year ago hit looked like 
 rain mos' every day. Hit didn't rain none to 
 speak, but hit kep' a body hatin' to start workin' 
 fer fear it would. An' las' year hit never looked 
 like rain none, so hit wasn't no use fixin' 'em. An' 
 this year I don't know jest what to do, hit might, 
 an' then agin hit mightn't. Drat thet sun! Here 
 hit is dinner time. Seems like hit never lets a body 
 set in orie place long 'nough to study out whut 
 he'd ort to do." Watts rose slowly to his feet, 
 
22 The Gold Girl 
 
 and picking up his chair, walked deliberately 
 around to the east side of the house, where he 
 planted it with the precision born of long practice 
 in the exact spot that the shadow would be longest 
 at the conclusion of the midday meal. 
 
 Patty entered the cabin and a few minutes 
 later the sound of voices reached her ears. Ma 
 Watts hurried to the window. 
 
 1 'Well, if hit ain't Mr. Bethune an' Lord Clen- 
 denning! Ef you see one you know the other 
 hain't fer off. Hain't he good lookin' though — Mr. 
 Bethune? Lord hain't so much fer looks, but he's 
 some high up nobility like over to England where 
 he come from, only over yere they call 'em re- 
 mittance men, an' they don't do nothin' much 
 but ride around an' drink whisky, an' they git 
 paid fer hit, too. Folks says how Mr. Bethune's 
 gran'ma wus a squaw, but I don't believe 'em. 
 Anyways, I alius like him. He's got manners, an' 
 hit don't stan' to reason no breed would have 
 manners." 
 
 Patty could distinctly see the two riders as they 
 lounged in their saddles. The larger, whose bulg- 
 ing blue eyes and drooping blond mustache gave 
 him a peculiar walrus-like expression, she swept 
 at a glance. The other was talking to Watts and 
 
At the Watts Ranch 23 
 
 the girl noted the slender figure with its almost 
 feminine delicacy of mold, and the finely chiseled 
 features dominated by eyes black as jet — eyes 
 that glowed with a velvety softness as he spoke. 
 
 " We have been looking over your upper pasture," 
 he said. "A fellow named Schmidt over in the 
 Blackfoot country will be delivering some horses 
 across the line this summer and he wants to rent 
 some pastures at different poincs along the trail. 
 How about it?" 
 
 Watts rubbed his beard uncertainly. "Them 
 fences hain't hoss tight. I be'n studyin' 'bout 
 fixin' 'em." 
 
 "Why don't you get at it?" 
 
 "Well they's the resevoy, an' the ditches " 
 
 "Never mind the ditches. All that fence needs 
 is a few posts and some staples." 
 
 "My ax hain't fitten to chop with no mo', an' 
 I druv over the spade an' bruk the handle. I 
 hain't got no luck." 
 
 Reaching into his pocket, Bethune withdrew a 
 gold piece which he tossed to Watts. "Maybe 
 this will change your luck," he smiled. "The fact 
 is I want that pasture — or, rather, Schultz does." 
 
 "Thought yo' said Schmidt." 
 
 "Did I? Those kraut names all sound alike to 
 
24 The Gold Girl 
 
 me. But his name is Schultz. The point is, he'll 
 pay you five dollars a month to hold the pasture, 
 and five dollars for every day or night he uses it. 
 That ten spot pays for the first two months. 
 Better buy a new ax and spade and some staples 
 and get to work. The exercise will do you good, 
 and Schultz may want to use that pasture in a 
 couple of weeks or so." 
 
 "Well, I reckon I kin. Hit's powerful hot fer 
 to work much, but that's a sight o' money. As 
 I wus savin* to Mr. Sinclair's darter " 
 
 " Sinclair's daughter! What do you mean? Is 
 Sinclair back?" 
 
 Patty noted the sudden flash of the jet black 
 eyes at the mention of her father's name. It was 
 as though a point of polished steel had split their 
 velvet softness. Yet there was no hostility in the 
 glance; rather, it was a gleam of intense interest. 
 The girl's own interest in the quarter-breed had 
 been casual atjmost, hardly more than that ac- 
 corded by a passing glance until she had chanced 
 to hear him refer to the man in the Blackfoot 
 country in one breath as Schmidt, and in the next 
 as Schultz. She wondered at that and so had 
 remained standing beside Mrs. Watts, screened 
 from the outside by the morning-glory vines that 
 
At the Watts Ranch 25 
 
 served as a curtain for the window. The trifling 
 incident of the changed name was forgotten in the 
 speculation as to why her father's return to the 
 hill country should be a matter of evident import 
 to this sagebrush cavalier. So intent had she be- 
 come that she hardly noticed the cruel bluntness 
 of Watts' s reply. 
 * " He's dead." 
 
 "Dead!" 
 
 "Yas, he died back East an* his darter's come." 
 
 "Does she know he made a strike?" Patty 
 noted the look of eagerness that accompanied the 
 words. 
 
 "I do'no." Watts wagged his head slowly. 
 "Mebbe so; mebbe not." 
 
 "Because, if she doesn't," Bethune hastened to 
 add, "she should be told. Rod Sinclair was one 
 of the best friends I had, and if he has gone I'm 
 right here to see that his daughter gets a square 
 deal. Of course if she has the location, she's all 
 right." Patty wondered whether the man had 
 purposely raised his voice, or was it her imagina- 
 tion? 
 
 Ma Watts had started for the door. " Come on 
 out, honey, an' I'll make yo' acquainted with Mr. 
 Bethune. He wus a friend of yo' pa, an' Lord 
 
26 The Gold Girl 
 
 too." As she followed the woman to the door, 
 the girl was conscious of an indefinable feeling of 
 distrust for the man. Somehow, his words had 
 not rung true. 
 
 As the two women stepped from the house the 
 horsemen swung from their saddles and stood with 
 uncovered heads. 
 
 "This yere's Mr. Sinclair's darter, Mr. Bethune," 
 beamed Ma Watts. "An' I'd take hit proud ef 
 yo'd all stay to dinner." 
 
 "Ah, Miss Sinclair, I am most happy to know 
 you. Permit me to present my friend Lord 
 Clendenning." 
 
 The Englishman bowed low. "The prefix is 
 merely a euphonism Miss Sinclair. What you 
 really behold in me is the decayed part of a decay- 
 ing aristocracy." 
 
 Patty laughed. ' ' My goodness, what frankness ! ' ' 
 
 1 ' Come on, now, an' set by 'fore the vittles gits 
 cold on us. Yere yo' Horatius Ezek'l an' David 
 Golieth, yo' hay them hosses!" 
 
 "No, no! Really, Mrs. Watts, we must not 
 presume on your hospitality. Important business 
 demands our presence elsewhere." 
 
 "Lawzie, Mr. Bethune, there yo' go with them 
 big words agin. Which I s'pose yo' mean yo' 
 
At the Watts Ranch 27 
 
 cain't stay. But they's a plenty, an' yo' welcome." 
 Again Bethune declined and as the woman re- 
 entered the house, he turned to the girl. 
 
 "I only just learned of your father's untimely 
 death. Permit me to express my sincerest sym- 
 pathy, and to assure you that if I can be of service 
 to you in any way I am yours to command." 
 
 "Thank you," answered Patty, flushing slightly 
 under the scrunity of the black eyes. ' ' I am here 
 to locate my father's claim. I want to do it alone, 
 but if I can't I shall certainly ask assistance of his 
 friends." 
 
 "Exactly. But, my dear Miss Sinclair, let me 
 warn you. There are men in these hills who sus- 
 pected that your father made a strike, who would 
 stop at nothing to wrest your secret from you." 
 The girl nodded. "I suppose so. But forewarned 
 is forearmed, isn't it? I thank you." 
 
 "Thet Vil Holland wus by yeste'day, " said 
 Watts. 
 
 Bethune frowned. "What did he want?" 
 
 "Didn't want nothin'. Jest come a-ridin* 
 by." 
 
 "I should think you'd had enough of him after 
 the way he ran your sheep man off." 
 
 Watts rubbed his beard. "Well, I do'no. The 
 
28 The Gold Girl 
 
 cattlemen pays me same as that sheep man done. 
 Vil Holland tended to that." 
 
 "That isn't the point. What right has Vil 
 Holland and others of his ilk to tell you, or me, or 
 anybody else who we shall, or shall not rent to? 
 It is the principle of the thing. The running off 
 of those sheep was a lawless act, and the sooner 
 lawlessness, as exemplified by Vil Holland is 
 stamped out of these hills, the better it will be for 
 the community. He better not try to bulldoze me. ' ' 
 Bethune turned to Patty. "That Vil Holland is 
 the man I had in mind, Miss Sinclair, when I 
 warned you to choose your friends wisely. He 
 would stop at nothing to gain an end, even to 
 posing as a friend of your father. In all prob- 
 ability he will offer to assist you, but if you have 
 any map or description of your father's location 
 do not under any circumstances show it to 
 him." 
 
 Patty smiled. "If any such paper exists I shall 
 keep it to myself." 
 
 Bethune returned the smile. "Good-by, " he 
 said. ' ' I shall look forward to meeting you again. 
 Shall you remain here?" 
 
 "I have made no plans," she answered, and as 
 she watched the two riders disappear down the 
 
At the Watts Ranch 29 
 
 creek trail her lips twisted into a smile. "May 
 pose as a friend of your father . . . and probably 
 will offer to assist you," she repeated under her 
 breath. "Well, Mr. Bethune, I thank you again 
 for the warning." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 PATTY GOES TO TOWN 
 
 Ma Watts called loudly from the doorway and 
 numerous small Wattses appeared as if by magic 
 from the direction of the creek and the cottonwood 
 thicket. Dinner consisted of flabby salt pork, 
 swimming in its own grease, into which were 
 dipped by means of fingers or forks, huge mis- 
 shapen slices of sour white bread. There was also 
 an abundance of corn pone, black molasses, and a 
 vile concoction that Ma Watts called coffee. Flies 
 swarmed above the table and settled upon the food 
 from which they arose in clouds at each repetition 
 of the dipping process. 
 
 How she got through the meal Patty did not 
 know, but to her surprise and disgust, realized 
 that she had actually consumed a considerable 
 portion of the unappetizing mess. Watts arose, 
 stretched prodigiously, and sauntered to his chair 
 which, true to calculation was already just within 
 the shadow of the east side of the house. 
 
 30 
 
Patty Goes to Town 31 
 
 Baby on hip, Ma Watts, assisted by Microby 
 Dandeline and Lillian Russell, attacked the dishes. 
 All offers of help from Patty were declined. 
 
 "Yo' welcome to stay yere jest as long as yo' 
 want to, honey, an* yo' hain't got to work none 
 neither. They's a old piece o' stack-cover some- 
 wheres around an* them young-uns kin rig 'em 
 up a tent an' sleep in hit all summer, an* yo' kin 
 hev their shake-down like yo' done las' night. 
 I s'pose yo're yere about yo' pa's claim?'' 
 
 "Yes," answered the girl, "and I certainly 
 appreciate your hospitality. I hope I can repay 
 you some day, but I cannot think of settling myself 
 upon you this way. My work will take me out 
 into the hills and " 
 
 "Jest like yo' pa usta say. He wus that fond o' 
 rale home cookin' thet he'd come 'long every onct 
 in a month 'er so, an' git him a squr meal, an' then 
 away he'd go out to his camp." 
 
 "Where was his camp?" asked the girl eagerly. 
 
 " Lawzie, his camp wus a tent, an' he moved hit 
 around so they couldn't no one tell from one day 
 to 'nother where he'd be at. But, he never wus 
 no great ways from here, gen' ally within ten mile, 
 one way er 'nother. Hits out yonder in the barn — 
 his tent an' outfit — pick an' pan an' shovel an' 
 
32 The Gold Girl 
 
 dishes, all ready to throw onto his pack hoss which 
 hits a mewl an' runnin' in the hills with them 
 hosses of ourn. If hit wusn't fer the fences they'd 
 be in the pasture. Watts aims to fix 'em when he 
 gits time." 
 
 "I don't know much about tents, but I guess I'll 
 have to use it, that is, if there isn't another ranch, 
 or a — a house, or something, where I can rent a 
 room all to myself." 
 
 11 Great sakes, child ! They hain't another ranch 
 within twenty -five mile, an' thet's towards town." 
 As if suddenly smitten with an idea, she paused 
 with her hand full of dishes and called loudly to 
 her spouse: 
 
 " Watts! Watts!" 
 
 The chair was eased to its four legs, and the 
 lank form appeared in the doorway. " Yeh? " 
 
 "How about the sheep camp?" 
 
 The man's fingers fumbled at his beard and he 
 appeared plunged into deep thought. "What yo' 
 mean, how 'bout hit?" 
 
 "Why not we-all leave Mr. Sinclair's darter 
 live up there?" 
 
 Again the thoughtful silence. At length the 
 man spoke: "Why, shore, she kin stay there 
 long as she likes, an' welcome." 
 
Patty Goes to Town 33 
 
 "Hit's a cabin four mile up the crick," explained 
 Ma Watts, "what we built on our upper desert 
 fer a man thet wanted to run a band o' sheep. He 
 wus rentin' the range often us, till they druv him 
 off — the cattlemen claimed they wouldn't 'low 
 no sheep in the hill country. They warned him an* 
 pestered him a spell, an' then they jest up an' druv 
 him off — thet Vil Holland wus into hit, an' some 
 more." 
 
 "Who is this Vil Holland you speak of, and why 
 did he want to drive off the sheep?" 
 
 "Oh, he's a cowpuncher — they say they hain't a 
 better cowpuncher in Montany, when he'll work. 
 But he won't work only when he takes a notion — 
 'druther hang around the hills an' prospeck. He 
 hain't never made no strike, but he alius aims to, 
 like all the rest. Ef he'd settle down, he could 
 draw his forty dollars a month the year 'round, 
 'stead of which, he works on the round-up, an* 
 gits him a stake, an' then quits an' strikes out fer 
 the hills." 
 
 " I couldn't think of occupying your cabin with- 
 out paying for it. How much will you rent it to 
 me for?" 
 
 "'Tain't wuth nothin' at all," said Watts. 
 " 'Tain't doin' no good settin' wher' it's at, an' yo' 
 
34 The Gold Girl 
 
 won't hurt hit none a-livin' in hit. Jest move in, 
 an* welcome." 
 
 " No, indeed! Now, you tell me, is ten dollars a 
 month enough rent?" 
 
 "Ten dollars a month!" exclaimed Watts. 
 "Why, we-all only got fifteen fo' a herder an' a 
 dog an' a band o' sheep! No, ef yo' bound to pay, 
 I'll take two dollars a month. We-all might be po' 
 but we hain't no robbers." 
 
 " I'll take it, " said Patty. "And now I'll have 
 to have a lot of things from town — food and 
 blankets, and furniture, and " 
 
 "Hit's all furnished," broke in Ma Watts. 
 "They's a bunk, an' a table, an' a stove, an' a 
 couple o' wooden chairs." 
 
 "Oh, that's fine!" cried the girl, becoming real- 
 ly enthusiastic over the prospect of having a 
 cabin all her very own. "But, about the other 
 things: Mr. Watts can you haul them from 
 town?" 
 
 Watts tugged at his beard and stared out across 
 the hills. "Yes, mom, I reckon I kin. Le's see, 
 the work's a-pilin' up on me right smart." He cast 
 his eye skyward, where the sun shone hot from the 
 cloudless blue. "Hit mought rain to-morrow, an* 
 hit moughtn't. The front ex on the wagon needs 
 
Patty Goes to Town 35 
 
 fixin' — le's see, this here's a Wednesday. How'd 
 next Sunday, a week do?" 
 
 The girl stared at him in dismay. Ten days of 
 Ma Watts' s "home cooking" loomed before her. 
 
 "Oh, couldn't you possibly go before that?" she 
 pleaded. 
 
 "Well, there's them fences. I'd orter hev' time 
 to study 'bout how many steeples hit's a-goin' to 
 tak' to fix 'em. An' besides, Ferd Rowe 'lowed he 
 wus comin' 'long some day to trade hosses an' I'd 
 hate to miss him." 
 
 "Why can't I go to town. I know the way. 
 Will you rent me your horses and wagon? I can 
 drive and I can bring out your tools and things, 
 too." As she awaited Watts' s reply her eyes met 
 the wistful gaze of Microby Dandeline. She 
 turned to Ma Watts. "And maybe you would let 
 Microby Dandeline go with me. It would be loads 
 of fun." 
 
 "Lawzie, honey, yo' wouldn't want to be 
 pestered with her." 
 
 " Yes, I would really. Please let her go with me, 
 that is, if Mr. Watts will let me have the team." 
 
 "Why, shore, yo' welcome to 'em. They hain't 
 sich a good span o' hosses, but they'll git yo' there, 
 an' back, give 'em time." 
 
36 The Gold Girl 
 
 "And can we start in the morning?" 
 
 "My! Yo' in a sight o' hurry. They's thet 
 front ex " 
 
 "Is it anything very serious? Maybe I could 
 help fix it. Do let me try." 
 
 Watts rubbed his beard reflectively. "Well, no, 
 I reckon it's mebbe the wheels needs greasin'. 
 'Twouldn't take no sight o' time to do, if a 
 body could only git at hit. Reckon I mought 
 grease 'em all 'round, onct I git started. The 
 young-uns kin help, yo' jest stay here with Ma. 
 Ef yo' so plumb sot on goin' we'll see't yo' git off." 
 
 "I kin go, cain't I, Ma?" Microby Dandeline's 
 eyes were big with excitement, as she wrung out 
 her dish towel and hung it to dry in the sun. 
 
 "Why, yas, I reckon yo' mought's well — but 
 seem's like yo' alius a-wantin' to gad. Yo' be'n 
 to town twict a'ready." 
 
 "Twice!" cried Patty. "In how long?" 
 
 " She's goin' on eighteen. Four years, come July 
 she wus to town. They wus a circust." 
 
 " I know Mr. Christie. He lives to town." 
 
 "He's the preacher. He's a 'piscopalium 
 preacher, an' one time thet Vil Holland an' him 
 come ridin' 'long, an' they stopped in fer dinner, 
 an' thet Vil Holland, he's alius up to some kind o' 
 
Patty Goes to Town 37 
 
 devilment er 'nother, he says: 'Ma Watts, why 
 don't yo' hev the kids all babitized?' I hadn't 
 never thought much 'bout hit, but thar wus the 
 preacher, an' he seemed to think mighty proud of 
 hit, an' hit didn't cost nothin', so I tol' him to go 
 ahead. He started in on Microby Dandeline — we 
 jest called her Dandeline furst, bein' thet yallar 
 with janders when she wus a baby, but when she 
 got about two year, I wus a readin' a piece in a 
 paper a man left, 'bout these yere little microby s 
 thet gits into everywheres they shouldn't ort to, 
 jest like she done, so I says to Watts how she'd 
 ort to had two names anyways, only I couldn't 
 think of none but common ones when we give her 
 hern. I says, we'll name her Microby Dandeline 
 Watts an' Watts, he didn't care one way er t'other." 
 Ma Watts shifted the baby to the other hip. 
 "Babitizin' is nice, but hit works both ways, too. 
 Take the baby, yere. When we'd got down to 
 the bottom of the batch it come her turn, an', 
 lawzie, I wus that flustered, comin' so sudden, 
 thet way, I couldn't think of no name fer her 'cept 
 Chattenoogy Tennessee, where I come from near, 
 an' the very nex' day I wus readin' in the almanac 
 an' I found one I liked better. Watts, he hain't 
 no help to a body, he hain't no aggucation to speak 
 
38 The Gold Girl 
 
 of, an' don't never read none, an' would as soon 
 I'd name his children John, like his ma done him. 
 As I wus sayin' there hit wus in the almanac the 
 name 'twould of fitten the baby to a T. Vernal 
 Esquimaux, hit said, March 21, 5:26 A.M. The 
 baby wus borned March the 21st, 'tween five an' 
 six in the mornin'. Nex' time I wus to town 
 I hunted up preacher Christie, but he said he 
 couldn't onbabitize her, an' he reckoned Chat- 
 tenoogy Tennessee wus as good as Vernal Esqui- 
 maux, anyhow, an' we could save Vernal Esqui- 
 maux fer the next one — jest's ef yo' could hev 'em 
 like a time table! " 
 
 The afternoon was assiduously devoted to over- 
 hauling the contents of a huge tin trunk in an effort 
 to find a frock suitable for the momentous occasion 
 of Microby Dandeline's journey. The one that 
 had served for the previous visit, a tight little 
 affair of pink gingham, proved entirely inadequate 
 in its important dimensions, and automatically 
 became the property of the younger and smaller 
 Lillian Russell. Patty's suggestion of a simple 
 white lawn that reposed upon the very bottom of 
 the trunk was overruled in favor of a betucked and 
 beflounced creation of red calico in which Ma 
 Watts had beamed upon the gay panoply of the 
 
Patty Goes to Town 39 
 
 long remembered ' ' circust. ' ' An hour's work with 
 scissors and needle reduced the dress to approxi- 
 mately the required size. When the task was 
 completed Watts appeared with the information 
 that he reckoned the wagon would run, and that 
 the "young-uns" were out in the hills hunting the 
 "hosses." 
 
 At early dawn the following morning Patty was 
 awakened by a timid hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 "Hit's daylight, an' Pa's hitchin' up the hosses." 
 Arrayed in the red dress, her eyes round with 
 excitement and anticipation, Microby Dandeline 
 was bending over her whispering excitedly, "An' 
 breakfus's ready, an' me an' Ma's got the lunch 
 putten up, an' hit's a pow'ful long ways to town, 
 an' we better git a-goin'." 
 
 "Stay right clost an' don't go gittin' lost," 
 admonished Ma Watts, as she stood in the door- 
 way and surveyed her daughter with approval 
 born of motherly pride. The pink gingham sun- 
 bonnet that matched the tight little dress had 
 required only a slight "letting out" to make it 
 "do," and taken in conjunction with the flaming 
 red dress, made a study in color that would have 
 delighted the heart of a Gros Ventre squaw. 
 Thick, home-knit stockings, and a pair of stiff 
 
40 The Gold Girl 
 
 cow-hide shoes completed the costume, and made 
 Microby Dandeline the center of an admiring 
 semi-circle of Wattses. 
 
 11 Yo' shore look right pert an' briggity, darter," 
 admitted Watts. " Don't yo' give the lady no 
 trouble, keep oflen the railroad car tracks, an' 
 don't go talkin' to strangers yo' don't know, an' ef 
 yo' see preacher Christie tell him howdy, an' how's 
 he gittin' 'long, an' we're doin' the same, an' stop 
 in nex' time he's out in the hills." He handed 
 Patty the reins. "An' mom, yo' won't fergit them 
 steeples, an' a ax, an' a spade? " 
 
 "I won't forget," Patty assured him, and as 
 Microby Dandeline was saying good-by to the 
 small brothers and sisters, the man leaned closer. 
 "Ef they's any change left over I wisht yo'd give 
 her about ten cents to spend jest as she pleases." 
 
 The girl nodded, and as Microby Dandeline 
 scrambled up over the wheel and settled herself 
 beside her upon the board that served as a seat, 
 she called a cheery good-by, and clucked to the 
 horses. 
 
 The trail down Monte' s Creek was a fearsome 
 road that sidled dangerously along narrow rock 
 ledges, and plunged by steep pitches into the creek 
 bed and out again. Partly by sheer luck, partly 
 
Patty Goes to Town 4 1 
 
 by bits of really skillful driving, but mostly because 
 the horses themselves knew every foot of the 
 tortuous trail, the descent of the creek was made 
 without serious mishap. It was with a sigh of 
 relief that Patty turned into the smoother trail 
 that lead down through the canyon toward town. 
 In comparison with the bumping and jolting of 
 the springless lumber wagon, she realized that the 
 saddle that had racked and tortured her upon her 
 outward trip had been a thing of ease and comfort. 
 Released from her post at the brake-rope, Microby 
 Dandeline immediately proceeded to remove her 
 shoes and stockings. Patty ventured remon- 
 strance. 
 
 "Hit's hot an' them stockin's scratches. 'Tain't 
 no good to wear 'em in the summer, nohow, 'cept 
 in town, an' I kin put 'em on when we git there. 
 Why does folks wear 'em in town?" 
 
 "Why, because it is nicer, and — and people 
 couldn't very well go around barefooted." 
 
 "I kin. I like to 'cept fer the prickly pears. 
 Is they prickly pears in town? " Without waiting 
 for a reply the girl chattered on, as she placed the 
 offending stockings within her shoes and tossed 
 them back upon the hay with which the wagon- 
 box was filled. "I like to ride, don't you? We've 
 
42 The Gold Girl 
 
 got to ride all day an' then we'll git to town. We 
 goin' to sleep in under the wagon?" 
 
 "Certainly not! We will go to the hotel." 
 
 "The hotel," breathed the girl, rapturously. 
 "An' kin we eat there too? " 
 
 "Yes, we will eat there, too." 
 
 "An* kin I go to the store with yo'?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Patty's answers became shorter as her attention 
 centered upon a horseman who was negotiating 
 the descent of what looked like an impossibly steep 
 ridge. 
 
 "That's Buck!" exclaimed Microby Dandeline, 
 as she followed the girl's gaze. The rider com- 
 pleted the descent of the ridge with an abrupt slide 
 that obscured him in a cloud of dust from which 
 he emerged to approach the trail at a swinging 
 trot. Long before he was near enough for Patty 
 to distinguish his features, she recognized him as 
 her lone horseman of the hills. " If it is his inten- 
 tion to presume upon our chance meeting," she 
 
 thought, "I'll " The threat was unexpressed 
 
 even in thought, but her lips tightened and she 
 flushed hotly as she remembered how he had 
 picked her up as though she had been a child and 
 placed her in the saddle. 
 
Patty Goes to Town 43 
 
 "Who did you say he is?" she asked, with a 
 glance toward the girl at her side. 
 
 "He's Vil Holland, an' his hoss's name is 
 Buck. I like him, only sometimes he chases me 
 home." 
 
 "Vil Holland!" she exclaimed aloud, and her 
 lips pressed tighter. So this man was Vil Holland 
 — that Vil Holland, everybody called him. The 
 man who had chased an inoffensive sheep herder 
 from the range, and whose name stood for lawless- 
 ness in the hill country! So Aunt Rebecca's allu- 
 sion to desperate characters had not been so far- 
 fetched, after all. He looked the part. Patty's 
 glance took in the vivid blue scarf with its fastening 
 of polished buffalo horn, the huge revolver that 
 swung in its holster, and the brown leather jug 
 that dangled from the horn of his saddle. 
 
 " Good-mornin' ! " He drew up beside the trail, 
 and the girl reined in her horses, flushing slightly 
 as she did so — she had meant to drive past without 
 speaking. She acknowledged the greeting with a 
 formal bow. The man ignored the frigidity. 
 
 " I see you found Watts' s all right." 
 
 "Yes, thank you." 
 
 "Well, if there ain't Microby Dandeline! An' 
 rigged out for who throw'd the chunk! Goin' to 
 
44 The Gold Girl 
 
 town to take in the picture show, an all the sights, 
 I expect." 
 
 "We're goin' to the hotel," explained the girl 
 proudly. 
 
 "My ain't that fine!" 
 
 "I got a red dress." 
 
 "Why so you have. Seem' you mentioned it, I 
 can notice a shade of red to it. An' that bonnet 
 just sets it off right. That'll make folks set up an' 
 take notice, I'll bet." 
 
 "I'm a-goin' to the store, too." 
 
 "What do you think of that!" the man drew a 
 half-dollar from his pockets. "Here, get you some 
 candy an' take some home to the kids." 
 
 Microby reached for the coin, but Patty drew 
 back her arm. 
 
 "Don't touch that!" she commanded sharply, 
 then, with a withering look that encompassed both 
 the man and his jug, she struck the horses with her 
 whip and started down the trail. 
 
 "I could of boughten some candies," complained 
 Microby Dandeline. 
 
 ' ' I will buy you all the candy you want, but you 
 must promise me never to take any money from 
 men — and especially from that man." 
 
 Microby glanced back wistfully, and as the 
 
Patty Goes to Town 45 
 
 wagon rumbled on her eyes closed and her head 
 began to nod. 
 
 "Why, child, you are sleepy!" exclaimed Patty, 
 in surprise. 
 
 "Yes, mom. I reckon I laid awake all night a- 
 thinkin' about goin' to town." 
 
 "If I were you I would lie down on the hay and 
 take a nap." 
 
 The girl eyed the hay longingly and shook her 
 head. "I like to ride," she objected, sleepily. 
 
 "You will be riding just the same." 
 
 "Yes but we might see somethin'. Onct we 
 seen a nortymobile without no hosses an' hit 
 squarked louder'n a settin' hen an' went faster'n 
 what a hoss kin run." 
 
 "You go to sleep and if there is anything to see 
 I'll wake you up. If you don't sleep now you'll 
 have to sleep when you get to town and I'm sure 
 you don't want to do that." 
 
 * ' No, mom. Mebbe ef I hurry up an' sleep fast 
 they won't no nortymobiles come, but if they does, 
 you wake me." 
 
 "I will," promised Patty, and thus assured the 
 girl curled up in the hay and in a moment was fast 
 asleep. 
 
 Hour after hour as the horses plodded along the 
 
46 The Gold Girl 
 
 interminable trail, Patty Sinclair sat upon the 
 hard wooden seat, while her thoughts ranged from 
 plans for locating her father's lost claim, to the 
 arrangement of her cabin; and from Vil Holland 
 to the welfare of the girl, a pathetic figure as she 
 lay sprawled upon the hay, with her bare legs, and 
 the gray dust settling thickly upon her red dress 
 and vivid pink sunbonnet. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MONK BETHUNE 
 
 When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be, 
 When the devil got well, the devil a monk was he." 
 
 Pippin Larue chanted tipsily, as he strummed 
 softly the strings of a muffled banjo. And Raoul 
 Bethune, with the flush of liquor upon his pale 
 cheeks, joined in the laugh that followed, and re- 
 plenished his glass from the black bottle he had 
 contrived to smuggle from the hospital stores when 
 he had been returned to his room in the dormitory. 
 And "Monk" Bethune he was solemnly rechris- 
 tened by the half-dozen admiring satelites who 
 had foregathered to celebrate his recovery from an 
 illness. All this was long ago. Monk Bethune's 
 dormitory life had terminated abruptly — for the 
 good of the school, but the name had fastened itself 
 upon him after the manner of names that fit. It 
 followed him to far places, and certain red-coated 
 policemen, who knew and respected his father, the 
 Hudson Bay Company's old factor on Lake o' 
 
 47 
 
48 The Gold Girl 
 
 God's Wrath, hated him for what he had become. 
 They knew him for an inveterate gambler who 
 spent money freely and boasted openly of his 
 winnings. He was soft of voice and mild of manner 
 and aside from his passion for gambling, his 
 conduct so far as was known was irreproachable. 
 But, there were wise and knowing ones among 
 the officers of the law, who deemed it worth their 
 while to make careful and unobtrusive comparison 
 between the man's winnings and his expenditures. 
 These were the men who knew that certain Indians 
 were being systematically supplied with whisky, 
 and that there were certain horses in Canada 
 whose brands, upon close inspection, showed signs 
 of having been skillfully "doctored," and which 
 bore unmistakable evidence of having come from 
 the ranges to the southward of the international 
 boundary. 
 
 But, try as they might, no slightest circumstance 
 of evidence could they unearth against Bethune, 
 who was wont to disappear from his usual haunts 
 for days and weeks at a time, to reappear smiling 
 and debonaire, as unexpectedly as he had gone. 
 Knowing that the men of the Mounted suspected 
 him, he laughed at them openly. Once, upon a 
 street in Regina, Corporal Downey lost his temper. 
 
Monk Bethune 49 
 
 "You'll make a mistake sometime, Monk, and 
 then it will be our turn to laugh.' ' 
 
 "Oh-ho! So until I make a mistake, I am safe, 
 eh? That is good news, Downey — good news! 
 Skill and luck — luck and skill — the tools of the 
 gamblers' trade! But, granted that sometime I 
 shall make a mistake — shall lose for the moment, 
 my skill; I shall still have my luck — and your 
 mistakes. You are a good boy, Downey, but you'll 
 be a glum one if you wait to laugh at my mistakes. 
 If I were a chicken thief instead of a — gambler, 
 I should fear you greatly." 
 
 Downey recounted this jibe in the barracks, and 
 the officers redoubled their vigilance, but the In- 
 dians still got their whisky, and new horses ap- 
 peared from the southward. 
 
 When Monk Bethune refused Ma Watts' s in- 
 vitation to dinner, and rode off down the 
 creek followed by Lord Clendenning, the re- 
 fusal did not meet the Englishman's unqualified 
 approval, a fact that he was not slow in im- 
 parting when, a short time later, they made 
 noonday camp at a little spring in the shelter 
 of the hills. 
 
 "I say, Monk, what's this bally important busi- 
 ness we've got on hand?" he asked, as he adjusted 
 
 4 
 
50 The Gold Girl 
 
 a refractory hobble strap. " Seems to me you 
 threw away an excellent opportunity." 
 
 Bethune grinned. " Anything that involves the 
 loss of a square meal, is a lost opportunity. You're 
 too beefy, Clen, a couple of weeks on pilot bread 
 and tea always does you good." 
 
 "I was thinking more of the lady." 
 
 "La, la, the ladies! A gay dog in your day — 
 but, you've had your day. Forget 'em, Clen, 
 you're fifty, and fat." 
 
 "I'm forty-eight, and I weigh only fifteen stone 
 as I stand," corrected the Englishman solemnly. 
 "But layin' your bloody jokes aside, this particular 
 lady ought to be worth our while." 
 
 Bethune nodded, as he scraped the burning 
 ends of the little sticks closer about the teapot. 
 "Yes, decidedly worth while, my dear Clen, and 
 that's where the important business comes in. 
 Those who live by their wits must use their wits 
 or they will cease to live. I live by my wits, and 
 you by your ability to follow out my directions. 
 In the present instance, we had no plan. We could 
 only have sat and talked, but talk is dangerous — 
 when you have no plan. Even little mistakes are 
 costly, and big ones are fatal. Let us go over the 
 ground, now and check off our facts, and then 
 
Monk Bethune 51 
 
 we can lay our plans.' ' As he talked, Bethune 
 munched at his pilot bread, pausing at intervals 
 for a swallow of scalding tea. 
 
 "In the first place, we know that Rod Sinclair 
 made a strike. And we know that he didn't file 
 any claim. Why? Because he knew that people 
 would guess he had made a strike, and that the 
 minute he placed his location on record, there 
 would be a stampede to stake the adjoining 
 claims — and he was saving those claims for his 
 friends." 
 
 "His strike may be only a pocket," ventured 
 Clendenning. 
 
 "It is no pocket! Rod Sinclair was a mining 
 man — he knows rock. If he had struck a pocket 
 he would have staked and filed at once — and taken 
 no chances. I tell you he went back East to let 
 his friends in. The fool ! ' ' 
 
 The Englishman finished his tea, rinsed out his 
 tin cup in the spring, and filled his pipe. ' ' And you 
 think the girl has got the description?" 
 
 Bethune shook his head. "No. A map, 
 perhaps, or some photographs. If she had the de- 
 scription she would not have come alone. The 
 friends of her father would have been with her, 
 and they would have filed the minute they hit the 
 
52 The Gold Girl 
 
 country. It's either a map, or nothing but his 
 word." 
 
 "And in either case we've got a chance." 
 "Yes," answered Bethune, viciously. "And 
 this time we are not going to throw away our 
 chance!" He glanced meaningly at the English- 
 man, who puffed contentedly at his pipe. 
 
 "Sinclair was too shrewd to have carried any- 
 thing of importance, and there would have been 
 blood on our hands. As it is, we sleep good of 
 nights." 
 
 Bethune gave a shrug of impatience. "And the 
 gold is still in the hills, and we are no nearer to it 
 than we were last fall." 
 
 "Yes, we are nearer. This girl will not be as 
 shrewd as her father was in guarding the secret, 
 if she has it. If she hasn't it our chance is as good 
 as hers." 
 
 "And so is Vil Holland's! He believes Sinclair 
 made a strike, and now that Sinclair is out of the 
 way, you may be sure he will leave no stone un- 
 turned to horn in on it. The gold is in these hills 
 and I'm going to get it. If I can't get it one way, I 
 will get it another." The quarter-breed glanced 
 about him and unconsciously lowered his voice. 
 "However, one could wish the girl had delayed her 
 
Monk Bethune 53 
 
 visit for a couple of weeks. A person slipped me 
 the word he could handle about twenty head of 
 horses." 
 
 The Englishman's face lighted. "I thought so 
 when you began to dicker with Watts for his 
 pasture. We'll get him his bally horses, then. 
 This horse game I like, it's a sportin' game, and 
 so is the whisky runnin'. But I couldn't lay in the 
 hills and shoot a man, cold blooded." 
 
 "And you've never been a success," sneered 
 Bethune. "You never had a dollar, except your 
 remittance, until you threw in with me. And 
 we'd have been rich now, if it hadn't been for you. 
 I tell you I know Sinclair carried a map! " 
 
 "If he had, we'll get it. And we can sleep good 
 of nights!" 
 
 "You're a fool, Clen, with your ' sleep good of 
 nights!' I sleep good of nights, and I've — " he 
 halted abruptly, and when he spoke again his 
 words grated harsh. "I tell you this is a fang and 
 claw existence — all life is fang and claw. The 
 strong rip the flesh from the bones of the weak. 
 And the rich rip their wealth from the clutch of a 
 thousand poor. What a man has is his only so 
 long as he can hold it. One man's gain is another 
 man's loss, and that is life. And it makes no d 'xf er- 
 
54 The Gold Girl 
 
 ence in the end whether it~was got at the point of 
 the pistol in defiance of law, or whether it was got 
 within the law under the guise of business. And 
 I don't need you to preach to me about what is 
 wrong, either." 
 
 The Englishman laughed. "I'm not preaching, 
 Monk. Anyone engaged in the business we're 
 in has got no call to preach." 
 
 "We're no worse than most of the preachers. 
 They peddle out, for money, what they don't 
 believe." 
 
 "Heigh-ho! What a good old world you've 
 painted it! I hope you're right, and I'm not as 
 bad as I think I am." 
 
 Bethune interrupted, speaking rapidly in the 
 outlining of a plan of procedure, and it was well 
 toward the middle of the afternoon when the two 
 saddled up and struck off into the hills in the 
 direction of their camp. 
 
 Twilight had deepened to dusk as Patty Sin- 
 clair pulled her team to a standstill upon the rim 
 of the bench and looked down upon the twinkling 
 lights of the little town that straggled uncertainly 
 along the sandy bank of the shallow river. 
 
 "Hain't it grand lookin'?" breathed Microby 
 
Monk Bethune 55 
 
 Dandeline who sat decorously booted and stock- 
 inged upon the very edge of the board seat. ' ' You 
 wouldn't think they wus so many folks, less'n you 
 seen 'em yers'f. Wisht I lived to town, an* I 
 wisht they'd be a circust." 
 
 Patty guided the horses down the trail that 
 slanted into the valley and crossed the half-mile 
 of "flats" whose wire fences and long, clean-cut 
 irrigation ditches marked the passing of the cattle 
 country. A billion mosquitoes filled the air with 
 an unceasing low-pitched drone, and settled upon 
 the horses in a close-fitting blanket of gray. The 
 girls tried to fight off the stinging pests that at- 
 tacked their faces and necks in whirring clouds. 
 But they fought in vain and in vain they endeav- 
 ored to urge the horses to a quickening of their 
 pace, for impervious alike to the sting of the 
 insects and the blows of the whip, the animals 
 plodded along in the unvarying walk they had 
 maintained since early morning. 
 
 "This yere's the skeeter flats," imparted Mi- 
 croby, between slaps. "They hain't no skeeters 
 in the mountains, mebbe it's too fer, an' mebbe 
 they hain't 'nough folks fer 'em to bite out there, 
 they's only us-uns an' a few more." As the girl 
 talked the horses splashed into the shallow water 
 
56 The Gold Girl 
 
 of the ford and despite all effort to urge them for- 
 ward, halted in mid-stream and sucked greedily 
 of the crystal-clear water. It seemed an hour 
 before they moved on and assayed a leisurely 
 ascent of the opposite bank. The air became 
 pungent with the smell of smoke. They were in 
 town, now, and as the wagon wheels sank deeply 
 into the soft sand of the principal street, Patty 
 noted that in front of the doors of most of the 
 houses, slow fires were burning — fires that threw 
 off a heavy, stifling smudge of smoke that spread 
 lazily upon the motionless air and hung thick and 
 low to the ground. 
 
 "Skeeter smudges," explained Microby proud 
 of being the purveyor of information, " towns has 
 'em, an* then the skeeters don't bite. Oh, look 
 at the folks! Lest hurry up! They might be a 
 fight ! Las' time they wus a fight an* a breed cut 
 a man Pap know'd an* the man got the breed down 
 an* stomped on his face an* the marshal come an' 
 sp'ilt hit, an* the man says if he'd of be'n let be 
 he'd of et the breed up." 
 
 " My, what a shame! And now you may never 
 see a man eat a breed, whatever a breed is." 
 
 "A breed's half a Injun." Microby was stand- 
 ing up on the seat at the imminent risk of her neck, 
 
Monk Bethune 57 
 
 peering over the heads of the crowd that thronged 
 the sidewalk. 
 
 "Sit down!" commanded Patty, sharply, as 
 she noted the amused glances with which those 
 on the outskirts of the crowd viewed the ridic- 
 ulous figure in the red dress and the pink sun- 
 bonnet. "They are waiting for the movie to 
 open." 
 
 "Whut's a movie? Is hit like the circust? Kin 
 I go? " The questions crowded each other, as the 
 girl scrambled to her seat, her eyes were big with 
 excitement. 
 
 "Yes, to-morrow." 
 
 "Looky, there's Buck!" Patty's eyes followed 
 the pointing finger, and she frowned at sight of the 
 rangy buckskin tied with half a dozen other horses 
 to the hitching rail before the door of a saloon. It 
 seemed as she glanced along the street that nearly 
 every building in town was a saloon. Half a block 
 farther on she drew to the sidewalk and stopped 
 before the door of a two-story wooden building that 
 flaunted across its front the words "Montana 
 Hotel." As Patty climbed stiffly to the sidewalk 
 each separate joint and muscle shrieked its aching 
 protest at the fifteen-hour ride in the springless, 
 jolting wagon. Microby placed her foot upon the 
 
58 The Gold Girl 
 
 sideboard and jumped, her cowhide boots thudding 
 loudly upon the wooden planking. 
 
 "Oughtn't you stay with the horses while I 
 make the arrangements? " 
 
 Microby shook her head in vigorous protest. 
 "They-all hain't a-goin' nowheres less'n they has 
 to. An' I want to go 'long." 
 
 A thick-set man, collarless and coatless, who 
 tilted back in his chair with his feet upon the 
 window ledge, glanced up indifferently as they 
 entered and crossed to the desk, and returned his 
 gaze to the window, beyond which objects shov/ed 
 dimly in the gathering darkness. After a moment 
 of awkward silence Patty addressed him. "Is the 
 proprietor anywhere about?" 
 
 "I'm him," grunted the man, without looking 
 around. 
 
 The girl's face flushed angrily. " I want a room 
 and supper for two." 
 
 "Nawthin' doin'. Full up." 
 
 "Is there another hotel in this town?" she 
 flashed angrily. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that there is no place 
 where we can get accommodation for the night? " 
 
 "That's about the size of it." 
 
Monk Bethune 59 
 
 " Can't we get anything to eat, either? " It was 
 with difficulty Patty concealed her rage at the 
 man's insolence. "If you knew how hungry we 
 are — we've been driving since daylight with only a 
 cold lunch for food." She did not add that the 
 cold lunch had been so unappetizing she had not 
 touched it. 
 
 "Supper's over a couple hours, an' the help's 
 gone out." 
 
 " I'll pay you well if you can only manage to get 
 us something — we're starved." The girl's rage 
 increased as she noticed the gleam that lighted the 
 heavy eyes. That, evidently was what he had 
 been waiting for. 
 
 " Well, " he began, but she cut him short. 
 
 "And a room, too." 
 
 "I'm full up, I told you. The only way might 
 be to pay someone to double up. An' with these 
 here cowpunchers that comes high. I might — " 
 The opening of the screen door drew all eyes to- 
 ward the man who entered and stood just within 
 the room. As Patty glanced at the soft-brimmed 
 hat, the brilliant scarf, and noticed that the yellow 
 lamplight glinted upon the tip of polished buffalo 
 horn, and the ivory butt of the revolver, her lips 
 tightened. But the man was not looking at her — 
 
6o The Gold Girl 
 
 seemed hardly aware of her presence. The burly 
 proprietor smiled. 
 
 "Hello, Vil. Somethin' I kin do fer you?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the man. He spoke quietly, 
 but there was that in his voice that caused the 
 other to glance at him sharply. "You can stand 
 up." 
 
 The man complied without taking his eyes from 
 the cowboy's face. 
 
 "I happened to be goin' by an' thought I'd 
 stop an' see if I could take the team over to the 
 livery barn for my — neighbors, yonder. The door 
 bein' open, I couldn't help hearin' what you said." 
 He paused, and the proprietor grinned. 
 
 "Business is business, an' a man's into it fer all 
 he kin git." 
 
 "I suppose that's so. I suppose it's good busi- 
 ness to lie an' cheat women, an' " 
 
 "I hain't lied, an' I hain't cheated no one. An' 
 what business is it of yourn if I did ? All my rooms 
 is full up, an' the help's all gone to the pitcher 
 show." 
 
 "An' there's about a dozen or so cowmen 
 stoppin' here to-night — the ones you talked of 
 payin' to double up — an' there ain't one of 'em 
 that wouldn't be glad to double up, or go out an' 
 
Monk Bethune 61 
 
 sleep on the street if he couldn't get nowhere else 
 to sleep, if you even whispered that there was a 
 lady needed his room. The boys is right touchy 
 when it comes to bein' lied about." 
 
 The proprietor's face became suddenly serious. 
 "Aw looky here, Vil, I didn't know these parties 
 was friends of yourn. I'll S2e'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?" 
 
 1 ' Yes, I can take a joke. I 'm only kiddin' , too — 
 an' so '11 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'U 
 keep over. What these ladies needs is a good hot 
 supper. Plenty of ham and, hot Java, potatoes, 
 an' whatever you got." 
 
 "But the help's " 
 
 "Get it yourself, then. It ain't so long since 
 you was runnin' a short order dump. You ain't 
 forgot how to get up a quick feed, an' to give the 
 devil his due, a pretty good one." 
 
 The other started surlily toward the rear. "I'll 
 doit, if " 
 
 "You won't do it if nothin'. You'll do it — 
 
62 The Gold Girl 
 
 that's all. An* you'll do it at the regular price, 
 too." 
 
 "Say, who's runnin' this here hotel?" 
 
 "You're runnin' it, an' I'm tellin' you how," 
 answered the tall hillman, without taking his eyes 
 from the other's face. 
 
 The man disappeared, muttering incoherently, 
 and Vil Holland turned to the door. 
 
 ' ' I want to thank you, ' ' ventured Patty. ' ' Evi- 
 dently your word carries weight with mine host." 
 
 "It better," replied the cowpuncher, dryly. 
 "An' you're welcome. I'll take the team across 
 to the livery barn." He spoke impersonally, with 
 scarcely a glance in her direction, and as the screen 
 door banged behind him the girl flushed, remember- 
 ing her own rudeness upon the trail. 
 
 "Lawless he may be, and he certainly looks and 
 acts the part," she murmured to herself as the 
 wagon rattled away from the sidewalk, "but his 
 propensity for turning up at the right time and 
 the right place is rapidly becoming a matter of 
 habit." A door beside the desk stood ajar, and 
 above it, Patty read the words "Wash Room." 
 Pushing it open she glanced into the interior which 
 was dimly lighted by a murky oil lamp that occu- 
 pied a sagging bracket beside a distorted mirror. 
 
Monk Bethune 63 
 
 Two tin wash basins occupied a sink-like contriv- 
 ance above which a single iron faucet protruded 
 from the wall. Beside the faucet was tacked a 
 broad piece of wrapping paper upon which were 
 printed in a laborious scrawl the following appeals : 
 
 NOtiss 
 
 Pies DoNT LEEv THE WaTTer RUN ITS hAN 
 
 Pumpt. 
 
 PLes DONT Waist THE ToWL. 
 
 Kome AN BREsh AN TOOTH BResH IS INto 
 
 THR Rak BESIDS THE MiRRoW. PLeS PUT 
 
 EM baCK. 
 
 THes IS hoUSE RULes AN WANts TO be OBayD 
 
 KINLY. 
 
 F. RuMMEL, PROP. 
 
 Removing the trail dust from their faces and 
 hands, the girls returned to the office and after an 
 interminable wait the proprietor appeared, red- 
 faced and surly. "Grub's on, an' yer room'll be 
 ready agin you've et," he growled, and waddled to 
 his place at the window. 
 
 A generous supply of ham and eggs, fried pota- 
 toes, bread and butter, and hot coffee awaited 
 them in the dining-room, and it seemed to Patty 
 that never before had food tasted so good. Twenty 
 
64 The Gold Girl 
 
 minutes later, when they returned to the office the 
 landlord indicated the stairway with a jerk of his 
 thumb. " First door to the right from the top of 
 the stairs, lamp's lit, extry blankets in the closet, 
 breakfast from five 'till half-past-seven." The 
 words rattled from his lips in a single breath as he 
 sat staring into the outer darkness. 
 
 "If Aunt Rebecca could see me, now," smiled 
 Patty to herself, as she led the way up the uncar- 
 peted stairs, with Microby Dandeline's cow-hide 
 boots clattering noisily in her wake. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 SHEEP CAMP 
 
 If Patty Sinclair had anticipated annoyance 
 from the forced attention of her tall horseman of 
 the hills, she was disappointed, for neither at meals, 
 nor during the shopping tour that occupied the 
 whole of the following day, nor yet upon the long 
 homeward drive, did he appear. The return trip 
 was slower and more monotonous even than the 
 journey to town. The horses crawled along the 
 interminable treeless trail with the heavily loaded 
 wagon bumping and rattling in the choking cloud 
 of its own dust. 
 
 The expedition had been a disappointing one to 
 Microby. The "pitcher show" did not compare 
 in interest with the never forgotten "circust." 
 There had been no "fight " to break the monotony 
 of purchasing supplies. And they had encoun- 
 tered no "nortymobiles." 
 
 Despite the fact that they had started from town 
 s 65 
 
66 The Gold Girl 
 
 at daylight, darkness overtook them at the canyon 
 and it was with fear and misgiving that Patty 
 contemplated the devious trail up Monte's Creek. 
 The descent of this trail by daylight had taxed 
 the girl's knowledge of horsemanship to the limit, 
 and now to attempt its ascent with a heavily 
 loaded wagon in the darkness — Microby Dande- 
 line seemed to read her thoughts. 
 
 " We-all cain't git up the crick, I don't reckon," 
 she hazarded, but even as she spoke there was a 
 flicker of light flashed through the darkness and, 
 lantern in hand, Watts rose from his comfortable 
 seat in a nitch of rock near the fork of the trail 
 and greeted them with his kindly drawl. "I 
 'lowed yo'all ort to be 'long d'rec'ly. I'll take 'em 
 now, Miss; the trail's kind of roughish like, but ef 
 yo'll jist take the lantern an' foller 'long ahead I 
 reckon we'll make hit all right. I've druv hit 
 afore in the dark, an' no lantern, neither." Taking 
 turns with the lantern the girls led the way, and 
 an hour and a half later halted before the door of 
 the Watts cabin, where they became the center of 
 an admiring group of young Wattses who munched 
 their candy soberly as they gazed in reverent awe 
 at the homing argonauts. 
 
 The three mile walk up the rough trail did 
 
Sheep Camp 67 
 
 wonders for Patty's stiffened muscles, and it was 
 with a feeling of agreeable surprise that she rose 
 from her shake-down the following morning with 
 scarcely an ache or a pain in her body. 
 
 " Yer gittin' bruk in to hit," smiled Ma Watts, 
 approvingly, as the girl sat down to her belated 
 breakfast. But the surprise at her fit condition 
 was nothing to the surprise of Ma Watts' s next 
 words. u Pa, he taken yer stuff on up to the sheep 
 camp. He 'lowed yo'd want to git settled like. 
 They taken yer pa's outfit along, too, an* when 
 they git yo' onloaded they're a-goin' to work on 
 the upper pasture fence. When Pa gits sot on a 
 thing he goes right ahead an' does hit. Some 
 thinks he's lazy, but hit hain't thet. He's easy 
 goin' — all the Wattses wus — but when they git sot 
 on a thing all kingdom come cain't stop 'em a- 
 doin' hit. Trouble with Pa is he's got sot on 
 settin'." Ma Watts talked on and on, and at the 
 conclusion of the meal Patty drew a bill from her 
 purse. But the woman would have none of it. 
 "No siree, we-all hain't a-runnin' no hotel. Folks 
 is welcome to come when they like an' stay as long 
 as they want to, an' we're glad to hev 'em. Yer 
 cayuse is a-waitin' out yender. The boys saddled 
 him up fer yo'. Come down an' take pot luck 
 
68 The Gold Girl 
 
 whenever yo're a mind. Microby Dandeline, she 
 ketched up Gee Dot an' went a-taggin' 'long f er to 
 help yo* git settled. Ef she gits in the way jist 
 send her home. Foller up the crick," she called, 
 as Patty mounted her horse. " Yo' cain't miss the 
 sheep camp, hit's about a mild 'bove the upper 
 pasture." 
 
 Watts and the boys were just finishing the un- 
 loading of her supplies when Patty slipped from 
 her horse and surveyed the little cabin with its 
 dark background of pines. 
 
 " Hit hain't so big as some," apologized the man, 
 as he climbed into the wagon and gathered up the 
 reins. "But the chinkin's tol'ble, an* the roof's 
 middlin' tight 'cept a couple places wrier' it leaks." 
 
 The girl's glance strayed from the little log 
 building to the untidy litter of rusty tin cans and 
 broken bottles that ornamented its dooryard, and 
 the warped and broken panels of the abandoned 
 corral that showed upon the weed-choked flat 
 across the creek. Stepping to the door, she peered 
 into the interior where Microby was industriously 
 sweeping the musty hay from the bunk with the 
 brand-new broom. Thumbed and torn magazines 
 littered the floor, a few discarded garments hung 
 dejectedly from nails driven into the wall, while 
 
Sheep Camp 69 
 
 from the sagging door of the rough board cupboard 
 bulged a miscellaneous collection of rubbish. A 
 sense of depression obsessed her ; this was to be her 
 home! She sneezed and drew back hastily from 
 the cloud of dust raised by Microby's broom. As 
 she dabbed at her eyes and nose with a small and 
 ridiculously inadequate handkerchief, she was 
 conscious of an uncomfortable lump in her throat, 
 and the moisture that dampened the handkerchief 
 could not all be accredited to the sneeze tears. 
 "What if I have trouble locating the mine and 
 have to stay here all summer?" she was thinking, 
 and instantly recalling the Watts ranch with its 
 air of shiftless decay, the smelly Watts blankets 
 in the overcrowded sleeping room, the soggy meals, 
 the tapping of chickens' bills upon the floor, and 
 the never ending voice of Ma Watts, she smiled. 
 It was a weak, forced little smile, at first, but it 
 gradually widened into a real smile as her eyes 
 swept the little valley with its long vista of pine- 
 clad hills that reached upward to the sky, their 
 mighty sides and shoulders gored by innumerable 
 rock-rimmed coulees and ravines. Somewhere 
 amid the silence of those mighty slopes and high- 
 flung peaks her father had found Eldorado — had 
 wrested nature's secret from the guardianship of 
 
70 The Gold Girl 
 
 the everlasting hills. Her heart swelled with the 
 pride of him. She was ashamed of that sudden 
 welling of tears. The feeling of depression van- 
 ished and her heart throbbed to the lure of the 
 land of gold. The two small Wattses had scrambled 
 into the wagon-box. 
 
 "Yo' goin' to like hit," announced Watts, 
 noticing the smile. "I 'lowed, fust-off yo' " 
 
 "I'm going to love it!" interrupted the girl 
 vehemently. "My father loved these hills, and I 
 shall love them. And, as for the cabin! When 
 Microby and I get through with it, it's going to 
 be the dearest little place imaginable." 
 
 "Hit wus a good sheep camp," admitted Watts, 
 his fingers fumbling judiciously at his head. "An' 
 they's a heap o' good feed goin' to waste in this 
 yere valley. But ef the cattlemen wants to pay 
 fer what they hain't gittin' hit hain't none o' my 
 business, I reckon." 
 
 "Why did they drive the sheep out? Surely, 
 there is room for all here in the hills." 
 
 "Vil Holland, he claimed they cain't no sheeps 
 stay in the hill country. He claims sheeps is like 
 small-poxt. Onct they git a-goin' they spread, 
 an' like's not, the hull country's ruint fer cattle 
 range." 
 
Sheep Camp 7 1 
 
 "It seems that Vil Holland runs this little 
 corner of Montana." 
 
 "He kind o' looks after things fer the cattlemen, 
 but the prospectin's got into his blood, an' he 
 won't stick to the cattle, only on the round-up, 'til 
 he gits him a grub-stake. He's a good man — 
 Vil is — ef it wusn't fer foolin' 'round with the 
 prospectin'." 
 
 Instantly, the girl's eyes flashed. "If it wasn't 
 for the prospecting!" she exclaimed, in sudden 
 anger. "My father was a prospector — and there 
 was never a better man lived than he ! Why is it 
 that everyone looks askance at a prospector? You 
 talk like the people back home! But, I'll show 
 you all. My father made a strike. He told me of 
 it on his death-bed, and he gave me the map, and 
 the photographs and his samples. Maybe when I 
 locate this mine and begin taking out more gold 
 every day than most of you ever saw, you won't 
 talk of people 'fooling around' prospecting. I tell 
 you prospectors are the finest men in the world! 
 They must have imagination, and unending pa- 
 tience, and the heart to withstand a thousand 
 disappointments — M She broke off suddenly as 
 the soft rattle of bit-chains sounded from behind 
 her, and whirled to face Vil Holland. The man 
 
72 The Gold Girl 
 
 regarded her gravely, unsmiling. A gauntlet ed 
 hand raised the Stetson from his head. As her 
 eyes took in every detail, from the inevitable 
 leather jug, to the tip of polished buffalo horn, she 
 flushed. How long had he stood there, listening? 
 
 The cowpuncher seemed to divine her thoughts. 
 "I just happened along," he said regarding her 
 with his steady blue eyes. ' ' I couldn't help hearin' 
 what you said about the prospectors. You're 
 right in the main." 
 
 "I was speaking of my father. I am Rodney 
 Sinclair's daughter." 
 
 The man nodded. " Yes, I know." 
 
 Watts rubbed his chin apologetically. " We- all 
 thought a right smart o' yo' pa, ] didn't we, Vil? 
 I didn't aim to rile yo'." 
 
 "I know you didn't!" the girl smiled. "And 
 thank you so much for bringing my things up so 
 early." She turned to the cowboy who sat re- 
 garding the outfit indifferently. "I hope you'll 
 overlook my lack of hospitality, but really I must 
 get to work and help Microby or she'll have the 
 whole house cleaned before I get started." 
 
 "I saw the team here, an' thought I'd swing 
 down to find out if Watts was movin' in another 
 sheep outfit." 
 
Sheep Camp 73 
 
 "I've heard about your driving away the sheep 
 man," returned Patty, with more than a trace of 
 sarcasm in her tone. "I am moving into this 
 cabin — am taking up my father's work where he 
 left off. I suppose I should ask your permission to 
 prospect in the hill country." 
 
 "No," replied the man, gravely. "Just help 
 yourself, only don't get lost, an' remember yer dad 
 knew enough to play a lone hand. I must be 
 goin', now. Good day." He turned his horse to 
 see Microby standing in the doorway. "Hello, 
 Microby Dandeline! House cleanin', eh? I s'pect 
 you took in the picture show in town? " 
 
 "Yes, but circusts is better. I got some yallar 
 ribbon fer my hat, an' a awful lot o' candies." 
 
 "My, that's fine! How's ma an' the baby?" 
 
 "They stayed hum. The baby'd squall. Pa an* 
 the boys is goin' to mend fence, an' I'm a-goin' to 
 stay yere an' he'p her clean up the sheep camp." 
 
 The cowpuncher turned to Watts. "What's 
 the big hurry about the fences, Watts? You goin* 
 to take over a bunch of stock?" 
 
 "Hosses," answered Watts with an important 
 jerk at his scraggly beard. "I done rented the 
 upper pasture to a man name o' Schultz over in 
 Blackfoot country. Five dollars a month, I git 
 
74 The Gold Girl 
 
 fer hit, an' five dollars fer every day er night they's 
 hosses in hit. He done paid two months' rent 
 a'ready." 
 
 Vil Holland's brows puckered slightly. " Schultz, 
 you say? Over in the Blackfoot country?" 
 
 " Yas, he's aimin' to trail hosses from there over 
 into Canady an' he wants some pastures handy." 
 
 "Did Schultz see you about it himself?" asked 
 Vil, casually. 
 
 "No, Monk Bethune; he come by this way, an' 
 he taken the pasture fer Schultz." 
 
 Patty noted an almost imperceptible narrowing 
 of the cowpuncher's eyes, an expression, slight as 
 it was, that spoke disapproval. The man' s attitude 
 angered her. Here was poor Watts, about to 
 undertake the first work he had done in years, 
 judging by the condition of the ranch, under 
 stimulus of the few dollars promised him by 
 Bethune, and this cowboy disapproved. "Are 
 horses under the ban, too?" she asked quickly. 
 "Hasn't Mr. Watts the right to rent his land for 
 ahorse pasture?" 
 
 The man's answer seemed studiously rude in its 
 direct brevity. "No, horses ain't under the ban. 
 Yes, Watts can rent his land where he wants to. 
 Good day." Before the girl could reply he reined 
 
Sheep Camp 75 
 
 his horse abruptly about, and disappeared in the 
 timber upon the opposite side of the creek. 
 
 "Reckon I better be gittin' 'long, too," said 
 Watts. "Microby's welcome to stay an* he'p yo'- 
 all git moved in, but please mom, to see't she gits 
 started fer hum 'fore dark. Hit takes thet ol* 
 pinto 'bout a hour to make the trip." 
 
 Patty promised, and unsaddling, picketed her 
 horse, and joined the girl in the dusty interior of 
 the cabin. The musty hay, the discarded garments, • 
 and the two bushels or more of odds and ends with 
 which the pack rats had filled the cupboard .made 
 a smudgy, smelly bonfire beside which Patty 
 paused with an armful of discarded magazines. 
 c ' Wouldn't you like to take these home ? ' ' she asked. 
 
 "Which?" inquired Microby, deftly picking a 
 small stick from the ground with her bare toes and 
 tossing it into the fire. 
 
 "These magazines. There are stories and 
 pictures in them." 
 
 "No, I don't want none. We-alls cain't read, 
 'cept Ma, an' she's got a book — an' a bible, too," 
 she added, with a touch of pride. " Davey, he kin 
 mos' read, an' he kin drawer pitchers, too. Reckon 
 he'll be a preacher when he's grow'd up, like 
 Preacher Christie. He done read outen a book 
 
76 The Gold Girl 
 
 when he babitized us-ims. I don't like to read. 
 Ma, she aimed to learn me onct, but I'd ruther 
 shuck beans." 
 
 "Maybe you didn't keep at it long enough," 
 suggested Patty. 
 
 "Yes, we did! We kep' at hit every night fer 
 two nights 'til hit come bedtime. I cain't learn 
 them letters — they's too many diffe'nt ones, an* 
 all mixed up." 
 
 Patty smiled, but she did not toss the magazines 
 into the fire. Instead she laid them aside with 
 the resolve that when opportunity afforded, she 
 would carry on the interrupted education. 
 i Microby's literary delinquency in no wise im- 
 paired her willingness to work. She had inherited 
 none of her father's predilection toward eternal 
 rest, and all day, side by side with Patty, she 
 scraped, and scoured, and scrubbed, and washed, 
 until the little cabin and its contents fairly radiated 
 cleanliness. The moving in was great fun for the 
 mountain girl. Especially the unpacking of the 
 two trunks that resisted all efforts to lift them until 
 their contents had been removed. But at last the 
 work was finished even to the arrangement of 
 dishes and utensils, the stowing of supplies, and 
 the blowing up of the air mattress that replaced 
 
Sheep Camp 77 
 
 the musty hay of the sheep herder. And as the 
 long shadows of mountains crept slowly across the 
 little valley and began to climb the opposite slope, 
 Patty stood in the door of her cabin and watched 
 Microby mount the superannuated Indian pony 
 and proceed slowly down the creek, her bare feet 
 swinging awkwardly in the loops of rope that 
 served as stirrups of her dilapidated stock saddle. 
 
 When horse and rider disappeared into a grove 
 of cottonwoods, Patty's gaze returned to her 
 immediate surroundings — her saddle-horse con- 
 tentedly snipping grass, the waters of the shallow 
 creek burbling noisily over the stones, the untidy 
 scattering of tin cans, and the leaning panels of the 
 old sheep corral. She frowned at the panels. "I'll 
 just use you for firewood," she muttered. "And 
 that reminds me that I've got to wake up to my 
 responsibility as head of the household — even if 
 the household does only consist of one bay cayuse, 
 named Dan, and a tiny one-room cabin, and two 
 funny little squirrel-tailed pack rats, and me." 
 She reached for her brand new ax, and picking 
 her way from stone to stone, crossed the creek, 
 and attacked a sagging panel. 
 
 Patty Sinclair was no hot-house flower, and the 
 hand that gripped the ax was strong and brown 
 
78 The Gold Girl 
 
 and capable. Back home she had been known to 
 the society reporters as "an out-door girl," by 
 which it was understood that rather than afternoon 
 auction at henfests, she affected tennis, golf, 
 swimming, and cross-country riding. She could 
 saddle her own horse, and paddle a canoe for hours 
 on end. Even the ax was no stranger to her hand, 
 for upon rare occasions when her father had re- 
 turned during the summer months from his ever- 
 lasting prospecting, he had taken her to camp in 
 the mountains, and there from the quiet visionary 
 whom she loved more than he ever knew, she 
 learned the ax, and the compass, and a hundred 
 tricks of camp lore that were to stand her well in 
 hand. Partly inherited, partly acquired through 
 association with her father upon those never-to-be- 
 forgotten pilgrimages to the shrine of nature, her 
 love of the vast solitudes shone from her uplifted 
 eyes as she stood for a moment, ax in hand, and 
 let her gaze travel slowly from the sun-gilded 
 peaks of the mountains, down their darkening 
 sides, to the dusk-enshrouded reaches of her valley. 
 "He used to watch the sun go down, and he never 
 wearied at the wonder of it," she breathed, softly. 
 "And then, as the darkness deepened and the bull- 
 bats came wheeling overhead, and the whip-poor- 
 
Sheep Camp 79 
 
 wills began calling from the thickets, he would 
 light his pipe, and I would cuddle up close to him, 
 and the firelight would grow redder and brighter 
 and the soft warm dark would grow blacker. The 
 pine trees would lose their shapes and blend into 
 the formless night and mysterious shadow shapes 
 would dance to the flicker of the little flames. It 
 was then he would talk of the things he loved; of 
 quartz, and drift, and the mother lode; of storms, 
 and bears, and the scent of pines ; of reeking craters, 
 parched deserts, ice-locked barrens, and the wind- 
 lashed waters of lakes. 'And some day, little 
 daughter,' he would say, 'some day you are going 
 with daddy and see all these things for yourself — 
 things whose grandeur you have never dreamed. 
 It won't be long, now — I'm on th right track at 
 last — only till I've made my strike.' Always — 
 1 it won't be long now.' Always — ' I'm on the right 
 track, at last.' Always — 'just ahead is the strike' 
 — that lure, that mocking chimera that saps men's 
 lives! And now, he is — gone, and I am chasing 
 the chimera." Salt tears stung her eyes and 
 blurred the timbered slopes. "They said he was a 
 — a ne'er-do-well. He became almost a joke — " 
 the words ended in a dry sob, as the bright blade 
 of the ax crashed viciously into the rotting panel. 
 
8o The Gold Girl 
 
 A few moments later she picked up an armful of 
 wood, and retracing her steps, piled it neatly behind 
 the stove. She lighted the fire, fetched a pail of 
 water from the spring, and moved the picketed 
 cayuse to a spot beside the creek where the grass 
 was green and lush. She had intended after supper 
 to study her map and familiarize herself with the 
 two small photographs that were pinned to it. 
 But, when the meal was over and the dishes washed 
 and put away 'she was too sleepy to do anything 
 but drop the huge wooden bar that the sheep 
 herder had contrived to insure himself against a 
 possible night attack from his enemies into its 
 place and crawl into her bunk. How good it felt, 
 she thought, sleepily — the yielding air mattress, 
 and the soft, clean blankets, after the straw tick 
 on the floor, and the coarse sour blankets in the 
 Wattses' stuffy room. 
 
 Somewhere, way off in the hills, a wolf howled 
 and almost before the sound had died away the 
 girl was asleep. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 BETHUNE PAYS A CALL 
 
 It was past noon when Patty sank into the chair 
 beside her table and glanced about her with a sigh 
 of satisfaction. Warm June sunlight streamed 
 through the open door and lay in a bright oblique 
 patch upon the scrubbed floor. The girl's glance 
 strayed past the door and rested with approval 
 upon the little flat across the creek where a neat 
 pile of panels replaced the broken sheep corral. 
 She had spent hours in untwisting the baling wire 
 with which they had been fastened to the posts 
 and dragging them to the pile, and other hours in 
 chopping a supply of firewood, and picking up the 
 cans and broken bottles and pitching them into 
 the deep ravine of a side coulee. Also she had 
 built a little reservoir of rocks about her spring, 
 and had found time to add a few touches to the 
 interior of the cabin. "It's just as homey and 
 cozy as it can be," she murmured, as her eyes 
 
 6 81 
 
82 The Gold Girl 
 
 strayed from the little window where the colored 
 chintz curtain stirred lightly in the breeze, to the 
 neatly arranged "dressing table" that she had 
 contrived with the aid of four light packing boxes 
 and a bit of figured cretonne. Another packing 
 case, covered to match, served as a stool, and upon 
 the wall above the table hung a small mirror. 
 Four or five prints, looking oddly out of place, hung 
 upon the dark log walls — pictures that had always 
 hung in her room at Aunt Rebecca's, and which 
 she had managed to crowd into one of the trunks. 
 A fond imagination had pictured them adorning 
 the walls of her "apartment" which was to be 
 located in a spacious wing of the great Watts 
 ranch house. " I don't care, I'm glad there wasn't 
 any big ranch house," she muttered. "It's lots 
 nicer this way, and I'm absolutely independent. 
 We prospectors can't hope to be regular in our 
 habits — and I've always wanted a house of my 
 very own. Ten times better!" she exclaimed 
 vehemently. "There won't be anybody to ask 
 me every day or two if I've made my strike yet? 
 And how much gold I brought back to-day? And 
 all the other fool questions that seem so humorous 
 to questioners and hearers, but which hurt and 
 sting and rankle when you're sick at heart with 
 
Bethune Pays a Call 83 
 
 disappointment, and gritting your teeth to keep 
 up your courage and your belief in yourself. Oh 
 I know! Daddy didn't know I knew, but I did — 
 how it hurt when the village wits would slyly wink 
 at each other as they asked their cruel questions. 
 Even when I was a little girl I knew, and I could 
 have killed them!" Her glance rested upon the 
 canvas covered pack that lay in the corner at the 
 foot of the bunk. "There are his things — his out- 
 fit, they call it here. I'm going to examine it." 
 The sack of stiff oiled canvas, with its contents, 
 was heavy, but the girl dragged it to the middle of 
 the floor and squatting beside it, stared in dismay 
 at the stout padlock and the chain that threaded a 
 set of grommets. She was about to search for 
 the key among the contents of her father's pockets 
 which she had placed in the tray of her trunk, when 
 her eye fell upon a thin slit close along the edge 
 of the hem that held the grommets — a slit that, 
 pulled wide, disclosed an aperture through which 
 the contents of the sack could be easily removed 
 but withal so cunningly contrived as to escape 
 casual inspection. With an angry exclamation 
 the girl stared at the gaping hole. ' ' Someone has 
 cut it !' ' she cried. ' ' He doesn't seem to have taken 
 much, though. It's about as full as it can be." 
 
84 The Gold Girl 
 
 She began hurriedly to remove the contents, piling 
 them about her upon the floor. "I wonder if — if 
 he left any papers, or note books, or maps, or 
 things that would enable anyone to locate the 
 claim? If he did," she muttered, peering into the 
 empty sack, "they're gone, now." 
 
 One by one, she returned the belongings, han- 
 dling them tenderly, now, and examining them 
 lovingly, and many an article was returned to 
 the sack, wet with its splash of hot tears. "Here's 
 his coffee pot, and his plate, and frying pan, and his 
 old pipe — " the pipe she did not replace, but put 
 it with the other things in her trunk. ' 'And here — 
 why, it's a revolver and a belt of cartridges — like 
 Vil Holland's! And a hat like his, too! And I 
 thought he was a desperado because he wore 
 them!" She jumped to her feet and, hurrying to 
 the mirror, tried on the hat, pinching the crown 
 into a peak, tilting it this way and that, and 
 arranging and rearranging the soft roll brim. "It 
 fits!" she cried, delighted as a child, and then with 
 eyes sparkling, picked up the belt with its row of 
 yellow cartridges and its ivory handled six gun 
 dangling in the holster. Buckling the belt about 
 her waist, she laughed aloud as the buckle tongue 
 came to rest a full six inches beyond the last hole. 
 
Bethune Pays a Call 85 
 
 "111 look just as desperate as he does, now — 
 except for his old jug. Daddy didn't have any 
 jug, and I'm glad — that's where the difference is — 
 it's the jug. But, I wish he had had one of those 
 black horn effects for his scarf." She knotted the 
 brilliant red scarf with its zigzag border of yellow, 
 about her neck, and snatching a small pair of 
 scissors from the dressing table, removed the 
 heavy belt, and proceeded to bore a tongue hole 
 at the point she had marked with her finger nail. 
 So engrossed she became in the work, that she 
 failed to hear the approach of horses' feet, and 
 started violently at the sound of a voice from the 
 doorway. ' ' Permit me. ' ' The six shooter thudded 
 to the floor, and sweeping the hat from his head, 
 Monk Bethune crossed the room, and replaced it 
 upon the table. He smiled as he noticed the scar 
 left upon the thick leather by the scissor points; 
 and repeated. ''Permit me, please." He drew a 
 penknife from his pocket, and picked up the belt. 
 "A knife is so much better." 
 
 Ashamed of having been startled, Patty smiled. 
 " Yes, please do. I had no idea it was so tough, or 
 that scissors could be so dull." 
 
 Deftly twirling the penknife, Bethune bored a 
 neat hole in the leather. ' ' There should be several 
 
86 The Gold Girl 
 
 holes," he smiled, "for there are occasions in the 
 hill country when one fails to connect with the 
 commissary, and then it is that the tightening of 
 the belt answers the purpose of a meal." Drilling 
 as he talked, he soon finished the task and held up 
 the belt for inspection. "Rod Sinclair's gun," 
 he commented, sorrowfully. "And Rod's scarf, 
 and hat, too. Ah, there was a man, Miss Sin- 
 clair! I doubt if even you yourself knew him as I 
 knew him. You must ride and work with a man, 
 in fair weather and foul ; you must share his hard- 
 ships, and his disappointments, yes and his joys, 
 too, to really know him." A look of genuine 
 affection shone from the man's eyes as he stood 
 drawing his fingers gently along the rims of the 
 shiny cartridges. He seemed to be speaking more 
 to himself than to the girl. His manner, the look 
 in his eyes, the very tone of his voice, were so 
 intrinsically honest in their expression of un- 
 bounded sympathy with his subject, and his mood 
 fitted so thoroughly with her own, that the girl's 
 heart suddenly warmed toward this man who spoke 
 so feelingly of her father. She flushed slightly as 
 she remembered that upon the occasion of their 
 previous meeting, his words had engendered a 
 feeling of distrust. 
 
Bethune Pays a Call 87 
 
 "You knew him — well?" she asked. 
 
 " Like a brother. For two years we have worked 
 together in our search for the mother lode that 
 both believed lay concealed deep within the bosom 
 of these hills. A dozen times during those two 
 years our hopes have risen, as only the hopes can 
 rise, of those who seek gold. A dozen times it 
 seemed certain that at last we had reached our 
 goal. But, always it was the same — a false lead — 
 shattered hopes — and a fresh start. Those were 
 the times, Miss Sinclair, that your father showed 
 the stuff that was in him. He was a better man 
 than I. It was his Spartan acceptance of dis- 
 appointment, his optimism, and his unshaken 
 faith in ultimate success, that kept me going. I 
 suppose it is my French ancestry that is respon- 
 sible for my lack of just the qualities that made 
 your father the man he was. I lacked his stability 
 — his balance. I had imagination — vision, possi- 
 bly greater than his. And under the stimulus of 
 apparent success, my spirits would rise to heights 
 his never knew. But I paid for it — no one knows 
 how bitterly I paid. For when apparent success 
 turned into failure, mine were depths of despair 
 he never descended to. At first, before I learned 
 that his disappointment was as bitter as my own, 
 
88 The Gold Girl 
 
 his smiling acceptance of failure, used to goad me 
 to fury. There were times I could have killed 
 him with pleasure — but that was only at first. 
 Before we had been long together God knows how 
 I came to depend on those smiles. Then, at last, 
 we struck it — and poor Rod — " The man's voice 
 which had dropped very low, broke suddenly. He 
 cleared his throat and turning abruptly, stared out 
 the door toward the green sweep of pines on the 
 mountain slopes. 
 
 There was a long silence during which the words 
 kept repeating themselves in the girl's brain. 
 " Then, at last, we struck it, " What did he mean? 
 His back was toward her, and she saw that the 
 muscles of his neck worked slowly, as though he 
 were swallowing repeatedly. 
 
 When at last she spoke, her voice sounded 
 strangely dull to her own ears. "Do you mean 
 that you and my father were partners, and that 
 you know the location of his mine? " 
 
 Bethune faced her, laying the belt gently upon 
 the table. "Partners?" He repeated the word as 
 though questioning himself. "Hardly partners, 
 I should say. We were — it is hard to define the 
 exact relationship that existed between Rod Sin- 
 clair and me. There was never any agreement of 
 
Bethune Pays a Call 89 
 
 partnership, rather a sort of tacit understanding, 
 that when we struck the lode, we should work it 
 together. Your father knew vastly more about 
 rock than I, although I had long suspected the 
 existence of this lode. But extensive interests to 
 the northward prevented me from making any 
 continued search for it. However, I found time 
 at intervals to spend a month or six weeks in these 
 hills, and it was upon one of these occasions that 
 we struck up the acquaintance that ripened into a 
 sort of mutuality of interest. Neighbors are few 
 and far between in the hill country, and those not 
 exactly of the type that attract men of education. 
 I think each found in the other a man of his own 
 stripe, and thus a friendship sprang up between 
 us that gradually led to a merging of interests. 
 His were by far the most valuable activities in the 
 field, while I, from time to time, advanced certain 
 funds for the carrying on of the work. 
 
 "But let us not talk of business matters. Time 
 enough for that." He stepped to the doorway and 
 glanced down the creek. "Here comes Clen and 
 we must be going. While he stopped at Watts's 
 to reset a shoe I rode on to inquire if there is any 
 way in which I may serve the daughter of my 
 friend. 
 
90 The Gold Girl 
 
 "Oh-ho! I see Clen is carrying something very 
 gingerly. He has prevailed upon the good Mrs. 
 Watts to sell him some eggs. A great gourmand — 
 but a good fellow at heart. I think a great deal of 
 Clen, even though it was he who " 
 
 "But tell me, before you go," interrupted the 
 girl. "Do you know the location of my father's 
 mine?" 
 
 Bethune turned from the door, smiling. Patty 
 noticed with surprise that the dark, handsome 
 features looked almost boyish when he smiled. 
 There had been no hint of boyishness before, in 
 fact something of baffling inscrutability in the 
 black eyes, gave the man an expression of extreme 
 sophistication. "Do not call it a mine," he 
 laughed. "At least, not yet. A mine is a going 
 proposition. If your father actually succeeded in 
 locating the lode, it is a strike. Had he filed, it 
 would be a claim. Had he started operation it 
 would be a proposition — but not until there is ore 
 on the dump will it be a mine." 
 
 "If he actually succeeded!" cried Patty. "I 
 thought you said " 
 
 The man interrupted with a wave of the hand. 
 "So I did, for I believe he did succeed. In fact, 
 knowing Rod Sinclair as I did, I am certain of it." 
 
Bethune Pays a Call 9 1 
 
 "But the location of the — the strike," she per- 
 sisted, "do you know it?" 
 
 Bethune shook his head sadly. "Had your 
 father filed the claim, all would have been well. 
 But, who am I to question Rod's judgment? For 
 on the other hand, if he had filed, word of the strike 
 would have spread broadcast, and the whole hill 
 country would immediately have been overrun 
 by stampeders — those vultures that can scent a 
 gold strike for five thousand miles. No one knows 
 where they come from, and no one knows where 
 they go. It was to guard our secret from these that 
 prompted your father not to file. We had planned 
 to establish our friends on the adjoining claims, 
 and thus build up a syndicate of our own choosing. 
 So he did not file, but it was through no fault of his 
 that I remain ignorant of the location, but rather 
 it was the result of a combination of unforseen 
 circumstances. You shall judge for yourself. 
 
 "I was deep in the wilds of British Columbia, 
 upon another matter, when Rod unearthed the 
 lode, and, not knowing this, he hastened at once 
 to my camp. He found Clen there and after 
 expressing disappointment at my absence, sat 
 down and hurriedly sketched a map, and taking 
 from his pocket a photograph, he wrapped both 
 
92 The Gold Girl 
 
 in a piece of oilskin, and handed them to Clen, 
 with instructions to travel night and day until he 
 had delivered the packet to me. He told him 
 that he had located the lode and was hurrying 
 East to procure the necessary capital and would 
 return in the early spring for immediate operation." 
 Bethune paused and, with his eyes upon the Eng- 
 lishman who was dismounting, continued: 
 
 "Poor Clen! He did his best, and I do not hold 
 his failure against him, for his was a journey of 
 hardship and peril such as few men could have 
 survived. Upon receiving the packet he started 
 within the hour. That night he camped at the 
 line, and that night, too, came the first snow of the 
 season. He labored on next day to the railway and 
 took a train to Edmonton, and from there, to Fort 
 George, where he succeeded in procuring an Indian 
 guide for the dash into the wilderness beyond the 
 railway. The early months of last winter were 
 among the most terrible in the history of the North. 
 Storm after storm hurtled out of the Arctic, and 
 between storms the bitter winds from the barrens 
 to the eastward roared with unabated fury. Yet 
 Clen and his guide pushed on, fighting the cold 
 and the snow. Up over the Height of Land, to the 
 Hudson Bay Post at the head of the Parsnip, 
 
Bethune Pays a Call 93 
 
 where I was making my headquarters, and where 
 I had lain snowbound for ten days. It was during 
 the descent of Crooked River, a quick water, 
 treacherous stream, whose thin ice was covered 
 with snow, that the accident happened that cost 
 me the loss of the location, and nearly cost Clen 
 his life. The Indian guide was mushing before, 
 bent low with the weight of his pack, and head 
 lowered to the sweep of the wind. Clen followed. 
 At the head of a newly frozen rapid, the English- 
 man suddenly broke through and was plunged into 
 the icy waters. Grasping the ice, he managed to 
 draw himself up so that his elbows rested upon the 
 edge, and in this position he called again and again 
 to the guide. But the Indian was far ahead, his 
 ears were muffled in his fur cap, and the wind 
 roared through the scrub, drowning CI en's voice. 
 The icy waters numbed him and sucked at his 
 body seeking to drag him to his doom. The heavy 
 pack was dragging him slowly backward, and his 
 hold upon the ice was slipping. Then, and not 
 until then, Clen did what any other man who 
 possessed the strength, would have done. He 
 worked the knife from his belt and cut the straps 
 of his pack sack. In an instant it disappeared 
 beneath the ice, and with it the location of your 
 
94 The Gold Girl 
 
 father's strike. Relieved of the weight upon his 
 shoulders, Clen had a fighting chance for his life, 
 but it is doubtful if he would have won had it not 
 been that the Indian, missing him at last, returned 
 in the nick of time, and with the aid of a loop of 
 babiche, succeeded in drawing him from the water. 
 The rest of the day was spent in drying Clen's 
 clothing beside a miserable fire of brushwood, and 
 the next day they made Fort McLeod, more dead 
 than alive." 
 
 "Lord" Clendenning had dismounted, deposited 
 his precious basket of eggs upon the ground, and 
 stood in the doorway as Bethune concluded his 
 narrative. When the man ceased speaking the 
 Englishman shook his head sadly. "Yes, yes, it 
 seemed to me then, as I clung to the edge of the 
 bloomin' ice, freezin' from my feet up, that my 
 only chance was in bein' rid of the pack. But, I've 
 thought since that maybe if I'd held on just a few 
 minutes longer, the bloody Injun would have got 
 there in time to save both me an' the pack to boot." 
 
 "There you go again!" exclaimed Bethune, 
 with a trace of impatience in his voice. "How 
 many times have I told you to quit this self- 
 accusation. A man who covered fifty miles on 
 horseback, seven hundred on the train, and then 
 
Bethune Pays a Call 95 
 
 nearly a hundred a-foot, under conditions such as 
 you faced, has nothing to be ashamed of in the 
 failure of his mission. It is your loss as well as 
 mine, for you also were to have profited by the 
 strike. It is possible, however, that all will be well 
 — that Miss Sinclair has her father's original map, 
 and a duplicate of the photograph, or better yet, 
 the film from which the print was made." 
 
 Pausing he glanced at the girl significantly, but 
 she was gazing past him — past Clendenning, her 
 eyes upon the giant up-sweep of the hills. He 
 hurried on, "So now you have the whole story. 
 I had not meant to speak of it, to-day. Really, we 
 *nust be going. If I can be of service to you in any 
 way, Miss Sinclair, I am yours to command. We 
 will drop in again, after you have had time to get 
 used to your surroundings, and lay our plans for 
 the rediscovery of the mother lode." Smiling he 
 pointed to the canvas bag upon the floor. "Your 
 father's pack sack," he said. "I should know it in 
 a thousand. He devised it himself. It is a clever 
 combination of the virtues of several of the stand- 
 ard packs, and an elimination of the evils of all." 
 He stooped closer. "What's this? You should 
 not have cut it! Couldn't you find the key? If 
 not, it would have been a simple matter to file a 
 
96 The Gold Girl 
 
 link of the chain, and leave the sack undamaged/' 
 He laughed, shortly. "But, that, I suppose, is a 
 woman's way." 
 
 ' ' I did not cut it. It was cut before it came here. 
 My father left it in Mr. Watts's care and he stored 
 it in the barn. Look at the edges, it is an old cut." 
 
 "So it is!" exclaimed Bethune, as he and Lord 
 Clendenning bent close to examine it. "So it is. 
 I wonder who — " Suddenly he ceased speaking, 
 and stood for a moment with puckered brows. 
 "I wonder," he muttered. "I wonder if he would 
 have dared? Yes, I think he would. He knew of 
 Rod's strike, and he would stop at nothing to steal 
 the secret." 
 
 "I don't believe Mr. Watts, nor any of the 
 Wattses cut that pack," defended the girl. 
 
 "Neither do I. Watts has his faults, but dis- 
 honesty is not one of them. No. The man who 
 cut that pack, was the man who carried it there 
 
 "Vil Holland!" exclaimed Lord Clendenning. 
 "My word, d'ye think he'd dare? Yes, Watts 
 told us that he brought in the pack because Sin- 
 clair was in a hurry. The bloody scamp! He 
 should be jolly well trounced! I'll do it myself if 
 I see him, so help me Bob, I will!" 
 
Bethune Pays a Call 97 
 
 Bethune turned to the girl. "You have ex- 
 amined his effects. Was there evidence of their 
 having been tampered with?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know. If he left any papers or 
 maps or things like that in there it most certainly 
 has been tampered with, for they are not there 
 now." 
 
 The man smiled. " I think we are safe in assum- 
 ing that there were no maps or papers of value in 
 the outfit. Your father was far too shrewd to have 
 left anything of the sort to the tender mercies of 
 Vil Holland. By cutting the pack Vil merely gave 
 evidence of his unscrupulous methods without in 
 any way profiting by it. And, as for the map and 
 photographs in your possession, I should advise 
 you to find some good hiding place for them and 
 not trust to carrying them about upon your per- 
 son." Swiftly Patty glanced at the speaker. 
 That last injunction, somehow, did not ring quite 
 true. But he had turned to the door, and a 
 moment later when he faced her to bid her adieu, 
 the boyish smile was again curling his lips, and he 
 mounted and rode away. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 IN THE CABIN 
 
 For a long time after the departure of her 
 visitors, Patty Sinclair sat thinking. Was it true, 
 all this man had told her ? She remembered vividly 
 the beautiful tribute he had paid her father and 
 the emotion that had gripped him as he finished. 
 Surely his words rang true. They were true, or 
 else the man was a consummate actor as well as 
 an unscrupulous knave. She recalled the boyish 
 smile, the story of Lord Clendenning's terrible 
 journey, and the impatience with which he had 
 silenced the Englishman's self-criticism. What 
 would be more natural than that two men thrown 
 together in the middle of the hill country, as her 
 father and Bethune had been thrown together, 
 should have pooled their interests, especially if 
 each possessed an essential that the other did not. 
 There had been somehow a sincerity about the 
 man that carried conviction. She liked his ready 
 
 98 
 
In the Cabin 99 
 
 admission that her father's knowledge of mining 
 greatly exceeded his own. And the assertion that 
 he had advanced sums of money for the carrying 
 on of the work sounded plausible enough, for the 
 girl knew that her father's income had been small 
 — pitiably small, but enough, he had always in- 
 sisted, for his meager needs. Unquestionably, up 
 to that point the man's words had carried the ring 
 of truth. Then came the false notes; the open 
 accusation of Vil Holland, and the warning as to 
 the concealment of the map and photos which she 
 had twice purposely refused to admit that she 
 possessed. This was the second time he had gone 
 out of his way to warn her against Vil Holland. 
 On occasion of their previous meeting, he had 
 hinted that Holland might pose as a friend of her 
 father — a pose Bethune, himself, boldly assumed. 
 Perhaps Vil Holland had been a friend of her 
 father. In the matter of the pack sack, to whom 
 would a man intrust his belongings, if not to a 
 friend? Surely not to an enemy, nor to one he had 
 reason to suspect. And now Bethune openly 
 accused him of cutting the pack sack, and inti- 
 mated that he would not hesitate to rob her of her 
 secret. 
 
 For a long time she sat with her elbow on the 
 
ioo The Gold Girl 
 
 table and her chin resting in her palm, staring out 
 at the overshadowing hills. "If there was only 
 somebody," she muttered. "Somebody I could 
 — " Suddenly she leaped to her feet. "No, I'm 
 glad there isn't! I'll play the game alone! I 
 came out here to do it, and I'll do it, in spite of 
 forty Vil Hollands, and Bethunes, and Lord 
 Clendennings ! I'll find the mine myself — and I'll 
 call it a mine, too, if I want to ! And then, after I 
 find it, if Mr. Monk Bethune can show me that he 
 is entitled to a share in it, I'll give it to him — and 
 not before. I'll stay right here till I find it, or till 
 my money gives out, and when it does, 111 earn 
 some more and come back again till that's gone!" 
 Crossing the room, she stamped determinedly out 
 the door, threw the saddle onto her cayuse, and 
 rode rapidly down the creek. Horseback riding 
 always exhilarated her, even back home where she 
 had been obliged to keep to roads, or the well-worn 
 courses of the hunt club. But here in the hills 
 where the very air was a tonic that sent the blood 
 coursing through her veins, and where tier af- 
 ter tier, the mighty mountains rolled away into 
 the distance, as if flaunting a challenge to come 
 and explore their secrets, and unscarred valleys 
 gave glimpses of alluring vistas, the exhilaration 
 
In the Cabin 101 
 
 amounted almost to intoxication. As her horse's 
 feet thudded the ground, and splashed in and out 
 of the shallows of the creek, she laughed aloud for 
 the very joy of living. She pulled her horse to a 
 walk as she skirted the fence of Watts 's upper 
 pasture, and her eyes rested with approval upon 
 the straightened posts and taut wire. "At last 
 Mr. Watts has bestirred himself. I hope he will 
 keep on, now, that he's got the habit, and fix up the 
 rest of the ranch. I wonder why that Vil Holland 
 disapproved when he mentioned that he had 
 leased his pasture. It seems as though nothing 
 can happen in this country unless Vil Holland is 
 mixed up in it someway. And, now I'm down this 
 far, I'll just find out whether Vil Holland did take 
 that pack down here for daddy. And if he did 
 I'll let him know mighty quick, the next time I see 
 him, that I know all about it's being cut open." 
 
 With her tubs on a bench, and the baby propped 
 and tied securely in an old wooden rocker, Ma 
 Watts was up to her elbows in her " week's worsh." 
 Watts sat in his accustomed place, his chair tilted 
 against the shady side of the house. "Laws sakes, 
 ef hit hain't Mr. Sinclair's darter!" cried the 
 woman, shaking the suds from her bare arms, 
 
 How be yo' , honey ? An' how' s the sheep camp ? 
 
i02 The Gold Girl 
 
 Microby Dandeline tellen us how yo'-all scrubbed, 
 an' scraped, an' cleaned 'til hit shined like a nigger's 
 heel. Hit's nice to be clean, that-a-way ef yo' got 
 time, but with five er six young-uns to take keer of, 
 an' a passel of chickens a-runnin' in under foot all 
 day, seems like a body cain't keep clean nohow. 
 Microby says how yo' got a rale curtin' in yo' 
 winder, an' all kinds of pert doin' an' fixin's. 
 That's hit, git right down off yer horse. Land! 
 I wus so busy hearin' 'bout yo' fixin' up the sheep 
 camp, thet I plumb f ergot my manners. Watts, 
 get a cheer ! An' 'pears like yo' could say ' Howdy ' 
 when anyone comes a visitin'." 
 
 "I aimed to," mumbled Watts apologetically, 
 as he dragged a chair from the kitchen, "I wus jest 
 a-aidgin' 'round fer a chanct." 
 
 " I can't stay but a minute, see, the shadows are 
 already half way across the valley. I just thought 
 I'd take a little ride before supper." 
 
 "Law, yes, some folks likes to ride hossback. 
 but fer me, I'd a heap ruther go in a jolt wagon. 
 Beats all the dif 'fence in folks. Seems like the 
 folks out yere jist take to hit nachel. Yo' be'n 
 huntin' yo' pa's location yet?" 
 
 "No, I've been getting things in shape around 
 the cabin. I'm going to start prospecting to- 
 
In the Cabin 103 
 
 morrow." She glanced back along the valley, 
 "I suppose my father came along this way when 
 he left his pack on his way East," she said. 
 
 " No, mom, " Watts rubbed his chin, reflectively. 
 "Hit wus Vil Holland brung in his pack. Seems 
 like yo' pa wus in a right smart of a hurry when he 
 left, so Vil taken his pack down yere an* me an' 
 the boys put hit in the barn fer to keep hit saft. 
 Then Vil he rud on down the crick, hell bent fer 
 'lection " 
 
 "Watts! Hain't yo' shamed a-cussin'?" cried 
 his scandalized spouse? 
 
 "Why was he in such a hurry?" asked the girl. 
 
 "I dunno. He jes' turned the mewl loost an' 
 says to keep the pack till yo' pa come back, an' 
 larruped off." 
 
 Patty rose from the chair and gathered up her 
 bridle reins. "I must be going, really. You see, 
 I've got my chores to do, and supper to get, and 
 I want to go to bed early so I'll be fresh in the 
 morning." She mounted, and turned to Ma 
 Watts: "Can't you come up some day and bring 
 the children? I'd love to have you. Let's ar- 
 range the day now, so I will be sure to be home." 
 
 "Lawzie, I'd give a purty! Listen at thet, 
 now, Watts. Cain't we fix to go? " 
 
io 4 The Gold Girl 
 
 Watts fumbled his beard : "Why, yas, I reckon, 
 some day, mebbe." 
 
 "What day can you come?" asked Patty. 
 
 "Well, le's see, this yere's about a Tuesday." 
 He paused, glanced up at the sky, and gave careful 
 scrutiny to the horizon. "How'd Sunday a week 
 suit yo' — ef hit don't rain?" 
 
 "Fine," agreed the girl, smiling. "And, by 
 the way, I came down past the upper pasture. 
 The fence looks grand. It didn't take long to 
 fix it, did it?" 
 
 "Well, hit tuk quite a spell — all day yeste'day, 
 an* up 'til noon to-day. We only got one side 
 an' halft another done, an' they's two sides an' 
 a halft yet. But Mr. Bethune came by this 
 noon, him an' Lord, an' 'lowed he worn't in 
 no gret hurry fer hit, causen he heerd from 
 Schultz thet the hoss business 'ud haf to wait 
 over a spell " 
 
 "An' Lord, he come down an' boughten a lot of 
 aigs offen me. Him an' Mr. Bethune is both got 
 manners." 
 
 "Women folks likes 'em better'n what men does, 
 seems like, " opined Watts, reflectively. 
 
 "Why don't men like them?" asked the girl 
 eagerly. 
 
In the Cabin 105 
 
 "I dunno. Seems like they jes' nachelly mis- 
 trust 'em someways." 
 
 "Did my father like him — Mr. Bethune?" 
 
 '"Cor din' to Mr. Bethune they wus gret bud- 
 dies, but when I'd run acrost yo' pa in the hills, 
 'pears like he wus alius alone er elsen Vil Holland 
 was along. But, Mr. Bethune claims he set a 
 heap by yo' pa, like the time he come an' 'lowed 
 to take away his pack. I wouldn't let hit go, 'cause 
 thet hain't the way Vil said, an' Mr. Bethune, he 
 started in to git mad, but then he laffed, an' said 
 hit didn't make no diff'ence, 'cause all he wanted 
 wus to be shore hit wus saft kep." 
 
 "An' Pa mos' hed to shoot him, though, 'fore 
 he laffed. I done tol' Pa he hadn't ort to. Lessen 
 yo' runnin' a still, yo' hain't no call to shoot folks 
 comin' 'round." 
 
 "Shoot him!" exclaimed Patty, staring in sur- 
 prise at the easy-going Watts. 
 
 "Yas, he aimed to take thet pack anyways. 
 So I went in an' got down the ol' rifle-gun an' 
 pintedly tole him I'd shoot him dead ef he laid 
 holt o' thet pack, an' then he laffed an' rud off." 
 
 "But, would you have shot him, really?" 
 
 "Yas, " answered the mountaineer, in a matter- 
 of-fact tone, "I'd of hed to." 
 
106 The Gold Girl 
 
 Patty rode home slowly and in silence — think- 
 ing. And that evening, by the light of her coal- 
 oil lamp she puzzled over the roughly sketched 
 map with its cryptic signs and notations. There 
 were a half-dozen samples, too — chips of rough, 
 heavy rock that didn't look a bit like gold. 
 "High grade," her daddy had called them as he 
 babbled incessantly upon his deathbed. But they 
 looked dull and unpromising to the girl as they 
 lay upon the table. She returned to the sketch. 
 With the exception of a single small dot, placed 
 beside what was evidently the principal creek of 
 the locality, the map consisted only of lines and 
 shadings which evidently indicated creeks and 
 mountains — no cross, no letter, no number — 
 nothing to indicate landmark or location, only a 
 confusing network of creeks and feeders branching 
 out like the limbs of a tree. Along the bottom of 
 the paper the girl read the following line : 
 
 "SCiSi^EiS t to n 2 W to a. to b. stake L.C. ^ centre." 
 
 1 ' I suppose that was all clear as daylight to daddy, 
 and maybe it would be to anyone who is used to 
 maps, but as for doing me any good, he might 
 as well have copied a line from the Chinese dic- 
 tionary." 
 
In the Cabin 107 
 
 She stared hopelessly at the unintelligible line, 
 and then at the two photographs. One, taken 
 evidently from a point well up the side of a 
 hill, showed a narrow valley, flanked upon the 
 opposite side by a high rock wall. Toward the 
 upper end of the wall an irregular crack or cleft 
 split it from top to bottom. The other was a 
 " close up " taken at the very base of the cleft, and 
 showed only the narrow aperture in the rock, and 
 the ground at its base. For a long time she sat 
 studying the photographs, memorizing every 
 feature and line of them; the conformation of the 
 valley, the contour of the rock wall, the position 
 and shapes of the trees and rock fragments. 
 "That must be the mine," she concluded, at 
 length, "right there at the bottom of that crack." 
 She closed her eyes and conjured a mental picture 
 of the little valley, of the rock wall, and of the cleft 
 that would mark the location. "I'd know it if I 
 should see it, " she muttered, "let's see : big broken 
 rocks strewn along the floor of the valley, and a 
 tiny creek, and then the rock cliff, it must be about 
 as high as — about twice as tall as the trees that 
 grow along the foot of it, and it's highest at the 
 upper end, then there's a big tree standing alone 
 almost in the middle of the valley, and the gnarled, 
 
io8 The Gold Girl 
 
 scraggly trees that grow along the top of the 
 rocks, and the valley must be as wide as from here 
 to that clump of trees beyond my wood-pile — 
 about a block, I guess. And there's the big crack 
 in the cliff that starts straight," she traced the 
 course of the crack with her finger upon the table 
 top, "and then zigzags to the ground/' Her 
 glance returned to the map, and she frowned. " I 
 don't think that's a bit of good to me. But I 
 don't care as long as I have the photographs. I'll 
 just ride, and ride, and ride through these hills 
 till I find that valley, and then—" The little 
 clock on the shelf beside the mirror ticked loudly. 
 Her thoughts strayed far beyond the confines of 
 the little cabin on Monte' s Creek, as she planned 
 how she would spend the golden stream that was 
 to flow from the foot of the rock ledge. 
 
 Gradually her vision became confused, the in- 
 cessant ticking of the little clock sounded farther, 
 and farther away, her head settled to rest upon her 
 folded arms, and she was in the midst of a struggle 
 of some kind, in which a belted cowboy and a 
 suave, sloe-eyed quarter-breed were fighting to 
 gain possession of her mine — or, were they trying 
 to help her locate it? And what was it daddy was 
 trying to tell her? She couldn't quite hear. She 
 
In the Cabin 109 
 
 wished he would talk louder — but it was something 
 about the mine, and the men who were struggling. 
 . . . She awoke with a start, and glanced swiftly 
 about the cabin. The roots of her hair along the 
 back of her neck tingled uncomfortably. She 
 felt she was not alone — that somewhere eyes were 
 watching her. The chintz curtain that screened 
 the open window swayed lightly in the night breeze 
 and she jumped nervously. "I'ma perfect fool ! " 
 she exclaimed, aloud: "As if any 'Jack the 
 Peeper' would be prowling around these moun- 
 tains! It's just nerves, that's all it is." 
 
 Slipping the map and the photographs beneath 
 a plate, she crossed to the door and made sure the 
 bar was in place, took the white butted revolver 
 from its holster, and with a determined tightening 
 of the lips, stepped to the window, drew the cur- 
 tain aside, and stood peering out into the dark. 
 The only sounds were the ticking of the clock, and 
 the purling of the water as it rushed among the 
 stones of the shallow ford. Overhead the stars 
 winked brightly, in sharp contrast to the velvet 
 blackness of the pines. The sound of the water 
 soothed her, and she laughed — a forced little 
 laugh, but it made her feel better. Crossing to 
 the table she blew out the lamp and, placing her 
 
no The Gold Girl 
 
 revolver at the head of her bunk, undressed in 
 the darkness. She raised the plate, took the map 
 and the two precious photographs, placed them 
 in their envelope, and slipped the chain about her 
 neck. 
 
 For a long time she lay between her blankets, 
 wide awake, conscious that she was straining her 
 ears to catch some faint sound. A half dozen 
 times she caught herself listening with nerves on 
 edge and muscles taut, and each time forced herself 
 to relax. But always she came back to that 
 horrible, tense listening. She charged herself 
 with cowardice, and pooh-poohed her fears, but it 
 was no use, and she wound up by covering her 
 head with her blanket. "I don't care, there was 
 somebody watching, but if he thinks he's going to 
 find out where I keep these," her hand clutched 
 the little oiled packet, "he'll have to come 
 again, that's all." 
 
 It was nearly an hour later that Monk Bethune 
 quitted his post close against the cabin wall, at 
 the point where the chinking had fallen away from 
 the logs, and slipped silently into the timber. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 PROSPECTING 
 
 The gray of early morning was just beginning 
 to render objects in the little room indistinguish- 
 able when Patty awoke. She made a hasty 
 toilet, lighted the fire, and while the water was 
 heating for her coffee, delved into the pack sack 
 and drew out a gray flannel shirt which she viewed 
 critically from every conceivable angle. She 
 tried it on, turning this way and that, before the 
 mirror. " Daddy wasn't so much larger than I 
 am, " she smiled, "I can take a tuck in the sleeves, 
 and turn back the collar and it will fit pretty well. 
 Anyway, it will be better than that riding jacket. 
 It will look less citified, and more — more pros- 
 pecty." A few moments sufficed for the altera- 
 tion and as the girl stood before the mirror and 
 carefully knotted her brilliant scarf, she nodded 
 emphatic approval. 
 
 Breakfast over, she washed her dishes and as 
 in 
 
"2 The Gold Girl 
 
 she put them on their shelf her glance rested upon 
 the bits of broken rock fragments. Instantly, her 
 thoughts flew to the night before, and the feeling 
 that someone had been watching her. Rapidly 
 her glance flashed about the cabin searching a 
 place to hide them. "They're too heavy to 
 carry," she murmured. "And, yet," her eyes 
 continued their search, lingering for a moment 
 upon some nook or corner only to flit to another, 
 and another, "every place I can think of seems as 
 though it would be the very first place anyone 
 would look." Her eyes fell upon the empty 
 tomato can that she had forgotten to throw into 
 the coulee after last night's supper. She placed 
 the samples in the can. "I might put it with the 
 others in the cupboard, but if anybody looked 
 there they would be sure to see that it had been 
 opened. Where do people hide things? I might 
 go out and dig a hole and bury it, but if anyone 
 were watching — " Suddenly her eyes lighted: 
 "The very thing," she cried: "Nobody would 
 think of looking among those old bottles and 
 cans." And placing the can in the pan of dish- 
 water, she carried it out and threw it onto the pile 
 of rubbish in the coulee. Returning to the cabin, 
 she put on her father's Stetson, slipped his revolver 
 
Prospecting 113 
 
 into its holster, and buckling the belt about her 
 waist, gave one last approving glance into the 
 mirror, closed the door behind her, and saddled 
 her horse. With the bridle reins in her hand she 
 stood irresolute. In which direction should she 
 start? Obviously, if she must search the whole 
 country, she should begin somewhere and work 
 systematically. She felt in the pocket of her 
 skirt and reassured herself that the compass she 
 had taken from the pack sack was there. Her 
 eyes swept the valley and came to rest upon a deep 
 notch in the hills that flanked it upon the west. A 
 coulee sloped upward to the notch, and mounting, 
 the girl crossed the creek and headed for the gap. 
 It was slow and laborious work, picking her way 
 among the loose rocks and fallen trees of the deep 
 ravine that narrowed and grew steeper as she 
 advanced. Loose rocks, disturbed by her horse's 
 feet, clattered noisily behind her, and marks here 
 and there in the soil told her that she was not 
 the first to pass that way. ' ' I wonder who it was ? " 
 she speculated. "Either Monk Bethune, or Vil 
 Holland, or Lord Clendenning, I suppose. They 
 all seem to be forever riding back and forth through 
 the hills." At last she gained the summit, and 
 pulled up to enjoy the view. Judging by the 
 
H4 The Gold Girl 
 
 trampled buffalo grass that capped the divide, the 
 rider who preceded her had also stopped. She 
 glanced backward, and there, showing above the 
 tops of the trees that covered the slope, stood her 
 own cabin, looking tiny and far away, but with its 
 every detail standing out with startling clearness. 
 She could even see the ax standing where she had 
 left it beside the door, and the box she had placed 
 at the end of the log wall to take the place of the 
 cupboard as a home for the pack rats. ' ' Whoever 
 it was could certainly keep track of my move- 
 ments from here without the least risk of being 
 discovered," she thought, "and if he had field 
 glasses!" She blushed, and turned her eyes to 
 survey the endless succession of peaks and passes 
 and valleys that lay spread out over the sea of 
 hills. "How in the world am I ever going to find 
 one tiny little valley among all these?" she won- 
 dered. Her heart sank at the vastness of it all, 
 and at her own helplessness, and the utter hope- 
 lessness of her stupendous task. ' ' Oh, I can never, 
 never do it," she faltered, " — never." And, 
 instantly ashamed of herself, clenched her small, 
 gloved fist. "I will do it! My daddy found his 
 mine, and he didn't have any pictures to go by 
 either. He just delved and worked for years and 
 
Prospecting 115 
 
 years — and at last he found it. I'd find it if there 
 were twice as many hills and valleys. It may 
 take me years — and I may find it to-day — just 
 think! This very day I may ride into that little 
 valley — or to-morrow, or the next day. It can't 
 be far away. Mrs. Watts said daddy was always 
 to be found within ten miles of the ranch." 
 
 She headed her horse down the opposite slope 
 that slanted at a much easier gradient than the 
 one she had just ascended. The trees on this side 
 of the divide were larger and the hillside gradually 
 flattened into a broad, tilted plateau. She gave 
 her horse his head and breathed deeply of the pine- 
 laden air as the animal swung in beside a tiny 
 creek that flowed smooth and black through the 
 dusky silence of the pines whose interlacing 
 branches, high above, admitted the sunlight in 
 irregular splashes of gold. There was little under- 
 brush and the horse followed easily along the 
 creek, where here and there, in the softer soil of 
 damp places, the girl could see the hoof marks of 
 the rider who had crossed the divide. "I wonder 
 whether it was he who watched me last night? 
 There was someone, I could feel it." 
 
 The creek sheered sharply around an out- 
 cropping shoulder of rock, and the next instant 
 
n6 The Gold Girl 
 
 Patty pulled up short, and sat staring at a little 
 white tent that nestled close against the side of the 
 huge monolith which stood at the edge of a broad, 
 grassed opening in the woods. The flaps were 
 thrown wide and the walls caught up to allow free 
 passage of air. Blankets that had evidently- 
 covered a pile of boughs in one corner, were 
 thrown over the ridgepole from which hung a 
 black leather binocular case, and several canvas 
 bags formed an orderly row along one side. A 
 kettle hung suspended over a small fire in front of 
 the tent, and a row of blackened cooking utensils 
 hung from a wooden bar suspended between two 
 crotched stakes. Out in the clearing, a man was 
 bridling a tall buckskin horse. The man was Vil 
 Holland. Curbing a desire to retreat unobserved 
 into the timber, the girl advanced boldly across 
 the creek and pulled up beside the fire. At the 
 sound the man whirled, and Patty noticed that a 
 lean, brown hand dropped swiftly to the butt of 
 the revolver. 
 
 " Don't shoot!" she called, in a tone that was 
 meant to be sarcastic, "I won't hurt you." Some- 
 how, the sarcasm fell flat. 
 
 The man buckled the throat-latch of his bridle 
 and picking up the reins, advanced hat in hand, 
 
Prospecting 117 
 
 leading the horse. "I beg your pardon, " he said, 
 gravely, "I didn't know who it was, when your 
 horse splashed through the creek." 
 
 "You have enemies in the hills? Those you 
 would shoot, or who would shoot you?" 
 
 He dropped the bridle reins, allowing them to 
 trail on the ground. "If some kinds of folks 
 wasn't a man's enemy he wouldn't be fit to have 
 any friends," he said, simply. "And here in the 
 hills it's just as well to be forehanded with your 
 gun. Won't you climb down? I suppose you've 
 had breakfast?" 
 
 Patty swung from the saddle and stood holding 
 the bridle reins. "Yes, I've had breakfast, thank 
 you. Don't let me keep you from yours." 
 
 "Had mine, too. If you don't mind I'll wash 
 up these dishes, though. Just drop your reins 
 — like mine. Your cayuse will stand as long 
 as the reins are hangin'. It's the way they're 
 broke — 'tyin' 'em to the ground,' we call it." 
 He glanced at her horse's feet, and pointed to a 
 place beneath the fetlock from which the hair had 
 been rubbed: "Rope burnt," he opined. "You 
 oughtn't to put him out on a picket rope. Use 
 hobbles. There's a couple of pair in your dad's 
 war-bag." 
 
u8 The Gold Girl 
 
 "War-bag?" 
 
 "Yeh, it's down in Watts's barn, if he ain't 
 hauled it up for you." 
 
 "What are hobbles?" 
 
 The man stepped to the tent and returned a 
 moment later with two heavy straps fastened 
 together by a bit of chain and a swivel. "These 
 are hobbles, they work like this." He stooped 
 and fastened the straps about the forelegs of the 
 horse just above the fetlock. "He can get 
 around all right, but he can't get far, and, there is 
 no rope to snag him." 
 
 Patty nodded. "Thank you, " she said. "I'll 
 try it. But how do you know there are hobbles 
 in dad's pack?" 
 
 "Where would they be? He had a couple of 
 pair. All his stuff is in there. He always traveled 
 light." 
 
 "Did you leave my father's war-bag, as you 
 call it, at Watts's?" 
 
 "Yeh, he was in somethin' of a hurry and 
 didn't want to go around by the trail, so he left 
 his outfit here and struck straight through the 
 hills." 
 
 "Why was he in a hurry?" 
 
 The man placed the dishes in a pan and poured 
 
Prospecting 119 
 
 water over them. "I've got my good guess, " he 
 answered, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Which may mean anything, and tells me 
 nothing." 
 
 Holland nodded, as he carefully wiped his tin 
 plate. " Yeh, that's about the size of it." 
 
 His attitude angered the girl. "And I have 
 heard he was not the only one in the hills that 
 was in a hurry that day, and I suppose I can 
 have my 'good guess' at that, and I can have 
 my 'good guess' as to who cut daddy's pack 
 sack, too." 
 
 "Yeh, an' you can change your guess as often 
 as you want to." 
 
 "And every time I change it, I'd get farther 
 from the truth." 
 
 "You might, an' you might get nearer." The 
 cowpuncher was looking at her squarely, now. 
 "You ain't left-handed are you?" he asked, 
 abruptly. 
 
 ' ' No, of course not ! Why ? ' ' 
 
 "Because, if you ain't, you better change that 
 belt around so the holster'll carry on yer right side 
 — or else leave it to home." 
 
 The coldly impersonal tone angered the girl. 
 "Much better leave it home," she said, "so if 
 
120 The Gold Girl 
 
 anyone wanted to get my map and photographs, 
 he could do it without risk." 
 
 1 ' If you had any sense you'd shut up about maps 
 an' photos." 
 
 "At least I've got sense enough not to tell 
 whether I carry them with me, or keep them 
 hidden in a safe place." 
 
 "You carry 'em on you!" commanded the 
 man, gruffly. "It's a good deal safer 'n cachiri 
 'em." He laid his dishes aside, poured the water 
 from the pan, wiped it, hung it in its place, 
 and picking up his saddle blanket, examined it 
 carefully. 
 
 "I wonder why my father entrusted his pack 
 sack to you?" said Patty, eyeing him resentfully. 
 "Were you and he such great friends?" 
 
 "Knew one another tolerable well," answered 
 Holland, dryly. 
 
 "You weren't, by any chance — partners, were 
 you?" 
 
 He glanced up quickly. ' ' Didn't I tell you once 
 that yer dad played a lone hand?" 
 
 "You knew he made a strike?" 
 
 "That's what folks think. But I suppose he 
 told Monk Bethune all about it." 
 
 The thinly veiled sneer goaded the girl to anger. 
 
Prospecting 121 
 
 "Yes, he did," she answered, hotly, "and he told 
 me, too!" 
 
 ''Told Mctk all about it, did he — location an' 
 all, I suppose F" 
 
 "He intended to, yes," answered the girl, 
 defiantly. "The day he made his strike, Mr. 
 Bethune happened to be away up in British 
 Columbia, and daddy told Lord Clendenning that 
 he had made his strike, and he drew a map and 
 sent it to Mr. Bethune by Lord Clendenning." 
 
 Holland smoothed the blanket into place upon 
 the back of the buckskin, and reached for his 
 saddle. "An' of course, Monk, he wouldn't file 
 till you come, so you'd be sure an' get a square 
 deal " 
 
 "He never got the map or the photos. Lord 
 Clendenning lost them in a river. And he nearly 
 lost his life, and was rescued by an Indian." 
 
 There was a sound very like a cough, and Patty 
 glanced sharply at the cowpuncher, but his back 
 was toward her, and he was busy with his cinch. 
 "Tough luck," he remarked, as he adjusted the 
 latigo strap. "An', you say, yer dad told you all 
 about this partnership business?" 
 
 "No, he didn't." 
 
 "Who did?" 
 
122 The Gold Girl 
 
 "Mr.Bethune." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 Something in the tone made the girl feel ex- 
 tremely foolish. Holland was deliberately strap- 
 ping the brown leather jug to his saddle horn, and 
 gathering up her reins, she mounted. "At least, 
 Mr. Bethune is a gentleman, " she emphasized the 
 word nastily. 
 
 "An' they can't hang him for that, anyway," 
 he flung back, and swung lightly into the saddle, 
 "I must be goin'." 
 
 "And you don't even deny cutting the pack?" 
 
 He looked her squarely in the eyes and shook 
 his head. "No. You kind of half believe 
 Monk about the partnership. But you don't 
 believe I cut that pack, so what's the use deny- 
 ing 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. 
 
Prospecting 123 
 
 "An' if you'll remember what I've told you, you 
 prob'ly won't have to. So long." 
 
 The cowboy settled the Stetson firmly upon 
 his head, and with never a glance behind him, 
 headed his horse down the little creek. 
 
 The girl watched him for a moment with angry 
 eyes, and then, urging her horse forward, crossed 
 the plateau at a gallop, and headed up the valley. 
 "Of all the — the boors! He certainly is the limit. 
 And the worst of it is I don't know whether he 
 deliberately tries to insult me, or whether it's just 
 ignorance. Anyway, I wouldn't trust him as far 
 as I could see him. And I do believe he cut 
 daddy's pack sack, so there!" The heavy re- 
 volver dangling at her side attracted her attention, 
 and she pulled up her horse and changed it to the 
 opposite side. "I suppose I did look like a fool, " 
 she admitted, "but he needn't have told me so. 
 And I bet I know as much about a compass as he 
 does, anyway. And I'll tie my horse up with a 
 rope if I want to." 
 
 Beyond the plateau, the valley narrowed 
 rapidly, and innumerable ravines and coulees led 
 steeply upward to lose themselves among the 
 timbered slopes of the mountain sides. Crossing 
 a low divide at the head of the valley, she reined 
 
i24 The Gold Girl 
 
 in her horse and gazed with thumping heart into 
 the new valley that lay before her. There, 
 scarcely a mile away, stretched a rock ledge — and, 
 yes, there were scraggly trees fringing its rim, and 
 the valley was strewn with rock fragments! Her 
 valley! The valley of the photographs! She 
 laughed aloud, and urged her horse down the steep 
 descent, heedless of the fact that upon the pre- 
 carious, loose rock footing of the slope, a misstep 
 would mean almost certain destruction. 
 
 Directly opposite the face of the rock wall she 
 pulled her horse to a stand. "Surely, this must 
 be the place, but — where is the crack? It should 
 be about there." Her eyes searched the face of 
 the cliff for the zigzag crevice. "Maybe I'm too 
 close to it," she muttered. "The picture was 
 taken from a hillside across the valley. That 
 must be the hill — the one with the bare patch 
 half way up. That's right where he must have 
 stood when he took the photograph." The hill- 
 side rose abruptly, and abandoning her horse, the 
 girl climbed the steep ascent, pausing at frequent 
 intervals for breath. At last, she stood upon the 
 bare shoulder of the hill and gazed out across the 
 valley, and as she gazed, her heart sank. "It 
 isn't the place," she muttered. "There is no big 
 
Prospecting 125 
 
 tree, and the rock cliff isn't a bit like the one in the 
 picture — and I thought I had found it sure! I 
 wonder how many of those rock walls there are 
 in the hills? And will I ever find the right one?" 
 
 Once more in the saddle, she crossed another 
 divide and scanned another rock wall, and farther 
 down, another.' "I believe every single valley in 
 these hills has its own rock ledge, and some of 
 them three or four!" she cried disgustedly, as she 
 seated herself beside a tiny spring that trickled 
 from beneath a huge rock, and proceeded to devour 
 her lunch. "I had no idea how hungry I could 
 get," she stared ruefully at the paper that had 
 held her two sandwiches. "Next time I'll bring 
 about six." 
 
 Producing her compass, she leveled a place 
 among the stones. " Let's see if I can point to the 
 north without its help." She glanced at the sun 
 and carefully scanned the tumultuous skyline. 
 "It is there," she indicated a gap between two 
 peaks, and glanced at the compass. "I knew I 
 wouldn't get turned around," she said, proudly. 
 " I didn't miss it but just a mite — anyway it's near 
 enough for all practical purposes. If that's 
 north, " she speculated, "then I must have started 
 east and then turned south, and then west, and 
 
i26 The Gold Girl 
 
 then south again, and my cabin must be almost 
 due north of me now." She returned the compass 
 to her pocket. "I'll explore a little farther and 
 then work toward home." 
 
 Mounting, she turned northward, and emerging 
 abruptly from a clump of trees, caught a glimpse of 
 swift motion a quarter of a mile away, where her 
 trail had dipped into the valley, as a horse and 
 rider disappeared like a flash into the timber. 
 "He's following me!" she cried angrily, "sneaking 
 along my trail like a coyote! I'll tell him just 
 what I think of him and his cowardly spying." 
 Urging her horse into a run, she reached the spot 
 to find it deserted, although it seemed incredible 
 that anyone could have negotiated the divide 
 unnoticed in that brief space of time. "I saw 
 him plain as day," she murmured, as she turned 
 her horse toward the opposite side of the valley. 
 "I couldn't tell for sure that it was he — I didn't 
 even see the color of the horse — but who else could 
 it be? He knew I started out this way, and he 
 knew that I carried the map and photos, and was 
 hunting daddy's claim. I know, now who was 
 watching the other night." She shuddered. "And 
 I've got to stay here 'til I find that claim, knowing 
 all the time that I am being watched! There's 
 
Prospecting 127 
 
 no place I can go that he will not follow. Even 
 in my own cabin, I'll always feel that eyes are 
 watching me. And when I do find the mine, he'll 
 know it as soon as I do, and it will be a race to 
 file." Drawing up sharply, she gritted her teeth, 
 "And he knows the short cuts through the hills, 
 and I don't. But I will know them!" she cried, 
 "and when I do find the mine, Mr. Vil Holland is 
 going to have the race of his life!" 
 
 Another parallel valley, and another, she ex- 
 plored before turning her horse's head toward the 
 high divide that she had reasoned separated her 
 from Monte's Creek at a point well above her 
 cabin. Comparatively low ridges divided these 
 valleys, and as she topped each ridge, the girl 
 swerved sharply into the timber and, concealing 
 herself, intently watched the back trail — a ma- 
 neuver that caused the solitary horseman who 
 watched from a safe distance, to chuckle audibly 
 as he carefully wiped the lenses of his binoculars.' 
 
 The sunlight played only upon the higher peaks 
 when at last, weary and dispirited, she negotiated 
 the steep descent to Monte's Creek at a point a 
 mile above the sheep camp. " If he'd only photo- 
 graphed something besides a rock wall," she 
 muttered, petulantly, "I'd stand some show of 
 
128 The Gold Girl 
 
 finding it." At the door of the cabin she slipped 
 from her saddle, and pausing with her hand on the 
 coiled rope, dropped her eyes to the rubbed place 
 below her horse's fetlock. A moment later she 
 knelt and fastened a pair of hobbles about the 
 horse's ankles, and, removing the saddle, watched 
 the animal roll clumsily in the grass, and shuffle 
 awkwardly to the creek where he sucked greedily 
 at the cold water. Entering the cabin, she lighted 
 the lamp and stared about her. Her glance 
 traveled one by one over the objects of the little 
 room. Everything was apparently as she had 
 left it — yet — an uncomfortable, creepy sensation 
 stole over her. She knew that the room had been 
 searched. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 PATTY TAKES PRECAUTIONS 
 
 During the next few days Patty Sinclair paid 
 scant attention to rock ledges. Each morning she 
 saddled her cayuse and rode into the hills to the 
 southward, crossing divides and following creeks 
 and valleys from their sources down their winding, 
 twisting lengths. After the first two or three 
 trips she left her gun at home. It was heavy and 
 cumbersome, and she realized, in her unskilled 
 hand, useless. Always she felt that she was being 
 followed, but, try as she would, never could catch 
 so much as a fleeting glimpse of the rider who 
 lurked on her trail. Nevertheless, during these 
 long rides which she made for the sole purpose of 
 familiarizing herself with all the short cuts through 
 the hills, she derived satisfaction from the fact 
 that, while the trips were of immense value to her, 
 Vil Holland was having his trouble for his pains. 
 
 Ascertaining at length that, after crossing the 
 
 o 129 
 
130 The Gold Girl 
 
 high divide at the head of Monte' s Creek, any 
 valley leading southward would prove a direct 
 outlet onto the bench and thereby furnish a short 
 cut to town, she returned once more to her pros- 
 pecting — to the exploration of little valleys, and 
 the examination of innumerable rock ledges. 
 
 Accepting as part of the game the fact that her 
 cabin was searched almost daily during her absence 
 she derived grim enjoyment in contemplation of 
 the searcher's repeated disappointment. Several 
 attempts to surprise the marauder at his work 
 proved futile, and she was forced to admit that 
 in the matter of shrewdness and persistence, his 
 ability exceeded her own. "The real test will 
 come when I locate the mine," she told herself 
 one evening, as she sat alone in her little cabin. 
 11 Then the prize will go to the fastest horse." She 
 drew a small folding check-book from her pocket 
 and frowningly regarded its latest stub. "A thou- 
 sand dollars isn't very much, and — it's half gone." 
 
 Next day she rode out of the hills and, following 
 the trail for town, dismounted at Thompson's 
 ranch which nestled in its coulee well out upon 
 the bench, and waited for the rancher, who drove 
 up beside a huge stack with a load of alfalfa, to 
 unhitch his team. 
 
Patty Takes Precautions 131 
 
 "Have you a good saddle horse for sale?" she 
 asked, abruptly. 
 
 Thompson released the tug chains, and hung 
 the bridles upon the names, whereupon the horses 
 of their own accord started toward the stable, 
 followed by a ranch hand who slid from the top 
 of the stack. Without answering, he called to the 
 man: "Take the lady's horse along an' give him 
 a feed." 
 
 "It's noon," he explained, turning to the girl. 
 "You'll stay fer dinner." He pointed toward 
 the house. "You'll find Miz T. in the kitchen. 
 If you want to wash up, she'll show you." 
 
 The ranch hand was leading her horse toward 
 the barn. "But," objected Patty, "I didn't 
 mean to run in like this just at meal time. Mrs. 
 Thompson won't be expecting a guest, and I 
 brought a lunch with me." 
 
 Thompson laughed: "You must be a pilgrim in 
 these parts," he said. "Most folks would ride 
 half a day to git here 'round feedin' time. We 
 always count on two or three extry, so I guess 
 they'll be a-plenty." The man's laugh was in- 
 fectious, and Patty found herself smiling. She 
 liked him from the first. There was a ponderous 
 heartiness about him, and she liked the way his 
 
132 The Gold Girl 
 
 little brown eyes sparkled from out their network 
 of sun-browned wrinkles. "You trot along in, 
 now, an' tell Miz T. she can begin dishin' up 
 whenever she likes. Well be 'long d'rectly. 
 They'll be plenty time to talk horse after we've 
 et. My work teams earns a good hour of noonin', 
 an' I don't begrudge 'em an hour an' a half, hot 
 days." 
 
 Patty found Mrs. Thompson slight and quiet 
 as her husband was big and hearty. But her smile 
 was as engaging as his, and an indefinable some- 
 thing about her made the girl feel at home the 
 moment she crossed the threshold. " I came to see 
 Mr. Thompson about a horse, and he insisted that 
 I stay to dinner," she apologized. 
 
 "Why, of course you'll stay to dinner. But 
 you must be hot an' tired. The wash dish is there 
 beside the door. You better use it before Thomp- 
 son an' the hands comes, they always slosh every- 
 thing all up — they don't wash, they waller." 
 
 "Mr. Thompson said to tell you you could 
 begin to dish up whenever you're ready." 
 
 The woman smiled. "Yes, an' have every thin* 
 set an' git cold, while they feed the horses an' then 
 like's not, stand 'round a spell an' size up the hay 
 stack, er mebbe mend a piece of harness or some- 
 
Patty Takes Precautions 133 
 
 thin'. I guess you ain't married, er you wouldn't 
 expect a man to meals 'til you see him comin'. 
 Seems like no matter how hungry they be, if 
 they's some little odd job they can find to do just 
 when you get the grub set on, they pick that time 
 to do it. 'Specially if it's somethin' that don't 
 'mount to anythin', an' like's not's b'en layin* 
 'round in plain sight a week." 
 
 Patty laughingly admitted she was not married. 
 "But, I'd teach 'em a lesson," she said. "I'd 
 put the things on and let them get cold." 
 
 The older woman smiled, and at the sound of 
 voices, peered out the door: "Here they come 
 now," she said, and proceeded to carry heaping 
 vegetable dishes and a steaming platter of savory 
 boiled meat from the stove to the table. There 
 was a prodigious splashing outside the door and a 
 moment later Thompson appeared, followed by his 
 two ranch hands, hair wet and shining, plastered 
 tightly to their scalps, and faces aglow from vigor- 
 ous scrubbing. ' * You mind Mr. Sinclair, that used 
 to prospect in the hills, " introduced Mrs. Thomp- 
 son; "this is his daughter." 
 
 Her husband bowed awkwardly: "Glad to 
 know you. We know'd yer paw — used to stop 
 now an' again on his way to town. He was a 
 
134 The Gold Girl 
 
 smart man. Liked to talk to him. He'd be'n all 
 over." The man turned his attention to his plate 
 and the meal proceeded in solemn silence to its 
 conclusion. The two ranch hands arose and 
 disappeared through the door, and tilting back in 
 his chair Thompson produced a match from his 
 pocket, and proceeded to whittle it into a tooth- 
 pick. "I heard in town how you was out in 
 the hills," he began. "They said yer paw went 
 back East — " he paused as if uncertain how to 
 proceed. 
 
 Patty nodded: "Yes, he went back home, and 
 this spring he died. He told me he had made a 
 strike and I came out here to locate it. " 
 
 The kindly brown eyes regarded her intently: 
 "Ever do any prospectin' ? " 
 
 1 ' No. This is my first experience. " 
 
 "I never, either. But, if I was you I'd kind of 
 have an eye on my neighbors. " 
 
 "You mean— the Wattses?" asked the girl in 
 surprise. 
 
 The brown eyes were twinkling again: "No, 
 Watts, he's all right! Only trouble with Watts 
 is he sets an' herds the sun all day. But, they's 
 others besides Watts in the hills." 
 
 "Yes," answered the girl, quickly, "I know. 
 
Patty Takes Precautions 135 
 
 And that is the reason I came to see you about a 
 horse." 
 
 "What's the matter with the one you got?" 
 
 " Nothing at all. He seems to be a good horse. 
 He's fast too, when I want to crowd him. But, I 
 need another just as good and as fast as he is. 
 Have you one you will sell?" 
 
 "I'll sell anything I got, if the price is right," 
 smiled the man. 
 
 Patty regarded him thoughtfully: "I haven't 
 very much money," she said. "How much is he 
 worth?" 
 
 Thompson considered: "A horse ain't like a 
 cow-brute. There ain't no regular market price. 
 Horses is worth just as much as you can get folks 
 to pay fer 'em. But it looks like one horse ort 
 to be enough to prospect 'round the hills on." 
 
 "It isn't that," explained the girl. "If I buy 
 him I shall try to arrange with you to leave him 
 right here where I can get him at a moment's 
 notice. I shall probably never need him but once, 
 but when I do, I shall need him badly." She 
 paused, but without comment the man waited 
 for her to proceed : " I believe I am being followed, 
 and if I am, when I locate the claim, I am going to 
 have to race for the register's office." 
 
136 The Gold Girl 
 
 Thompson leaned forward upon the table and 
 chewed his toothpick rapidly: "By Gosh, an' you 
 want to have a fresh horse here for a change!" he 
 exclaimed, his eyes beaming approval. 
 
 "Exactly. Have you got the horse?" 
 
 The man nodded: "You bet I've got the horse! 
 I've got a horse out there in the corral that'll run 
 rings around anythin' in this country unless it's 
 that there buckskin of Vil Holland's — an' I guess 
 you ain't goin' to have no call to race him." 
 
 Patty was on the point of exclaiming that the 
 buckskin was the very horse she would have to 
 race, but instead she smiled: "But, if your horse 
 started fresh from here, and even Vil Holland's 
 horse had run clear from the mountains, this one 
 could beat him to town, couldn't he?" 
 
 " Could do it on three legs, " laughed the man. 
 
 "How much do you ask for him?" The girl 
 waited breathless, thinking of her diminishing 
 bank account. 
 
 Thompson's brow wrinkled: "I hold Lightnin' 
 pretty high," he said, after a pause. "You see, 
 some of us ranchers is holdin' a fast horse handy, 
 a-waitin' fer word from the hills — an' when it 
 comes, they's goin' to be the biggest horse-thief 
 roundup the hill country ever seen. An' unless 
 
Patty Takes Precautions 137 
 
 I miss my guess they'll be some that's carried 
 their nose pretty high that's goin' to snap down on 
 the end of a tight one." 
 
 "Now, Thompson, what's the use of talkin' 
 like that? Them things is bad enough to have to 
 do, let alone set around an' talk about 'em. Any- 
 one' d think you took pleasure in hangin' folks." 
 
 "I would — some folks." 
 
 The little woman turned to Patty: "He's 
 just a-talkin'. Chances is, if it come to hangin\ 
 Thompson would be the one to try an' talk 'em 
 out of it. Why, he won't even brand his own colts 
 an' calves — makes the hands do it." 
 
 11 That's different, " defended the man. "They- 
 're little an' young an' they ain't never done 
 no thin' ornery." 
 
 "But you haven't told me how much you want 
 for your horse, " persisted the girl. 
 
 "Now just you listen to me a minute. I don't 
 want to sell that horse, an' there ain't no mortal 
 use of you buy in' him. He's always here — right 
 in the corral when he ain't in the stable, an' either 
 place, all you got to do is throw yer kak on him an' 
 fog it." 
 
 The girl stared at him in surprise: "You 
 mean " 
 
138 The Gold Girl 
 
 "I mean that you're plumb welcome to use 
 Lightnin' whenever you need him. An' if they's 
 anything else I can do to help you beat out any 
 ornery cuss that'd try an' hornswaggle you out of 
 yer claim, you can count on me doin' it! An' 
 whether you know it 'er not, I ain't the only 
 one you can count on in a pinch neither." The 
 man waved her thanks aside with a sweep of a 
 big hand, and rose from the table. "Miz T. an' 
 me'd like fer you to stop in whenever you feel 
 like " 
 
 "Yes, indeed, we would," seconded the little 
 woman. " Couldn't you come over an' bring yer 
 sewin' some day?" 
 
 Patty laughed: "I'm afraid I haven't much 
 sewing to bring, but I'll come and spend the day 
 with you some time. I'd love to." 
 
 The girl rode homeward with a lighter heart 
 than she had known in some time. "Now let 
 him follow me all he wants to," she muttered. 
 "But I wonder why Mr. Thompson said I wouldn't 
 have to race the buckskin. And who did he 
 mean I could count on in a pinch — Watts, I guess, 
 or maybe he meant Mr. Bethune." 
 
 As she saddled her horse next morning, Bethune 
 presented himself at the cabin. "Where away?" 
 
Patty Takes Precautions 139 
 
 he smiled as he rode close, and swung lightly to 
 the ground. 
 
 "Into the hills," she answered, "in search of 
 my father's lost mine." 
 
 The man's expression became suddenly grave: 
 "Do you know, Miss Sinclair, I hate to think of 
 your riding these hills alone." 
 
 Patty glanced at him in surprise: "Why?" 
 
 "There are several reasons. For instance, one 
 never knows what will happen — a misstep on a 
 dangerous trail — a broken cinch — any one of a 
 hundred things may happen in the wilds that mean 
 death or serious injury, even to the initiated. 
 And the danger is tenfold in the case of a tender- 
 foot." 
 
 The girl laughed: "Thank you. But, if any- 
 thing is going to happen, it's going to happen. 
 At least, I am in no danger from being run down 
 by a street car or an automobile. And I can't be 
 blown up by a gas explosion, or fall into a coal 
 hole." 
 
 "But there are other dangers," persisted the 
 man. "A woman, alone in the hills — especially 
 you." 
 
 "Why 'especially me'? Plenty of women have 
 lived alone before in places more dangerous than 
 
140 The Gold Girl 
 
 this, and have gotten along very well, too. You 
 men are conceited. You think there can be no 
 possible safety unless members of your own sex are 
 at the helm of every undertaking or enterprise. 
 But you are wrong." 
 
 Bethune shook his head: "But I have reason 
 to believe that there is at least one person in these 
 hills who believes you possess the secret of your 
 father's strike — and who would stop at nothing 
 to obtain that secret." 
 
 ' ' I suppose you mean Vil Holland. I agree that 
 he does seem to take more than a passing interest 
 in my comings and goings. But he doesn't seem 
 very fierce. Anyhow, I am not in the least 
 afraid of him." 
 
 "What do you mean that he seems to take 
 an interest in your comings and goings?" The 
 question seemed a bit eager. ' ' Surely he has not 
 been following you!" 
 
 "Hasn't he? Then possibly you can tell me 
 who has?" 
 
 1 ■ The scoundrel ! And when you discover the lode 
 he'll wait 'til you have set your stakes and posted 
 your notice, and have gotten out of sight, and then 
 he'll drive in his own stakes, stick up his own notice 
 beside them and beat you to the register." 
 
Patty Takes Precautions H 1 
 
 Patty laughed: "Race me, you mean. He 
 won't beat me. Remember, I shall have at least 
 a half-hour's start." 
 
 "A half-hour!" exclaimed Bethune. "And 
 what is a half -hour in a fifty -mile race against that 
 buckskin. Why, my dear girl, with all due respect 
 for that horse of yours, Vil Holland's horse could 
 give you two hours' start and beat you to the 
 railroad." 
 
 "Maybe, " smiled the girl. "But he's going to 
 have to do it — that is, if I ever locate the lode." 
 
 "Ah, that is the point, exactly. It is that that 
 brings me here. Not that alone," he hastened 
 to add. "For I would ride far any day to spend 
 a few moments with so charming a lady — and 
 indeed, I should not have delayed my visit this 
 long but for some urgent business to the north- 
 ward. At all events, I'm here, and here I shall 
 stay until, together, we have solved our mystery 
 of the hills." 
 
 The girl glanced into the face alight with 
 boyish enthusiasm, and felt irresistibly impelled 
 to take this man into her confidence — to enlist his 
 help in the working out of her unintelligible map, 
 and to admit him to full partnership in her under- 
 taking. There would be enough for both if they 
 
H2 The Gold Girl 
 
 succeeded in uncovering the lode. Her father had 
 intended that he should share in his mine. She 
 recalled his eulogy of her father, and his frank 
 admission that there had been no agreement of 
 partnership. If anyone ever had the appearance 
 of perfect sincerity and candor this man had. 
 She remembered her seriously depleted bank 
 account. Bethune had money, and in case the 
 search should prove long — Suddenly the words 
 of Vil Holland flashed into her brain with startling 
 abruptness : ' ' Remember yer dad knew enough to 
 play a lone hand." And again. "Did yer dad 
 tell you about this partnership?" And the signi- 
 ficant emphasis he placed upon the "Oh," when 
 she had answered in the negative. 
 
 Bethune evidently had taken her silence for 
 assent. He was speaking again: "The first 
 thing to do is to find the starting point on the map 
 and work it out step by step, then when we locate 
 the lode, you and Clen and I will file the first 
 three claims, and we'll file all the Wattses on the 
 adjoining claims. That will give us absolute 
 control of a big block of what is probably a most 
 valuable property." 
 
 Again Bethune had referred directly to the map 
 which she had never admitted she possessed. He 
 
Patty Takes Precautions 143 
 
 had not said, "If you have a map." The man's 
 assumption angered her: "You still persist in 
 assuming that I have a map," she answered. 
 "As a matter of fact, I'm depending entirely upon 
 a photograph. I am riding blindly through the 
 hills trying to find the spot that tallies with the 
 picture." 
 
 Bethune frowned and shook his head doubt- 
 fully: "You might ride the hills for years, and 
 pass the spot a dozen times and never recognize 
 it. If you do not happen to strike the exact view- 
 point you might easily fail to recognize it. Then, 
 too, the landscape changes with the seasons of the 
 year. However," his face brightened and the 
 smile returned to his lips; "we have at least some- 
 thing to go on. We are not absolutely in the 
 dark. Who knows? If the goddess of luck sits 
 upon our shoulders, I myself may know the place 
 well — may recognize it instantly! For years I 
 have ridden these hills and I flatter myself that no 
 one knows their hidden nooks and byways better 
 than I. Even if I should not know the exact 
 spot, it may be that I can tell by the general fea- 
 tures its approximate locality, and thus limit our 
 search to a comparatively small area." 
 
 Patty knew that her refusal to show the photo- 
 
i44 The Gold Girl 
 
 graph could not fail to place her in an unfavorable 
 position. Either she would appear to distrust this 
 man whom she had no reason to distrust, or her 
 action would be attributed to a selfish intention 
 to keep the secret to herself, even though she 
 knew she could only file one claim. The man's 
 argument had been entirely reasonable — in fact, 
 it seemed the sensible thing to do. Nevertheless, 
 she did refuse, and refuse flatly: "I think, Mr. 
 Bethune, that I would rather play a lone hand. 
 You see, I started in on this thing alone, and I 
 want to see it through — for the present, at least. 
 After a while, if I find that I cannot succeed alone, 
 I shall be glad of your assistance. I suppose you 
 think me a fool, but it's a matter of pride, I guess." 
 Was it fancy, or did the black eyes flash a gleam 
 of hate — a glitter of rage beneath their long up- 
 curving lashes? And did the swarthy face flush 
 a shade darker beneath its tan? Patty could 
 not be sure, for the next moment he was speaking 
 in a voice under perfect control: "I can well 
 understand your feeling in the matter, Miss 
 Sinclair, and I have nothing of reproach. I do 
 think you are making a mistake. With Vil Hol- 
 land knowing what he does of your father's opera- 
 tions, time may be a vital factor in the success of 
 
Patty Takes Precautions H5 
 
 your undertaking. Let me caution you again 
 against carrying the photograph upon your 
 person." 
 
 "Oh, I keep that safely hidden where no one 
 would ever think of searching for it," smiled the 
 girl, and Bethune noted that her eyes involun- 
 tarily swept the cabin with a glance. 
 
 The man mounted: "I will no longer keep 
 you from your work," he said. "I have ar- 
 ranged to spend the summer in the hills where 
 I shall carry on some prospecting upon my own 
 account. If I can be of any assistance to you — 
 if you should need any advice, or help of any 
 kind, a word will procure it. I shall stop in 
 occasionally to see how you fare. Good-bye." 
 He waved his hand and rode off down the creek 
 where, in a cottonwood thicket he dismounted and 
 watched the girl ride away in the opposite direction, 
 noted that Lord Clendenning swung stealthily, 
 into the trail behind her, and swinging into his 
 saddle rode swiftly toward the cabin. 
 
 In his high notch in the hills, Vil Holland 
 chuckled audibly, and catching up his horse, 
 headed for his camp. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE BISHOP OF ALL OUTDOORS 
 
 The days slipped into weeks, as Patty Sinclair, 
 carefully and methodically traced valleys to 
 their sources, and explored innumerable coulees 
 and ravines that twisted and turned their tortuous 
 lengths into the very heart of the hills. Rock 
 ledges without number she scanned, many with 
 deep cracks and fissures, and many without them. 
 But not once did she find a ledge that could by 
 any stretch of the imagination be regarded as the 
 ledge of the photograph. Disheartened, but not 
 discouraged, the girl would return each evening 
 to her solitary cabin, eat her solitary meal, and 
 throw herself upon her bunk to brood over the 
 apparent hopelessness of her enterprise, or to read 
 from the thumbed and tattered magazines of the 
 dispossessed sheep herder. She rode, now, with 
 a sort of dogged persistence. There was none of 
 the wild thrill that, during the first days of her 
 
 146 
 
The Bishop of All Outdoors 147 
 
 search, she experienced each time she topped a new 
 divide, or entered a new valley. 
 
 Three times since she had informed him she 
 would play a lone hand in the search for her 
 father's strike, Bethune had called at the cabin. 
 And not once had he alluded to the progress of her 
 work. She was thankful to him for that — she had 
 not forgotten the hurt in her father's eyes as the 
 taunting questions of the scoffers struck home. 
 Always she had known of the hurt, but now, with 
 the disheartening days of her own failure heaping 
 themselves upon her, she was beginning to under- 
 stand the reason for the hurt. And, guessing 
 this, Bethune refrained from questioning, but 
 talked gaily of books, and sunsets, and of life, and 
 love, and the joy of living. A supreme optimist, 
 she thought him, despite the half -veiled cynicism 
 that threaded his somewhat fatalistic view of life, 
 a cynicism that but added the necessary sauce 
 piquante to so abandoned an optimism. 
 
 Above all, the man was a gentleman. His 
 speech held nothing of the abrupt bluntness of 
 Vil Holland's. He would appear shortly after her 
 early supper, and was always well upon his way 
 before the late darkness began to obscure the 
 contours of her little valley. An hour's chat 
 
148 The Gold Girl 
 
 upon the doorstep of the cabin and he was gone — 
 riding down the valley, singing as he rode some old 
 chanson of his French forebears, with always a 
 pause at the cottonwood grove for a farewell wave 
 of his hat. And Patty would turn from the door- 
 way, and light her lamp, and proceed to enjoy the 
 small present which he never failed to leave in her 
 hand — a box of bon-bons of a kind she had vainly 
 sought for in the little town — again, a novel, a 
 woman's novel written by a man who thought 
 he knew — and another time, just a handful of 
 wild flowers gathered in the hills. She ate the 
 candy making it last over several days. She 
 read the book from cover to cover as she lay upon 
 her air mattress, tucked snugly between her 
 blankets. And she arranged the wild flowers 
 loosely in a shallow bowl and watered them, and 
 talked to them, and admired their beauty, and when 
 they were wilted she threw them out, but she did 
 not gather more flowers to fill the bowl, instead 
 she wiped it dry and returned it to its shelf in the 
 cupboard — and wondered when Bethune would 
 come again. She admitted to herself that he 
 interested — at least, amused her — helped her to 
 throw off for the moment the spirit of dull depres- 
 sion that had fastened itself upon her like a 
 
The Bishop of All Outdoors 149 
 
 tangible thing, bearing down upon her, threatening 
 to crush her with its weight. 
 
 Always, during these brief visits, her lurking 
 distrust of him vanished in the frank boyishness 
 of his personality. The incidents that had engen- 
 dered the distrust — the substitution of the name 
 Schultz for Schmidt in the matter of the horse 
 pasture, his abrupt warning against Vil Holland, 
 and his attempt to be admitted into her confidence 
 as a matter of right, were for the moment for- 
 gotten in the spell of his presence — but always 
 during her lonely rides in the hills, the half- 
 formed doubt returned. Pondering the doubt, 
 she realized that the principal reason for its 
 continued existence was not so much in the in- 
 cidents that had awakened it, as in the simple 
 question asked by Vil Holland: "You say your 
 (fed told you all about this partnership busi- 
 ness?" And in the "Oh," with which he had 
 greeted the reply that she had it from the lips 
 of Bethune. With the realization, her dislike for 
 Vil Holland increased. She characterized him as 
 a "jug-guzzler," a "swashbuckler," and a "ruf- 
 fian" — and smiled as she recalled the picturesque 
 figure with the cleancut, bronzed face. "Oh, 
 I don't know — I hate these hills! Nobody 
 
150 The Gold Girl 
 
 seems sincere excepting the Wattses, and they're 
 — impossible!" 
 
 She had borrowed Watts's team and made a 
 second trip to town for supplies, and the check 
 that she drew in payment cut her bank account in 
 half. As before she had offered to take Microby 
 Dandeline, but the girl declined to go, giving as 
 an excuse that "pitcher shows wasn't as good as 
 circusts, an* they wasn't no fights, an' she didn't 
 like towns, nohow." 
 
 Upon her return from town Patty stopped at the 
 Thompsons' for dinner where she was accorded 
 a royal welcome by the genial rancher and his 
 wife, and where also, she met the Reverend Len 
 Christie, the most picturesque, and the most un- 
 clerical minister of the gospel she had ever seen. 
 To all appearances the man might have been a 
 cowboy. He affected chaps of yellow hair, a dark 
 blue flannel shirt, against which flamed a scarf of 
 brilliant crimson caught together by means of a 
 vivid green scarab. He wore a roll brimmed 
 Stetson, and carried a six-gun at his belt. A pair 
 of high-heeled boots added a couple of inches to 
 the six feet two that nature had provided him 
 with, and he shook hands as though he enjoyed 
 shaking hands. "I've heard of you, Miss Sin- 
 
The Bishop of All Outdoors 15 1 
 
 clair, back in town and have looked forward to 
 meeting you on my first trip into the hills. How 
 are my friends, the Wattses, these days? And that 
 reprobate, Vil Holland ?" He did not mention 
 that it was Vil Holland who had spoken of her 
 presence in the hills, nor that the cowboy had also 
 specified that she utterly despised the ground he 
 rode on. 
 
 To her surprise Patty noticed that there was 
 affection rather than disapprobation in the word 
 reprobate, and she answered a trifle stiffly : "The 
 Wattses are all well, I think: but, as for Mr. 
 Holland, I really cannot answer." 
 
 The parson appeared not to notice the constraint 
 but turned to Thompson: "By the way, Tom, 
 why isn't Vil riding the roundup this year? Has 
 he made his strike?'' 
 
 Thompson grinned: "Naw, Vil ain't made no 
 strike. Facts is, they's be'n some considerable 
 horse liftin' goin' on lately, an' the stockmen's 
 payin' Vil wages fer to keep his eye peeled. He's 
 out in the hills all the time anyhow with his 
 prospectin', an' they figger the thieves won't pay 
 no 'tention to him, like if a stranger was to begin 
 kihootin' 'round out there." 
 
 "Have they got a line on 'em at all?" 
 
152 The Gold Girl 
 
 "Well," considered Thompson. "Not as I 
 know of — exactly. Monk Bethune an' that there 
 Lord Clendennin' is hangin' 'round the hills — 
 that's about all I know." 
 
 The parson nodded: "I saw Bethune in town 
 the other day. Do you know, Tom, I believe 
 there's a bad Injun." 
 
 "Indian!" cried the girl. "Mr. Bethune is not 
 an Indian!" 
 
 Thompson laughed: "Yup, that is, he's a 
 breed. They say his gran'mother was a Cree 
 squaw — daughter of a chief, or somethin'. Any- 
 ways, this here Monk, he's a pretty slick article, 
 I guess." 
 
 "They're apt to be worse than either the whites 
 or the Indians," Christie explained. "And this 
 Monk Bethune is an educated man, which should 
 make him doubly dangerous. Well, I must be 
 going. I've got to ride clear over onto Big 
 Porcupine. I heard that old man Samuelson's 
 very sick. There's a good man — old Samuelson. 
 Hope he'll pull through." 
 
 "You bet he's a good man ! " assented Thompson, 
 warmly. "He seen Bill Winters through, when 
 they tried to prove the murder of Jack Bronson 
 onto him, an' it cost him a thousan' dollars. The 
 
The Bishop of All Outdoors 153 
 
 districk attorney had it in fer Bill, count of him 
 courtin' his gal." 
 
 "Yes, and I could tell of a dozen things the old 
 man has done for people that nobody but I ever 
 knew about — in some instances even the people 
 themselves didn't know." He turned to Patty: 
 "Good-by, Miss Sinclair. I'm mighty glad to 
 have met you. I knew your father very well. 
 If you see the Wattses, tell them I shall try and 
 swing around that way on my return." The 
 parson mounted a raw-boned, Roman-nosed pinto, 
 whose vivid calico markings, together with the 
 rider's brilliant scarf gave a most unministerial, 
 not to say bizarre effect to the outfit. "So long, 
 Tom," he called. 
 
 "So long, Len! If they's anything we can do, 
 let us know. An' be sure an' stop in comin' back. ' ' 
 Thompson watched the man until he vanished in 
 a cloud of dust far out on the trail. 
 
 "Best doggone preacher ever was born," he 
 vouchsafed. "He can ride, an' shoot, an' rope, 
 an' everything a man ort to. An' if anyone's 
 sick! Well, he's worth all the doctors an' nurses 
 in the State of Montany. He'll make you git well 
 just 'cause he wants you to. An* they ain't 
 nothin' too much trouble — an' they ain't no 
 
154 The Gold Girl 
 
 work too hard for him to tackle. There ain't no 
 piousness stickin' out on him fer folks to hang 
 their hat on, neither. He'll mix with the boys, 
 an' listen to the natural cussin' an' swearin' that 
 goes on wherever cattle's handled, an' enjoy it — 
 but just you let some shorthorn start what you 
 might call vicious or premeditated cussin' — some- 
 thin' special wicked or vile, an' he'll find out 
 there's a parson in the crowd right quick, an' if 
 he don't shut up, chances is, he'll be spittin' out 
 a couple of teeth. There's one parson can fight, 
 an' the boys know it, an* what's more they know 
 he will fight — an' they ain't one of 'em that 
 wouldn't back up his play, neither. An' preach! 
 Why he can tear loose an' make you feel sorry for 
 every mean trick you ever done — not for fear of 
 any punishment after yer dead — but just because 
 it wasn't playin' the game. That's him, every 
 time. An' he ain't always hollerin' about hell — 
 hearin' him preach you wouldn't hardly know 
 they was a hell. 'The Bishop of All Outdoors,' 
 they call him — an' they say he can go back East 
 an' preach to city folks, an' make 'em set up an* 
 take notice, same as out here. He's be'n offered 
 three times what he gets here to go where he'd 
 have it ten times easier — but he laughs at 'em. 
 
The Bishop of All Outdoors 155 
 
 He sure is one preacher that ain't afraid of 
 work!" 
 
 As Watts 's team plodded the hot miles of the in- 
 terminable trail Patty's brain revolved wearily 
 about its problem. ' ' I've made almost a complete 
 circle of the cabin, and I haven't found the rock 
 ledge with the crack in it yet — and as for daddy's 
 old map — I've spent hours trying to figure out 
 what that jumble of letters and numbers mean, 
 I'll just have to start all over again and keep 
 reaching farther and farther into the hills on my 
 rides. Mr. Bethune said I might not recognize 
 the place when I come to it ! " she laughed bitterly. 
 1 ' If he knew how that photograph has burned itself 
 into my brain ! I can close my eyes and see that 
 rock wall with its peculiar crack, and the rock- 
 strewn valley, and the lone tree — recognize it! 
 I would know it in the dark!" 
 
 Her eyes rested upon the various packages of 
 her load of supplies. ' ' One more trip to town, and 
 my prospecting is done, at least, until I can earn 
 some more money. The prices out here are out- 
 rageous. It's the freight, the man told me. Five 
 cents' freight on a penny's worth of food! But 
 what in the world can I do to make money ? What 
 can anybody do to make money in this God- 
 
156 The Gold Girl 
 
 forsaken country? I can't punch cattle, nor herd 
 sheep. I don't see why I had to be a girl!" Re- 
 sentment against her accident of birth cooled, 
 and her mind again took up its burden of thought. 
 M There is one way," she muttered. ''And that 
 is to admit failure and take Mr. Bethune into 
 partnership. He will advance the money and help 
 with the work — and, surely there will be enough 
 for two. And, I'm not so sure but that — " She 
 broke off shortly and felt the hot blood rise in a 
 furious blush, as she glanced guiltily about her — 
 but in all the vast stretch of plain was no human 
 being, and she laughed aloud at the antics of 
 the prairie dogs that scolded and barked saucily 
 and then dove precipitously into their holes as 
 a lean coyote trotted diagonally through their 
 "town." 
 
 What was it they had said at Thompson's about 
 Mr. Bethune? Despite herself she had approved 
 the outlandishly dressed preacher with the smiling 
 blue eyes. He was so big, and so wholesome! 
 "The Bishop of All Outdoors," Thompson had 
 called him. She liked that — and somehow the 
 name seemed to fit. Looking into those eyes no 
 one could doubt his sincerity — his every word, his 
 every motion spoke unbounded enthusiasm for his 
 
The Bishop of All Outdoors 157 
 
 work. What was it he had said ? ' ' Do you know, 
 Tom, I believe there's a bad Injun. " And Thomp- 
 son had referred to Bethune as "a pretty slick 
 article.' ' Surely, Thompson, whole-souled, gener- 
 ous Thompson, would not malign a man. Here 
 were two men whom the girl knew instinctively 
 she could trust, who stood four-square with the 
 world, and whose opinions, must carry weight. 
 And both had spoken with suspicion of Bethune 
 and both had spoken of Vil Holland as one of 
 themselves. "I don't understand it," she mut- 
 tered. " Everybody seems to be against Mr. 
 Bethune, and everybody seems to like Vil Holland, 
 in spite of his jug, and his gun, and his boorishness. 
 Maybe it's because Mr. Bethune's a — a breed," 
 she speculated. "Why, they even hinted that 
 he's a — a horse-thief. It isn't fair to despise him 
 for his Indian blood. Why should he be made 
 to suffer because his grandmother was an Indian — 
 the daughter of a Cree chief ? It sounds interesting 
 and romantic. The people of some of our very 
 best families point with pride to the fact that they 
 are descendants of Pocahontas! Poor fellow, 
 everybody seems down on him — everybody that 
 is, but Ma Watts and Microby. And, as a matter 
 of fact, he appears to better advantage than any 
 
158 The Gold Girl 
 
 of them, not excepting the very militant and un- 
 orthodox 'Bishop of All Outdoors/ " 
 
 The result of the girl's cogitations left her 
 exactly where she started. She was no nearer 
 the solution of her problem of the hills. And her 
 lurking doubt of Bethune still remained despite 
 the excuses she invented to account for his un- 
 popularity, nor had her opinion of Vil Holland 
 been altered in the least. 
 
 Upon arriving at her cabin she was not at all 
 surprised to find that it had been thoroughly 
 searched, albeit with less care than the searcher 
 had been in the habit of bestowing upon the 
 readjustment of the various objects of the room 
 exactly as she had left them. Canned goods and 
 dishes were disarranged upon their shelves, and 
 the loose section of floor board beneath her bunk 
 that had evidently served as the secret cache of 
 the sheep herder, had been fitted clumsily into its 
 place. The evident boldness, or carelessness of 
 this latest outrage angered her as no previous 
 search had done. Heretofore each object had 
 been returned to its place with painstaking 
 accuracy so that it had been only through 
 the use of fine-spun cobwebs and carefully 
 arranged bits of dust that she had been able 
 
The Bishop of All Outdoors 159 
 
 to verify her suspicion that the room had 
 really been searched — and there had been times 
 when even the dust and the cobwebs had been 
 replaced. Whoever had been searching the cabin 
 had proven himself a master of detail, and had 
 at least, paid her the compliment of possessing 
 imagination, and a shrewdness equaling his own. 
 Was it possible that the searcher, emboldened by 
 her repeated failure to spy upon him at his work, 
 had ceased to care whether or not she knew of his 
 visits? The girl recalled the three weary days 
 she had spent watching from the hillside. And 
 how she had decided to buy a lock for her door, 
 until the futility of it had been brought home to 
 her by the discovery that her trunks were being 
 searched along with her other belongings, and 
 their locks left in perfect condition. So far, he 
 might well scorn her puny attempts at discovery. 
 Or, had a new factor entered the game? Had 
 someone of cruder mold undertaken to discover 
 her secret? The thought gave her a decided 
 uneasiness. Tired out by her trip, she did not 
 light the fire, and after disposing of the cold lunch 
 Mrs. Thompson had put up for her, affixed the 
 bar, and went to bed, with her six-gun within 
 reach of her hand. 
 
i6o The Gold Girl 
 
 For a long time she lay in the darkness, thinking. 
 "The way it was before, I haven't been in any 
 physical danger. Mr. Vil Holland knows that if 
 what he is searching for is not here I must carry 
 it on my person. The obvious way to get it 
 would be to take it away from me. Of course 
 the only way he could do that without my seeing 
 him would be to kill me. He hesitates at murder. 
 Either there are depths of moral turpitude into 
 which he will not descend — or, he fears the con- 
 sequences. He has imagination. He assumes 
 that sometime I'll leave that packet at home — 
 either through carelessness, or because I have 
 learned its contents by heart and don't need it. 
 In the meantime, in addition to his patient search- 
 ing of the cabin, he is taking no chances, and while 
 he waits for the inevitable to happen he is follow- 
 ing me so if I do succeed in locating the claim, he 
 can beat me to the register. It's a pretty game — 
 no violence — only patience and brains. But this 
 other," she shuddered, "there is something posi- 
 tively brutal in the crude awkwardness of his work. 
 If he thinks I carry what he wants with me, would 
 he hesitate at murder? I guess I'll have to carry 
 that gun again — and I better practice with it, too. 
 If I can only get rid of this last one, I believe I've 
 
The Bishop of All Outdoors 161 
 
 got a scheme for catching the other!" She sat 
 bolt upright in bed. "Oh, if I only could! If I 
 could only beat him at his own game — and I 
 believe I can!" For several minutes she sat 
 thinking rapidly, and as she lay back upon her 
 pillow, she smiled. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 LORD CLENDENNING GETS A DUCKING 
 
 Patty awoke at dawn and dressed hurriedly. 
 Shivering in the chill air, she lighted a match and 
 pushed back a lid of the little cast iron cook stove. 
 Instead of the "cold fire" of neatly arranged wood 
 and kindlings that she had built before leaving for 
 town a pile of gray ashes and blackened ends of 
 charcoal greeted her. 
 
 "Whoever it was knew he had plenty of time 
 at his disposal so he helped himself to a meal," 
 she muttered angrily. "He might, at least, have 
 cut me some kindlings. I'm surprised that he 
 had the good grace to wash up his dirty dishes." 
 A few moments later, as the fire crackled merrily 
 in the stove, she picked up the water pail and 
 stepping through the door, threw back her head 
 and breathed deeply of the crisp mountain air. 
 "Oh, it's wonderful just to be alive!" she whis- 
 pered. "Even if everybody is against you. It's 
 
 162 
 
Clendenning Gets a Ducking 163 
 
 just like a great big game and, oh, I want to win ! 
 I've got to win ! " she added, grimly, as her thoughts 
 flew to her depleted bank account. 
 
 At the spring she paused in the act of filling her 
 pail and stared at a mark in the mud at the edge 
 of the tiny rill formed by the overflow from the 
 catch basin. She leaned over and examined the 
 mark more closely. It was the track of a bare 
 foot. Then, for the first time in many days, the 
 girl threw back her head and laughed. ' Microby 
 Dandeline!" she cried. "And I was picturing 
 some skulking murderer lying in wait to pounce 
 on me at the first opportunity. And here it was 
 only poor little Microby who happened along, and 
 with her natural curiosity pawed over everything 
 in the cabin, and then decided it would be a grand 
 stunt to cook herself a meal and eat it at my table 
 — and I haven't the least doubt that she arrayed 
 herself in one of my dresses when she did it." 
 Patty hummed a light tune as, water pail in hand, 
 she made her way up the path to the cabin. 
 " Whee ! but it's a relief to feel that I won't have to 
 ride these hills peering behind every tree and rock 
 for a lurking assassin. And I won't have to carry 
 that horrid heavy old gun, either." 
 
 After breakfast she saddled her horse and headed 
 
164 The Gold Girl 
 
 up the ravine that she had followed upon the morn- 
 ing of her first ride. At the top of the divide 
 she pulled up her horse and gazed downward at 
 the little cabin. As before she was impressed by 
 the startling distinctness with which each object 
 was visible. "Anyway, I'm glad my window is 
 not on this side," she muttered, as her eyes 
 strayed to the ground at her horse's feet. For 
 yards around, the buffalo grass had been trampled 
 and pawed until scarcely a spear remained. 
 "Here's where he watches me start out each morn- 
 ing, then he follows me until he's sure I'm well 
 away from the valley, then he slips back and 
 searches the cabin, and then takes up my trail 
 again. The miserable sneak!" she cried, angrily. 
 "If Mr. Thompson, and Watts, and that cow- 
 boy preacher knew what I knew about him, they 
 wouldn't seem so impressed with him. Anyway, " 
 she added, defiantly, "Mr. Bethune and Lord 
 Clendenning know him for what he is — and so do 
 I." 
 
 It was in a very wrathful mood that she turned 
 her horse's head and struck into the timber, being 
 careful to avoid Vil Holland's camp by a wide 
 margin. Crossing the timbered plateau, she 
 topped a low divide and found herself at the head 
 
Clendenning Gets a Ducking 165 
 
 of a deep, rocky valley, whose course she could 
 trace for miles as it wound in and out among the 
 far hills. Giving her horse his head, she began 
 the descent of the valley, scanning its sides care- 
 fully as the animal picked his way slowly among 
 the rock fragments and patches of scrub timber 
 that littered its floor. She had proceeded for 
 perhaps an hour when, in passing the mouth of a 
 ravine that slanted sharply into the hills, she 
 was startled by a rattling of loose stones, and a 
 horse and rider emerged almost directly into her 
 path. The next moment Vil Holland raised the 
 Stetson from his head and addressed her gravely : 
 "Good mornin' Miss Sinclair, I sure didn't mean 
 to come out on you sudden, that way, but Buck 
 slipped on the rocks an' we come mighty near 
 pilin'up." 
 
 "It is about the first slip you've made, isn't it?" 
 Patty answered, acidly. "Possibly if you'd left 
 your jug at home you wouldn't have made that." 
 
 "Oh no. We've slipped before. Fact is, we've 
 been into about every kind of a jack-pot the hills 
 can deal. We rolled half way down a mountain 
 once, an' barrin' a little skinnin' up, we come out 
 of it all to the good. But it ain't the jug. Buck 
 don't drink. It's surprisin' what a good habited 
 
i66 The Gold Girl 
 
 horse he is. He's a heap better'n most folks." 
 The man spoke gravely, with no hint of sarcasm 
 in his tone, and Patty sniffed. He appeared not 
 to notice. "How you comin' on with the pros- 
 pectin'? Found yer dad's claim yet?" 
 
 "You ought to know whether I have or not," 
 she retorted, hotly. 
 
 "That's so. If you had, you wouldn't still be 
 huntin' it, would you?" 
 
 "No. And if I had, I'd have had a nice little 
 race on my hands to file it, wouldn't I?" 
 
 "Well, I expect maybe you would. But that 
 horse of yours is pretty handy on his feet. Used 
 to belong to Bob Smith — that's his brand — that 
 KN on the left shoulder." 
 
 "Yes," answered the girl, meaningly. "I 
 understand there is only one horse in the hills that 
 could outrun him." 
 
 1 'Buck can. I won ten dollars off Bob one time. 
 We run a mile, an' Buck won, easy. But the best 
 thing about Buck, he's a distance horse. He's got 
 the wind — an' he don't know what it means to 
 quit. He could run all day if he had to, couldn't 
 you, Buck?" The man stroked the buckskin's 
 neck affectionately as he talked 
 
 Patty's eyes glinted angrily: "The stakes 
 
Clendenning Gets a Ducking 167 
 
 would have to be pretty high for you to run 
 him, say, fifty miles, wouldn't they?" 
 
 " Yes. Pretty high, " he repeated, and changed 
 the subject abruptly. "Must find it kind of 
 lonesome out here in the hills, after livin' in the 
 East where there's lots of folks around all the 
 time." 
 
 "Oh, not at all," answered the girl, quickly. 
 "Some of my neighbors are good enough to call on 
 me once in a while — when I am at home. And 
 there is at least one that calls very regularly when I 
 am not at home. He is a genius for detail — that 
 one. Sharp eyes, and a light touch. He's some- 
 thing of an expert in the matter of duplicate keys, 
 too. In any large city he should make a grand 
 success — as a burglar. It is really too bad that 
 he's wasting his talents, here in the hills." 
 
 "Maybe he figures that the stakes are higher, 
 and the risk less — here in the hills." 
 
 "Of course," sneered Patty. "And I must 
 say his reasoning does him credit. If he should 
 succeed in burglarizing even the biggest bank in 
 the richest city, he could not expect to carry off 
 a gold mine. And, here in the hills, instead of 
 burglar-proof devices and armed policemen, he 
 has only an unlocked cabin, and a woman to con- 
 
1 68 The Gold Girl 
 
 tend with. Yes, the risk is far less here in the hills. 
 His location speaks well for his reasoning — if not 
 for his courage." 
 
 "I suppose he figures that plenty of brutes 
 have got courage, but only humans can reason," 
 answered the man, blandly. "But, ridin' out in 
 the hills this way — that must be a lonesome job." 
 
 "Not at all," she answered, in a voice that 
 masked the anger against the man who sat calmly 
 baiting her. "In fact, I never ride alone. I have 
 an unseen escort, who accompanies me wherever 
 I go. ■ My guardian devil of the hills ' I call him, 
 and even when I'm at home I know that he is 
 watching from his notch in the rim of the hills." 
 
 1 ' Guardian devil, ' ' the man repeated. ■ ' That's 
 pretty good." He did not smile, in fact, Patty 
 recalled, as she sat looking squarely into his eyes, 
 that she had never seen him smile — had never seen 
 him express any emotion. Without a trace of 
 anger in tone or expression he had ordered the 
 grasping hotel-keeper about — and had been obeyed 
 to the letter. And without the slightest evidence 
 of annoyance or displeasure he had listened, upon 
 several occasions to her own sarcastic outbursts 
 against him. Here was a man as devoid of emotion 
 as a fish, or one whose complete self-mastery was 
 
Clendenning Gets a Ducking 169 
 
 astounding. ' ' Pretty good, ' ' he repeated. ' ' And 
 does he know that you call him your l guardian 
 devil?' " 
 
 "Yes, I think he does — now," she answered, 
 dryly. " By the way, Mr. Holland, you do a good 
 deal of riding about the hills, yourself. " 
 
 "Yeh, prospectors are apt to. Then, there's 
 other little matters of interest here, too." 
 
 "Such as horse- thieving?" suggested the girl. 
 "I heard you were paid to run down a gang of 
 horse-thieves. I was wondering when you found 
 time to earn your money." 
 
 "Yeh, there's some hair artists loose in the hills, 
 an* some of the outfits kind of wanted me to keep 
 an eye out for 'em." 
 
 An old saw flashed into the girl's mind, and the 
 corners of her mouth drew into a sarcastic smile. 
 
 "'Settin' a thief to catch a thief,' is what 
 you're thinkin' . We ain't so well acquainted yet 
 as what we will be — when you get your eye teeth 
 cut." 
 
 "I suppose our real acquaintance will begin 
 when the game we are playing comes to a show- 
 down?" she sneered. "But let me tell you this, 
 if I win, our acquaintance will end, right where 
 you think it will begin!" 
 
i7o The Gold Girl 
 
 The cowboy nodded: "That's fair an' square. 
 An' if I win — you'll have to be satisfied with what 
 you get. Good-day, I've fooled away time enough 
 already." And, with a word to his horse, Vil 
 Holland disappeared up the valley in the direction 
 from which the girl had come. 
 
 When her anger had cooled sufficiently, Patty 
 smiled, a rather grim, tight-lipped little smile. 
 "If he wins I'll have to be satisfied with what I 
 get, " she muttered. "At least, he's candid about 
 it. I think, now, Mr. Vil Holland and I under- 
 stand each other perfectly." 
 
 Late in the afternoon she emerged from the 
 mouth of her valley and, crossing a familiar tongue 
 of bench, found herself upon the trail near the 
 point of its intersection with Monte' s Creek. 
 Turning up' the creek, she stopped for a few 
 minutes' chat with Ma Watts. 
 
 " Law sakes! Climb right down an' set a while. 
 I wus sayin' to Watts las' night how we-all hain't 
 see nawthin* of yo' fer hit's goin* on a couple of 
 weeks 'cept yo' hirein* the team, an' not stoppin* 
 in to speak of, comin' er goin\ How be yo' ? An' 
 I 'spect yo' hain't found yer pa's claim yet. I 
 saved yo* up a dozen of aigs. Hed to mighty near 
 fight off that there Lord Clendennin' he wanted 
 
Clendenning Gets a Ducking 171 
 
 'em so bad. But I done tol' him yo' wus promised 
 'em, an' yo'd git 'em not nary nother. So there 
 they be, honey, all packed in a pail with hay so's 
 they won't break. No sir, I tol' him how he 
 couldn't hev' 'em if he wus two lords. An' all the 
 time we wus a-augerin', Mr. Bethune an' Microby 
 Dandeline sot out yonder a-talkin' an' laughin', 
 friendly as yo' please." Ma Watts paused for 
 breath and her eye fell upon her spouse, who 
 stood meekly beside the kitchen door. "Watts, 
 where's yer manners? Cain't yo' say 'howdy' to 
 Mr. Sinclair's darter — an' her a-payin' yo' good 
 money fer rent an' fer team hire. Yo' ort to be 
 'shamed, standin' gawpin' like a mud turkle. 
 Folks 'ud think yo' hain't got good sense." 
 
 "I aimed to say 'howdy' first chanct I got." 
 He shoved a chair toward the girl. " Set down an ' 
 take hit easy a spell." 
 
 "Where is Microby?" she asked, refusing the 
 proffered seat with a smile, and leaning lightly 
 against her saddle. 
 
 "Land sakes, I don't know! She's git tin' that 
 no 'count, she goes pokin' off somewhere's in the 
 hills on Gee Dot. Says she's a-prospectin' — 
 like they all says when they're too lazy to do 
 reg'lar work." 
 
172 The Gold Girl 
 
 "My father was a prospector," answered the 
 girl, quickly, " and there wasn't a lazy bone in his 
 body. And I'm a prospector, and I'm sure I'm 
 not lazy.' * 
 
 " Law, there I went an' done hit ! " exclaimed Ma 
 Watts, contritely. "I didn't mean no real honest- 
 to-Gawd, reg'lar prospectors like yo' pa wus, an* 
 yo', an' Mr. Bethune. But there's that Vil Hol- 
 land, he's a cowpuncher, when he works, and a 
 prospector when he don't. An' there's Lord 
 Clendennin', he's a prospector all the time, 'cause 
 he don't never work — an' that 's the way hit goes. 
 An' Microby Dandeline's a-gittin' as trirlin' as 
 the rest. Mr. Bethune, he tellin' her how she'd 
 git rich ef she could find a gol' mind, an' how she 
 could buy her some fine clos' like yourn, an' go 
 to the city to live like the folks in the pitchers. 
 Mr. Bethune, he's done found minds. He's rich. 
 An' he's got manners, too. Watts, he's alius 
 makin' light of manners — says they don't 'mount 
 to nawthin'. But thet's 'cause he hain't quality. 
 Quality's got 'em, an' they're nice to hev." 
 
 "Gre't sight o' quality — him," growled Watts. 
 "He's part Injun." 
 
 "Hit don't make no difl'ence what he's part!" 
 defended the woman. "He's rich, an' he's purty 
 
Clendenning Gets a Ducking 173 
 
 lookin', an' he's got manners like I done tol' yo\ 
 Ef I wus you I'd marry up with him, an " 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Watts! What do you mean?" 
 exclaimed the girl flushing with annoyance. 
 
 "Jest what I be'n aimin' to tell yo' fer hit's 
 goin' on quite a spell. Yo'n him 'ud step hit off 
 right pert. Yo' pretty, an' yo' rich, er yo' will 
 be when yo' find yo' pa's mind, an' yo' manners 
 is most as good as his'n." 
 
 The humor of the mountain woman's serious 
 effort at match-making struck Patty, and she 
 interrupted with a laugh: "There are several 
 objections to that arrangement, " she hastened to 
 say. "In the first place Mr. Bethune has never 
 asked me to marry him. He may have serious 
 objections, and as for me, I'm not ready to even 
 think of marrying." 
 
 "Don't take long to git ready, onct yo' git in 
 the notion. An' I bet Mr. Bethune hain't a- 
 buzzin' 'round up an' down this yere crick fer 
 nawthin'. Law sakes, child, when I tuk a notion 
 to take Watts, come a supper time I wusn't no 
 more a mind to git married than yo' be, an', by 
 cracky ! come moonrise me an' Watts had forked 
 one o' pa's mewels with nothin' on but a rope 
 halter, an' wus headin' down the branch with pa 
 
174 The Gold Girl 
 
 an' my brother Lafe a-cuttin' through the lau'ls 
 with their rifle-guns fer to head us off." 
 
 "Yo' didn't take me fer looks ner manners, 
 neither, " reminded Watts. 
 
 "Law, I'd a be'n single yet, ef I hed. No sir, 
 I tuk yo' to save a sight o* killin' that's what I 
 done. Yo' see, Miss, my pa wus sot on me not 
 marryin' no Watts — not that I aimed to, 'til he 
 says I dasn't. But Watts hed be'n a pesterin' 
 'round right smart, nights, an' pa lowed he'd 
 shore kill him daid ef he didn't mind his own busi- 
 ness — so'd my brothers, they wus five of 'em, an' 
 nary one that wusn't mighty handy with his 
 rifle-gun. 
 
 "So Watts, he quit a-comin' to the cabin, but 
 me an' him made hit up thet he'd hide out on 
 t'other side o' the branch an' holler like a owl, an' 
 then I'd slip out the back do' — an' that's the 
 way we done our co'tin'. My folks didn't hev 
 no truck with the Wattses thet lived on t'other side 
 the mountain, 'count of them killin' two Strunkses 
 a way back, the Strunkses bein' my pa's ma's 
 folks, over a hawg. Even then I didn't hev no 
 notion o' marryin' Watts, jest done hit to be 
 a-doin' like, ontil pa an' the boys ketched on to 
 whut we wus up to. After thet, hit got so't 
 
Clendenning Gets a Ducking 175 
 
 every time they heerd a squinch owl holler, they'd 
 begin a-shootin' into the bresh with their rifle 
 guns. Watts lowed they was comin' doggone 
 clust to him a time er two, an' how he aimed to 
 bring along his own gun some night, an* start a 
 shoo tin' back. 
 
 "Law knows wher it would ended, whut one 
 with another, the Biggses an' the Strunkses, an' 
 the Rawlins, an' the Craborchards would hev be'n 
 drug into hit, along of the Wattses an' the Scrog- 
 ginses. So I tuk Watts, an' we went to live with 
 his folks, an' we sent back the mewel with Job 
 Swenky, who they wouldn't nobody kill 'cause he 
 wus a daftie. An' pa brung back the mewel 
 hisself , come alone, an' 'thouten his rifle-gun. He 
 says seein' how Watts hed got me fair an' squr, 
 an' we wus reg'lar married, he reckoned the ol' 
 grudge wus dead, the Strunkses wasn't no count 
 much, nohow, an' we wus welcome to keep the 
 mewel to start on. So Watts's pa killed a shoat, 
 an' brung out a big jug o' corn whisky, an* we- 
 all et an' drunk all we could hold, an' from then 
 on 'til whut time we come away from ther, they 
 wusn't a man, outside a couple o' revenoos, killed 
 on B'ar Track. 
 
 "So yo' see," the woman continued, with a 
 
176 The Gold Girl 
 
 smile. ' 'Hit don't take no time to git ready, onct 
 yo' git in the notion." 
 
 "I'm afraid I haven't the same provocation, " 
 Patty laughed, as she picked up her pail of eggs 
 and swung into the saddle. "Good-by, and be 
 sure and tell Microby Dandeline to come up and 
 see me. Maybe she'd like to come up on Sunday. 
 I never ride on Sunday." 
 
 "She'll come fast enough, " promised Ma Watts, 
 and watched the retreating girl until a bend of the 
 creek carried her out of sight. 
 
 The long shadows of the mountains were slowly 
 climbing the opposite wall of the valley, as the 
 girl rode leisurely up Monte's Creek. And as she 
 rode, she smiled: "Why is it that every married 
 woman — and especially the older ones, thinks it is 
 her bounden duty to pounce upon and marry off 
 every single one? It is not one bit different out 
 here in the heart of the hills, than it is in Middle- 
 ton, 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 deter- 
 minded that I must marry that Archie Smith- 
 Jones ; she's been married four times, and divorced 
 three. And Archie never will amount to a row of 
 pins. He looks like a tailor's model, and acts like 
 
Clendenning Gets a Ducking 177 
 
 a Rolls-Royce. And, I don't see any supreme 
 bliss about Mrs. Watts' s married existence, al- 
 though she's perfectly satisfied, I guess, poor 
 thing. I love the subtle finesse with which she 
 tried to arrange a match between me and Mr. 
 Bethune. ' 'Ef I wus yo' I'd marry up with him ' — 
 just like that! Shades of Mrs. Stratford who 
 spent two whole months trying to get Archie and 
 me into the same canoe! And when she did, the 
 blamed thing tipped over and ruined the only 
 decent summer things I had, all because that fool 
 Archie thought he had to stand up to fend the 
 canoe off the pier. . . . At, least, Mr. Bethune 
 has got some sense, and he is good looking, and he 
 seems to have money, and there is a certain dash 
 and verve about him that one would hardly expect 
 to find here in the hills — and yet — there's some- 
 thing — it isn't his Indian blood, I don't care a cent 
 about that — but sometimes, there's something 
 about him that makes me wonder if he's genuine." 
 She passed through the cottonwood grove and 
 emerged into the open only a few hundred yards 
 below the sheep camp. A moment later she 
 halted abruptly and stared toward the cabin. 
 Two saddled horses stood before the door, reins 
 hanging loosely, and upon the edge of a low cut- 
 
i78 The Gold Girl 
 
 bank, just below the shallow waters of the ford, 
 two men were struggling, locked in each other's 
 embrace. Hastily the girl drew back into the 
 cover of the grove and watched with intense 
 interest the two forms that weaved precariously 
 above the deep pool formed by a sudden bend in 
 the creek. The horses she recognized as Vil 
 Holland's buckskin, and the big, blaze-faced bay 
 ridden by Lord Clendenning. In the gathering 
 dusk she could not make out the faces of the two 
 men, but by their heaving, circling, swaying figures 
 she knew that mighty muscles were being strained 
 to their utmost, and that soon one or the other 
 must give in. A dozen questions flashed through 
 the girl's brain. What were they doing there? 
 Why were they fighting at the very door of her 
 cabin? And, above all, what would be the out- 
 come ? Would one of them kill the other ? Would 
 one of them be left maimed and bleeding for her 
 to bind up and coax back to life? 
 
 The men were on the very verge of the cut- 
 bank, now, and it seemed inevitable that both 
 must go crashing into the creek. "Serve 'em 
 right if they would," muttered Patty, "I'd like 
 to give 'em a push." With the words on her lips, 
 she saw a blur of motion, one of the forms leaped 
 
Clendenning Gets a Ducking 179 
 
 lightly back, and the other poised for a second, 
 arms waving wildly in a vain effort to regain his 
 balance, then fell suddenly backward and toppled 
 headlong into the creek. Patty could distinctly 
 hear the mighty splash with which he struck the 
 water, as the other advanced to the edge and 
 peered downward. She knew that this other was 
 Vil Holland, and a moment later he turned away 
 and catching up the reins of the buckskin, swung 
 into the saddle, splashed through the ford, and 
 disappeared into the scrub timber of the opposite 
 side of the valley. 
 
 Patty urged her horse forward, at the imminent 
 risk of injury to her pail of eggs. When she had 
 almost reached the cabin, a grotesque, dripping 
 form crawled heavily from the creek bed, gave one 
 hurried glance in her direction, mounted his horse, 
 and disappeared in a thunder of galloping hoofs. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 BETHUNE TRIES AGAIN 
 
 For several days following the incident of the 
 two struggling horsemen, Patty rode, extending 
 her quest farther and farther into the hills, and 
 thus widening the circle of her exploration. She 
 had overhauled her father's photographic outfit 
 and found it contained complete supplies for the 
 development and printing of his own pictures, 
 and having brought several rolls of films from town, 
 she proceeded to amuse herself by photographing 
 the more striking bits of scenery she encountered 
 upon her daily rides. 
 
 It was mid-summer, now, the sun shone hot and 
 brassy from a cloudless sky, and the buffalo grass 
 was beginning to exchange its fresh greenness for a 
 shade of dirty tan. Only the delicious coolness 
 of the short nights made bearable the long, hot, 
 monotonous days during which the girl stuck 
 doggedly to her purpose. Upon these rides she 
 
 180 
 
Bethune Tries Again 181 
 
 met no one. It was as if human beings had en- 
 tirely forsaken the world and left it to the prairie 
 dogs, the coyotes, and the lazily coiled rattle- 
 snakes that lay basking upon the rocks in the hot 
 glare of the sun. Even the occasional bunches of 
 range cattle did not eye her with their accustomed 
 interest, but lay in straggling groups close beside 
 the cold waters of tiny streams. 
 
 And it was upon one of these hot days, long past 
 the noon hour, that Patty dismounted in a narrow 
 valley near the head of a cold mountain stream 
 and, affixing the hobbles to her horse's legs, threw 
 off the saddle and bridle, and spread the sweat- 
 dampened blanket to dry in the sun. Freed of 
 his accouterments, the horse shook himself, shuffled 
 to the stream, and burying his muzzle to the eyes, 
 sucked up great gulps of the cold water, and play- 
 fully thrashing his head, sent volleys of silver drops 
 flying from side to side, as he churned the tiny 
 pool into a veritable mud wallow. Tiring of that, 
 he rolled luxuriously, the crisping buffalo grass 
 scratching the irking saddle-feel from his back and 
 sides: and as the girl spread her luncheon upon a 
 clean white napkin in the shade of a stunted cotton- 
 wood, fell to grazing contentedly. 
 
 As Patty chipped at the shell of a hard-boiled 
 
i82 The Gold Girl 
 
 egg she glanced toward the horse, which had 
 stopped grazing and stood facing down stream 
 with ears nervously alert. A few moments later 
 the soft rattle of bit-chains and the low shuffling 
 of hoofs told her that a rider was approaching at a 
 walk. "Probably my guardian devil, ostensibly 
 paying strict attention to his own business of 
 prospecting, or trying to strike the trail of the horse- 
 thieves, but in reality hot on the trail of little me. 
 I just wish I could find the mine. He'll have to 
 stop and drive his stakes and fix his notice, and if 
 his old buckskin is as good as he thinks he is, hell 
 just about overtake me at Thompson's. And then 
 on a fresh horse — I just want one good look into his 
 face when I pass him, that's all!" 
 
 The horseman came suddenly into view a few 
 yards distant, and the girl looked up into the black 
 eyes of Monk Bethune. 
 
 1 ' Well, well, my dear Miss Sinclair ! ' ' The quar- 
 ter-breed's tone was one of glad surprise, as he dis- 
 mounted and advanced, hat in hand. "This is 
 indeed an unexpected pleasure. La, la, la, the 
 luck of it! Shall we say, the romance? Hot and 
 saddle-weary from a long ride, to come suddenly 
 upon the fairest of ladies, at luncheon alone in the 
 most charming of little valleys. It is a situation 
 
Bethune Tries Again 183 
 
 to be dreamed of. And, am I not to be asked to 
 share your repast?" 
 
 Patty laughed. The light whimsicality of the 
 man's mood amused her: "Yes, you may consider 
 yourself invited." 
 
 "And be assured that I accept, that is, upon 
 condition that I be allowed to contribute my just 
 share toward the feast." As he talked, Bethune 
 fumbled at his pack-strings, and brought forth a 
 small canvas bag, from which he drew sandwiches 
 of fried trout and bacon thrust between two slabs 
 of doubtful looking baking-powder bread. "No 
 dainty lunch prepared by woman's hand," he 
 apologized, "but we of the hills, no matter how 
 exotic or aesthetic our tastes may be, must of stern 
 necessity descend to the common level of cowboys 
 and offscourings in the matter of our eating. See, 
 beside your own palatable food, this rough fare of 
 mine presents an appearance unappetizing almost 
 to repugnance." 
 
 "At least, it looks eminently satisfying," said 
 Patty, eyeing the thick sandwiches. 
 
 "Satisfying, I grant you. Satisfying to the 
 beast that is in man, in that it stays the pangs of 
 hunger. So is the blood-dripping carcass of the 
 fresh-killed calf satisfying to the wolf, and carrion 
 
i84 The Gold Girl 
 
 satisfying to the buzzard. But, not at all satisfy- 
 ing to the unbestial ego — to the thing that makes 
 man, man." 
 
 "You should have been a poet," smiled the girl. 
 "But come, even poets must eat." 
 
 1 ' God help the man who has no poetry in his soul 
 — no imagination!" exclaimed Bethune, a trifle 
 sententiously, thought the girl, as she resumed the 
 chipping of her egg. "Imagination," the word 
 hovered illusively in her brain — she had applied 
 that word only recently to someone — oh, yes, the 
 man whose habit it was to search her cabin. She 
 smiled ever so slightly as she glanced side wise at 
 Bethune who was nibbling at one of his own sand- 
 wiches. 
 
 "Please try one of mine," she urged, "and there 
 are some pickles, and an olive or two. I have 
 loads of them at home, and really I believe I 
 should like that other sandwich of yours. I 
 haven't tasted fish for ages." 
 
 1 ' Take it and welcome, " smiled the man. ' ' But 
 do not deny yourself the pleasure of eating all the 
 fish you want. Why, with a bent pin, a bit of 
 thread, and housefly, you can catch yourself a 
 mess of trout any morning without venturing a 
 hundred yards from your own door. Monte's 
 
Bethune Tries Again 185 
 
 Creek is alive with them, and taken fresh from the 
 water and fried to a crisp in butter, they make a 
 breakfast fit for a king, or in the present instance, 
 I should have said, a queen." 
 
 "Tell me," asked Patty, abruptly. "Has Vil 
 Holland imagination?" 
 
 "Imagination! My dear lady, Vil Holland is 
 the veriest clod ! Too lazy to do the honest work 
 for which he is fitted, he roams the hills under pre- 
 tense of prospecting." 
 
 "But, how does he make a living?" 
 
 B ethune shrugged. * ' Who can tell ? I know for 
 a certainty that he has never made a cent out of 
 his alleged prospecting. It is true he rides the 
 round-up for a couple of months in the spring and 
 fall, but four months' work at forty dollars a month 
 will hardly suffice for a man's yearly needs." He 
 unconsciously lowered his voice, and continued: 
 "Several ranchers have complained of losing horses 
 and only a few days ago, up near the line, my good 
 friend Corporal Downey, of the Mounted, told me 
 that a number of American horses, with brands 
 skillfully doctored, had been regularly making 
 their appearance in Canada. It is an ugly sus- 
 picion, and I am making no open accusation, but — 
 one may wonder." 
 
i86 The Gold Girl 
 
 The man finished his sandwich, dipped his 
 fingers into the creek, wiped them upon his 
 handkerchief, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. 
 4 ' Speaking of Vil Holland, why did you ask whether 
 he had — imagination?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," replied the girl, lightly. 
 M I just wondered." 
 
 Bethune regarded her steadily. ' ' Has he been, 
 — er, interfering in any way with your attempt to 
 locate your father's strike?" 
 
 "Hardly interfering, I should say." 
 
 "You believe he still follows you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' ' You do not fear him ? ' ' 
 
 "No." 
 
 1 ' That is because you do not know him ! I tell 
 you he is a dangerous man!" Bethune puffed 
 shortly at his cigarette, hurled it from him, and 
 faced the girl with glowing eyes: "Ah, Miss Sin- 
 clair, why don't you end this uncertainty? Why 
 do you continue every day to jeopardize your in- 
 terests — yes, your very life ?" 
 
 "Do you mean," interrupted the girl, "why 
 don't I form a partnership with you?" 
 
 "A partnership! Ah, no, not a — and, yet — yes, 
 a partnership. A partnership of life, and love, and 
 
Bethune Tries Again 187 
 
 happiness!" The man moved close, and the 
 black eyes seemed, in the intensity of their gaze 
 to devour her very soul. "There I have said it — 
 the thing I have been wanting to say, yet have 
 feared to say." Patty's lips moved, as if to speak, 
 but the man forestalled the words with a gesture. 
 "Before you answer, let me tell you how, since you 
 first came into the hills, I have lived in the shadow 
 of a mighty fear — I, who have lived my life among 
 men, and have never known the meaning of fear, 
 have been harassed by a multitude of fears. From 
 the moment of our first meeting I have loved you. 
 And, by all the saints, I swear you are the only 
 woman I have ever loved ! And, yet, I feared to 
 tell you of that love. Twice the words have 
 trembled on my tongue, and remained unspoken, 
 because I feared that you might spurn me. Then 
 in my heart rose another fear, and I cursed myself 
 for a craven. I feared that chance might favor you 
 in locating your father's strike, and then people 
 would say, 'he loves her for her wealth.' I even 
 thought that you, yourself, might doubt — might 
 ask yourself why he waited until I became rich 
 before he told me of his love? But, believe me, 
 my dear lady, for your wealth, I care not the snap 
 of my ringers — so ! " He snapped his fingers loudly 
 
i88 The Gold Girl 
 
 and continued: "But say the word, and we will 
 go far from the hill country, and leave your 
 father's secret to the guardianship of his beloved 
 mountains. For I am rich. I own mines, mines, 
 mines ! What is one mine more or less to me?" 
 
 Patty Sinclair felt herself drifting under the spell 
 of his compelling ardor. "Why not?" she asked 
 herself. "Why not marry this man and give up 
 the hopeless struggle?" She thought of her de- 
 pleted bank account. At best, she could not hope 
 to hold out much longer. Bethune had taken her 
 hand as he talked, and she had not withdrawn it 
 from his palm. Swiftly he bent his head and 
 pressed the brown hand passionately to his lips. 
 She felt his grip tighten as the burning kisses cov- 
 ered her hand — her wrist. She drew the hand 
 away. 
 
 "But, I do not want to leave the hill country," 
 she said, quite calmly. "I shall never leave it 
 until I have vindicated my father's course in the 
 eyes of the people back home — the men who 
 scoffed at him, and called him a ne'er-do-well, and 
 a dreamer — who refused to back his judgment with 
 their miserable dollars — who killed him with their 
 cruelty, and their doubt!" 
 
 "I hoped you would say that!" exclaimed Be- 
 
Bethune Tries Again 189 
 
 thune, his eyes alight with approval. ' ' I knew you 
 would say it ! The daughter of your father could 
 not do otherwise. I knew him well, and loved 
 him as a son should love. And I, too, would see his 
 judgment vindicated in the eyes of all the world. 
 Listen, together we will remain, and together we 
 will locate the lost strike, if it takes every cent I 
 own." The man's voice gripped in its intensity, 
 and Patty's eyes returned from the distance where 
 the summer haze bathed far mountain tops in soft 
 purple, and looked into the eyes of velvet black. 
 
 "But, why should you want to marry me?" she 
 inquired, a puzzled little frown wrinkling her 
 forehead. "You hardly know me. You have not 
 always lived in the hills. You have met many 
 women." 
 
 "A man meets many women. He marries but 
 one. You ask me why I want to marry you. I 
 cannot tell you why. Many times since we first 
 met I have asked myself why. I, who have openly 
 scoffed at the yoke, and boasted proudly of my 
 freedom. I do not know why, unless it is that to 
 me you are the embodiment of all womanhood — 
 of all that is desirable and worth while, or maybe 
 the reason is in the fact that while I am with you 
 I am supremely happy, and while I am absent 
 
190 The Gold Girl 
 
 from you I am restless and unhappy — a prey to my 
 fears. I suppose it all sums up in the reason — 
 world-old, but ever new — because I love you." 
 The man was upon his feet, now, bending toward 
 her with arms outstretched. For just an instant 
 Patty hesitated, then shook her head. 
 
 "No!" she cried and struggling to her feet, 
 faced him across the remains of the luncheon. 
 "No, it would not be playing the game. I have 
 my work to do, and I'll do it alone. It would be 
 like quitting — like calling for help before I am 
 beaten. This is my work — not yours, this vindica- 
 tion of my father!" 
 
 "But think," interrupted Bethune, "you will 
 not let such Quixotic ideals stand between us and 
 happiness ! You have your right to happiness, and 
 so have I, and in the end 'twill be the same, your 
 father's name will be cleared of any suspicion of 
 unworthiness." 
 
 "It is my work," Patty repeated, stubbornly, 
 "and besides, I do not think I love you. I do not 
 know " 
 
 "Ah, but you will love me!" cried Bethune. 
 "Such love as mine will not be denied!" The 
 black eyes glowed, and he took a step toward her, 
 but the girl drew away. 
 
Bethune Tries Again 191 
 
 c ' Not now — not yet ! Stop ! " At the command 
 Bethune recoiled slightly, and the arms that had 
 been about to encircle the girl, fell slowly to his 
 sides. Patty had suddenly drawn herself erect and 
 looked him eye for eye: and as she looked, from 
 behind the soft glow of the velvet eyes, leaped a 
 wolfish gleam — a glint of baffled rage, a flash of 
 hate. In a moment it was gone and the man's lips 
 smiled. 
 
 " Pardon," he said, "for the moment I forgot I 
 have not the right." The voice had lost its intense 
 timbre, and sounded dull, as if held under control 
 only by a mighty effort of will. And in that mo- 
 ment a strange fear of him took possession of the 
 girl, so that her own voice surprised her with its 
 calm. 
 
 "I must be going, now." 
 
 Bethune bowed. "I will saddle your horse, 
 while you clear up the table." He nodded toward 
 the napkin spread upon the grass with the remains 
 of the luncheon upon it. ' ' My way takes me with- 
 in a short distance of your cabin; may I ride with 
 you? " he asked a few moments later, as he led her 
 horse, bridled and saddled, to his own. 
 
 "Why certainly. I should be glad to have you. 
 And we can talk." 
 
192 The Gold Girl 
 
 "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. 
 
 1 ' From Vil Holland. ' ' They had mounted, and 
 turned their horses toward a long divide. 
 
 "Oh, yes, from Vil Holland," she repeated slow- 
 ly, as she drew in beside him. ' ' I had almost for- 
 gotten Vil Holland." 
 
 "I wish to God I could forget him," retorted the 
 man, viciously. "But, as long as you remain un- 
 protected in these hills I shall never for one mo- 
 ment forget him. Your secret is not safe. Your 
 person is not safe. He dogs your footsteps. He 
 visits your cabin during your absence. He is bad 
 — bod! And here I must tell you of an incident — 
 or rather explain an incident, the unfortunate con- 
 clusion of which you saw with your own eyes. 
 Poor Clen! He is beside himself with mortifica- 
 tion at the sorry spectacle he presented when you 
 rode up and saw him crawl dripping from the 
 creek. 
 
 "I was away to the northward, on important 
 business, and knowing that it had become my cus- 
 
Bethune Tries Again 193 
 
 torn to ride over occasionally to see how you fared, 
 he decided to do the same during my absence. 
 Arriving at the cabin, he was surprised to see Vil 
 Holland's horse before the door. He rode boldly 
 up, dismounted, and caught the scoundrel in the 
 act of searching among your effects. The sight, 
 together with the memory of the cut pack sack, 
 enraged him to such an extent that, despite the fact 
 that the other was armed, he attacked him with 
 his fists. In the fighting that ensued, Holland, 
 being much the younger and more agile, succeeded 
 in pitching Clen over the edge of the bank into the 
 creek. Whereupon, he leaped into the saddle and 
 vanished. 
 
 "When Clen finally succeeded in reaching the 
 bank and drawing himself over the top, he was 
 horrified to see you approaching. Above all things 
 Clen is a gentleman, and rather than appear before 
 you in his bedraggled condition, he fled. Upon 
 my return he insisted that I see you and explain the 
 awkward situation to you in person. I beg of you 
 never to refer to the incident in Clen's presence, 
 especially not in levity, for he has, more strongly 
 than anyone I ever knew, the Englishman's horror 
 of appearing ridiculous." 
 
 Patty smiled: "It was too funny for words. 
 
194 The Gold Girl 
 
 The way he gave one horrified glance in my direc- 
 tion and then scrambled into his saddle and dashed 
 away, with the water flowing from him in rivulets. 
 But of course, I shall never mention it to Lord 
 Clendenning, and I wish you would thank him for 
 his valiant championship of my cause." 
 
 Bethune shot her a swift sidewise glance. Was 
 there just a trace of mockery in the tone? If so, 
 her expression masked it perfectly. 
 
 They rode in silence for a time, following down 
 the course of a broad valley, and presently came 
 out onto the trail. A rider approached them at a 
 walk, the low-hung white dust cloud in his wake 
 marking the course of the long, hot trail. Bethune 
 scrutinized the man intently. "Jack Pierce," he 
 announced. "He runs a little yak outfit, a few 
 head of horses, and some cattle over on Big Por- 
 cupine." A moment later Bethune drew up and 
 greeted the rider with a great show of cordiality. 
 "Hello, Pierce, old hand! How's everything over 
 on Porcupine?" 
 
 The rancher returned the greeting with a curt 
 nod, and a level stare: "Things on Porky 's all 
 right, I guess — so far." 
 
 "I hear old man Samuelson's sick?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
Bethune Tries Again 195 
 
 "How's he getting on?" 
 
 "Ain't heard. So long." He touched his horse 
 with a quirt and the animal continued down the 
 trail at a brisk trot. 
 
 "Surly devil, " growled Bethune, as he gazed for 
 a moment at the retreating horseman, and this 
 time Patty was sure she detected the snake-like 
 gleam in the black eyes. He dug his horse vicious- 
 ly with his spurs and jerked him in, dancing and 
 fighting the bit. He laughed, shortly. "These 
 little ranchers — bah!" 
 
 "Mr. Christie rode over to see Mr. Samuelson 
 the other day. I met him at Thompson's." 
 
 "Oh, so you know the soul-puncher, do you? 
 Makes a big play with his yellow chaps and six-gun- 
 Suppose he had to be there to see that old Samuel- 
 son gets a ring-side seat if he happens to cash in." 
 
 "He said he was going over to see if there was 
 anything he could do," answered the girl, ignoring 
 the venom of the man's words. 
 
 "Pretty slick graft — preaching. Educated for 
 it myself. Old Samuelson 's rich. Christie goes 
 over and pulls a long face, and sends up a hatful of 
 prayers, and if he gets well Samuelson will hand 
 him a nice fat check for the church. If he don't, 
 the old woman kicks in. And you know, and I 
 
196 The Gold Girl 
 
 know how much of it the church ever sees. Did 
 the soul-puncher have anything to say about me?" 
 
 "About you?" asked the girl in apparent sur- 
 prise. ' ' Why should he say anything about you ? ' ' 
 
 "Because they all take a crack at me!" said Be- 
 thune in an injured tone. "You just saw how 
 Pierce answered a civil question. They all hate 
 me because I have made money. They never made 
 any, and they never will, and they're jealous of my 
 success. They never lose a chance to malign and 
 injure me in every way possible — but 111 show 
 them ! Damn them ! 1 11 show them all ! " They 
 rode for a short distance in silence, then Bethune 
 laughed. It was the ringing boyish laugh that 
 held no hint of bitterness or sneer. "I hope you 
 will pardon my outburst. I have my moments of 
 irascibility, for which I am heartily ashamed. 
 But — poof! Like a summer cloud, they are gone 
 as quickly as they come. Why should I care what 
 they say of me. They betray their own mean- 
 ness of soul in their envy of my success. We part 
 here for the time. I must ride over onto the east 
 slope — a little matter of some horses." Again he 
 laughed: "In a few days I shall return — I give 
 you fair warning — return to win your love. And 
 I will win — I am Monk Bethune — I always win!" 
 
Bethune Tries Again 197 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, the man drove his 
 spurs into his horse's sides and, swerving abruptly 
 from the trail, disappeared down a narrow rock 
 chasm that led directly into the heart of the hills. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PATTY DRAWS A MAP 
 
 That evening after supper, Patty sat upon her 
 doorstep and watched the slowly fading opalescent 
 glow in which the daylight surrendered to en- 
 croaching darkness. ' ' How wonderful it all is, and 
 how beautiful ! ' ' she breathed. ' ' The indomitable 
 ruggedness of the hills — rough and forbidding, but 
 never ugly. Always beckoning, always challeng- 
 ing, yet always repulsing. Guarding their secrets 
 well. Their rock walls and mighty precipices 
 frowning displeasure at the presumptuous med- 
 dling of the intruder, and their valleys gaping in 
 sardonic grins at the puny attempts to wrest their 
 secret from them. Always, the mountains mock, 
 even as they stimulate to greater effort with their 
 wonderful air, and soothe bitter disappointment 
 with the soft caress of twilight's afterglow. I love 
 it — and yet, how I hate it all! I can't hold out 
 much longer. I'm like a general who has to with- 
 
 198 
 
Patty Draws a Map 199 
 
 draw his forces, not because he is beaten, but be- 
 cause he has run short of ammunition. It is Au- 
 gust, and by the end of September I'll be done." 
 She clenched her fists until the nails dug into her 
 palms. "But I'll come back," she cried, defiant- 
 ly. "Ill work — I'll find some way to earn some 
 money, and I'll come back year after year, if I 
 have to, until I have explored every single one of 
 these mountains from the littlest foothill to the top 
 of the highest peak. And some day, I'll win ! " 
 
 "Mr. Bethune is rich." She started. The 
 thought flashed upon her brain, vivid as whispered 
 words. Involuntarily, she shuddered at the mem- 
 ory of his burning eyes, the hot touch of his lips 
 upon her hand — her arm. She remembered the 
 short, curt answers of the hard-eyed Pierce. And 
 the thinly veiled distrust of Bethune, voiced by Vil 
 Holland, Thompson, and the preacher whom he 
 had affectionately referred to as "The Bishop of All 
 Outdoors." Could it be possible — was it reason- 
 able, that these were all so mean and contemptible 
 of soul that their words were actuated by jealousy 
 of Bethune's success ? Patty thought not. Some- 
 how, the characters did not fit the role. ' ' If he'd 
 have explained their dislike upon the grounds of 
 his Indian blood, it might have carried the ring of 
 
200 The Gold Girl 
 
 truth — at least, it would have been reasonable. 
 But, jealousy — as Mr. Vil Holland would say, 'I 
 don't grab it.'" 
 
 She recalled the wolfish gleam that flashed into 
 Bethune's eyes, and the malicious hatred expressed 
 in his insinuations and accusations against these 
 men. Could it be possible that her distrust of Vil 
 Holland was unfounded? But no, there was the 
 repeated searching of her cabin — and had not Lord 
 Clendenning caught him in the act? There was 
 the trampled grass of the notch in the hills from 
 which he was accustomed to spy upon her. And 
 the cut pack sack — somehow, she was not so sure 
 about that cut pack sack. But, anyway — there is 
 the jug! "I don't trust him!" she exclaimed, 
 "and I don't trust Monk Bethune, now. I'm glad 
 I found him out before it was — too late. He's bad 
 — I could see the evil glitter in his eyes. And, how 
 do I know that he told the truth about Lord Clen- 
 denning and Vil Holland ? ' ' Darkness settled upon 
 the valley and Patty sought her bunk where, for 
 a restless hour, she tossed about thinking. 
 
 The following morning the girl paused, coffee pot 
 in hand, in the act of preparing breakfast, and lis- 
 tened. Distinct and clear above the sound of 
 sizzling bacon, floated the words of an old ballad: 
 
Patty Draws a Map 201 
 
 Oh, ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road, 
 An' I'll be in Sco'lan' afore ye; 
 
 But, oh, my true love I'll never meet again, 
 On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomon*. 
 
 Hastening to the open door she peered down the 
 valley. The song ceased, and presently from the 
 cottonwood thicket emerged a horse and rider. 
 The rider wore a roll-brimmed hat and brilliant 
 yellow chaps, and he was mounted upon a fan- 
 tastically spotted pinto. ' ' It's — 'The Bishop of All 
 Outdoors'," she smiled, as she returned to the stove. 
 "He certainly has a voice. I don't blame Mr. 
 Thompson for being crazy about him. Anybody 
 that can sing like that ! And he loves it, too." 
 
 A hearty "Good morning" brought her once 
 more to the door. 
 
 "Just in time for breakfast," she smiled up into 
 the eyes of the man on the pinto. 
 
 ' ' Breakfast ! Bless you, I didn't stop for break- 
 fast. I figured on breakfasting with my friend, 
 The Villain, over across the ridge." 
 
 "The Villain?" 
 
 "Vil Holland," laughed the man. "His name, 
 I believe is, Villiers. I shortened it to Villain, 
 and the natives hereabouts have bobbed it down 
 
202 The Gold Girl 
 
 to Vil. But he'll have to breakfast alone this 
 morning, as usual. I've changed my mind. You 
 see, I share the proverbial weakness of the clergy 
 for a good meal. And against so charming a hos- 
 tess, old Vil hasn't a chance in the world." Dis- 
 mounting, the Reverend Len Christie removed his 
 saddle and bridle and, with a resounding slap on 
 the flank turned the pinto loose. ' ' Get along, old 
 Paint, and lay in some of this good grass!" he 
 laughed as the pinto, cavorting like a colt, galloped 
 across the creek to join Patty's hobbled cayuse. 
 
 "My, that bacon smells good," he said, a mo- 
 ment later, as he stood in the doorway and watched 
 the girl turn the thin strips in the pan. "Do let 
 me furnish part of the breakfast," he cried, eagerly 
 and began swiftly to loosen from behind the cantle 
 of his saddle a slender case, from which he pro- 
 duced and fitted together a two-ounce rod. "I'll 
 take it right from your own dooryard in just about 
 two jiffies." He affixed a reel, threaded a cobweb 
 line, and selected a fly. "Just save that bacon 
 fry for a few minutes and we'll have some speckled 
 beauties in the pan before you know it." 
 
 Pushing the frying pan to the back of the stove, 
 Patty accompanied him to the bank of the stream 
 where she watched enthusiastically as, one after 
 
Patty Draws a Map 203 
 
 another, he pulled four glistening trout from the 
 water. 
 
 "That's enough," he said, as the fourth fish lay 
 squirming upon the grass. And in what seemed to 
 the girl an incredibly short time, he had them 
 cleaned, washed, and ready for the pan. While she 
 fried them he busied himself with his outfit, wip- 
 ing his rod and carefully returning it to its case, 
 and spreading his line to dry. And a few moments 
 later the two sat down to a breakfast of hot bis- 
 cuits, coffee, bacon, and trout, crisp and brown, 
 smoking from the pan. 
 
 "You must have ridden nearly all night to have 
 reached here so early," ventured the girl as she 
 poured a cup of steaming coffee. 
 
 "No," laughed Christie, "I spent the night at 
 the Wattses'. I had some drawing paper and pen- 
 cils for David Golieth. Do you know, I've a no- 
 tion to send that kid to school some place. He's 
 wild about drawing. Takes me all over the hills 
 for a mile or two around the ranch and shows me 
 pictures he has drawn with charcoal wherever 
 there is a piece of flat rock. He's as shy and sensi- 
 tive as a girl, until he begins to talk about his draw- 
 ing, then his big eyes fairly glow with enthusiasm 
 as he points out the good points of some of his 
 
2o 4 The Gold Girl 
 
 creations, and the defects of others. All of them, 
 of course, are crude as the pictorial efforts of the 
 Indians, but it seems to me that here and there I 
 can see a flash of real genius." 
 
 "Wouldn't it be wonderful if he should become a 
 famous artist ! ' ' exclaimed the girl. * ' And wouldn't 
 you feel proud of having discovered him? And I 
 guess lots of them do come from just as unpromis- 
 ing parentage." 
 
 "It wouldn't be so remarkable," smiled the 
 man. "Watts, himself is a genius — for inventing 
 excuses to rest." 
 
 "How is the sick man?" asked Patty. "The 
 one you went to see, over on Big Porcupine, wasn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes, old man Samuelson. Fine old fellow — 
 Samuelson. I sure hope he'll pull through. Doc 
 Mallory came while I was there, and he told me 
 he's got a good fighting chance. And a fighting 
 chance is all that old fellow asks — even against 
 pneumonia. He's a man ! " 
 
 "I wonder if there is anything I could do?" 
 asked the girl. 
 
 Christie's face brightened. "Why, yes, if you 
 would. It's a long ride from here — thirty miles or 
 so. There's nothing you could take them, they're 
 
Patty Draws a Map 205 
 
 very well fixed — capital Chinese cook and all that. 
 But I've an idea that just the fact that you called 
 would cheer them immensely. They lost a daugh- 
 ter years ago who would be about your age, I 
 think. They've got a son, but he's up in Alaska, 
 or some place where they can't reach him. De- 
 cidedly I think it would do those old people a world 
 of good. You'll find Mrs. Samuelson different 
 from " 
 
 "Ma Watts?" interrupted Patty. 
 
 The man laughed, "Yes, from Ma Watts. Al- 
 though she's a well meaning soul. She's going 
 over and 'stay a spell' with the Samuelsons, just 
 as soon as she can 'fix to go.' Mrs. Samuelson is 
 a really superior old lady, refined and lovable in 
 every way. You'll like her immensely, I'm sure. 
 And I know she will enjoy you." 
 
 1 ' Thank you, ' ' Patty bowed elaborately. ' ' Poor 
 thing, she must be frightfully lonely." 
 
 "Yes. Of course, the neighbors do all they can. 
 But neighbors are few and far between. Vil Hol- 
 land has been over a couple of times, and Jack 
 Pierce stopped work right in the middle of his up- 
 land haying to go to town for some medicine. I 
 tell you, Miss Sinclair, a person soon learns who's 
 who in the mountains." 
 
206 The Gold Girl 
 
 Christie pushed back his chair. "I must be 
 going. I hate to hurry off, but I want to see Vil 
 and caution him to have an eye on the old man's 
 stock — you see, there are some shady characters in 
 the hills, and old man Samuelson runs horses as 
 well as cattle. It is very possible they may decide 
 to get busy while he is laid up. 
 
 ' ' By the way, Miss Sinclair, may I ask if you are 
 making satisfactory headway in your own enter- 
 prise?" 
 
 Patty shook her head. "No. I'm afraid I'm 
 making no headway at all. Sometimes, I think — 
 I'm afraid — " she stumbled for words. 
 
 "Is there anything in the world I can do to help 
 you?" asked the man, eagerly. "If there is, just 
 mention it. I knew your father, and admired him 
 very much. I'm satisfied he made a strike, and I 
 do hope you can locate it. " 
 
 The girl shook her head. "No, nothing, thank 
 you," she answered and then suddenly looked up, 
 "That is — wait, maybe there is something " 
 
 "Name it." Christie waited eagerly for her to 
 speak. 
 
 "It just occurred to me — maybe you could help 
 me — find a school." 
 
 "A school!" 
 
Patty Draws a Map 207 
 
 "Yes, a school to teach. You see, I have used 
 nearly all my money. By the end of next month 
 it will be gone, and I must get a job/' The man 
 noticed that the girl was doing her best to meet the 
 situation bravely. 
 
 "Indeed I will help you!" he exclaimed. "In 
 fact, I think I can right now promise that when- 
 ever you get ready to accept it, there will be a 
 position waiting." 
 
 "Even if it is only a country school — just so I 
 can make enough money this winter to come back 
 next summer." 
 
 "I couldn't think of letting a country school get 
 you. We need you right in town. You see, I 
 happen to be president of the school board, and if 
 I were to let a perfectly good teacher get away, I'd 
 deserve to lose my job." Stepping to the door, he 
 whistled shrilly, and a moment later the piebald 
 cayuse trotted to his side. When the horse stood 
 saddled and bridled, the man turned to Patty: 
 "Oh, about the Samuelsons — do you know how to 
 get to Big Porcupine?" 
 
 Patty shook her head. "No, but I guess I can 
 find it." 
 
 "Give me a pencil and a piece of paper, and I'll 
 show you in a minute." Leaning over the table, 
 
208 The Gold Girl 
 
 the man sketched rapidly upon the paper. ' ' We'll 
 say this is the Watts ranch, and mark it R. That's 
 our starting point. Then you follow down the 
 creek to the ford — here, at F. Then, instead of 
 following the trail, you turn due east, and follow 
 up a little creek about ten miles . This arrow point- 
 ing upward means up the creek. When you come 
 to a sharp pinnacle that divides your valley — we'll 
 mark that A so — you take the right hand branch, 
 and follow it to the divide. That leads, let's see, 
 southeast — we'll mark it S. E. 3 to D ; it runs about 
 three miles to the divide which you cross. Then 
 you follow down another creek four or five miles 
 until it empties into Big Porcupine, 4 E. to P., 
 and from there it's easy. Just turn up Porcupine, 
 pass Jack Pierce's ranch, and about five miles far- 
 ther on you come to Samuelson's. Do you get 
 it?" 
 
 Patty watched every move of the pencil, as she 
 listened to the explanation. And when, a few 
 moments later, the big " Bishop of All Outdoors" 
 crossed the ford and rode out of sight up the coulee 
 that led to the trampled notch in the hills, she 
 threw herself down at the table and with eyes big 
 with excitement, drew her father's map from its 
 silk envelope and spread it out beside Christie's 
 
Patty Draws a Map 209 
 
 roughly sketched one. "What a fool I am not 
 to have guessed that those letters must stand 
 for the points of the compass!" she cried. "It 
 ought to be plain as day, now." Carefully, she 
 read the cabalistic line at the bottom of the 
 map. "SCiSi^EiSt to n 2 W to a. to b. 
 Stake L. C. 2 center." Her brow drew into a 
 puzzled frown "SC," she repeated. S stands for 
 south, but what does SC mean ? SW or SE would be 
 southwest, or southeast, but SC — ? " She glanced 
 at the other map. "Let's see, Mr. Christie's 
 first letter is R — that stands for Watts' Ranch. 
 SC must represent daddy's starting point, of 
 course! But, SC? Let's see, South Corner — 
 south corner of what? I wish he'd put his letters 
 right on the map like this one, instead of all in a 
 row at the bottom, then I might figure out what he 
 was driving at. SC, SC, SC, SC," she repeated 
 over and over again, until the letters became a 
 mere jumble of meaningless sounds. "S must 
 stand for South," she insisted, "and C could stand 
 for creek, or cave, only there are no caves around 
 here that I've seen, or camp — South Camp — that 
 don't do me any good, I don't know where any of 
 his camps were. And he'd hardly say Creek, that 
 would be too indefinite. Let's see, C — cottonwood 
 14 
 
210 The Gold Girl 
 
 — south cottonwood — short cottonwood, scarred 
 cottonwood, well if I have to hunt these hills over 
 for a short cottonwood or a scarred cottonwood, 
 when there are millions of both, I might better keep 
 on hunting for the crack in the rock wall." 
 
 For a long time she sat staring at the paper, "If 
 I could only get the starting point figured out, the 
 rest would be easy. It says one mile south, one 
 and one half miles east, one mile south, then the 
 arrowhead pointing up, must mean up a creek or a 
 mountain to something that looks like an inverted 
 horseshoe, then, two miles west to a. to b. whatever 
 a. and b. are. There are no letters on the map, 
 then 'it says to stake L. C. — L. C, is lode claim, at 
 least, I know that much, and it can be 1500 feet 
 long along the vein, and 300 feet each way from the 
 center. But what does he mean by the wiggly looking 
 mark before the word center ? I guess it isn't going 
 to be quite as easy as it looks," she concluded, 
 "even when I know that the letters stand for the 
 points of the compass. If I could only figure out 
 where to start from I could find my way at least 
 to the a. b. part — and that would be something. 
 
 "Anyway, I know how to make a map, now, and 
 that is just exactly what I needed to know in order 
 to set my trap for the prowler who is continually 
 
Patty Draws a Map 211 
 
 searching this cabin. It's all ready but the map, 
 and I may as well finish up the job to-day as any 
 time." From the pocket of her shirt she drew a 
 photograph and examined it critically. ' ' It looks 
 a good deal like the close-up of one of daddy's," 
 she said approvingly, "and it certainly looks as if 
 it might have been carried for a year." Return- 
 ing the picture to her pocket, she folded the preach- 
 er's map with her father's and replaced them in the 
 envelope, then making her way to the coulee, ex- 
 tracted from the tin can two or three of her father's 
 ore samples. These, together with a light miner's 
 pick, she placed in an empty flour sack which she 
 secured to her saddle and struck out northwest- 
 ward into the hills. 
 
 At the top of the first divide she stopped, care- 
 fully studied the back trail, and producing paper 
 and pencil made a rough sketch which she marked 
 1 NW. She rode on, mapping her trail and adding 
 letters and figures to denote distance and direction. 
 
 Her continued scrutiny of the back trail satisfied 
 her that she was not followed. Two hours brought 
 her to her journey's end, a rock wall some seven 
 miles from her cabin. Producing the photograph, 
 she verified the exact location, and with her pick, 
 proceeded to stir up the ground and loose rocks at 
 
212 The Gold Girl 
 
 the base of the ledge. For an hour she worked 
 steadily, then carefully replaced the dirt and small 
 fragments, taking care to leave the samples from 
 her sack where they would appear to have been 
 tossed with the other fragments. Indicating the 
 spot by a dot on the photograph she rode back to 
 her cabin and spent the entire afternoon covering 
 sheets of paper with trail maps, and letters, and 
 figures, in an endeavor to produce a sketch that 
 would pass as a prospector's hastily prepared field 
 map. At last she produced several that compared 
 favorably with her father's and taking a blank leaf 
 from an old notebook she found in the pack sack, 
 drew a very creditable rough sketch. 
 
 "Now, for putting in the letters and figures," 
 she said, as she held the paper up for inspection. 
 "Let's see, where would daddy have started from? 
 Watts's ranch, maybe, or he could have started from 
 here. This cabin was here then, and that would 
 make it seem all the more reasonable that I should 
 have chosen this for my home. C stands for cabin, 
 or, let's see, what did they call this place. The 
 sheep camp, here goes SC — Why! SC — SC! 
 That's the starting point on daddy's map! And 
 here I sat right in this chair and nearly went crazy 
 trying to figure out what SC meant ! And, if it 
 
Patty Draws a Map 213 
 
 weren't so late, I'd start right out now to find my 
 mine! If it weren't for that a. b. part I could ride 
 right to it, and snap my fingers at the prowler. 
 But, it may take me a long time to blunder onto the 
 meaning of these letters, and anyway, I want to 
 know 'who's who,' as Mr. Christie says." She 
 continued her work, and a half -hour later examined 
 the result critically. "SC I NW iNtto" Lr 2E 
 to a. Stake L. C. center at dot," she read, "and 
 just to make it easier for him, I put the a. down 
 on the map." With a sigh of satisfaction the girl 
 carefully placed the new map and photograph in 
 the silk envelope, and placing the others in the 
 pocket of her shirt, fastened it with a pin. Where- 
 upon, she gathered up all the practice sketches and 
 burned them. 
 
 Glancing out of the window, she saw Microby 
 Dandeline approaching the cabin, her dejected old 
 Indian pony, ears a-flop, placing one foot before 
 the other with the extreme deliberation that char- 
 acterized his every movement. Patty smiled as 
 her eyes took in the details of the grotesque figure ; 
 the old harness bridle with patched reins and one 
 blinder dangling, the faded gingham sun-bonnet 
 hanging at the back of the girl's neck, held in place 
 by the strings knotted tightly beneath her chin, 
 
214 The Gold Girl 
 
 the misshapen calico dress caught over the saddle- 
 horn in a manner that exposed the girl's bare legs 
 to the knees, and the thick bare feet pressed un- 
 comfortably into the chafing rope stirrups — truly, 
 a grotesque, and yet, Patty frowned — a pitiable 
 figure, too. The pony halted before the door, and 
 Patty greeted the girl who scrambled clumsily to 
 the ground. 
 
 "Well, well, if it isn't Microby Dandeline! 
 You haven't been to see me lately. The last 
 time you were here I was not at home." 
 
 "Hit wasn't me." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Patty, remembering the 
 barefoot track at the spring. 
 
 "I wasn't yere las' time." 
 
 Patty curbed a desire to laugh. The girl was 
 deliberately lying — but why ? Was it because she 
 feared displeasure at the invasion of the cabin. 
 Patty thought not, for such was the established 
 custom of the country. The girl did not look at 
 her, but stood boring into the dirt with her bare 
 toe. 
 
 "Well, you're here now, anyway," smiled Patty. 
 "Come on in and help me get supper, and then 
 we'll eat. You get the water, while I build the 
 fire." 
 
Patty Draws a Map 215 
 
 When the girl returned from the spring, Patty- 
 tried again: "While I was in town somebody 
 came here and cooked a meal, and when they got 
 through they washed all the dishes and put them 
 away so nicely I thought sure it was you, and I 
 was glad, because I like to have you come and see 
 me." 
 
 "Hit wasn't me," repeated the girl, stubbornly. 
 
 "I wonder who it could have been? " 
 
 "Mebbe hit was Mr. Christie. He was to our 
 house las' night. He brung Davy some pencils 
 an' a lot o' papers fer to draw pitchers. Pa 'lowed 
 how Davy'd git to foolin' away his time on 'em, 
 an' Mr. Christie says how ef he learnt to drawer 
 good, folks buys 'em, an' then Davy'll git rich. 
 Pa says, whut's folks gonna pay money fer pitchers 
 they kin git 'em fer nothin'? But ef folks gits 
 pitchers they does git rich, don't they ? " 
 
 "Why, yes " 
 
 "You got pitchers, an' yo' rich." 
 
 Patty laughed. "I'm afraid I 'm not very rich, ' ' 
 she said. 
 
 "Will yo' give me a pitcher? " 
 
 1 ' Why, yes . ' ' She glanced at the few prints that 
 adorned the log wall, trying to make up her mind 
 which she would part with, and deciding upon a 
 
2i6 The Gold Girl 
 
 mysterious moonlight-on-the-waves effect, lifted 
 it from the wall and placed it in the girl's hands. 
 
 Microby Dandeline stared at it without enthusi- 
 asm: "I want a took one," she said, at length. 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A one tooken with that," she pointed at the 
 camera that adorned the top of the little cupboard. 
 
 "Oh," smiled Patty, "you want me to take your 
 picture! All right, I'd love to take your picture. 
 You can get on Gee Dot, and I'll take you both. 
 But we'll have to wait till there is more light. The 
 sun has gone down and it's too dark this evening." 
 
 The girl shook her head, "Naw, I don't want 
 none like that. That hain't no good. I want one 
 like yo' pa tookened of his mine. Then I'll git 
 rich too." 
 
 "So that's it," thought Patty, busying herself 
 with the biscuit dough. And instantly there 
 flashed into her mind the words of Ma Watts, ' ' Mr. 
 Bethune tellin' her how she'd git rich ef she could 
 fin' a gol' mine, an' how she could buy her fine clos' 
 like yourn an' go to the city an' live." And she 
 remembered that the woman had said that all the 
 time she and Lord Clendenning had been wrangling 
 over the eggs, Bethune and Microby had "talked 
 an' laughed, friendly as yo' please." 
 
Patty Draws a Map 217 
 
 "How do you know my father took any pictures 
 of his mine?" asked Patty, cautiously. 
 
 '"Cause he did." 
 
 "What would you do with the picture if I gave 
 it to you?" 
 
 "I'd git rich." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "'Cause I would." 
 
 Patty whirled suddenly upon the girl and grasp- 
 ing her shoulder with a doughy hand shook her 
 smartly: "Who told you that? What do you 
 mean ? Who are you trying to get that picture for ? 
 Come! Out with it!" 
 
 "Le' me go," whimpered the girl, frightened by 
 the unexpected attack. 
 
 "Not 'til you tell me who told you about that 
 picture. Come on — speak!" The shaking con- 
 tinued. 
 
 "Hit— wu-wu-wus— V-V-Vil Hoi-Holland!" she 
 sniffled readily — all too readily to be convincing, 
 thought Patty, as she released her grip on the girl's 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' ' Oh, it was Vil Holland, was it ? And what does 
 he want with it?" 
 
 1 ' He — he — s-says h-how h-him an' m-me'd g-git 
 r-r-rich!" 
 
2i8 The Gold Girl 
 
 "Who told you to say it was Vil Holland? " 
 
 "Hit wus Vil Holland — an' that's whut I gotta 
 say," she repeated, between sobs. "An' now yo' 
 mad— an'— an' Mr. Bethune he'll— he'll kill me." 
 
 "Mr. Bethune? What has Mr. Bethune got to 
 do with it?" 
 
 The girl leaped to her feet and faced Patty in a 
 rage: "An' he'll kill yo', too — an' I'll be glad! 
 An' he says he's gonna By God git that pitcher ef 
 he's gotta kill yo', an' Vil Holland, an' everyone 
 in these damn hills — an' I'm glad of hit! I don't 
 like yo' no more — an' pitcher shows hain y t as good 
 as circusts — an' I don't like towns — an' I hain't 
 a-gonna wear no shoes an' stockin's — an' I'm a- 
 gonna tell ma yo' shuck me — an' she'll larrup yo* 
 good — an' pa'll make yo' git out o' ar sheep camp — 
 an' I'm glad of hit!" She rushed from the cabin, 
 and mounting her pony, headed him down the 
 creek, turning in the saddle every few steps to make 
 hateful mouths at the girl who stood watching from 
 the doorway. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE SAMUELSONS 
 
 Patty retired that night with her thoughts in a 
 whirl. So, it was Monk Bethune who, all along, 
 had been plotting to steal the secret of her father's 
 strike? Monk Bethune, with his suave, oily man- 
 ner, his professed regard for her father, and his 
 burning words of love! Fool that she couldn't 
 have penetrated his thin mask of deceit! It all 
 seemed so ridiculously plain, now. She remem- 
 bered the flash of distrust that her first meeting 
 with him engendered. And, step, by step, she 
 followed the course of his insidious campaign to 
 instill himself into her good graces. She thought 
 of the blunt warning of Vil Holland when he told 
 her that her father always played a lone hand, and 
 his almost scornful question as to whether her 
 father had told her of his partnership with Bethune. 
 And she remembered her defiance of Holland, and 
 her defense of Bethune. And, with a shudder, she 
 
 219 
 
220 The Gold Girl 
 
 recollected the moments when, in the hopelessness 
 of her repeated failures, she had trembled upon the 
 point of surrendering to his persuasive eloquence. 
 
 With the villainous scheming of Bethune ex- 
 posed, her thoughts turned to the other, to her 
 "guardian devil of the hills." What of Vil Hol- 
 land? Had she misjudged this man, even as she 
 had so nearly become the dupe of Bethune ? She 
 realized now, that nearly everyone with whom 
 she had come into contact, distrusted Bethune, and 
 that they trusted Vil Holland. She realized that 
 her own distrust of him rested to a great extent 
 upon the open accusations of Bethune, and the fact 
 that he was blunt to rudeness in his conversations 
 with her. If he were to be taken at his neighbors' 
 valuation, why was it that he watched her comings 
 and goings from his notch in the hills ? Why did 
 he follow her about upon her rides ? And why did 
 he carry that disgusting jug? She admitted that 
 she had never seen him the worse for indulgence 
 in the contents of the jug, but if he were not a con- 
 firmed drunkard, why should he carry it? She 
 knew Bethune hated him — and that counted a 
 point in his favor — now. But it did not prove that 
 he was not as bad as Bethune. But why had Be- 
 thune told Microby that he would get that picture 
 
The Samuelsons 221 
 
 if he had to kill her and Vil Holland? What had 
 Vil Holland to do with his getting the picture! 
 Surely, Bethune did not believe that Vil Holland 
 shared her secret ! Vil Holland must be lawless — 
 the running of the sheep herder out of the hills was 
 a lawless act. Why, then, were such men as 
 Thompson and the Reverend Len Christie his 
 friends? This question had puzzled her much of 
 late, and not finding the answer, she realized her 
 own dislike of the man had waned perceptibly. 
 Instinctively, she knew that Len Christie was 
 genuine. She liked this " Bishop of All Outdoors,' ' 
 who could find time to ride a hundred miles to 
 cheer a sick old man ; who would think to bring 
 pencils and drawing paper to a little boy who 
 roamed over the hillsides with a piece of charcoal, 
 searching for flat rocks upon which to draw his 
 pictures; and who sang deep, full-throated ballads 
 as he rode from one to the other of his scattered 
 hill folk, upon his outlandish pinto. Surely, such 
 men as he, and the jovial, whole-hearted Thomp- 
 son — men who had known Vil Holland for years, 
 — could not be deceived. 
 
 "Is it possible I've misjudged him?" she asked 
 herself. And when at last she dropped to sleep it 
 was to plunge into a confused jumble of dreams 
 
222 The Gold Girl 
 
 whose dominant figure was her lone horseman of 
 the hills. 
 
 Patty resolved to keep her promise to Christie 
 and ride over to the Samuelson ranch, before she 
 started to work out the directions of her father's 
 map. "I may be weeks doing it if I continue to 
 be as dumb as I have been," she laughed. "And 
 when I get started I know I'll never want to stop 
 'til I've worked it out." 
 
 Immediately after breakfast she saddled her 
 horse and returning to the cabin, picked up the 
 little oiled silk packet that contained photograph 
 and map. Where should she hide it? Her glance 
 traveled from the locked trunks to the loose board 
 in the floor. Each had been searched time and 
 again. "Whoever he is, he'd think it was funny 
 that I decided all at once to hide the map, when 
 I've been carrying it with me so persistently," she 
 muttered. Her eyes rested upon the little dressing 
 table. "The very thing!" she cried. "I'll leave 
 it right out in plain sight, and he'll think I forgot 
 it." Her first impulse was to remove the thin 
 gold chain but she shook her head: "No, it will 
 look more as if I'd just slipped it off for the night 
 if I leave the chain on. And besides," she smiled, 
 "he ought to get some gold for his pains." With 
 
The Samuelsons 223 
 
 a last glance of approval at the little packet lying 
 as if forgotten upon the dressing table, she closed 
 the door and headed down the creek. 
 
 It was evident to Patty, upon reaching the Watts 
 ranch that Microby Dandeline had not carried out 
 her threat to "tell ma" about the shaking. For 
 the mountain woman was loquaciously cordial as 
 usual: "Decla'r ef hit hain't yo', up an* a-ridin , 
 fo' sun-up! Yo' shore favor yo' pa. He wus the 
 gittin'est man — Yo'd a-thought he wus ridin' fer 
 wages, 'stead o' jest prospectin'. Goin' down the 
 crick, to-day, eh? Well, I don't reckon yo' pa's 
 claim's down the crick, but yo' cain't never tell. 
 He wus that clost-mouthed — I've heard him an* 
 Watts set a hour, an' nary word between the two of 
 'em. 'Pears like they's jest satisfied to be a-light- 
 in' matches an' a-puffin' they pipes. Wimmin 
 folks hain't like thet. They jest nachelly got to 
 let out a word now an' then, 'er bust — one." 
 
 "Microby Dandeline!" there was a sudden rush 
 of bare feet upon the wooden floor, and Patty 
 caught a flick of calico and a flash of bare legs as 
 the girl disappeared around the corner of the barn. 
 
 " Land sakes ! Thet gal acts like she's p'ssessed ! 
 She tellin' whut a nice time she had to yo' place las' 
 evenin', an' then a-runnin' away like she's wild as 
 
224 The Gold Girl 
 
 a hawrk. Seems like she's a-gittin' mo' triflin' 
 every day " 
 
 "Sence Monk Bethune's tuk to ha'ntin' this 
 yere crick so reg'lar," interrupted Watts, who stood 
 leaning against the door jamb. 
 
 " ' T'aint nothin* agin Mr. Bethune, 'cause he's 
 nice to Microby," retorted the woman; "I s'pose 
 'cordin' to yo' idee, he'd ort to cuss her an' kick 
 her aroun'." 
 
 "Might be better in the long run, an' he did," 
 opined the man, gloomily. 
 
 1 ' Where's yo' manners at ? Not sayin' ' howdy' ? ' ' 
 reminded his wife. 
 
 "I be'n a-fixin' to," he apologized, "yo' lookin' 
 mighty peart this mawnin'." A cry from the 
 baby brought a torrent of recrimination upon the 
 apathetic husband: "Watts! Watts! Looks like 
 yo' ort to could look after Chattenoogy Tennessee, 
 that Microby Dandeline run off an' left alone. 
 Like's not she's et a nail thet yo' left a han'ful of 
 on the floor thet day yo' aimed fer to fix me a 
 shelft." 
 
 "She never et no nail," confided the man, as 
 he returned a moment later carrying the infant. 
 "She done fell out the do' an' them hens wus a- 
 peckin' her. She's scairt wuss'n hurt." 
 
The Samuelsons 225 
 
 "Well," smiled Patty. "I must go. Tell Mi- 
 croby to come up to my cabin right soon. I'd 
 like to have a talk with her." 
 
 " Might an' yo' pa's claim 'ud be som'ers up the 
 no'th branch," suggested the woman. "He rid 
 that-a-way sometimes, didn't he, Watts?" 
 
 "I'm not prospecting to-day. I'm going over 
 to see the Samuelsons. Mr. Samuelson is sick." 
 
 " Law, yes! I be'n a-aimin' fer to git to go, this 
 long while. I heern it a spell back, an' Mr. Chris- 
 tie done tol' us over again. They do say he's bad 
 off. But yo' cain't never tell, they's hopes of 'em 
 gittin' onto they feet agin right up 'til yo' hear 
 the death rattle. Yo' tell Miz Samuelson I aim to 
 git over soon's I kin. I'll bring along the baby an' 
 a batch o' sourdough bread, an' fix to stay a hull 
 week. Watts'll hev to make out with Microby 
 an' the rest. Yo' tell Miz Samuelson I say not to 
 git down in the mouth. They all got to die any- 
 how. An' 'taint so bad, onct it's over an' done. 
 But lots of 'em gits well, too. So they hain't no 
 call to do no diggin' right up to the death rattle — 
 an' even then they don't alius die. 01' man Rink, 
 over on Tom's Hope, back in Tennessee, he rattled 
 twict, an' come to both times, an' then, couple 
 days later, he up an' died on 'em 'thout nary rattle. 
 
226 The Gold Girl 
 
 So yo' cain't never tell — men's thet ornery, even 
 the best of 'em." 
 
 Christie's prediction that Patty would like Mrs. 
 Samuelson proved to be conservative in the ex- 
 treme. From the moment the slight gray-haired 
 little woman greeted her, the girl felt as though she 
 were talking to an old friend. There was some- 
 thing pathetic in the old lady's cheerful optimism, 
 something profoundly pathetic in the endeavor to 
 transform her bit of wilderness into some semblance 
 to the far-away home she had known in the long 
 ago. And she had succeeded admirably. To 
 cross the Samuelson threshold was to step from 
 the atmosphere of the cow-country and the moun- 
 tains into a region of comfort and quiet that con- 
 trasted sharply with the rough and ready air of 
 the neighboring ranches. The house itself was not 
 large, but it was built of lumber, not logs. The 
 long living room was provided with tastefully cur- 
 tained casement windows, and rugs of excellent 
 quality took the place of the inevitable carpet upon 
 the floor. A baby grand piano projected into the 
 room from its niche beside the huge log fireplace, 
 and bookcases, guiltless of glass fronts, occupied 
 convenient spaces along the wall, their shelves sup- 
 porting row upon row of good editions. It was in 
 
The Samuelsons 227 
 
 this room, looking as though she had stepped from 
 an ivory miniature, that the mistress of the house 
 greeted Patty. 
 
 "You are very welcome, my dear. Mr. Samuel- 
 son and I were deeply grieved to hear the sad news 
 of your father. We used to enjoy his occasional 
 brief visits." 
 
 "How is Mr. Samuelson?" asked Patty, as she 
 pressed the little woman's thin, blue-veined hand. 
 
 "He seems better to-day." 
 
 The girl noted the hopeful tone of voice. "Is 
 there anything I can do?" she asked. 
 
 "Not a thing, thank you. Mr. Samuelson 
 sleeps a good part of the time, and Wong Yie is 
 a wonderful nurse. But, come, you must have 
 luncheon. I know you will want to refresh your- 
 self after your long ride. The bathroom is at the 
 head of the stairs. I'll take a peep at my invalid 
 and when you are ready we'll see what Wong Yie 
 has for us." 
 
 Patty looked hungrily at the porcelain tub — "A 
 real bathroom!" she breathed, "out here in the 
 mountains — and books, and a piano!" 
 
 Mrs. Samuelson awaited her at the foot of 
 the stair and led the way to the dining room. 
 When she was seated at the round mahogany 
 
228 The Gold Girl 
 
 table she smiled across at the old lady in frank 
 appreciation. 
 
 "It seems like stepping right into fairyland," 
 she said. "Like the old stories when the heroes 
 and heroines rubbed magic lamps, or stepped onto 
 enchanted carpets and were immediately trans- 
 ported from their miserable hovels to castles of 
 gold inhabited by beautiful princes and princesses/' 
 
 The old lady's eyes beamed: "I'm glad you 
 like it!" 
 
 "Like it ! That doesn't express it at all. Why, 
 if you'd lived in an abandoned sheep camp for 
 months and prepared your own meals on a broken 
 stove, and eaten them all alone on a bumpy table 
 covered with a piece of oilcloth, and taken your 
 bath in an icy cold creek and then only on the dark- 
 est nights for fear someone were watching, and 
 read a few magazines over and over 'til you knew 
 even the advertisements by heart — then suddenly 
 found yourself seated in a room like this, with real 
 china and silver, and comfortable chairs and a 
 luncheon cloth — you'd think it was heaven." 
 
 Patty was aware that the old lady was smiling at 
 her across the table. " If I had lived like that for 
 months, did you say? My dear girl, we lived for 
 years in that little shack — you can see it from where 
 
The Samuelsons 229 
 
 you sit — it's the tool house, now. Mr. Samuelson 
 built it with his own hands when there weren't a 
 half-dozen white men in the hills, and until it was 
 completed we lived in a tepee!" 
 
 "You've lived here a long time." 
 
 "Yes, a long, long time. I was the first white 
 woman to come into this part of the hill country to 
 live. This was the first ranch to be established 
 in the hills, but we have a good many neighbors 
 now — and such nice neighbors! One never really 
 appreciates friends and neighbors until a time — like 
 this. Then one begins to know. A long time ago, 
 before I knew, I used to hate this place. Some- 
 times I used to think I would go crazy, with the 
 loneliness — the vastness of it all. I used to go 
 home and make long visits every year, and then — 
 the children came, and it was different." The 
 woman paused and her eyes strayed to the open 
 window and rested upon the bold headland of a 
 mighty mountain that showed far down the 
 valley. 
 
 "And — you love it, now?" Patty asked, softly, 
 as she poured French dressing over crisp lettuce 
 leaves. 
 
 " Yes — I love it, now. After the children came 
 it was all different. I never want to leave the 
 
230 The Gold Girl 
 
 valley, now. I never shall leave it. I am an old 
 woman, and my world has narrowed down to my 
 home, and my valley — my husband, and my 
 friends and neighbors." She looked up guiltily, 
 with a tiny little laugh. "Do you know, during 
 those first years I must have been an awful fool. 
 I used to loathe it all — loathe the country — the 
 men, who ate in their shirt sleeves and blew into 
 their saucers, and their women. It was the up- 
 rising that brought me to a realization of the true 
 worth of these people — " The little woman's 
 voice trailed off into silence, and Patty glanced up 
 from her salad to see that the old eyes were once 
 more upon the far blue headland, and the woman's 
 thoughts were evidently very far away. She came 
 back to the present with an apology: "Why bless 
 you, child, forgive me! My old wits were back- 
 trailing, as the cowboys would say. You have 
 finished your salad, come, let's go out onto the 
 porch, where we can get the afternoon breeze and 
 be comfortable." She led the way through the 
 living-room where she left the girl for a moment, 
 to tiptoe upstairs for a peep at the sick man. 
 "He's asleep," she reported, as they stepped out 
 onto the porch and settled themselves in comfort- 
 able wicker rockers. 
 
The Samuelsons 231 
 
 " What was the uprising ? ' ' asked Patty. ' • Was 
 it the Indians ? I'd love to hear about it." 
 
 " Yes, the Indians. That was before they were 
 on reservations and they were scattered all through 
 the hills." 
 
 A cowboy galloped to the porch, drew up sharply, 
 and removed his hat. "We rode through them 
 horses that runs over on the east slope an' they're 
 all right — leastways all the markers is there, an' 
 the bunches don't look like they'd be'n any cut out 
 of 'em. But, about them white faces — Lodge- 
 pole's most dried up. Looks like we'd ort to throw 
 'em over onto Sage Crick." 
 
 The little woman looked thoughtful. "Let's 
 see, there are about six hundred of the white 
 faces, aren't there?" 
 
 "Yessum." 
 
 1 1 And how long will the water last in Lodgepole ? ' ' 
 
 "Not more'n a week or ten days, if we don't git 
 no rain." 
 
 1 ■ How long will it take to throw them onto Sage 
 Creek?" 
 
 "Well, they hadn't ort to be crowded none this 
 time o' year. The four of us had ort to do it in 
 three or four days." 
 
 The old lady shook her head. "No, the cattle 
 
232 The Gold Girl 
 
 will have to wait. I want you boys to stay right 
 around close 'til you hear from Vil Holland. Keep 
 your best saddle horses up and at least one of you 
 stay right here at the ranch all the time. The rest 
 of you might ride fences, and you better take a look 
 at those mares and colts in the big pasture." 
 
 The cowboy's eyes twinkled: "I savvy, all 
 right. Guess I'll take the bunk-house shift myself 
 this afternoon. Got a couple extry guns to clean 
 up an' oil a little." 
 
 "Whatever you do, you boys be careful," ad- 
 monished the woman. "And in case anything 
 happens and Vil Holland isn't here, send one of 
 the boys after him at once." 
 
 The other laughed: "Guess they ain't much 
 danger, if anything happens he won't be a-ridin' 
 right on the head of it." The cowboy gathered up 
 his reins, dropped them again, and his gloved 
 fingers fumbled with his leather hat band. The 
 smile had left his face. 
 
 "Anything else, Bill?" asked Mrs. Samuelson, 
 noting his evident reluctance to depart. 
 
 "Well, ma'am, how's the Big Boss gittin' on?" 
 
 "He's doing as well as could be expected, the 
 doctor says." 
 
 The cowboy cleared his throat nervously: 
 
The Samuelsons 233 
 
 "You know, us boys thinks a heap of him, an' 
 we'd like fer him to git a square deal." 
 
 ' 'A square deal ! ' ' exclaimed the woman. ' ' Why, 
 what in the world do you mean?" 
 
 "About that there doc — d'you s'pect he savvys 
 his business?" 
 
 ■ ' Of course he does ! He's considered one of the 
 best doctors in the State. Why do you ask?" 
 
 "Well, it's this way. When he was goin' back 
 to town yesterday I laid for him. You see, the 
 Old Man — er, I mean — you know, ma'am, the Big 
 Boss, he's a pretty sick man — an' it looks to us 
 boys like things had ort to break pretty quick, one 
 way er another. So, I says, 'Doc, how's he gittin' 
 on?' an' the doc he says, jest like you done, 'good 
 as could be expected. ' When you come right down 
 to cases, that don't tell you nothin'. So I says, 
 'that's 'cordin' to who's doin' the expectin'. 
 What we want to know,' I says, 'is he goin' to git 
 well, er is he goin' to die?' 'I confidently hope 
 we're going to pull him through, ' he comes back. 
 'Meanin', he's goin' to git well?' I says. 'Yes,' 
 he says. 'Fer how much?' I asks him. I didn't 
 have but thirty-five dollars on me, but I shook that 
 in under his nose. You see, I wanted to find out 
 if the fellow would back his own self up with his 
 
234 The Gold Girl 
 
 money. ' What do you mean ? ' he says. 4 1 mean, ' 
 I informs him, 'that money talks. Here's the 
 Missus payin' you good wages fer to cure up the 
 Old Man. You goin' to do it, an* earn them 
 wages, or ain't you? Here's thirty-five dollars 
 that says you can't cure him.' " 
 
 The corners of the old lady's mouth were twitch- 
 ing behind the handkerchief she held to her lips: 
 "What did the doctor say ? " she asked. 
 
 "Tried to laugh it off," declared the cowboy in 
 disgust. "But I reminds him that this here ain't 
 no laughin' matter. 'D'you s'pose,' I says, 'if 
 the Old Man told me: "Bill, there's a bad colt to 
 bust," or "Bill, go over onto Monte's Crick, an* 
 bring back them two-year-olds," do you s'pose I 
 wouldn't bet I could do it ? They 's plenty of us here 
 to do all the "confidently hopin' " that's needed. 
 What you got to do is to git busy with them pills 
 an' make him well,' I says, 'or quit an' let someone 
 take holt that kin.'" The man paused and re- 
 garded the woman seriously. "What I'm gittin' 
 at is this: If this here doc ain't got confidence 
 enough in his own dope to back it with a bet, it's 
 time we got holt of one that will. Now, ma'am, 
 you better let me send one of Jack Pierce's kids to 
 town to see Len Christie an' tell him to git the best 
 
The Samuelsons 235 
 
 doc out here they is. I'll write a note to Len on 
 the side an' tell him to tell the doc he kin about 
 double his wages, 'cause the rest of the boys feels 
 just like I do, an' we'll all bet agin him so't it'll 
 be worth his while to make a good job of it." He 
 paused, awaiting permission to carry out his plan. 
 
 The little woman explained gravely: " Doctors 
 never bet on their cases, Bill. It isn't that they 
 won't back their judgment. But because it isn't 
 considered proper. Doctor Mallory is doing all 
 any mortal man can do. He's a wonderfully 
 good doctor, and it was Len Christie, himself, 
 that recommended him." 
 
 The cowboy's eyes lighted: "It was? Well, 
 then, mebbe he's all right. I never had no time fer 
 preachers 'til I know'd Len. But, what he says 
 goes with me — he's square. I don't go much on 
 no doctor, though. They're all right fer women, 
 mebbe, an' kids. I believe all the Old Man needs 
 right now to fix him up good as ever is a big stiff 
 jolt of whisky an' bitters." The cowboy rode 
 away, muttering and shaking his head, but not 
 until he was well out of sight round the corner of 
 the house did the little woman with the gray hair 
 smile. 
 
 "I hope Doctor Mallory will understand," she 
 
236 The Gold Girl 
 
 said, a trifle anxiously, "I have some rather trying 
 experiences with my boys, and if Bill has gone and 
 insulted the doctor I'll have to get Jack Pierce to 
 go to town and explain." 
 
 "This Bill seems to just adore Mr. Samuelson," 
 ventured Patty. "Why his voice was almost — 
 almost reverent when he said 'the Old Man.' " 
 
 The little lady nodded: "Yes, Bill thinks there's 
 no one like him. You see, Bill shot a man, one 
 day when — he was not quite himself. Over in the 
 Blackfoot country, it was, and Vil Holland knew 
 the facts in the case, and he rode over and told Mr. 
 Samuelson all about it, and they both went and 
 talked it over with the prosecuting attorney, and 
 with old Judge Nevers, with the result that they 
 agreed to give the boy a chance. So Mr. Samuel- 
 son brought him here. That was five years ago. 
 Bill is foreman of this outfit now, and our other 
 three riders are boys that were headed the same 
 way Bill was. Vil Holland brought one of them 
 over, and Bill and Mr. Samuelson picked up the 
 other two — and, if I do say it myself," she declared, 
 proudly, "there isn't an outfit in Montana that 
 can boast a more capable or loyal, or a straighter 
 quartet of riders than this one." 
 
 As Patty listened she understood something of 
 
The Samuelsons 237 
 
 what was behind the words of Thompson and Len 
 Christie, when they had spoken that day of "Old 
 Man " Samuelson. But, there was something she 
 did not understand. And that something was — 
 Vil Holland. Everybody liked him, everybody 
 spoke well of him, and apparently everybody but 
 herself trusted him implicitly. And yet, to her 
 own certain knowledge, he did carry a jug, he did 
 follow her about the hills, and he did tell her to her 
 face that when she found her father's claim she 
 would have a race on her hands, and that if she 
 were beaten she would have to be satisfied with 
 what she would get. 
 
 But Vil Holland, his comings and his goings were 
 soon forgotten in the absorbing interest with which 
 Patty listened as her little gray-haired hostess re- 
 counted incidents and horrors of the Indian up- 
 rising, the first sporadic depredations, the coming of 
 the troops, and finally the forcing of the belliger- 
 ent tribes onto their reservations. 
 
 It had been Patty's intention to ride back to her 
 cabin in the evening, but Mrs. Samuelson would 
 not hear of it. And, indeed the girl did not insist, 
 for despite the fact that she had become thoroughly 
 accustomed to her surroundings, the anticipation 
 of a dinner prepared and served by the highly effi- 
 
238 The Gold Girl 
 
 cient Wong Yie, in the tastefully appointed dining 
 room, with its real silver and china, proved suffi- 
 ciently attractive to overcome even her impatience 
 to begin the working out of her father's map. And 
 the realization fully justified the anticipation. 
 When the meal was finished the two women had 
 talked the long evening away before the cheerful 
 blaze of the wood fire, and when at last she was 
 shown to her room, the girl retired to luxuriate in 
 a real bed of linen sheets and a box mattress. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE HORSE RAID 
 
 Patty did not know how long she had slept when 
 she awoke, tense and listening, sitting bolt upright 
 in bed. Moonlight flooded the room through the 
 windows thrown wide to admit the chill night air. 
 Beyond the valley floor, green with the luxuriant 
 second crop of alfalfa, she could see the mountains 
 looming dim and mysterious in the half-light. 
 
 The whole world seemed silent as the grave — and 
 yet, something must have awakened her. She 
 shuddered, partly at the chill that struck at her 
 thinly clad shoulders, and partly at the recollec- 
 tion of some of the scenes those selfsame mountains 
 had witnessed, during the uprisings, and which her 
 hostess had so vividly recounted. The girl smiled, 
 and gazing toward the mountains, pictured long 
 lines of naked horsemen stealing silently into the 
 valley. She started violently. Through the open 
 window came sounds, the muffled thud of hoofs 
 
 239 
 
240 The Gold Girl 
 
 upon the soft ground, the low rattle of bit-chains 
 and spur-rowels, and the creak of saddle leather. 
 There were horsemen in the valley, and the horse- 
 men were passing almost beneath her windows — 
 and they were moving stealthily. 
 
 For a moment her heart raced madly — the fancy 
 of those conjured horsemen, and then the myste- 
 rious sounds from the night that were not fancy, 
 combined in just the right proportion to overcome 
 her with a momentary terror. She realized that 
 the sounds were passing — growing fainter, and 
 leaping from the bed, rushed to the window and 
 peered out. Only silence — profound, unbroken 
 silence, and the moonlight. In vain she strained 
 her ears to catch a repetition of the faint sounds, 
 and in vain she peered into the dark shadows cast 
 by the bunk house and the pole horse-corral. Her 
 windows commanded the eastern wall of the valley, 
 and its upper reaches. Had there actually been 
 horsemen, or were the sounds part of her vivid 
 vision of the long ago? "No," she muttered, 
 "those sounds were real," and she leaned far out 
 of the window in a vain effort to catch a glimpse 
 of the trail that led down the creek toward 
 Pierce's. 
 
 For some time she remained at the window and 
 
The Horse Raid 241 
 
 then, shivering, crept back to bed, where she lay 
 speculating upon the identity of these horsemen 
 who passed in the night. She knew that a horse 
 raid had been expected. Could these raiders have 
 had the audacity to pass through the very dooryard 
 of the ranch, knowing as they must have known, 
 that four armed and determined cowboys occupied 
 the bunk house? 
 
 And who were these raiders? At Thompson's 
 she had heard Monk Bethune' s name mentioned 
 in connection with possible horse- thieving. Be- 
 thune had spoken of hurried trips, "to the north- 
 ward." She remembered that upon the occasion 
 of their first meeting, she had heard him dickering 
 with Watts for the rent of his horse pasture, and 
 she recollected the incident of the changed name. 
 Then, again, only a few days before, she had parted 
 with him when he struck off the trail to the east- 
 ward with the excuse that he was going over onto 
 the east slope on a matter having to do with some 
 horses. Bill had mentioned, in talking to Mrs. 
 Samuelson, that he had been riding through the 
 horses on the east slope. Could it be possible 
 that the suave Bethune was a horse-thief? On the 
 other hand, Bethune had openly hinted that Vil 
 Holland was a horse- thief — and yet, these other 
 
242 The Gold Girl 
 
 people all believed that he was persistently on the 
 trail of the horse-thieves. 
 
 For a long time she lay thinking, guessing, try- 
 ing to recall little scraps of evidence that would 
 bear upon the case. Again, a slight sound brought 
 her to a sitting posture. This time it was the 
 opening of a door across the hall from her room. 
 The sound was followed by the soft padding of 
 slippered feet in the hall, the low tapping, evidently 
 at another door, a few low- voiced words, and a re- 
 turn of the padding steps. A few moments later 
 other steps hurried along the hall past her door 
 and rapidly descended the stairs. Patty heard the 
 opening of an outside door, and once more stealing 
 to the window she saw the Chinaman hurry across 
 the moonlit yard to the bunk house and throw 
 open the door. He entered to emerge a moment 
 later and rush to the horse-corral, where he peered 
 between the poles for a moment and then made his 
 way swiftly back to the house. 
 
 Without lighting the lamp Patty dressed hur- 
 riedly. Was the Samuelson ranch a place of mys- 
 tery? What was the meaning of the light sounds 
 — the soft tramp of horses, and the padding of feet 
 upon the stairs ? The footsteps paused at the door 
 across the hall. There followed a whispered col- 
 
The Horse Raid 243 
 
 loquy and the steps retreated rapidly to the lower 
 regions. Patty opened her door to see Mrs. Sam- 
 uelson, her face expressing the deepest agitation, 
 and one thin hand catching together the folds of a 
 lavender kimono. 
 
 ' ' What is the matter ? ' ' asked the girl. ' * What 
 has happened?" 
 
 The old lady closed the door from beyond which 
 came sounds of heavy breathing. ' ' I am afraid he 
 is worse, ' ' she whispered. ' ' Wong Yie went to the 
 bunk house to send the boys for the doctor and for 
 Mrs. Pierce, and he says they are gone! Their 
 horses are not in the corral. I don't understand 
 it," she cried. "I told them not to go away. 
 They know, that with my husband sick, we are 
 in momentary danger from the horse-thieves, and 
 they know that their place is right here." 
 
 "You told Bill to stay until he heard from Vil 
 Holland," reminded Patty. "Maybe they heard 
 from him, and left without disturbing you." 
 
 "That's it, of course!" cried the woman. "I 
 ought to have known I could trust them. But, for 
 a moment it seemed that — " She stopped abrupt- 
 ly and glanced anxiously into the girl's face, "But 
 what in the world will we do? Wong Yie can't 
 ride a step, and if he could, I need him here " 
 
244 The Gold Girl 
 
 "111 ride to Pierce's!" exclaimed Patty. "And 
 get Mr. Pierce to go for the doctor, and bring Mrs. 
 Pierce back with me. My horse is in the corral, 
 and I can get down there in no time." 
 
 "Oh, can you? Will you? And you are not 
 afraid — alone at night in the hills? Under any 
 other circumstances I wouldn't think of letting 
 you do it, child — especially with the horse-thieves 
 about. But, it seems the only way " 
 
 * ' Of course it 's the only way ! And I 'm not a bit 
 afraid." 
 
 Hurrying to the corral, Patty saddled her horse, 
 and a few moments later swung into the trail that 
 led down the creek. She glanced at her watch ; it 
 was one o'clock. The moon floated high in the 
 heavens and the valley was almost as light as day. 
 Urging her horse into a run, she found a wild ex- 
 hilaration in riding through the night, splashing 
 across shallows and shooting across short level 
 stretches to plunge through the water again. 
 
 After what seemed an interminable wait. Pierce 
 himself appeared at the door in answer to her 
 persistent pounding. Patty thought he eyed her 
 curiously as he stood aside and motioned her into 
 the kitchen. Very deliberately he lighted the 
 lamp and listened in silence until she had finished. 
 
The Horse Raid 245 
 
 Then, coolly, he eyed her from top to toe: " Tears 
 to me I've saw you before, ' ' he announced. * ' Over 
 on the trail, a while back. An* you was a-ridin' 
 with — Monk Bethune." 
 
 "Well?" asked the girl, angered by the man's 
 tone. 
 
 "Well," mocked Pierce. "So to-night's the 
 night yer figgerin' on pullin' the raid, is it?" 
 
 " I 'm figuring on pulling the raid ! What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "I mean you, an' Bethune, an* yer gang. You 
 be'n up a-spottin' the lay, so's to tip 'em off, an* 
 now you come down here an' tell me the Old Man's 
 worst so's I'll take out to town fer the doc — an' one 
 less posse-man in the hills. Yer a pretty slick 
 article, Miss, but it hain't a-goin' to work." 
 
 Patty listened, speechless with rage. When 
 the man finished she found her tongue. "You — 
 you accuse me of being a — a horse-thief?" she 
 choked. 
 
 1 ' Yup, ' ' answered the man. ' ' That's it — an' not 
 so fur off, neither. Don't you s'pose I know that if 
 the Old Man was worst one of his own boys would 
 of be'n a f oggin' it fer town hisself ? I 'd ort to take 
 an' lock you up in the root cellar an' turn you over 
 to Vil Holland, but I guess if we get all the he ones 
 
246 The Gold Girl 
 
 out of yer gang we kin leave you loose. 'Tain't 
 likely you could run off no horses single-handed.' ' 
 
 A woman whose appearance showed an evident 
 hasty toilet had stepped from an inner room, and 
 stood listening to the man. Patty was about to 
 appeal to her when, from the outside came a 
 thunder of hoofs, and suddenly a man burst into 
 the room. Patty recognized him as Bill, of the 
 Samuelson ranch. "Come on, Jack, quick! Git 
 yer gun, while I slam the kak on yer cayuse. The 
 raid's on, they've cut out a bunch of them three- 
 an' four-year-olds offen the east slope an' they're 
 a-foggin' 'em off." 
 
 ' ' Bill ! Oh, Bill ! " cried the girl, in desperation. 
 But the man had plunged toward the corral, fol- 
 lowed by Pierce, buckling on his cartridge belt as 
 he ran. A moment later both men were in the 
 saddle, and the sound of pounding hoofs grew far 
 away. 
 
 In tears, Patty turned to the woman. "Oh, 
 why couldn't he have believed me?" she cried. 
 "He thinks I'm one of that detestable gang of 
 thieves! But, you — surely you don't think I'm a 
 horse-thief ? " In broken sentences she related the 
 facts to the woman, and finished by begging her 
 to go up to the Samuelson ranch. "I'll ride on to 
 
The Horse Raid 247 
 
 town for the doc tor myself ! " she exclaimed . ' ' And 
 surely you can do that much for your neighbor.' * 
 
 "Do that much fer 'em!" the woman exclaimed. 
 "I reckon they ain't nothin' I wouldn't do fer 
 them. Mebbe Jack's right, an' mebbe he's wrong. 
 I've saw him be both, 'fore now. Anyways, it 
 ain't a-goin' to do Samuelsons no harm, nor the 
 horse-thieves no good fer me to go up there. You 
 hit the trail fer town, an' I'll ride up the crick." 
 The woman cut short the girl's thanks. "You 
 better take straight on down Porky 'til it crosses 
 the trail," she advised. "It's a little longer but 
 you won't git lost that way, an' chances is you 
 would if I tried to tell you the short cut. Thonn> 
 sons is great friends with Samuelsons," called the 
 woman, as Patty mounted. ' ' Better change horses 
 there ! Or, mebbe Thompson '11 go on to town fer 
 you." 
 
 Below the Pierce ranch the trail was not so good 
 but, unheeding, the girl held her horse to his pace. 
 In her heart now was no wild exhilaration of moon- 
 light, nor was there any lurking fear of unknown 
 horsemen, only a mighty rage — a rage engendered 
 by Pierce's accusation, but which expanded with 
 each leap of her horse until it included Vil Holland, 
 Bethune, the Samuelson cowboys, and even Len 
 
248 The Gold Girl 
 
 Christie and the Samuelsons themselves — a sense- 
 less, consuming rage that caused the blood to 
 throb hotly to her temples and found vicious ex- 
 pression in driving the rowels into her horse's sides 
 until the animal tore down the rough, half -lit trail 
 at a pace that sent the loose stones flying from be- 
 neath his hoofs in rattling volleys. 
 
 Possibly, it was the rattling of loose stones, 
 possibly her anger dulled her sensibilities to the 
 point where they were incapable of taking note of 
 her surroundings, but the fact remains that as she 
 approached the mouth of a wide coulee that gave 
 into the valley from the eastward, she did not hear 
 the rumble of hundreds of pounding hoofs that 
 each second grew louder and more ominous, until 
 as she reached the mouth of the coulee a rider swept 
 into the valley, his horse straining every muscle to 
 keep ahead of the herd that thundered in his wake. 
 
 Apparently the horseman did not notice her, and 
 the next moment Patty was engulfed in the herd. 
 The girl lived one wild moment of terror. In 
 front, behind, upon each side were madly plunging 
 horses, eyes staring, mouths agape exposing long 
 white teeth that flashed wickedly in the moonlight, 
 manes tossing wildly, and air whistling through 
 wide-flaring nostrils. On and on they swept dowi? 
 
The Horse Raid 249 
 
 the valley. The roar of hoofs rose to a mighty 
 crescendo of thunder, above which, now and then, 
 the terrified girl caught fierce yells from the flank 
 of the herd. So close were the terrorized horses 
 running that it was impossible for the girl to see 
 the ground before her. Sweating, plunging bodies 
 surged against her legs threatening each moment 
 to scrape her feet from the stirrups. Gripping 
 the horn with both hands she rode in a sort of 
 daze. 
 
 Glancing over her shoulder, she caught an occa- 
 sional flash of white as the men on the flanks waved 
 sheets above their heads, whose flapping, fluttering 
 folds urged the maddened horses into a perfect 
 frenzy of action. 
 
 In front, and a little to one side of Patty, a horse 
 went down, a big roan colt, and she got one horrible 
 glimpse of a grotesquely twisted neck, and a tangle 
 of thrashing hoofs as another horse plunged onto 
 his fallen comrade. A horrible scream split the 
 air as he, too, went down, and the sudden side- 
 surge of the herd all but unseated the clinging girl. 
 In a second it was over and the herd thundered on. 
 Patty closed her eyes, and with white, tight-pressed 
 lips, wondered when her horse would go down. 
 She pictured the bloody, battered thing that had 
 
250 The Gold Girl 
 
 been herself, lying flattened and gruesome, in the 
 moonlight when the pounding hoofs swept past. 
 
 Time and distance ceased to be. Patty was 
 carried helplessly on, a part of that frenzied flood of 
 flesh, muscles rigid, brain tense — waiting for the 
 inevitable moment — the horrible moment that was 
 to mark the climax of this ride of horrors. She 
 wondered if it would hurt, or would merciful un- 
 consciousness come with the first impact of the fall. 
 
 Suddenly she opened her eyes. She sensed a 
 change in the rumble of hoofs. Horses surged to- 
 gether and the pace slackened from a wild rush to 
 a wilder thrashing of uncertainty. In the fore- 
 front a thin red spurt of flame leaped forth and 
 above the pounding hoofs rang the report of a shot. 
 The leaders seemed to have stopped and the main 
 body of the herd pressed and struggled against the 
 unyielding front. Other spurts of flame pierced 
 the night, and shots rang viciously from all sides. 
 The horses were milling, churning, about in a 
 huge maelstrom, in which Patty found herself 
 being slowly forced to the outside as the unencum- 
 bered free horses crowded to the center away from 
 the terrifying stabs of flame and the crack of guns. 
 She could see a mounted form before her. Evi- 
 dently it was the man who had ridden in the fore- 
 
The Horse Raid 251 
 
 front of the herd. The rider was very close, now, 
 his horse keeping pace with her own which had 
 nearly reached the outer rim of the churning mass 
 of animals. The brim of his hat shadowed his 
 face but Patty could see that the gauntleted hand 
 held a six-gun. A shift of position brought the 
 moonlight full upon the man's front — upon a scarf 
 of robin's-egg blue caught together at the throat 
 with the polished tip of buffalo horn. No other 
 horsemen were in sight, but an occasional sharp 
 report sounded from the opposite side of the herd. 
 ' ' Vil ! ' ' she screamed. ' ' Vil Holland ! " The form 
 stiffened in the saddle and the girl caught the flash 
 of his eyes beneath the hat brim. The next in- 
 stant the gun had given place to a heavy quirt in 
 his hand, his tall, rangy horse plunged straight 
 toward her, the wild horses, crowding frenziedly to 
 escape the blows as the rider lashed furiously to 
 the right and to the left as' he forced his mount 
 to her side. 
 
 "Good God! Girl, what are you doing here? 
 I thought you were one of them — and I nearly — " 
 The man leaned suddenly forward and grasped the 
 bit-chain of her bridle. As if knowing exactly 
 what was expected of them, side by side the two 
 horses fought their way free of the herd, the big 
 
252 The Gold Girl 
 
 buckskin with ears laid back, snapping viciously 
 at the crowding horses. A six-gun roared twice. 
 Patty felt a sudden brush of air against her cheek 
 and the next instant the two horses plunged down 
 the steep side of a narrow ravine. In the bottom 
 the man released her bridle. "You stay here!" 
 he commanded gruffly. 
 
 "But, the Samuelsons! Mr. Samuelson is — " 
 The words were drowned in a shower of gravel as 
 the rangy buckskin scrambled up the bank and 
 disappeared over the top. The rapid transition 
 from anger to terror, and from terror to relief, 
 proved too much for the girl's nerves and she burst 
 into a violent fit of sobbing. The tears enraged 
 her and she shouted at the top of her voice. "I 
 won't stay here! " but the words sounded puny and 
 weak, and she knew that they had not penetrated 
 beyond the rim of the ravine. "I won't do it! 
 I won't stay here!" she kept repeating, the sen- 
 tences broken by the hysterical sobbing. Never- 
 theless, stay there she did, until with a mighty 
 rumble of hoofs and a scattering volley of shots, the 
 horse herd swept northward, and when finally she 
 succeeded in gaining the upper level, the sounds 
 came to her ears faint and far away. 
 
 Hurriedly she glanced about her. What was 
 
The Horse Raid 253 
 
 that stretching to the southward, a long ribbon of 
 white in the moonlight? "The trail!" she cried. 
 "The trail to town — and to Thompson's!" Just 
 beyond the trail, upon the brown-yellow buffalo 
 grass a dark object lay motionless. Patty stared 
 at it in horror. It was the body of a man. Her 
 first impulse was to put spurs to her horse and fly 
 down that long white ribbon of trail — to place dis- 
 tance between herself and the thing that lay 
 sprawled upon the grass. Then a thought flashed 
 into her brain. Suppose it were he? Vil Holland, 
 the man whom everybody trusted — the man who 
 had calmly braved the shots of the horse-thieves 
 to rescue her from that churning maelstrom of 
 horror. 
 
 Unconsciously, but surely, under the influence 
 of those upon whose judgment she knew she could 
 rely, her suspicion and distrust of him had weak- 
 ened. She had half-realized the fact days ago, 
 when at thought of him she found herself forced 
 to enumerate his apparent offenses over and over 
 again to keep the distrust alive. She thought of 
 him now as he had fought his way to her, lashing 
 the infuriated horses from his path. He had ap- 
 peared, somehow — different. She closed her eyes 
 and clean cut as though chiseled upon her brain 
 
254 The Gold Girl 
 
 was the picture of him as he forced his way to her 
 side. Like a flash the detail of difference broke 
 upon her — The jug was missing ! And close upon 
 the heels of the discovery came the memory of the 
 strange thrill that had shot through her as his leg 
 pressed hers when their horses had been forced 
 together by the milling herd, and the sense of se- 
 curity and well being that replaced the terror in her 
 heart from the moment she had called his name. 
 A sudden indescribable pain gripped her breast, as 
 though icy fingers reached up and slowly clutched 
 her heart. With staring eyes and breath coming 
 heavily between parted lips, she rode toward the 
 thing on the ground. As she drew near, her horse 
 stopped, sniffing nervously. She attempted to 
 urge him forward, but he quivered, shied sidewise, 
 and, snorting his fear, circled the sprawling object 
 with nostrils a-quiver. 
 
 Fighting a terrible dread, the girl forced her eyes 
 to focus upon the gruesome form, and the next 
 instant she uttered a quick little cry of relief. The 
 man's hat had fallen off and lay at some distance 
 from the body. She could see a shock of thick 
 black hair, and noticed that he wore a cheap cotton 
 shirt that had once been white. There were no 
 chaps. One leg of his blue overalls had rolled up 
 
The Horse Raid 255 
 
 and exposed six inches of bare skin which gleamed 
 whitely in the moonlight above the top of his shoe. 
 The sight sickened, disgusted her, and whirling 
 her horse she dashed southward along the trail 
 forgetting for the moment the Samuelsons, the 
 doctor, and everything else in a wild desire to put 
 distance between herself and that awful thing on 
 the ground. 
 
 Not until her horse's hoofs rang upon the hard 
 rock- of the canyon floor, did Patty slacken her 
 pace. Thompson's was only a few miles farther on. 
 It was dark in the high walled canyon and she 
 slowed her horse to a walk. He stopped to drink 
 in the shallow creek and the girl glanced over 
 the back trail. Where was he now! Thundering 
 along with the recaptured horse herd, or following 
 the thieves in a mad flight through the devious 
 fastnesses of the mountains. Was it possible that 
 even at this moment he was lying upon the yellow- 
 brown grass, or among the broken rock fragments 
 of some coulee, twisted, and shapeless, and still — 
 like that other who lay repulsive and ugly, with his 
 bare leg shining white in the moonlight? She 
 shuddered. 44 No, no, no!" she cried aloud, "they 
 can't kill him. They 're cowards — and he is brave!" 
 Her voice rang hollow and thin in the rocky chasm, 
 
256 The Gold Girl 
 
 and she started at the sound of it. Her horse 
 moved on, tongueing the bit contentedly. "They 
 were right, and I was wrong," she muttered. 
 "And— and, I'm glad." 
 
 The canyon was left behind and before her the 
 trail wound among the foothills that rolled away 
 to the open bench. She noticed that the moon 
 had sunk behind the mountains, yet it was not dark. 
 Glancing toward the east, she realized that it was 
 morning. She urged her horse into a lope, and 
 reached Thompson's just as the ranchman and his 
 two hands were starting for the barn. 
 
 "Well, dog my cats, if it ain't Miss Sinclair!" 
 exclaimed the man, and stood silent for a second 
 as if trying to remember something. He rushed 
 toward her excitedly. "You want that horse?" 
 he cried, and without waiting for an answer, turned 
 to the astonished ranch hands: "You, Mike, 
 throw the shell onto Lightnin', an' git him out here, 
 an' don't lose no time about it, neither ! 
 
 "Pete, git that rifle an' lay along the trail ! An' 
 if anyone comes a-foggin' along towards town 
 shoot his horse out from in under him! Never 
 mind chawin' — you git! Shoot his horse, an' I'll 
 pay the bill. Any skunk that would try fer to beat 
 a lady out of her claim ain't a-goin' to expect 
 
The Horse Raid 257 
 
 nothin' but what he gits around this outfit. An' 
 say, Pete — if it should be Monk Bethune — an' 
 you happen to shoot a leetle high fer to hit the 
 horse — don't worry none — git, now! 
 
 "You come right along of me, an' git a snack 
 from Miz T. while Mike's a-saddlin' up. It's a 
 long drag to town, even on Lightnin', an' you ain't 
 et yet. If the coffee ain't hot, you can wait a 
 couple o' minutes — that there Pete — he won't let 
 nothin' git by — he kin cut a sage hen's head off 
 twenty rod with that rifle!" Patty had made 
 several unsuccessful attempts to speak — attempts 
 to which Thompson paid no attention whatever. 
 At last, she managed to make him understand. 
 "No, no! It isn't the claim, Mr. Thompson — 
 but, let him saddle the horse just the same. 
 Mr. Samuelson is worse and I'm riding for the 
 doctor." 
 
 "You!" exclaimed the astonished Thompson. 
 "What's the matter with Bill or some of Samuel- 
 son's riders?" 
 
 "They're after the horse-thieves. They ran off 
 a lot of Mr. Samuelson's horses last night, and 
 they're after them. And they caught them, and 
 had a battle, and I was in it, and there is a dead 
 man lying back there beside the trail." Patty 
 
258 The Gold Girl 
 
 talked rapidly, and Thompson stared open- 
 mouthed. 
 
 "Run off Samuelson's horses — battle — dead 
 man — you was in it!" he repeated, in bewilder- 
 ment. "Who run 'em off? Where's Vil Holland? 
 Who's dead?" 
 
 "I don't know who's dead. A horse-thief, I 
 guess. And Vil Holland's with them — with the 
 Samuelson cowboys and that horrid Pierce, and 
 that's why I had to ride for the doctor — because 
 the cowboys were with Vil Holland, and Pierce 
 thought I was one of the horse-thieves." 
 
 "If you know what you're talkin' about it's 
 more'n what I do," sighed Thompson, resignedly, 
 as the girl concluded the somewhat muddled ex- 
 planation. "If the raid's come off, why wasn't 
 I in on it — an' me keepin' Lightnin' up an' ready 
 fer it's goin' on three months? They's a thing or 
 two I do know, though. For one, you've rode fer 
 enough." He called to Pete, who, rifle in hand, 
 was making for the trail. ' ' Hey, Pete, come back 
 here with that gun, an' quick as Mike gits the hull 
 cinched onto Lightnin', you fork him an' hightail 
 fer town an' fetch Doc Mallory out to Samuelson's. 
 Tell him the Old Man's worse. Better fetch Len 
 Christie along, too. If there's a dead man, e\ 
 
The Horse Raid 259 
 
 if he's a horse-thief, it's better he was buried 
 accordin' to the book. Take Miss Sinclair's horse 
 to the stable an' tell Mike to onsaddle him an' 
 give him a feed." He turned to Patty: "You 
 come along in an' rest up 'til Miz T. gits breakfast 
 ready. Then when you've et, you kin begin at 
 the beginnin' an' tell what's be'n a-goin' on in the 
 hills." 
 
 A couple of hours later when Patty concluded 
 her detailed narrative, Thompson leaned back in 
 his chair. ' ' I got a crow to pick with Vil Holland, 
 all right, fer not lettin' me in on that there raid." 
 
 "Maybe he didn't have time," suggested the 
 girl, and surpressed a desire to smile at the readiness 
 with which she sprang to the defense of her "guard- 
 ian devil of the hills." 
 
 Protesting that she needed no rest after her 
 night of wild adventure, Patty refused the pressing 
 invitation of the Thompsons to remain at the ranch, 
 and mounting her horse, headed for the cabin on 
 Monte's Creek. 
 
 Once through the canyon, she turned abruptly 
 into the hills and as her horse, unguided, topped 
 low divides, and threaded mile after mile of narrow 
 valleys, her thoughts wandered from the all-ab- 
 sorbing topic of her father's location, to the man 
 
260 The Gold Girl 
 
 for whom she had so recently experienced such a 
 signal revulsion of feeling. "How could I ever 
 have been deceived by that disgusting Monk Be- 
 thune?" she muttered. "Especially after he 
 warned me against him. It's a wonder I couldn't 
 have seen him for the sleek oily devil that he is. 
 I must have been crazy." She shuddered at the 
 recollection of that day in the little valley when he 
 boldly made love to her. "It's just blind luck 
 that — that something awful didn't happen. I 
 could see the lurking devil in his eyes ! And I saw 
 it again, when he sneered at Mr. Christie. And 
 when Pierce showed very plainly what he thought 
 of him, he cursed everybody in the hills, and then 
 offered his glaringly false explanation as to why 
 people hate and distrust him. ' ' At the top of a low 
 divide, she turned her horse into a valley that was 
 not, by any means, the most direct route to the 
 little cabin on Monte's Creek. A half hour later 
 she came out onto the plateau, upon the edge of 
 which Vil Holland's little tent nestled against its 
 towering rock fragment. 
 
 For just an instant she hesitated, then, blushing, 
 rode boldly across the open space toward the little 
 patch of white that showed through the scrub tim- 
 ber. Pulling up before the tent door the girl 
 
The Horse Raid 261 
 
 glanced about her. Everything was in its place. 
 Her eyes rested approvingly upon the well-scoured 
 cooking utensils that hung in an orderly row. 
 Evidently the camp had not been used the night 
 before. She drew of! her glove and, leaning over, 
 felt the blankets that were thrown over the ridge- 
 pole. They were still wet with the heavy dew, and 
 the dampened ashes showed that no fire had been 
 built that morning. ' ' Oh, where is he ? " whispered 
 the girl, glancing wildly about, " Surely, he has had 
 time to reach here — if he's — all right." After a 
 few moments of silence she laughed nervously: 
 "He's all right," she assured herself with forced 
 cheerfulness. ' ' Of course, he wouldn't return here 
 right away. He probably had to help drive those 
 horses back, or — or help bury that man, or some- 
 thing. I wonder what he thinks of me? Pierce 
 will tell him his suspicions, and then — finding me 
 mixed in with those horses — he'll think I've 
 'thrown in' with Bethune, as he would say. I 
 must see him. I must!" 
 
 Deciding to return later in the day, Patty headed 
 her horse for the divide and soon found herself at 
 the much trampled notch in the hills. For some 
 moments she sat staring down at the ground. 
 She glanced toward the cabin that showed so dis- 
 
262 The Gold Girl 
 
 tinctly in the valley below. ■ ' He certainly watches 
 from here," she mused. "And not just occasion- 
 ally either." Suddenly, she straightened in her 
 saddle, and her eyes glowed : ' ' I wonder if — if he 
 has been watching — Monk Bethune? Watching 
 to see that no harm comes to — me? Oh, if I only 
 knew — if I only knew the real meaning of this 
 trampled grass!" Resolutely, she gathered up 
 her reins. "I will know! 1 ' she muttered." And 
 I'll know before very long, too. That is, I hope 
 I will," she qualified, as the bay cayuse began to 
 pick his way carefully down the steep descent to 
 Monte 's Creek. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 PATTY FINDS A GLOVE 
 
 Dismounting before her cabin, Patty dropped 
 her reins, pushed open the door, and entered. Her 
 eyes flew to the little dressing table. The packet 
 was gone ! With a thrill of exultation she carefully 
 inspected the room. Everything was exactly as 
 she had left it. No blundering Microby had been 
 here during her absence, for well she knew that 
 Microby could no more have invaded the cabin 
 without leaving traces of her visit than she could 
 have flown to the moon. It was midday. She 
 had intended to rest when she reached the cabin, 
 but her impatience to establish once for all the 
 identity of the cunning prowler dispelled her weari- 
 ness, and after a hurried luncheon, she was once 
 more in the saddle. " We've both earned a good 
 rest, old fellow," she confided to her horse, as he 
 threaded the coulee she had marked I NW, "but 
 it's only six or seven miles, and we simply must 
 
 263 
 
264 The Gold Girl 
 
 know who it is that has been calling on us so per- 
 sistently. And when I find daddy's mine and have 
 just oodles of money, I'm going to make it up to 
 you for working you so hard. You're going to 
 have a nice, big, light, roomy box stall, and a great 
 big grassy pasture with a creek running through it, 
 and you're going to have oats three times a day, and 
 you're never going to have to work any more, and 
 every day I'll saddle you myself and we'll take a 
 ride just for fun." 
 
 Having disposed of her horse's future in this 
 eminently satisfactory manner, the girl fell to 
 planning her own. She would build a big house 
 and live in Middleton, and fairly flaunt her gold in 
 the faces of those who had scoffed at her father — 
 no, she hated Middleton ! She would go there once 
 in a while, to visit Aunt Rebecca, but mainly to 
 show the narrow, hide-bound natives what they 
 had missed by not backing her father with a few of 
 their miserable dollars. She would live in New 
 York — in Washington — in Los Angeles. No, she 
 would live right here in the hills — the hills that 
 daddy had loved, and whose secret he had wrested 
 from their silent embrace. And when she tired 
 of the hills she would travel. Not the slightest 
 doubt as to her ability to locate her father's claim 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 265 
 
 assailed her, now that she had learned to read 
 his map. 
 
 It was wonderfully good to be alive. Her glance 
 traveled from the tiny creek whose shallow waters 
 purled and burbled about her horse's feet, to the 
 high-flung peaks of the mountains, their loftier 
 reaches rearing naked and craggy above the dark 
 green girdle of pines. Slowly and majestically, 
 hardly more than a speck against the blue, an eagle 
 soared. It was a good world — courage and per- 
 severence made things work out right. It was 
 cowardly to despair — to become disheartened. 
 She would find her father's mine — but, first she 
 would prove that Bethune was a scoundrel of the 
 deepest dye. And she would prove, she admitted 
 to herself she wanted to prove, that Vil Holland 
 was all his friends believed him to be. But, she 
 blushed with shame — what must he think of her ? 
 Of her defense of Bethune, of her deliberate rude- 
 ness, and worst of all, of her night ride with the 
 horse-thieves ? He knew she had suspected him — 
 had even accused him. Would he ever regard her 
 as other than a silly fool? Vividly she pictured 
 him as he had looked lashing his way to her through 
 the wildly crowding horse herd, determined, cap- 
 able, masterful — and wondered vaguely what her 
 
266 The Gold Girl 
 
 answer would have been had he made love to her 
 as Bethune had done? She smiled at the thought 
 of Vil Holland, the unsmiling, the outspoken, the 
 self-sufficient Vil Holland making love! 
 
 Upon the summit of a high ridge she paused and 
 gazed down into the little valley where she had 
 located the false claim. A few moments more and 
 she would know to a certainty the identity of the 
 prowler who had repeatedly searched her cabin. 
 Certain as she was whose stakes she would find 
 marking the claim, it was with a rapidly beating 
 heart that she urged her horse into the valley and 
 across the creek toward the rock wall. Yes, there 
 was a stake! And another! And there was the 
 plot of ground she had laboriously broken at the 
 foot of the wall. She swung from the saddle and 
 examined the spot. The rock fragments she had 
 selected from her father's samples were gone ! And 
 now to find the notice! As she turned to search 
 for the other stakes, her glance rested upon an 
 object that held her rooted in her tracks. For a 
 moment her heart stopped beating as she stared 
 at the little patch of gray buckskin that lay limp 
 and neglected where it had fallen. Slowly she 
 walked to it, stooped, and recovered it from the 
 ground. It was a gauntleted riding glove — Vil 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 267 
 
 Holland's. She could not be mistaken, she had 
 seen that glove upon the hand of its owner too 
 many times, with its deep buckskin fringe, and the 
 horseshoe embroidered in red and green silk upon 
 its back. 
 
 For a long time she stared at the green and red 
 horseshoe. So it was Vil Holland, after all, and 
 not Monk Bethune, who had systematically 
 searched her cabin. Vil Holland, who had watched 
 continually from his notch in the hills. She had 
 been right in the first place, and the others had 
 been wrong. Everybody disliked Bethune, and 
 disliking him, had attributed to him all the crooked- 
 ness of the hill country, and all the time, under 
 their very noses, Vil Holland was the real plotter — 
 and they liked him! She could see it all, now — 
 how, with Bethune for the scapegoat, he was 
 enabled, unsuspected, to plan and carry out his 
 various schemes, and with no possible chance of 
 detection — for he himself was the confidential 
 employee of the ranchmen — the man whose busi- 
 ness it was to put an end to the lawlessness of the 
 hill country. 
 
 Patty was surprised that she was not angry. 
 Indeed, she was not conscious of any emotion. 
 She realized, as she stood there holding the gaily 
 
268 The Gold Girl 
 
 embroidered glove in her hand, that the rapture 
 the gladness of mere existence had left her, and 
 that where only a few minutes before, her heart 
 had throbbed with the very joy of living, it now 
 seemed like a thing of weight, whose heaviness op- 
 pressed her. She felt strangely alone and helpless. 
 She glanced about her. The sun still shone on the 
 green pines and the sparkling waters of the creek, 
 and above the high-tossed crags the eagle still 
 circled, but the thrill of joy in these things was 
 gone. Slowly she turned and, still holding the 
 glove, mounted, and headed for the cabin on 
 Monte's Creek. 
 
 At the door she unsaddled her horse, hobbled 
 him, and turned him loose. She realized that she 
 was very tired, and threw herself down upon the 
 bunk. When she awoke the cabin was in darkness. 
 The door stood wide open as she had left it. For 
 a moment she lay trying to collect her bewildered 
 senses. Through the open door, dimly silhouetted 
 against the starry sky, she made out the notch in 
 the valley rim. Her sense rallied with a rush, and 
 she started nervously as a pack rat scurried across 
 the floor and paused upon the door sill to peer in- 
 quisitively at her with his beady eyes. Crossing 
 the room, she closed and barred the door, and 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 269 
 
 lighted the lamp. It was twelve o'clock. She 
 peered at herself in the glass and with an ex- 
 clamation of anger, dampened her wash-cloth and 
 scrubbed furiously at her cheek where, in deep 
 tracery appeared the perfect shape of a horsehoe. 
 
 She was very hungry, and rummaging in the 
 cupboard set out a cold lunch which she devoured 
 to the last crumb. Then she blew out the lamp 
 and, removing her riding boots, threw herself down 
 upon the bunk to think. She was angry now, and 
 the longer she thought the angrier she got. "I 
 can see it all as plan as day," she muttered. 
 "There isn't anything he wouldn't do! He did 
 cut that pack sack, and he ran the sheep man out 
 of the hills because he knew it would be dangerous 
 for him to have a neighbor that might talk. And 
 the Samuelson horse raid! Of all the diabolical 
 plotting ! With his outlaw friends holding trusted 
 positions on the ranch, and old Mr. Samuelson sick 
 in bed! Oh, it was cleverly planned! And that 
 Pierce was right in with them. No wonder he 
 wanted to lock me in his cellar ! 
 
 "Who, then, was the man that lay sprawled by 
 the side of the trail?" The girl shuddered at the 
 memory of the cheap cotton shirt torn open at the 
 throat, and the moonlight shining whitely upon 
 
270 The Gold Girl 
 
 the bare leg. "Some loyal rancher, probably, who 
 dared to oppose the outlaws. It's murder!" she 
 cried aloud. "And yesterday I thought he was 
 watching up there in the hills to see that no harm 
 came to me!" She laughed — a hard, bitter laugh 
 that held as much of mirth as the guggle of a tide 
 rip. "But he's come to the end of his rope! I'll 
 expose him! I'm not afraid of his lawless crew! 
 Jle'll find out it will take more than rescuing me 
 from that herd of wild horses to buy my silence! 
 I'll ride straight to Samuelson's ranch in the morn- 
 ing, and from there to Thompson's, and I'll tell 
 them about his part in the raid, and about his 
 watching like a vulture from his notch in the hills, 
 and about his stealing what he thought was daddy's 
 map, and about his filing the claim. And I'll 
 show 'em the glove and — " She paused abruptly : 
 "What a fool I was to come away without the 
 notice! That would have proved it beyond any 
 doubt, even if he hasn't recorded the claim!" 
 For a long time she lay in the darkness planning her 
 course for the day. All thought of sleep had van- 
 ished, and her eyes continually sought the window 
 for signs of approaching light. 
 
 At the first faint glow of dawn the girl caught 
 up her horse and headed for the false claim. It 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 271 
 
 was but the work of a moment to locate the stake 
 to which the notice was attached by means of a bit 
 of twine. Removing the paper, she thrust it into 
 her pocket and returned to the cabin where she ate 
 breakfast before starting for the Samuelson ranch. 
 Hurriedly washing the dishes, she picked up the 
 glove and thrust it into the bosom of her shirt, 
 and drawing the crumpled notice from her pocket, 
 smoothed it out upon the table. Her glance 
 traveled rapidly over the penciled words to the 
 signature, and she stared like one in a dream. The 
 blood left her face. She closed her eyes and passed 
 her hand slowly over the lids. She opened them, 
 and with a nerveless finger, touched the paper as if 
 to make sure that it was real. Then, very slowly, 
 she rose from her chair and crossing the room, stood 
 in the doorway and gazed toward the notch in the 
 hills until hot tears welled into her eyes and 
 blurred the distant skyline. The next moment 
 she was upon her bunk, where she lay shaken be- 
 tween fits of sobbing and hysterical laughter. She 
 drew the glove, with its fringed gauntlet and its 
 gaudily embroidered horseshoe from her shirt front 
 and ran her fingers along its velvety softness. Im- 
 pulsively, passionately, she pressed the horseshoe 
 to her lips, and leaping to her feet, thrust the glove 
 
272 The Gold Girl 
 
 inside her shirt and stepping lightly to the table 
 reread the penciled lines upon the crumpled paper, 
 and over and over again she read the signature; 
 Raoul Bethune, known also as Monk Bethune. 
 The atmosphere of the little cabin seemed 
 stiffling. Crumpling the paper into her pocket, 
 she stepped out the door. She must do something 
 — go some place — talk to someone! Her horse 
 stood saddled where she had left him, and catching 
 up the reins she mounted and headed him at a 
 gallop for the ravine that led to the trampled notch 
 in the hills. During the long upward climb the 
 girl managed to collect her scattered wits. Where 
 should she go ? She breathed deeply of the pine- 
 laden air. It was still early morning. A pair of 
 magpies flitted in short flights from tree to tree 
 along the trail, scolding incessantly as they waited 
 to be frightened on to the next tree. Patches of 
 sunlight flashed vivid contrasts in their black and 
 white plumage, and set off in a splendor of changing 
 color the green and purple and bronze of their irri- 
 descent feathering. A deer bounded away in a 
 blur of tan and white, and a little farther on, a 
 porcupine lumbered lazily into the scrub. It was 
 good to be alive! What difference did it make 
 which direction she chose? All she wanted this 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 273 
 
 morning was to ride, and ride, and ride! She had 
 her father's map with her but was in no mood to 
 study out its intricacies, nor to ride slowly up and 
 down little valleys, scrutinizing rock ledges. She 
 would visit the Samuelson ranch, and find out 
 about the horse raid, and inquire after Mr. Samuel- 
 son, and then — well, there would be plenty of 
 time to decide what to do then. But first, she 
 would swing around by the little tent beside the 
 creek and see if Vil Holland had returned. Surely, 
 he must have returned by this time, and she must 
 tell him how it was she had been riding with the 
 horses — and, she must give him back his glove. 
 She blushed as she felt the pressure of its soft bulk 
 where it rested just below her heart. Surely, he 
 would need his glove — and maybe, if she were nice 
 to him, he would tell her how it came to be there — 
 and maybe he would explain — this. Her horse had 
 stopped voluntarily after his steep climb, and she 
 glanced down at the trampled grass, and from that 
 to her own little cabin far below on Monte' s Creek. 
 She wondered, as she rode through the timber 
 how it was she had been so quick to doubt this 
 grave, unsmiling hillman upon such a mere trivial- 
 ity as the finding of a glove. And then she won- 
 dered at her changed attitude toward him. She 
 18 
 
274 The Gold Girl 
 
 had feared him at first, then despised him. And 
 now — she recalled with a thrill, the lean ruggedness 
 of him, the unwavering eyes and the unsmiling 
 lips — now, at least, she respected him, and she no 
 longer wondered why the people of the hills and 
 the people of the town held him in regard. She 
 knew that he had never sought to curry her favor — 
 had never deviated a hair's breadth from the even 
 tenor of his way in order to win her regard and, in 
 their chance conversations, he had been blunt even 
 to rudeness. And, yet, against her will, her opin- 
 ion of him had changed. And this change had 
 nothing whatever to do with her timely rescue from 
 the horse herd — it had been gradual, so gradual 
 that it had been an accomplished fact even be- 
 fore she suspected that any change was taking 
 place. 
 
 The huge rock behind w T hich nestled the little 
 tent loomed before her, and hastily removing the 
 glove from its hiding place, she came suddenly 
 upon his camp. A blackened coffee pot was 
 nestled close against a tiny fire upon which a pair 
 of trout and some strips of bacon sizzled in a fry- 
 ing pan. She glanced toward the creek, at the 
 same moment that Vil Holland turned at the 
 sound of her horse's footsteps, and for several 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 275 
 
 seconds they faced each other in silence. The 
 man was the first to speak : 
 
 ' ' Good mornin' . If you'll step back around that 
 rock for a minute, I'll slip into my shirt." 
 
 And suddenly Patty realized that he was 
 stripped to the waist, but her eyes never left the 
 point high on his upper arm, almost against the 
 shoulder, where a blood-stained bandage dangled 
 untidily. 
 
 "You're hurt!" she cried, swinging from the 
 saddle and running toward him. 
 
 "Nothin' but a scratch. I got nicked a little, 
 night before last, an' I just now got time to do it 
 up again. It don't amount to anything — don't 
 even hurt, to speak of. I can let that go, if you'll 
 just " 
 
 "Well, I won't just go away — or just anything 
 else, except just attend to that wound — so there!" 
 She was at his side, examining the clumsy bandage. 
 "Sit right down beside the creek, and I'll look at it. 
 The first thing is to find out how badly you're 
 hurt." 
 
 "It ain't bad. Looks a lot worse than it is. It 
 was an unhandy place to tie up, left-handed." 
 
 Scooping up water in her hand Patty applied it 
 to the bandage, and after repeating the process 
 
276 The Gold Girl 
 
 several times, began very gently to remove the 
 cloth. ■ ' Why it's clear through ! " she cried, as the 
 bandage came away and exposed the wound. 
 
 "Just through the meat — it missed the bone. 
 That cold water feels good. It was gettin' kind of 
 stiff." 
 
 "What did you put on it?" 
 
 "Nothin'. Didn't have anything along, an' 
 wouldn't have had time to fool with it if I'd been 
 packin' a whole drug-store." 
 
 "Where's your whisky?" 
 
 "I ain't got any." 
 
 * ' Where's your jug ? Surely there must be some 
 in it — enough to wash out this wound." 
 
 The man shook his head. "No, the jug's 
 plumb empty an* dry. I ain't be'n to town for 
 'most a week." 
 
 Patty was fumbling at her saddle for the little 
 "first aid " kit that she faithfully carried, and until 
 this moment, had never found use for. ' ' Probably 
 the only time in the world it would ever do you any 
 good, you haven't got it!" she exclaimed, dis- 
 gustedly, as she unrolled a strip of gauze from 
 about a tiny box of salve. 
 
 "I'm sorry there ain't any whisky in the jug. 
 I never thought of keepin' it for accident." 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 277 
 
 The girl smeared the wound full of salve and ad- 
 justed the bandage, "Now," she said, authorita- 
 tively, "you're going to eat your breakfast and 
 then we're going to ride straight to Samuelson's 
 ranch. The doctor will be there and he can dress 
 this wound right." 
 
 "It's all right, just the way it is," said Holland. 
 "I've seen fellows done up in bandages, one way 
 an' another, but not any that was better 'tended 
 to than that." He glanced approvingly at the 
 neatly bandaged arm. "Anyhow, this is nothin' 
 but a scratch an' it'll be all healed up, chances are, 
 before we could get to Samuelson's." 
 
 "No, it won't be all healed up before you get 
 to Samuelson's either! Run along, now, and I'll 
 stay here while you finish dressing, and when 
 you're through, you call me. I've had breakfast 
 but I can drink a cup of coffee, if you'll ask me." 
 
 "You're asked," the man replied, gravely, "and 
 while I go to the tent, you might take that outfit 
 an' jerk a couple more trout out of the creek." He 
 pointed to a light fishing pole with hook and line 
 attached that leaned against a tree. "It ain't as 
 fancy as the outfit Len Christie packs, but it 
 works just as good, an' ain't any bother to take 
 <care of." 
 
27S The Gold Girl 
 
 A few minutes later Vil Holland emerged from 
 the tent. "Sorry I ain't got a table," he apolo- 
 gized, "but a fry-in' pan outfit's always suited me 
 best — makes a fellow feel kind of free to pull stakes 
 an' drift when the notion hits him." 
 
 "But, you've camped here for a long time." 
 
 The man glanced about him: "Yes, a long 
 time. I guess I know every place in the hills for a 
 hundred miles round an' this is the pick of 'em all, 
 accordin' to my notions. Plenty of natural pas- 
 ture, plenty of timber, an' this little creek's the 
 coldest, an' it always seems to me, its water is the 
 sparklin'est of 'em all. An' then, away off there 
 towards the big mountains, early in the mornin' 
 an' late in the evenin', when it's all kind of dim 
 down here, you can see the sunlight on the snow — 
 purple, an' pink, an' sometimes it shines like sil- 
 ver an' gold. It lays fine for a ranch. Some- 
 time, maybe, I'm goin' to homestead it. I'll 
 build the cabin right there, close by the big 
 rock, an' I'll build a porch on it so in the 
 evenin's we could watch the lights way up there 
 on the snow." 
 
 Patty smiled: "Who is 'we'?" she asked, mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 The man regarded her gravely: "Things like 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 279 
 
 that works themselves out. If there ain't any 
 'we', there won't be any cabin — so there's nothin' 
 to worry about." 
 
 "Did you catch the horse-thieves?" 
 
 Vil Holland's face clouded. ' ' Part of 'em. Not 
 the main ones, though." 
 
 Patty shuddered. "I saw one of them lying 
 back there by the trail. It was horrible." 
 
 "Yes, an' a couple of more went the same way, 
 further on. We'd rather have got 'em alive, but 
 they'd had their orders, an' they took their medi- 
 cine. 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 Samuel- 
 son's, somehow. The boys didn't know nothin' 
 about it — except Pierce — an' he guessed wrong." 
 
 Patty laughed. ' ' He accused me of being one <x 
 the gang, and even threatened to lock me in his 
 cellar." 
 
 "He won't again," announced the man, dryly. 
 
 "I rode down there to get him to go for the doc- 
 tor. Mr. Samuelson was worse, and there was no 
 one else to go. And when I started on for town, 
 the horses swept down on me and carried me along 
 with them." 
 
28o The Gold Girl 
 
 1 'Was the doctor got?" asked Holland with sud- 
 den interest. 
 
 "Yes, I rode on down to Thompson's, and Mr. 
 Thompson sent a man to town. He was provoked 
 with you for not letting him in on the raid." 
 
 "He'll get over it. You see, I didn't want to 
 call out the married men. I surmised there' d be 
 gun-play an' there wasn't any use takin' chances 
 with men that was needed, when there's plenty of 
 us around the hills that it don't make any differ- 
 ence to anyone if we come back or not. I didn't 
 figure on lettin' Pierce in." 
 
 When they had finished washing the dishes the 
 girl glanced toward the buckskin that was snipping 
 grass in the clearing: "It's time we were going. 
 The doctor may start for town this morning and 
 we'll meet him on the trail." 
 
 "This ain't a doctor's job," protested the man. 
 "My arm feels fine." 
 
 1 ' It's so stiff you can hardly use it. It must feel 
 fine. But it doesn't make a particle of difference 
 how fine it feels. It needs attention. And, surely 
 you won't refuse to do this for me, after I bandaged 
 it all up? Because, if anything should go wrong it 
 would be my fault." 
 
 Without a word the man picked up his bridle 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 281 
 
 and walking to the buckskin, slipped it over his 
 head and led him in. He saddled the horse with 
 one hand, and as he turned toward the girl she held 
 out the glove. 
 
 "Isn't this yours? I found it last evening — out 
 in the hills." 
 
 Holland thrust his hand into it: "Yes, it's 
 mine. I'm sure obliged to you. I lost it a couple 
 of days ago. I hate to break in new gloves. These 
 have got a feel to 'em." 
 
 * ' Do you know where I found it ? " 
 
 "No. Couldn't guess within twenty miles or 
 so. 
 
 Patty looked him squarely in the eyes: "I 
 found it over where Monk Bethune has just staked 
 a claim. And he staked that particular claim be- 
 cause it was the spot I had indicated on a map that 
 I prepared especially for the benefit of the man who 
 has been searching my cabin all summer." 
 
 Holland nodded gravely, without showing the 
 slightest trace of surprise. "Oh, that's where I 
 dropped it, eh? I figured Monk thought he'd 
 found somethin', the way he come out of your 
 cabin the last time he searched it, so I followed him 
 to the place you'd salted for him." He paused, 
 and for the first time since she had known him, 
 
282 The Gold Girl 
 
 Patty thought she detected a flicker of amusement 
 in his eyes. "He didn't waste much time there — 
 just clawed around a few minutes where you'd 
 pecked up the dirt, an' then sunk his stakes, an' 
 wrote out his notice, an' high-tailed for the regis- 
 ter's office. That was a pretty smart trick of yours 
 but it wouldn't have fooled anyone that knows 
 rock. Bethune's no prospector. He's a Canada 
 crook — whisky runner, an' cattle rustler, an' 
 gambler. Somehow, he'd got a suspicion that 
 your father made a strike he'd never filed, an' he's 
 been tryin' to get holt of it ever since. I looked 
 your plant over after he'd hit for town to file, an* 
 when I tumbled to the game, I let him go ahead." 
 
 "But, suppose the rock had been right? Sup- 
 pose, it had really been daddy's claim?" 
 
 "Buck can run rings around that cayuse of his 
 any old day. I expect, if the rock had be'n right, 
 Monk Bethune would of met up with an adventure 
 of some sort a long ways before he hit town." 
 
 "You knew he was searching my cabin all the 
 time?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, I knew that. But, I saw you was a match 
 for 'em — him an' the fake Lord, too." 
 
 1 ' Is that the reason you threw Lord Clendenning 
 into the creek, that day?" 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 283 
 
 "Yes, that was the reason. I come along an* 
 caught him at it. Comical, wasn't it? I 'most 
 laughed. I saw you slip back into the brush, but 
 I'd got so far along with it I couldn't help finishin\ 
 You thought the wrong man got throw'd in." 
 
 "You knew I thought that of you — and you 
 didn't hate me?" 
 
 "Yes, I knew what you thought. You thought 
 it was me that was searchin' your cabin, too. An' 
 of course I didn't hate you because you couldn't 
 hardly help figurin' that way after you'd run onto 
 the place in the rim-rocks where I watched from. 
 If it wasn't for the trees I could have strung along 
 in a different place each time, but that's the only 
 spot that your cabin shows up from." 
 
 "And you knew that they always followed me 
 through the hills?" 
 
 "Yes, an' they wasn't the only ones that fol- 
 lowed. Clendenning ain't as bad as Bethune, for 
 all he's throw'd in with him. The days Bethune 
 followed you, I followed Bethune. An' when Clen- 
 denning followed you, I prospected, mostly." 
 
 "You thought Bethune might have — have at- 
 tacked me?" 
 
 "I wasn't takin' any chances — not with him, I 
 wasn't. One day, I thought for a minute he was 
 
284 The Gold Girl 
 
 goin' to try it. It was the day you an' him et 
 lunch together — when he pretended to be so sur- 
 prised at runnin' onto you. I laid behind a rock 
 with a bead draw'd on him. He stopped just 
 exactly one step this side of hell, that day." 
 
 Patty regarded the cowboy thoughtfully: "And 
 Bethune told me he had to go over onto the east 
 slope to see about some horses. It was after we 
 had met Pierce, and Bethune asked about Mr. 
 Samuelson and Pierce snubbed him. I believe 
 Bethune planned that raid. And seeing us to- 
 gether that day, Pierce jumped to the conclusion 
 that I was in with him." 
 
 "Yes, it was Monk's raid, all right, an' him an' 
 Clendenning got away. He doped it all out that 
 day. I followed him when he quit you there on 
 the trail, an' watched him plan out the route they'd 
 take with the horses. Then I done some plannin' 
 of my own. That's why we was able to head 'em 
 off so handy. We didn't get Bethune an' Clen- 
 denning but I'll get 'em yet." 
 
 They had mounted and were riding toward 
 Samuelson's. * ' Maybe he's made his escape across 
 the line," ventured the girl, after a long silence. 
 
 Holland shook his head: "No, he ain't across 
 the line. He don't think we savvy he was in on 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 285 
 
 the raid, an' he'll stick around the hills an' prob'ly 
 put a crew to work on his claim." He relapsed 
 into silence, and as they rode side by side, under the 
 cover of her hat brim, Patty found opportunity to 
 study the lean brown face. 
 
 1 ' Where's your gun ? ' ' The man asked the ques- 
 tion abruptly, without removing his eyes from the 
 fore-trail. 
 
 ' ' I left it home. I only carried it once or twice. 
 It's heavy, and anyway it was silly to carry it, I 
 don't even know how to fire it, let alone hit any- 
 thing." 
 
 "If it's too heavy on your belt you can carry it 
 on your saddle horn. I'll show you how to use it 
 — an' how to shoot where you hold it, too. Mrs. 
 Samuelson ain't as husky as you are, an' she can 
 wipe a gnat's eye with a six-gun, either handed. 
 Practice is all it takes, an' " 
 
 "But, why should I carry it? Bethune would 
 hardly dare harm me, and anyway, now that he 
 thinks he has stolen my secret, he wouldn't have 
 any object in doing so." 
 
 "You're goin' to keep on huntin' your dad's 
 claim, ain't you?" 
 
 "Of course I am! And I'll find it, too." 
 
 "An', in the meantime, what if Bethune finds 
 
286 The Gold Girl 
 
 out he's been tricked? These French breeds go 
 crazy when they're mad — an' he'll either lay for 
 you just to get even, or he'll see that he gets the 
 right dope next time — an' maybe you know what 
 that means, an' maybe you don't — but I do." 
 
 The girl nodded, and as the horses scrambled 
 up the steep slope of a low divide, her eyes sought 
 the hundred and one hiding places among the loose 
 rocks and scrub that might easily conceal a lurking 
 enemy, and she shuddered. As they topped the 
 divide, both reined in and sat gazing silently down 
 the little valley before them. It was the place of 
 their first meeting, when the girl, tired, and lost 
 and discouraged, had dismounted upon that very 
 spot and watched the unknown horseman with his 
 six-shooter, and his brown leather jug slowly as- 
 cend the slope. She glanced at him now, as he sat, 
 rugged and lean, with his eyes on the little valley. 
 He was just the same, grave and unsmiling, as upon 
 the occasion of their first meeting. She noticed 
 that he held his Stetson in his hand, and that the 
 wind rippled his hair. "Just the same," she 
 thought — and yet — . She was aware that her 
 heart was pounding strangely, and that instead of 
 a fear of this man, she was conscious of a wild 
 desire to throw herself into his arms and cry with 
 
Patty Finds a Glove 287 
 
 her face against the bandage that bulged the shirt 
 sleeve just below the shoulder. 
 
 "I call this Lost Creek," said Holland, without 
 turning his head. "I come here often — " and 
 added, confusedly, "It's a short cut from my camp 
 to the trail." 
 
 Patty felt an overpowering desire to laugh. She 
 tried to think of something to say: "I — I thought 
 you were a desperado," she murmured, and giggled 
 nervously. 
 
 "An' I thought you was a schoolma'am. I guess 
 I was the first to change my mind, at that." 
 
 Patty felt herself blushing furiously for no reason 
 at all: "But — I have changed my mind — or I 
 wouldn't be here, now." 
 
 Vil Holland nodded: "I expect I'll ride to town 
 from Samuelson's. My jug's empty, an' I guess I 
 might's well file that homestead 'fore someone else 
 beats me to it. I've got a hunch maybe I'll be 
 rollin' up that cabin — before snow flies." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 UNMASKED 
 
 At the Samuelson's ranch they found not only 
 the doctor but Len Christie. Mr. Samuelson's 
 condition had taken a sudden turn for the better 
 and it was a jubilant little group that welcomed 
 Patty as she rode up to the veranda. Vil Holland 
 had muttered an excuse and gone directly to the 
 bunk house where the doctor sought him out a few 
 minutes later and attended to his wound. From 
 the top of "Lost Creek" divide, the ride had been 
 made almost in silence. The cowboy's reference 
 to his jug had angered the girl into a moody reserve 
 which he made no effort to dispel. 
 
 The news of Patty's rescue from the horse herd 
 had preceded her, having been recounted by the 
 Samuelson riders upon their return to the ranch, 
 and Mrs. Samuelson blamed herself unmercifully 
 for having allowed the girl to venture down the 
 valley alone. Which self-accusation was promptly 
 
 288 
 
Unmasked 289 
 
 silenced by Patty, who gently forced the old lady 
 into an arm chair, and called her Mother Samuel- 
 son, and seated herself upon the step at her feet, 
 and assured her that she wouldn't have missed the 
 adventure for the world. 
 
 " We'll have a jolly little dinner party this even- 
 ing," beamed Mrs. Samuelson, an hour later when 
 the girl had finished recounting her part in the 
 night's adventure, "there'll be you and Mr. 
 Christie, and Doctor Mallory, and the boys from 
 the bunk house, and Vil Holland, and it will be in 
 honor of Mr. Samuelson's turn for the better, 
 and your escape, and the successful routing of 
 the horse-thieves." 
 
 ' "Too late to count Vil Holland in," smiled the 
 doctor, who had returned to the veranda in time 
 to hear the arrangement, "said he had important 
 business in town, and pulled out as soon as I'd got 
 his arm rigged up." And, in the doorway, the 
 Reverend Len Christie smiled behind a screen of 
 cigarette smoke as he noted the toss of the head, 
 and the decided tightening of the lips with which 
 Patty greeted the announcement. 
 
 "But, he's wounded!" protested Mrs. Samuel- 
 son. "In his condition, ought he attempt a ride 
 like that?" 
 19 
 
290 The Gold Girl 
 
 The doctor laughed: "You can't hurt these 
 clean-blooded young bucks with a flesh wound. As 
 far as fitness is concerned, he can ride to Jericho if 
 he wants to. Too bad he won't quit prospecting 
 and settle down. He'd make some girl a mighty 
 fine husband." 
 
 Christie laughed. "I don't think Vil is the 
 marrying kind. In the first place he's been bitten 
 too deep with the prospecting bug. And, again, 
 women don't appeal to him. He's wedded to his 
 prospecting. He only stops when driven to it by 
 necessity, then he only works long enough to save 
 up a grub-stake and he's off for the hills again. I 
 can't imagine that high priest of the pack horse 
 and the frying pan living in a house!" 
 
 And so the talk went, everyone participating 
 except Patty, who sat and listened with an elabo- 
 rate indifference that caused the Reverend Len to 
 smile again to himself behind the gray cloud of his 
 cigarette smoke. 
 
 "You haven't forgotten about my school?" 
 asked Patty next morning, as Christie and the 
 doctor were preparing to leave for town. 
 
 "Indeed, I haven't!" laughed the Bishop of All 
 Outdoors. "School opens the first of September, 
 and that's not very far away. But badly as we 
 
Unmasked 291 
 
 need you, somehow I feel that we are not going to 
 get you." 
 
 ''Why?" asked the girl in surprise. 
 
 "A whole lot may happen in ten days — and I've 
 got a hunch that before that time you will have 
 made your strike." 
 
 ' ' I hope so ! " she exclaimed fervidly. ' ' I know 
 I shall just hate to teach school — and I'd never do 
 it, either, if I didn't need a grub-stake." 
 
 As she watched him ride away, Patty was joined 
 by Mrs. Samuelson who stepped from the house 
 and thrust her arm through hers. "My husband 
 wants to meet you, my dear. He's so very much 
 better this morning — quite himself. And I must 
 warn you that that means he's rough as an old 
 bear, apparently, although in reality he's got the 
 tenderest heart in the world. He always puts his 
 worst foot foremost with strangers — he may even 
 swear." 
 
 Patty laughed: ''I'm not afraid. You seem to 
 have survived a good many years of him. He 
 really can't be so terrible!" 
 
 "Oh, he's not terrible at all. Only, I know how 
 much depends upon first impressions — and I do 
 want you to like us." 
 
 Patty drew the old lady's arm about her waist 
 
292 The Gold Girl 
 
 and together they ascended the stairs: "I love 
 you already, and although I have never met him, 
 I am going to love Mr. Samuelson, too — you see, 
 I have heard a good deal about him here in the 
 hills." 
 
 Entering the room, they advanced to the bed 
 where a big-framed man with a white mustache and 
 a stubble of gray beard lay propped up on pillows. 
 Sickness had not paled the rich mahogany of the 
 weather-seamed face, and the eyes that met Patty's 
 from beneath their bushy brows were bright as 
 a boy's. "Good morning! Good morning! So, 
 you're Rod Sinclair's daughter, are you? An' a 
 chip of the old block, by what mama's been tellin' 
 me. I knew Rod well. He was a real prospector. 
 Knew his business, an' went at it business fashion. 
 Wasn't like most of 'em — makin' their rock-peckin' 
 an excuse to get out of workin'. They tell me you 
 ain't afraid to live alone in the hills, an' ain't 
 afraid to make a midnight ride to fetch the doc for 
 an old long-horn like me. That's stuff! Didn't 
 know they bred it east of the Mizoo. The ones 
 mama an' I've seen around the theaters an' res- 
 taurants on our trips East would turn a man's 
 stomach. Why, damn it, young woman, if I ever 
 caught a daughter of mine painted up like a Piute 
 
Unmasked 293 
 
 an' stripped to the waist smokin' cigarettes an' 
 drinkin' cocktails in a public restaurant, I'd peel 
 the rest of her duds off an' turn her over my knee 
 an' take a quirt to her, if she was forty!" 
 
 "Why, papa!" 
 
 "I would too — an' so would you!" Patty saw 
 the old eyes twinkling with mischief, and she 
 laughed merrily: 
 
 "And so would I," she agreed. "So there's no 
 chance for any argument, is there? " 
 
 "We must go, now," reminded Mrs. Samuelson. 
 "The doctor said you could not see any visitors 
 yet. He made a special exception of Miss Sinclair, 
 for just a few minutes." 
 
 "I wish you would call me Patty," smiled the 
 girl. "Miss Sinclair sounds so — so formal " 
 
 1 ' Me, too ! ' ' exclaimed the invalid. " I '11 go you 
 one better, an' call you Pat " 
 
 "If you do, I'll call you Pap — " laughed the girl. 
 
 1 ' That's a trade ! An' say, they tell me you live 
 over in Watts's sheep camp. If you should happen 
 to run across that reprobate of a Vil Holland, you 
 tell him to come over here. I want to see him 
 about " 
 
 "There, now, papa — remember the doctor 
 said " 
 
294 The Gold Girl 
 
 "I don't care what the doctor said! He's fin- 
 ished his job an' gone, ain't he? It's bad enough 
 to have to do what he says when you're sick — but, 
 I'm all right now, an' the quicker he finds out I 
 didn't hire him for a guardian, the better it'll be 
 all round. As I was goin' to say, you tell Vil that 
 Old Man Samuelson wants to see him pronto. 
 Fall's comin' on, an' I'll have my hands full this 
 winter with the horses. He's the only cowman 
 in the hills I'd trust them white faces with, an' 
 he's got to winter 'em for me. He's a natural 
 born cowman an' there's big money in it after he 
 gets a start. I'll give him his start. It's time 
 he woke up, an' left off his damned rock-peckin', 
 an' settled down. If he keeps on long enough he'll 
 have these hills whittled down as flat as North 
 Dakota, an' the wind'll blow us all over into the 
 sheep country. Now, Pat, can you remember all 
 that?" 
 
 The girl turned in the doorway, and smiled into 
 the bright old eyes: "Oh, yes, Pap, I'll tell him 
 if I see him. Good-by!" 
 
 "Good-by, an' good luck to you! Come to see 
 us often. We old folks get pretty lonesome some- 
 times — especially mama. You see, I've got all 
 the best of it — I've got her, an' she's only got me ! " 
 
Unmasked 295 
 
 As Patty threaded the hills toward her cabin her 
 thoughts followed the events of the past few days; 
 the visit of Len Christie in the early morning, when 
 he had inadvertently showed her how to read her 
 father's map, the staking of the false claim, the 
 visit to the Samuelson ranch, the horse raid, the 
 finding of Vil Holland's glove and the bitter dis- 
 appointment that followed, then the finding of the 
 notice that disclosed the identity of the real thief, 
 and her genuine joy in the discovery, her visit to 
 Holland's camp, and their long ride together. "I 
 tried to show him that all my distrust of him was 
 gone, but he hardly seemed to notice — unless — I 
 wonder what he did mean about having a hunch 
 that he would build that cabin before snow flies ?" 
 
 For some time she rode in silence, then she burst 
 out vehemently : ' ' I don't care ! I could love him — 
 so there! I could just adore him! And I don't 
 wonder everybody likes him. He seems always 
 so — so capable — so confident. You just can't help 
 liking him. If it weren't for that old jug ! He had 
 to drag that in, even up there when he stood on the 
 spot where we first met — and then at the Samuel- 
 sons' he wouldn't even wait for dinner he was 
 so crazy to get his old whisky jug filled. It never 
 seems to hurt him any," she continued. "But 
 
296 The Gold Girl 
 
 nobody can drink as much as he does and not be 
 hurt by it. I just know he meant that the cabin 
 was going to be for me — or, did he know that Mr. 
 Samuelson was going to ask him to winter the cattle ? 
 He's a regular cave man — I don't know whether 
 I've been proposed to, or not ! " 
 
 She crossed the trail for town and struck into a 
 valley that should bring her out somewhere along 
 the Watts fences. So engrossed was she in her 
 thoughts that she failed to notice the horseman 
 who slipped noiselessly into the scrub a quarter of 
 a mile ahead. Slowly she rode up the valley : ' ' If 
 he comes to teach me how to shoot, I'll tell him 
 that Mr. Samuelson wants to see him, and if he 
 says any more about the cabin, or — or anything — 
 I'll tell him he can choose between me and his jug. 
 And, if he chooses the jug, and I don't find daddy's 
 mine — it isn't long 'til school opens. I don't 
 mind — he has to work to get his grub-stake, and 
 so will I." 
 
 Her horse snorted and shied violently, and when 
 Patty recovered her seat it was to find her way 
 blocked by a horseman who stood not ten feet in 
 front of her and leered into her eyes. The horse- 
 man was Monk Bethune — a malignant, terrifying 
 Bethune, as he sat regarding her with his sneering 
 
Unmasked 297 
 
 smile. The girl's first impulse was to turn and fly, 
 but as if divining her thoughts, the man pushed 
 nearer, and she saw that his eyes gleamed horribly 
 between lids drawn to slits. Had he discovered 
 that she had tricked him with a false claim? If 
 not why the glare of hate and the sneering smile 
 that told plainer than words that he had her com- 
 pletely in his power, and knew it. 
 
 "So, my fine lady — we meet again! We have 
 much to talk about — you and I. But, first, about 
 the claim. You thought you were very wise with 
 your lying about not having a map. You thought 
 to save the whole loaf for yourself — you thought I 
 was fool enough to believe you. If you had let me 
 in, you would have had half — now you have noth- 
 ing. The claim is all staked and filed, and the ad- 
 joining claims for a mile are staked with the stakes 
 of my friends — and you have nothing ! You were 
 the fool! You couldn't have won against me. 
 Failing in my story of partnership with your father, 
 I had intended to marry you, and failing in that, 
 I should have taken the map by force — for I knew 
 you carried it with you. But I dislike violence 
 when the end may be gained by other means, so I 
 waited until, at last, happened the thing I knew 
 would happen — you became careless. You left 
 
298 The Gold Girl 
 
 your precious map and photograph in plain sight 
 upon your little table — and now you have noth- 
 ing." So he had not discovered the deception, 
 but, through accident or design, had seized this 
 opportunity to gloat over her, and taunt her with 
 her loss. His carefully assumed mask of suave 
 courtliness had disappeared, and Patty realized 
 that at last she was face to face with the real Be- 
 thune, a creature so degenerate that he boasted 
 openly of having stolen her secret, as though the 
 fact redounded greatly to his credit. 
 
 A sudden rage seized her. She touched her 
 horse with the spur: "Let me pass!" she de- 
 manded, her lips white. 
 
 The man's answer was a sneering laugh, as he 
 blocked her way: "Ho! not so fast, my pretty! 
 How about the Samuelson horse raid — your part 
 in it ? Three of my best men are in hell because 
 you tipped off that raid to Vil Holland ! How you 
 found it out I do not know — but women, of a cer- 
 tain kind, can find out anything from men. No 
 doubt Clen, in some sweet secret meeting place, 
 poured the story into your ear, although he denies 
 it on his life." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Ha! Ha! Injured innocence!" He leered 
 
Unmasked 299 
 
 knowingly into her flashing eyes: "It seems that 
 everyone else knew what I did not. But, I am of 
 a forgiving nature. I will not see you starve. 
 Leave the others and come to me " 
 
 " You cur!" The words cut like a swish of a 
 lash, and again the man laughed : 
 
 "Oh, not so fast, you hussy! I must admit it 
 rather piqued me to be bested in the matter of a 
 woman — and by a soul-puncher. I was on hand 
 early that morning, to spy upon your movements, 
 as was my custom. I speak of the morning follow- 
 ing the night that the very Reverend Christie 
 spent with you in your cabin. I should not have 
 believed it had I not seen his horse running un- 
 saddled with your own. Also later, I saw you 
 come out of the cabin together. Then I damned 
 myself for not having reached out before and taken 
 what was there for me to take." 
 
 With a low cry of fury, the girl drove her spurs 
 into her horse's sides. The animal leaped against 
 Bethune's horse, forcing him aside. The quarter- 
 breed reached swiftly for her bridle reins, and as 
 he leaned forward with his arm outstretched, Patty 
 summoned all her strength and, whirling her heavy 
 braided rawhide quirt high above her head, 
 brought it down with the full sweep of her muscular 
 
3oo The Gold Girl 
 
 arm. The feel of the blow was good as it landed 
 squarely upon the inflamed brutish face, and the 
 shrill scream of pain that followed, sent a wild 
 thrill of joy to the very heart of the girl. Again, 
 the lash swung high, this time to descend upon the 
 flank of her horse, and before Bethune could re- 
 cover himself, the frenzied animal shot up the 
 valley, running with every ounce there was in him. 
 The valley floor was fairly level, and a hundred 
 yards away the girl shot a swift glance over her 
 shoulder. Bethune's horse was getting under way 
 in frantic leaps that told of cruel spurring, and with 
 her eyes to the front, she bent forward over the 
 horn and slapped her horse's neck with her gloved 
 hand. She remembered with a quick gasp of re- 
 lief that Bethune prided himself upon the fact 
 that he never carried a gun. She had once taunted 
 Vil Holland with the fact, and he had replied 
 that "greasers and breeds were generally sneaking 
 enough to be knife men. ' ' Again, she glanced over 
 her shoulder and smiled grimly as she noted that 
 the distance between the two flying horses had 
 increased by half. "Good old boy," she whis- 
 pered. "You can beat him — can 'run rings 
 around him/ as Vil would say. It would be a 
 long knife that could harm me now," she thought, 
 
Unmasked 301 
 
 as she pulled her Stetson tight against the sweep of 
 the rushing wind. The ground was becoming more 
 and more uneven. Loose rock fragments were 
 strewn about in increasing numbers, and the valley 
 was narrowing to an extent that necessitated fre- 
 quent fording of the shallow creek. "He can't 
 make any better time than I can," muttered the 
 girl, as she noted the slackening of her horse's 
 speed. She was riding on a loose rein, giving her 
 horse his head, for she realized that to force him 
 might mean a misstep and a fall. She closed her 
 eyes and shuddered at the thoughts of a fall. A 
 thousand times better had she fallen and been 
 pounded to a pulp by the flying hoofs of the horse 
 herd, than to fall now — and survive it. The 
 ascent became steeper. Her horse was still run- 
 ning, but very slowly. His neck and shoulders 
 were reeking with sweat, and she could hear the 
 labored breath pumping through his distended 
 nostrils. 
 
 A sudden fear shot through her. Nine valleys 
 in every ten, she knew, ended in surmountable 
 divides; and she knew, also, that one valley in 
 every ten did not. Suppose this one that she had 
 chosen at random terminated in a cul-de-sac ? The 
 way became steeper. Running was out of the 
 
302 The Gold Girl 
 
 question, and her horse was forging upward in a 
 curious scrambling walk. A noise of clattering 
 rocks sounded behind her, and Patty glanced back- 
 ward straight into the face of Bethune. Reckless 
 of a fall, in the blind fury of his passion, the 
 quarter -breed had forced his horse to his utmost, 
 and rapidly closed up the gap until scarcely ten 
 yards separated him from the fleeing girl. 
 
 In a frenzy of terror she lashed her laboring 
 horse's flanks as the animal dug and clawed like a 
 cat at the loose rock footing of the steep ascent. 
 White to the lips she searched the foreground for a 
 ravine or a coulee that would afford a means of 
 escape. But before her loomed only the ever 
 steepening wall, its surface half concealed by the 
 scattering scrub. Once more she looked backward. 
 The breath was whistling through the blood-red 
 flaring nostrils of Bethune's horse, and her glance 
 flew to the face of the man. Never in her wildest 
 nightmares had she imagined the soul-curdling 
 horror of that face. The lips writhed back in a 
 hideous grin of hate. A long blue-red welt bisected 
 the features obliquely — a welt from which red 
 blood flowed freely at the corner of a swollen eye. 
 White foam gathered upon the distorted lips and 
 drooled down onto the chin where it mingled with 
 
Unmasked 303 
 
 the blood in a pink meringue that dripped in fluffy 
 chunks upon his shirt front. The uninjured eye 
 was a narrow gleam of venom, and the breath 
 swished through the man's nostrils as from the 
 strain of great physical labor. 
 
 "Oh, for my gun!" thought the girl. "I'd— 
 I'd kill him!" With a wild scramble her horse 
 went down. * ' Vil ! Vil ! " she shrieked, in a frenzy 
 of despair, and freeing herself from the floundering 
 animal, she struggled to her feet and faced her 
 pursuer with a sharp rock fragment upraised in 
 her two hands. 
 
 Monk Bethune laughed — as the fiends must 
 laugh in hell. A laugh that struck a chill to the 
 very heart of the girl. Her muscles went limp at 
 the sound of it and she felt the strength ebbing 
 from her body like sand from an upturned glass. 
 The rock fragment became an insupportable weight 
 It crashed to the ground, and rolled clattering to 
 Bethune's feet. He, too, had dismounted, and 
 stood beside his horse, his fists slowly clenching 
 and unclenching in gloating anticipation. Patty 
 turned to run, but her limbs felt numb and heavy, 
 and she pitched forward upon her knees. With a 
 slow movement of his hand, Bethune wiped the 
 pink foam from his chin, examined it, snapped it 
 
304 The Gold Girl 
 
 from his fingers, cleansed them upon the sleeve of his 
 shirt — and again, deliberately, he laughed, and 
 started to climb slowly forward. 
 
 A rock slipped close beside the girl, and the next 
 instant a voice sounded in her ear: "I don't 
 reckon he's 'round yere, Miss. I hain't saw Vil 
 this mo'nin'. " Rifle in hand, Watts stepped from 
 behind a scrub pine, and as his eyes fell upon Be- 
 thune, he stood fumbling his beard with uncertain 
 fingers. 
 
 "He — he'll kill me!" gasped the girl. 
 
 "Sho', now, Miss — he won't hurt yo' none, will 
 yo', Mr. Bethune? Gineral Jackson! Mr. Be- 
 thune, look at yo' face! Yo' must of rode again' 
 a limb!" 
 
 "Shut up, and get out of here!" screamed the 
 quarter-breed. "And, if you know what's good 
 for you, you'll forget that you've seen anyone this 
 morning." 
 
 "B'en layin' up yere in the gap fer to git me a 
 deer. I heerd yo'-all comin', like, so's I waited." 
 
 "Get out, I tell you, before I kill you!" cried 
 Bethune, beside himself with rage. "Go!" The 
 man's hand plunged beneath his shirt and came 
 out with a glitter of steel. 
 
 The mountaineer eyed the blade indifferently, 
 
Unmasked 305 
 
 and turned to the girl. "Ef yo' goin' my ways, 
 ma'am, jest yo' lead yo' boss on ahaid. They's 
 a game trail runs slaunchways up th'ough the gap 
 yender. I'll kind o' f oiler 'long behind." 
 
 "You fool ! " shrilled Bethune, as he made a grab 
 for the girl's reins, and the next instant found him- 
 self looking straight into the muzzle of Watts's rifle. 
 
 "Drap them lines," drawled the mountaineer, 
 "thet hain't yo' hoss. An' what's over an' above, 
 yo' better put up yo' whittle, an' tu'n 'round an' go 
 back wher' yo' com' from." 
 
 ' ' Lower that gun ! ' ' commanded Bethune. ' ' It's 
 cocked! " 
 
 "Yes, hit's cocked, Mr. Bethune, an' hit's sot 
 mighty light on the trigger. Ef I'd git a little 
 scairt, er a little riled, er my foot 'ud slip, yo'd 
 have to be drug down to wher' the diggin's easy, 
 an' buried." 
 
 Bethune deliberately slipped the knife back into 
 his shirt, and laughed: "Oh, come, now, Watts, 
 a joke's a joke. I played a joke on Miss Sinclair 
 to frighten her " 
 
 "Yo' done hit, all right," interrupted Watts. 
 "An' thet's the end on't." 
 
 The rifle muzzle still covered Bethune's chest in 
 the precise region of his heart, and once more he 
 
306 The Gold Girl 
 
 changed his tactics: "Don't be a fool, Watts," he 
 said, in an undertone, "I'm rich — richer than you, 
 or anyone else knows. I've located Rod Sinclair's 
 strike and filed it. If you just slip quietly off 
 about your business, and forget that you ever saw 
 anyone here this morning — and see to it that you 
 never remember it again, you'll never regret it. 
 I'll make it right with you — I'll file you next to 
 discovery." 
 
 "Yo' mean," asked Watts, slowly, "thet 
 you've stoled the mine oflen Sinclair's darter, an* 
 filed hit yo'self, an' thet ef I go 'way an' let yo' 
 finish the job by murderin' the gal, yo'll give me 
 some of the mine — is thet what yo' tryin' to git 
 at?" 
 
 1 ' Put it anyway you want to, damn you ! Words 
 don't matter, but for God's sake, get out! If she 
 once gets through the gap " 
 
 "Bethune," Watts drawled the name, even more 
 than was his wont, and the quarter-breed noticed 
 that the usually roving eyes had set into a hard 
 stare behind which lurked a dangerous glitter, 
 "yo're a ornery, low-down cur-dog what hain't 
 fitten to be run with by man, beast, or devil. I'd 
 ort to shoot yo' daid right wher' yo' at — an' mebbe 
 I will. But comin' to squint yo' over, that there 
 
Unmasked 307 
 
 damage looks mo' like a quirt-lick than a limb. 
 Thet ort to hurt like fire fer a couple a days, an' 
 when it lets up yo' face hain't a-goin' to be so purty 
 as what hit wus. Ef she'd jest of drug the quirt 
 along a little when hit landed she c'd of cut plumb 
 into the bone — but hit's middlin' fair, as hit stands. 
 I'm a-goin' to give yo' a chanct — an' a warnin', too. 
 Next time I see yo' I'm a-going' to kill yo' — when- 
 ever, or wherever hit's at. I'll do hit, jest as shore 
 as my name is John Watts. Yo' kin go now — back 
 the way yo' come, pervidin' yo' go fast. I'm a- 
 goin' to count up to wher' I know how to — I 
 hain't never be'n to school none, but I counted up 
 to nineteen, onct — an' whin I git to wher' I cain't 
 rec'lec' the nex' figger, I'm a-goin' to shoot, an* 
 shoot straight. An' I hain't a-goin' to study long 
 about them Aggers, neither. Le's see, one comes 
 fust — yere goes, then: One . . . Two . . . " 
 For a single instant, Bethune gazed into the man's 
 eyes and the next, he sprang into the saddle, and 
 dashing wildly down the steep slope, disappeared 
 into the scrub. 
 
 "Spec' I'd ort to killed him," regretted the 
 mountaineer, as he lowered the rifle, and gazed off 
 down the valley, "but I hain't got no appetite 
 fer diggin'." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 PATTY MAKES HER STRIKE 
 
 It was noon, one week from the day she had 
 returned from the Samuelson ranch, and Patty 
 Sinclair stood upon the high shoulder of a butte 
 and looked down into a rock-rimmed valley. Her 
 eyes roved slowly up and down the depression 
 where the dark green of the scrub contrasted 
 sharply with the crinkly buffalo grass, yellowed 
 to spun gold beneath the rays of the summer sun. 
 
 She reached up and stroked the neck of her 
 horse. "Just think, old partner, three days from 
 now I may be teaching school in that horrid little 
 town with its ratty hotel, and its picture shows, and 
 its saloons, and you may be turned out in a pas- 
 ture with nothing to do but eat and grow fat ! If 
 we don't find our claim to-day, or to-morrow, it's 
 good-by hill country 'til next summer." 
 
 The day following her encounter with Bethune, 
 
 Vil Holland had appeared, true to his promise, and 
 
 308 
 
Patty Makes Her Strike 309 
 
 instructed her in the use of her father's six-gun. 
 At the end of an hour's practice, she had been 
 able to kick up the dirt in close proximity to a 
 tomato can at fifteen steps, and twice she had 
 actually hit it. "That's good enough for any use 
 you're apt to have for it," her instructor had ap- 
 proved. "The main thing is that you ain't afraid 
 of it. An' remember," he added, "a gun ain't 
 made to bluff with. Don't pull it on anyone unless 
 you go through with it. Only short-horns an' 
 pilgrims ever pull a gun that don't need wipuV 
 before it's put back — I could show you the graves 
 of several of 'em. I'm leavin' you some extry 
 shells that you can shoot up the scenery with. 
 Always pick out somethin' little to shoot at — start 
 in with tin cans and work down to match-sticks. 
 When you can break six match-sticks with six 
 shots at ten steps in ten seconds folks will call you 
 handy with a gun." He had made no mention of 
 his trip to town, of his filing a homestead, or of 
 their conversation upon the top of Lost Creek 
 divide. When the lesson was finished, he had re- 
 fused Patty's invitation to supper, mounted his 
 horse, and disappeared up the ravine that led to 
 the notch in the hills. Although neither had men- 
 tioned it, Patty somehow felt that he had heard 
 
3io The Gold Girl 
 
 from Watts of her encounter with Bethune. And 
 now a week had passed and she had seen neither 
 Vil Holland nor the quarter-breed. It had been a 
 week of anxiety and hard work for the girl who had 
 devoted almost every hour of daylight to the un- 
 raveling of her father's map. Simple as the direc- 
 tions seemed, her inability to estimate distances 
 had proven a serious handicap. But by dogged 
 perseverance, and much retracing of steps, and 
 correcting of false leads, she finally stood upon the 
 rim of the valley she judged to lie two miles east 
 of the humpbacked butte that she had figured to 
 be the inverted U of her father's map. 
 
 "If this isn't the valley, I'm through for this 
 year," she said. "And I've got to-day and to- 
 morrow to explore it." She wondered at her in- 
 difference — at her strange lack of excitement at 
 this, the crucial moment of her long quest, even 
 as she had wondered at her absence of fear, be- 
 lieving as she did, that Bethune was still in the 
 hills. The feeling inspired by the outlaw had been 
 a feeling of rage, rather than terror, and had 
 rapidly crystallized in her outraged mind into an 
 abysmal soul-hate. She knew that, should the man 
 accost her again, she would kill him — and not for 
 a single instant did she doubt her ability to kill 
 
Patty Makes Her Strike 311 
 
 him. Vaguely, as she stood looking out over the 
 valley, she wondered if he were following her — 
 if at that moment he were lying concealed, some- 
 where among the surrounding rocks or patches of 
 scrub? Yet, she was conscious of no feeling of 
 fear. She even attempted no concealment as, 
 standing there upon the bare rock, she drew her 
 father's map and photographs from her pocket and 
 subjected them to a long and minute scrutiny. 
 And then, still holding them in her hand, gazed 
 once more over the valley. "To 'a,' to Vb/" she 
 repeated. "What is there that daddy would have 
 designed as 'a,' and 'b?'" Suddenly, her glance 
 became fixed upon a point up the valley that lay 
 just within her range of vision. With puckered 
 eyes and hat-brim drawn low upon her forehead, 
 she stared steadily into the distance. She knew 
 that she had never before seen this valley, and yet 
 the place seemed, somehow, strangely familiar. 
 With a low cry she bent over one of the photo- 
 graphs. Her hands trembled violently as her eyes 
 once more flew to the valley. Yes, there it was, 
 spread out before her just the way it was in the 
 photograph — the rock-strewn ground — she could 
 even identify the various rocks with the rocks 
 in the picture. There was the lone tree, and the 
 
3i2 The Gold Girl 
 
 long rock wall, higher at its upper end, and — yes, 
 she could just discern it — the zigzag crack in the 
 rock ledge ! Jamming the papers into her pocket 
 she leaped into the saddle and dashed toward a 
 fringe of scrub that marked the course of a coulee 
 which led downward into the valley. Over its 
 edge, and down its brush-choked course, slipping, 
 sliding, scrambling, she urged her horse, reckless of 
 safety, reckless of anything except that her weary, 
 and at times it had seemed her hopeless, search 
 was about to end. She had stood where her daddy 
 had stood when he took that photograph — had 
 seen with her own eyes — the jagged crack in the 
 rock wall ! 
 
 In the valley the going was better, and with 
 quirt and spur she urged her horse to his best, her 
 eyes on the lone pine tree. At the rock wall 
 beyond, she pulled up sharply and stared at the 
 jagged crevice that bisected it from top to bottom. 
 It was the crevice of the photograph! Very de- 
 liberately she began at the top and traced its 
 course to the bottom. She noted the scraggly, 
 stunted pines that fringed the rim of the wall and 
 that the crack started straight, and then zigzagged 
 to the ground. Producing the "close up" photo- 
 graph, she compared it with the reality before her 
 
Patty Makes Her Strike 313 
 
 — an entirely superfluous and needless act, for 
 each minute detail of the spot at which she stared 
 was indelibly engraved upon her memory. For 
 hours on end, she had studied those photographs, 
 and now — she laughed aloud, and the sound roused 
 her to action. Slipping from the horse, she fumbled 
 at the pack strings of the saddle and loosened the 
 canvas bag. She reached into it, and stood erect 
 holding a light hand-axe. Once more she con- 
 sulted her map. "Stake 1. c, " she read. "That's 
 lode claim — and then that funny wiggly mark, 
 and then the word center." Her brows drew 
 together as she studied the ground. Suddenly her 
 face brightened. ' ' Why, of course ! ' ' she exclaimed. 
 "That mark represents the crack, and daddy 
 meant to stake the claim with the crack for the 
 center. Well, here goes!" She vehemently at- 
 tacked a young sapling, and ten minutes later 
 viewed with pride her four roughly hacked stakes. 
 Picking up one of them and the axe, she paced 
 off her distance, and as she reached the first corner 
 point, stared in surprise at the ground. The claim 
 had already been staked ! Eagerly she stooped to 
 examine the bit of wood. It had evidently been 
 in place for some time — how long, the girl could 
 not tell. Long enough, though, for its surface to 
 
3H The Gold Girl 
 
 have become weather-grayed and discolored. 
 "Daddy's stakes, " she breathed softly, and as her 
 ringers strayed over the surface two big tears 
 welled into her eyes and trickled unheeded down 
 her cheeks. "If he staked the claim, I wonder 
 why he didn't file, " she puzzled over the matter 
 for a moment, and dismissed it. "I don't know 
 why. But, anyway, the thing for me to do is to 
 get in my own stakes — only, I'll file, just as soon 
 as I can get to the register's office. ' ' 
 
 After considerable difficulty, she succeeded in 
 planting her own stake close beside the other, 
 which marked the southwest corner of the claim, a 
 short time later the northwest corner was staked, 
 and the girl stared again at the rock wall. "Why, 
 I've got to put in my eastern boundary stakes 
 up on top — three hundred feet back from the 
 edge!" she exclaimed; " maybe I'll find his notice 
 on one of those stakes." It required only a moment 
 to locate a ravine that led to the top of the ledge 
 which was not nearly so high as the one that 
 formed the opposite side of the valley. She found 
 the old stakes, but no sign of a notice. ' ' The wind, 
 and the snow, and the rain have destroyed it long 
 ago," she muttered. "And, now for my own 
 notice." Producing from her bag a pencil and a 
 
Patty Makes Her Strike 315 
 
 piece of paper, she wrote her description and 
 affixed it to a stake by means of a bit of wire. 
 Then, descending once more into the valley, she 
 produced her luncheon and threw herself down 
 beside the little creek. It was mid-afternoon, and 
 she suddenly discovered that she was ravenously 
 hungry. With her back against a rock fragment, 
 she sat and feasted her eyes upon her claim — hers — 
 hers ! Her thoughts flew backward to the enthu- 
 siasm of her father over this very claim. She re- 
 membered how his eyes had lighted as he told her 
 of its hidden treasure. She remembered the jibes, 
 and doubts, and covert sneers of the Middleton 
 people, her father's death, her own anger and re- 
 volt, when she had suddenly decided, in the face 
 of their council, entreaties, and commands to take 
 up his work where he had left it. With kaleido- 
 scopic rapidity her thoughts flew over the events 
 of the ensuing months — the meeting with Vil 
 Holland, her disappointment in the Watts ranch, 
 her eager acceptance of the sheep camp, the long 
 weary weeks of patiently riding along rock walls, 
 taking each valley in turn, the growing fear of 
 running out of funds before she could locate the 
 claim. She shuddered as she thought of Monk 
 Bethune, and of how nearly she had fallen a victim 
 
316 The Gold Girl 
 
 to his machinations. Her thoughts returned to 
 Vil Holland, her "guardian devil of the hills," who 
 had turned out to be in reality a guardian angel in 
 disguise. "Very much in disguise," she smiled, 
 "with his jug of whisky." Nobody who had 
 helped make up her little world of people in the 
 hill country was forgotten, the Thompsons, the 
 Samuelsons, and the Wattses — she thought of them 
 all. "Why, I — I love every one of them," she 
 cried, as though the discovery surprised her. 
 "They're all, every one of them, real friends — 
 they're not like the others, the smug, sleek, best 
 citizens of Middleton. And I'll not forget one of 
 them. We'll file that whole vein from one end to 
 the other ! " Catching up her horse, she mounted, 
 and sat for a moment irresolute. "I could make 
 town, sometime to-night," she mused, and then 
 her eyes rested for a moment upon her horse's 
 neck where the white alkali dust lay upon the 
 rough, sweat-dried hair. "No," she decided. 
 "We'll go back to the cabin, and you can rest 
 up, and to-morrow we'll start at daylight." 
 
 "Mr. Christie was right," she smiled, as she 
 took the back trail for Monte's Creek. "I don't 
 have to teach school. But, I wonder how he 
 could have gotten that 'hunch,' as he called 
 
Patty Makes Her Strike 317 
 
 it? When I've been searching for the claim for 
 months?" 
 
 In a little valley that ran parallel to Monte's 
 Creek, Patty encountered Microby Dandeline. 
 The girl was lying stretched at full length upon the 
 ground and did not notice her approach until she 
 was almost on her, then she leaped to her feet, 
 regarded her for a moment, and, with a frightened 
 cry, sprang into the bush and scrambled out of 
 sight along the steep side of a ravine. In vain 
 Patty called, but her only answer was the diminish- 
 ing sounds of the girl's scrambling flight. "What 
 in the world has got into her of late," she won- 
 dered, as she proceeded on her way. Certain it 
 was that the girl avoided her, not only at the Watts 
 ranch, but whenever they had chanced to meet in 
 the hills. At first she had attributed it to anger or 
 resentment over her own treatment of her when 
 she had tried to get possession of the map. But, 
 surely, even the dull-witted Microby must know 
 that the incident had been forgotten. "No, " she 
 decided, "there is something else." Somehow, the 
 girl no longer seemed the simple child-like creature 
 of the wild. There was a furtiveness about her, 
 and she had developed a certain crafty side glance, 
 as though constantly seeking a means of escape 
 
3i8 The Gold Girl 
 
 from something. Her mother had noticed the 
 change, and had confided to Patty that she was 
 <4 gittin' mo' triflin' every day, a-rammin' 'round 
 the hills a-huntin' her a mine." "There's some- 
 thing worrying her," muttered the girl. "Some- 
 thing that she don't dare tell anyone, and it's 
 sapping what little wit she has." 
 
 It was late that evening when Patty ate her 
 solitary supper. The sun had long set, and the 
 dusk of the late twilight had settled upon the 
 valley of Monte's Creek as she wiped the last dish 
 and set it upon the shelf of her tiny cupboard. 
 Suddenly she looked up. A form darkened the 
 doorway, and quick as a flash, her eyes sought the 
 six-gun that lay in its holster upon the bunk. 
 
 "You won't need that." The voice was re- 
 assuring. It was Vil Holland's voice; she had 
 recognized him a second before he spoke and 
 greeted him with a smile, even as she wondered 
 what had brought him there. Only three times 
 before had he come to her cabin,, once to ascertain 
 who was moving into the sheep camp, once when 
 he had pitched Lord Clendenning into the creek, 
 and again, only a few days before, when he had 
 come to teach her to shoot. The girl noted that he 
 seemed graver than usual, if that were possible. 
 
Patty Makes Her Strike 3*9 
 
 Certain it was that he appeared to be holding 
 himself under restraint. She wondered if he had 
 come to warn her of the proximity of Bethune. 
 
 "I was in town, to-day, " he came directly to the 
 point. "An' Len Christie told me you're goin' 
 to teach school." He paused and his eyes rested 
 upon her face as if seeking confirmation. 
 
 Patty laughed; she could afford to laugh, now 
 that the necessity for teaching did not exist. "I 
 asked him if he could find a school for me some- 
 time ago," she replied, trying to fathom what was 
 in his mind. 
 
 There was a moment of silence, during which 
 Patty saw the man's fingers tighten upon his hat 
 brim. "I don't want you to do that. It ain't fit 
 work — for you — teachin' other folks' kids." 
 
 Patty stared at him in surprise. The words had 
 come slowly, and at their conclusion he had paused. 
 
 * * Maybe you could suggest some work that is 
 more fit?" 
 
 The man ignored the hint of sarcasm. "Yes — 
 I think I can." His head was slightly bowed, and 
 Patty saw that it was with an effort he continued: 
 "That is, I don't know if I can make you see it 
 like I do. It's awful real to me — an' plain. Miss 
 Sinclair, I can't make any fine speeches like they 
 
320 The Gold Girl 
 
 do in books. I wouldn't if I could — it ain't my way. 
 I love you more than I could tell you if I knew all 
 the words in the language, an' how to fit 'em to- 
 gether. I loved you that day I first saw you — 
 back there on the divide at Lost Creek. You was 
 afraid of me, an' you wouldn't show it, an' you 
 wouldn't own up that you was lost — 'til I'd made 
 the play of goin' off an' leavin' you. An' I've loved 
 you every minute since — an' every minute since, 
 I've fought against lovin' you. But, it's no use. 
 The more I fight it, the stronger it gets. It's 
 stronger than I am. I can't down it. It's the 
 first time I ever ran up against anything I couldn't 
 whip." Again he paused. Patty advanced a step, 
 and her eyes glowed softly as they rested upon the 
 form that stood in her doorway silhouetted against 
 the after-glow. She saw Buck rub his velvet nose 
 affectionately up and down the man's sleeve, and 
 into her heart leaped a great longing for this man 
 who, with the unconscious dignity of the vast open 
 places upon him, had told her so earnestly of his 
 love. She opened her lips to speak but there was 
 a great lump in her throat, and no words came. 
 
 "That's why," he continued, "I know it ain't 
 just a flash in the pan — this love of mine ain't. 
 All summer I've watched you, an' the hardest 
 
Patty Makes Her Strike 321 
 
 thing I ever had to do was to set back an' let you 
 play a lone hand against the worst devil that ever 
 showed his face in the hills. But the way things 
 stacked up, I had to. You had me sized up for the 
 one that was campin' on your trail, an' anything 
 I'd have done would have played into Bethune's 
 hand. I know I ain't fit for you — no man is. But, 
 I'll always do the best I know how by you — an' 
 I'll always love you. As for the rest of it, I never 
 saved any money. I know there's gold here in the 
 hills, an' I've spent years huntin' it. I'll find it, 
 too — sometime. But, I ain't exactly a pauper, 
 either. I've got my two hands, an' I've got a 
 contract with Old Man Samuelson to winter his 
 cattle. I didn't want to do it first, but the figure 
 he named was about twice what I thought the job 
 was worth. I told him so right out, an' he kind 
 of laughed an' said maybe I'd need it all, an' any- 
 how, them cattle was all grade Herefords, an' was 
 worth more to winter than common dogies. So, 
 you see, we could winter through, all right, an* 
 next summer, we could prospect together. The 
 gold's here, somewhere — your dad knew it — an' 
 I know it." 
 
 Receiving no answering pat, the buckskin left 
 off his nuzzling of the man's sleeve, and turned 
 
322 The Gold Girl 
 
 from the doorway. As he did so the brown leather 
 jug scraped lightly against the jamb. The girl's 
 eyes flew to the jug, and swiftly back to the man 
 who stood framed in the doorway. She loved him ! 
 For days and days she had known that she loved 
 him, and for days and nights her thoughts had 
 been mostly of him — this unsmiling knight of the 
 saddle — her " guardian devil of the hills." With- 
 out exception, the people whose regard was worth 
 having respected him, and liked him, even though 
 they deplored his refusal to accept steady work. 
 They're just like the people back home, she 
 thought. They have no imagination. To their 
 minds the cowpuncher who draws his forty dollars 
 a month, year in and year out, is in some manner 
 more dependable than the man whose imagination 
 and love of the boundless open lead him to stake 
 his time against millions. What do they know of 
 the joys and the despairs of uncertainty? In a 
 measure they, too, love the plains and the hills — 
 but their love of the open is inextricably inter- 
 woven with their preconceived ideas of conduct. 
 But, Vil Holland is bound by no such convention; 
 his "outfit," a pack horse to carry it, and his 
 home — all outdoors! Her father had imagination, 
 and year after year, in the face of the taunts and 
 
Patty Makes Her Strike 323 
 
 jibes of his small town neighbors, he had stead- 
 fastly allowed his imagination full sway, and at 
 last — he had won. She had adored her father 
 from whom she had inherited her love of the wild. 
 But — there was the jug! Always her thoughts 
 of Vil Holland had led up to that brown leather 
 jug until she had come to hate it with an unreason- 
 ing hatred. 
 
 " I see you have not forgotten your jug." 
 
 "No, I got it filled in town." The man's reply 
 was casual, as he would have mentioned his gloves, 
 or his hat. 
 
 "You said you had never run up against any- 
 thing you couldn't whip, except — except " 
 
 "Yes, except my love for you. That's right — 
 an' I never expect to." 
 
 "How about that jug? Can you whip that?" 
 
 "Why, yes, I could. If there was any need. I 
 never tried it." 
 
 "Suppose you try it for a while, and see." 
 
 The man regarded her seriously. "You mean, 
 if I leave off packin' that jug, you'll " 
 
 "I haven't promised anything." The girl 
 laughed a trifle nervously. "But, I will tell you 
 this much. I utterly despise a drunkard!" 
 
 Vil Holland nodded slowly. "Let's get the 
 
324 The Gold Girl 
 
 straight of it, " he said. " I didn't know — I didn't 
 realize it was really hurtin' me any. Can you see 
 that it does? Have I ever done anything that 
 you know of, or have heard tell of, that a sober 
 man wouldn't do?" 
 
 The girl felt her anger rising. ''Nobody can 
 drink as much as you do, and not be the w r orse for 
 it. Don't try to defend yourself." 
 
 "No, I wouldn't do that. You see, if it's hurtin' 
 me, there wouldn't be any defense — an' if it ain't, 
 I don't need any." 
 
 For an instant Patty regarded the man who 
 stood framed in the doorway. "Clean-blooded," 
 the doctor had called him, and clean-blooded he 
 looked — the very picture of health and rugged 
 strength, clear of eye and firm of jaw, not one 
 slightest hint or mark of the toper could she detect, 
 and the realization that this was so, angered her 
 the more. 
 
 Abruptly, she changed the subject, and the 
 moment the brown leather jug was banished from 
 her mind, her anger subsided. In the doorway, 
 Vil Holland noted the undercurrent of suppressed 
 excitement in her voice as she said: "I have the 
 most wonderful news ! I — I found daddy's mine ! ' ' 
 Seconds passed as the man stood waiting for her to 
 
Patty Makes Her Strike 325 
 
 proceed. " I found it to-day," she continued, with- 
 out noting that his lean brown hand gripped the 
 hat brim even more tightly than before, nor that 
 his lips were pressed into a thin straight line. 
 "And my stakes are all in, and in the morning 
 I'm going to file." 
 
 Vil Holland interrupted. "You — you say you 
 located Rod Sinclair's strike? You really located 
 it?" Somehow, his voice sounded different. 
 
 The girl sensed the change without defining it. 
 "Yes, I really found it!" she answered. "Do you 
 want to know where? " Hastily she turned to the 
 cupboard and taking a match from a box, lighted 
 the lamp. "You see," she laughed, "I am not 
 afraid to trust you. I'm going to show you daddy's 
 map, and his photographs, and the samples. Oh, 
 if you knew how I've hunted and hunted through 
 these hills for that rock wall ! You see, the map 
 was like so much Greek to me, until I happened 
 by accident to learn how to read it. Before that, 
 I just rode up and down the valleys hunting for 
 the wall with the broad crooked crack in it. Here 
 it is." The man had advanced to the table, and 
 was bending over the two photographs, examining 
 them minutely. "And here's his map." He picked 
 up the paper and for several minutes studied the 
 
326 The Gold Girl 
 
 penciled directions. Then he laid it down, and 
 turned his attention to the samples. 
 
 "High grade," he appraised, and returned them 
 to the table beside the photographs. "So, you 
 don't have to teach school," he said, speaking 
 more to himself than to her. "An' you'll be goin' 
 out of the hill country for good an' all. There's 
 nothin' here for you, now that you've got what you 
 come after. You'll be goin' back — East." 
 
 Patty laughed, and as Vil Holland looked into 
 her face he saw that her eyes held dancing lights. 
 "I'm not going back East," she said. "I've 
 learned to love — the hill country. I have learned 
 that — perhaps — there is more here for me than — 
 than even daddy's mine." 
 
 Vil Holland shook his head. "There's nothin' 
 for you in the hills," he repeated, slowly, and 
 abruptly extended his hand. "I'm glad for your 
 sake your luck changed, Miss Sinclair. I hope the 
 gold you take out of there will bring you happiness. 
 You've earnt it — every cent of it, an' you've got it, 
 an' now, as far as the hill country goes — the books 
 are closed. Good-night, I must be goin', now." 
 
 Abruptly as he had offered his hand, he withdrew 
 it, and turning, stepped through the door, mounted 
 his horse, and rode out into the night. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER 
 
 Beside the little table Patty Sinclair listened 
 to the sound of hoofs splashing through the shal- 
 lows of the creek and thudding dully upon the 
 floor of the valley beyond. When the sounds told 
 her that the horseman had disappeared into the 
 timber, she walked slowly to the door, and leaning 
 her arm against the jamb, stared for a long time 
 into the black sweep of woods that concealed the 
 trail that led upward to the notch in the hills, just 
 discernible against the sky where the stars showed 
 through the last faint blush of after-glow in wink- 
 ing points of gold. 
 
 "Nothing here for me," she repeated dully. 
 1 ' Nothing but trees, and hills — and gold. He loves 
 me," she laughed bitterly. "And yet, between 
 me, and his jug, he chose — the jug." She closed 
 the door, slipped the bar into place, thrust the 
 photographs and map into her pocket, and threw 
 
 327 
 
328 The Gold Girl 
 
 herself face downward upon the bunk. And, in 
 the edge of the timber, Vil Holland turned his 
 horse slowly about and headed him up the ravine. 
 At the notch in the hills he slipped to the ground 
 and, throwing an arm across the saddle, removed 
 his Stetson and let the night wind ripple his hair. 
 Standing alone in the night with his soul-hurt, he 
 gazed far downward where a tiny square of yellow 
 light marked the window of the cabin. 
 
 "It's hell — the way things work out," he said, 
 thoughtfully. "Yes, sir, Buck, it sure is hell. If 
 Len had told me a week ago about her havin' 
 to teach school, or even yesterday — she might 
 have — But, now — she's rich. An' that cracked 
 rock claim turnin' out to be hers — " He swung 
 abruptly into the saddle and headed the buck- 
 skin for camp. 
 
 Patty spent a miserable night. Brief periods of 
 sleep were interspersed with long periods of wake- 
 fulness in which her brain traveled wearily over 
 and over a long, long trail that ended always at a 
 brown leather jug that swung by a strap from a 
 saddle horn. She had found her father's claim — 
 had accomplished the thing she had started out to 
 accomplish — had vindicated her father's judgment 
 in the eyes of the people back home — had circum- 
 
The Race for the Register 329 
 
 vented the machinations of Bethune, and in all 
 probability, the moment that she recorded her 
 claim would be the possessor of more gold than 
 she could possibly spend — and in the achievement 
 there was no joy. There was a dull hurt in her 
 heart, and the future stretched away, uninviting, 
 heart-sickening, interminable. The world looked 
 drab. 
 
 She ate her breakfast by lamplight, and as ob- 
 jects began to take form in the pearly light of the 
 new day, she saddled her horse and rode up the 
 trail to the notch in the hills — the trail that was a 
 short cut, and that would carry her past Vil Hol- 
 land's little white tent, nestling close beside its 
 big rock at the edge of the little plateau. "He will 
 still be asleep, and I can take one more look at the 
 far snow mountains from the spot that might have 
 been the porch of — our cabin." 
 
 Carefully keeping to the damp ground that 
 bordered the little creek, she worked her way 
 around the huge rock, and drew up in amazement. 
 The little white tent was gone ! Hastily, her eyes 
 swept the plateau. The buckskin was gone, and 
 the saddle was not hanging by its stirrup from its 
 accustomed limb-stub. Crossing the creek, the 
 girl stared at the row of packs, the blanket roll, 
 
330 The Gold Girl 
 
 and the neat tarpaulin-covered bundles that were 
 ranged along the base of the rock. 
 
 "He has gone," she murmured, as if trying to 
 grasp the fact and then, again: "He has gone." 
 Slowly, her eyes raised to the high-flung peaks that 
 reared their snowy heads against the blue. And 
 as she looked, the words of Vil Holland formed 
 themselves in her brain. " If there ain't any 'we,' 
 there won't be any cabin — so there's nothing to 
 worry about." "Nothing to worry about," she 
 repeated bitterly, and touching her horse with a 
 spur, rode out across the plateau toward the head 
 of a coulee that led to the trail for town. "Where 
 has he gone? " she wondered, and pulled up sharply 
 as her horse entered the coulee. Riding slowly 
 down the trail ahead, mounted on the meditative 
 Gee Dot, was Microby Dandeline. Urging her 
 horse forward Patty gained her side, and realizing 
 that escape was hopeless, the girl stared sullenly 
 without speaking. 
 
 "Why, Microby ! " she smiled, ignoring the sullen 
 stare, "you're miles from home, and it's hardly 
 daylight! Where in the world are you going?" 
 "Hain't a-goin' nowher'. I'm prospectin'." 
 "Where's Vil Holland, have you seen him?" 
 The girl nodded: "He's done gone to town. 
 
The Race for the Register 33 I 
 
 He's mad, an' he roden fas' as Buck kin run, an* 
 he says, ' I'm gonna file one more claim, an* to hell 
 with the hill country, tell yo' dad good-by!'" 
 
 Patty sat for an instant as one stunned. ' ' Gone 
 to town ! Mad ! File one more claim ! ' ' What did 
 it mean ? Why was Vil Holland riding to town as 
 fast as his horse could run? And what claim was 
 he going to file? He had mentioned no claim — 
 and if he had just made a strike, surely he would 
 have mentioned it — last night. She knew that 
 he already had a claim, and that he considered it 
 worthless. He told her once that he hadn't even 
 bothered to work out the assessments — it was no 
 good. Was it possible that he was riding to file 
 her claim? Was he no better than Bethune — only 
 shrewder, more patient, richer in imagination? 
 
 With a swish the quirt descended upon her 
 horse's flanks. The animal shot forward and, 
 leaving Microby Dandeline staring open-mouthed, 
 horse and rider dashed headlong down the coulee. 
 Into the long white trail they swept, through the 
 canyon, and out among the foothills toward 
 Thompsons'. "Why did I show him the map, and 
 the pictures? Why did I trust him? Why did I 
 trust anybody? I see it all, now! His continual 
 spying, and his plausible explanation that he was 
 
33 2 The Gold Girl 
 
 watching Bethune. He asked me to marry him, 
 and when, like the poor little fool I was, I showed 
 him the location, he was only too glad to get the 
 mine without being saddled with me." 
 
 If Vil Holland reached town first — well, she 
 could teach school. Scalding tears blinded her as 
 with quirt and spur she crowded her horse to his 
 utmost. Only one slender hope remained. With 
 Thompson's fresh horse, Lightning, she might yet 
 win the race. The chance was slim, but she would 
 take it! Her own horse was laboring heavily, a 
 solid lather of sweat, as his feet pounded the trail 
 that wound white and hot through the foothills. 
 "It's your last hard ride," she sobbed into his ear 
 as she urged him on. "Win or lose, boy, it's your 
 last hard ride — and we've got to make it!" 
 
 She whirled into Thompson's lane and, in the 
 dooryard, threw herself from her horse almost into 
 the arms of the big ranchman who stared at her 
 in surprise. "Must be somethin's busted loose 
 in the hills, that folks is all takin' to the open!" 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 "Where's Lightning?" cried the girl. "Quick! 
 I want him!" 
 
 " Lightnin' ? " repeated Thompson. "Why, 
 Lightnin's gone — Vil Holland come along an hour 
 
The Race for the Register 333 
 
 or so ago, an' rode him on to town. Turned Buck 
 into the corral, yonder — he was rode down almost 
 as bad as yourn." 
 
 Patty's brain reeled dizzily as from a blow. 
 Lightning gone! Her one slim chance of saving 
 her mine had vanished in a breath. She felt 
 suddenly weak, and sick, and leaning against her 
 saddle for support, she closed her eyes and buried 
 her face in her arm. 
 
 "What's the matter, Miss? Somethin' wrong? " 
 
 The girl laughed, a dry hard laugh, and raising 
 her head, looked into the man's face. "Oh, no!" 
 she said. "Nothing's wrong — nothing except 
 that I've lost my father's claim — lost it because 
 I relied on your horse to carry me into town in 
 time to file ahead of him. " 
 
 "Lost y er pa' s claim ? ' ' cried Thompson. ' ' What 
 do you mean — lost? Has that devil dared to show 
 his face after the horse raid ? ' ' He paused suddenly 
 and smiled. "Now don't you go worryin' about 
 that there claim. Vil Holland's on the job! I 
 know'd there was somethin' in the wind when he 
 come a-larrupin' in here an' j erked his kak offen Buck 
 an' throw'd it on Lightnin' without hardly a word. 
 Vil, he'll head him ! An' when he does, Bethune'll 
 be lucky if he lives long enough to git hung!" 
 
334 The Gold Girl 
 
 "Bethune! Bethune!" cried the girl bitterly. 
 "Bethune's got nothing to do with it! It's Vil 
 Holland himself that's going to file my claim. 
 Have you got another horse here? " she cried. " If 
 you have I want him. I'm not beaten yet! 
 There's still a chance! Maybe Lightning will go 
 down, or something. Quick — change my saddle!" 
 
 Catching up a rope, Thompson ran to the corral 
 and throwing his loop over the head of a horse led 
 him out and transferred the girl's saddle and 
 bridle. 
 
 "I don't git the straight of it," he said, eying 
 her with a puzzled frown. "But if it's a question 
 of gittin* to town before Vil Holland kin beat you 
 out of yer claim — you've got plenty of time — if 
 you walk." 
 
 Patty shot the man one glance of withering 
 scorn. " You're all crazy! He's got you hyp- 
 notized! Everybody thinks he's a saint " 
 
 Thompson grinned. "No, Miss, Vil ain't no 
 saint — an' he ain't no devil — neither. But some- 
 wheres between the two of 'em is the place where 
 good men fits in — an' that's Vil. You're all het up 
 needless, an' barkin' up the wrong tree, as folks 
 used to say back where I come from. Just come 
 and have a talk with Miz T. She '11 straighten you 
 
The Race for the Register 335 
 
 around all right. I'll slip in an' tell her to set the 
 coffee-pot on, an' you kin take yer time about 
 gittin' to town." Thompson disappeared into the 
 kitchen, and a moment later when he returned 
 with his wife, the two stared in amazement at the 
 flying figure that was just swinging from the lane 
 into the long white trail. 
 
 Hours later the girl crossed the Mosquito Flats, 
 forded the river, and passed along the sandy street 
 of the town. Her eyes felt hot and tired from con- 
 tinual straining ahead in a vain effort to catch a 
 glimpse of a fallen horse, whose rider must con- 
 tinue his way on foot. But the plain was deserted, 
 and the only evidence that anyone had proceeded 
 her was an occasional glimpse of hoof prints in 
 the white dust of the trail. 
 
 A short distance up the street, standing "tied 
 to the ground" before the hitching rail of a little 
 false-front saloon, was Lightning. Patty noted 
 as she passed that he showed signs of hard riding, 
 and that the inevitable jug dangled motionless 
 from the saddle horn. Her lips stiffened, and her 
 hand tightened on the bridle reins, as she forced 
 her eyes to the front. Farther on, she could see 
 the little white-painted frame office of the register. 
 She would pass it by — no use for her to go there. 
 
336 The Gold Girl 
 
 She must find Len Christie and tell him she had 
 come to teach his school. A great wave of repug- 
 nance swept over her, engulfed her, as her eyes 
 traveled over the rows of small wooden houses with 
 their stiff, uncomfortable porches, their treeless 
 yards, and their flaunting paintiness. 
 
 "And to think that I've got to live in one of 
 them! " she murmured, dully. "Nothing could be 
 worse — except the hotel. " 
 
 Opposite the register's office she pulled up, and 
 gazed in fascination at the open door. Then de- 
 liberately she reined her horse to the sidewalk 
 and dismounted. The characteristic thoroughness 
 that had marked the progress of her search for her 
 father's claim, and had impelled her to return to 
 the false claim and procure the notice, and that 
 very morning had prompted her to ride against the 
 slender chance of Vil Holland's meeting with a 
 misshap, impelled her now to read for herself the 
 entry of her father's strike. 
 
 The register shoved his black skull-cap a trifle 
 back upon his shiny head, adjusted his thick 
 eyeglasses, and smiled into the face of the girl. 
 "Things must be looking up out in the hills," he 
 hazarded. "You're the second one to-day and it 
 ain't noon yet." 
 
The Race for the Register 337 
 
 " I presume Mr. Holland has been here." 
 
 11 Yes, Vil come in. I guess he's around some- 
 wheres. He " 
 
 " Relinquished one claim and filed another?" 
 
 " That's just what he done." 
 
 Patty nodded wearily. She was gamely trying 
 to appear disinterested. 
 
 " Did you want to file? " asked the man, whirling 
 a large book about, and pushing it toward her. 
 " Just enter your description there, an* fill out the 
 application fer a patent, an' file your field notes, 
 and plat." 
 
 The girl's glance strayed listlessly over the ad- 
 joining page, her eyes mechanically taking in the 
 words. Suddenly, she became intensely alert. 
 She leaned over the book and reread with feverish 
 interest the written description. The location was 
 filed in Vil Holland's name — but, the description 
 was not of her claim ! 
 
 " Where — where is this claim? " she gasped. 
 
 The old register turned the book and very de- 
 liberately proceeded to read the description. In 
 her nervous excitement Patty felt that she must 
 scream, and her fingers clutched the counter edge 
 until the knuckles whitened. Finally the man 
 looked up. "That must be somewheres over on 
 
338 The Gold Girl 
 
 the Blackfoot side," he announced. "Must be 
 Vil's figuring on pulling over there. Too bad we 
 won't be seeing him much no more." He swung 
 the book back, as the import of his words dawned 
 upon the girl she leaned weakly against the 
 counter. 
 
 "Ain't you feeling well?" asked the old man, 
 eying her with concern. 
 
 Without hearing him Patty picked up the pen, 
 and as she wrote, her hand trembled so that she 
 could scarcely form the letters. At last it was done, 
 and the register once again swung the book and 
 read the freshly penned words. 
 
 "Well, I'll be darned!" he exclaimed, when he 
 had finished. 
 
 The blood had rushed back into the girl's face 
 and she was regarding him with shining eyes. 
 "What's the matter? Isn't it right? Because if 
 it isn't you can show me how to do it, and I'll fix 
 it." 
 
 "Oh it's right — all right." He was eying her 
 quizzically. "Only it's blamed funny. That there's 
 the claim Vil Holland just relinquished." 
 
 "Just relinquished 7" gasped the girl, reaching 
 out and shaking the old man's sleeve in her ex- 
 citement. "What do you mean? Tell me!" 
 
The Race for the Register 339 
 
 ''Mean just what I said — here's the entry." 
 
 1 ' Vil — Holland — just — relinquished, ' ' she re- 
 peated, in a dazed voice. "When did he file it?" 
 
 "I don't recollect — it was back in the winter, or 
 spring." The man began to turn the pages slowly- 
 backward. "Here it is, March, the thirteenth." 
 
 "Why, that was before I came out here!" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Why did he relinquish?" The words rushed 
 eagerly from her lips, and she awaited breathless, 
 for the answer. 
 
 "It wasn't no good, I guess, or he found a better 
 one — that's most generally why they relinquish." 
 
 "No good! Found a better one!" From the 
 chaos of conflicting ideas the girl's thoughts began 
 to take definite form. "The stakes in the ground 
 were his stakes. Her father had never staked — 
 would never have staked until ready to file." 
 Gradually it dawned upon her that, without know- 
 ing it was her father's, Vil Holland had staked and 
 filed the claim. It was his. He did not know its 
 value as her father had. He believed it to be 
 worthless, but when he learned, only last night, 
 back there in the cabin on Monte's Creek, that it 
 was really of enormous value — that it was the 
 claim Rod Sinclair had staked his reputation on, 
 
340 The Gold Girl 
 
 the claim for which Rod Sinclair's daughter had 
 sought all summer — when he learned this he had 
 relinquished — that she might come into her own ! 
 Hot tears filled her eyes and caused the objects 
 in the little room to blur and swim together in 
 hopeless jumble. She knew, now, the meaning of 
 his furious ride, and why he had changed horses 
 at Thompson's. And this w T as the man she had 
 doubted! She, alone of all w r ho knew him, had 
 doubted him. Her cheeks burned with the shame 
 of it. Not once, but again and again, she had 
 doubted him — she, who loved him ! This was the 
 man with whom she had quarreled because he had 
 carried a jug. Suddenly she realized why he had 
 turned away from her — there in the little cabin. 
 She recalled the words that came slowly from his 
 lips, as, for a brief moment he stood holding her 
 hand. ''There is nothing for you in the hills." 
 "And now, he is going away — his outfit's all 
 packed, and he's going away!" With a sob she 
 dashed from the office. As she blotted the tears 
 from her eyes with a handkerchief that had been her 
 father's, a wild, savage joy surged up within her. 
 He should not go away ! He was hers — hers! If 
 he went, she would go too. He should never leave 
 her ! And never, never would she doubt him again ! 
 
The Race for the Register 34 1 
 
 She glanced down the street and her eyes fell 
 upon Lightning, standing as he had stood a few 
 minutes before. Only a moment she hesitated, 
 and her spurs clicked rapidly as she hurried down 
 the sidewalk. The door of the saloon stood open 
 and she walked boldly in. Vil Holland stood at 
 the bar shaking dice with the bartender. The 
 latter looked up surprised, and Vil followed his 
 glance to the figure of the girl who had paused 
 just inside the doorway. She beckoned to him 
 and he followed her out onto the sidewalk, and 
 stood, Stetson in hand, regarding her gravely, un- 
 smiling as was his wont. 
 
 "Vil — Vil Holland," she faltered, as a furious 
 blush suffused her cheeks. "I've changed my 
 mind." 
 
 "You mean " 
 
 "I mean, I will marry you — I wanted to say it — 
 last night — only — only — " her voice sounded 
 husky, and far away. 
 
 1 ' But, now, it's too late. It was different — then. 
 I didn't know you'd made your strike. I thought 
 we were both poor — but, now, you've struck it 
 rich." 
 
 1 ' Struck it rich ! " flared the girl. ' ' Who made it 
 possible for me to strike it rich? Don't you 
 
342 The Gold Girl 
 
 suppose I know you relinquished that claim? 
 Relinquished it so I could file it!" 
 
 "Old Grebble talks too much," growled the 
 man. "The claim wasn't any good to me. I never 
 went far enough in to get samples like those of 
 your dad's. I'd have relinquished it anyway, as 
 soon as I'd located another." 
 
 "But, you knew it was rich when you did 
 relinquish it." 
 
 "A man couldn't hardly do different, could he ? " 
 
 "Oh, Vil, " there j^were tears in the girl's eyes, 
 and she did not try to conceal them. The words 
 trembled on her lips. "A man couldn't — your 
 kind of a man! But — they're so hard to find. 
 Don't — don't rob me of mine — now that I've 
 found him!" 
 
 A shrill whistle tore the words from her lips. 
 She glanced up, startled, to see Vil Holland take 
 his fingers from his teeth. She followed his gaze, 
 and a block away, in front of the wooden post- 
 office, saw the Reverend Len Christie whirl in his 
 tracks. The cowboy motioned him to wait, and 
 taking the girl gently by the arm, turned her 
 about, and together they walked toward the 
 "Bishop of All Outdoors," who awaited them 
 with twinkling eyes. 
 
The Race for the Register 343 
 
 "It's about the school, I presume," he greeted. 
 "Everything is all arranged, Miss Sinclair. You 
 may assume your duties to-morrow." 
 
 "If I was you, Len, " replied Vil Holland, 
 dryly, "I wouldn't go bettin' much on that 
 presoomer of yours — it ain't workin' just right, 
 an' Miss Sinclair has decided to assoom her duties 
 to-day. So, havin' disposed of presoom, an' 
 assoom, we'll rezoom, as you'd say if you was 
 dealin' from the pulpit, an' if you ain't got any- 
 thing more important on your mind, we'll just 
 walk over to the church an' get married. " 
 
 The Reverend Len Christie regarded his friend 
 solemnly. "I didn't think it of you, Vil — when 
 I bragged to you yesterday about the excellent 
 teacher I'd got — I didn't think you would slip 
 right out and get her away from me!" 
 
 "Oh, I'm so sorry! Really, Mr. Christie, I 
 didn't mean to disappoint you in this way, at the 
 last minute " 
 
 "Don't you go wastin' any sympathy on that 
 old renegade, " cut in Vil. 
 
 "That's right," laughed Christie, noting the 
 genuine concern in the girl's eyes. "As a matter of 
 fact, I have in mind a substitute who will be tickled 
 to death to learn that she is to have the regular 
 
344 The Gold Girl 
 
 position. Didn't I tell you out at the Samuelsons* 
 that I had a hunch you'd make your strike before 
 school time? Of course, everyone knows that 
 Vil is the one who made the real strike, but you'll 
 find that the claim you've staked isn't so bad, and 
 that after you get down through the surface, you 
 will run onto a whole lot of pure gold. " 
 
 Patty who had been regarding him with a 
 slightly puzzled expression suddenly caught his 
 allusion, and she smiled happily into the face of 
 her cowboy. "I've already found pure gold, " she 
 said, "and it lies mighty close to the surface." 
 
 In the little church after the hastily summoned 
 witnesses had departed, the Reverend Len Christie 
 stood holding a hand of each. "Never in my life 
 have I performed a clerical office that gave me 
 so much genuine happiness and satisfaction," he 
 announced. 
 
 "Me, neither," assented Vil Holland, heartily, 
 and, then — "Hold on, Len. You're too 
 blame young an' good lookin' for such tricks — an' 
 besides, I've never kissed her, myself, yet !" 
 
 "Where will it be now?" asked Holland, when 
 they found themselves once more upon the street. 
 
 "Home — dear," whispered his wife. "You 
 know we've got to get that cabin up before snow 
 
The Race for the Register 345 
 
 flies — our cabin, Vil — with the porch that will 
 look out over the snows of the changing lights." 
 
 "If the whole town didn't have their heads out 
 the window, watchin' us I'd kiss you right here," 
 he answered, and strode off to lead her horse up 
 beside his own. 
 
 Swinging her into the saddle, he was about to 
 mount Lightning, when she leaned over and raised 
 the brown leather jug on its thong. "Why, it's 
 empty!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "So it is, " agreed Holland, with mock concern. 
 
 "Really, Vil, I don't care — so much. If it don't 
 hurt men any more than it has hurt you, I won't 
 quarrel with it. I'll wait while you get it filled." 
 
 "Maybe I'd better," he said, and swinging it 
 from the saddle horn, crossed the street and en- 
 tered the general store. A few minutes later he 
 returned and swung the jug into place. 
 
 "Why! Do they sell whisky at the store? I 
 thought you got that at a saloon. " 
 
 "Whisky!" The man looked up in surprise. 
 "This jug never held any whisky! It's my vine- 
 gar jug. I don't drink." 
 
 Patty stared at him in amazement. "Do you 
 mean to tell me you carry a jug of vinegar with 
 you wherever you go? " 
 
346 The Gold Girl 
 
 For the first time since she had known him she 
 saw that his eyes were twinkling, and that his lips 
 were very near a smile. "No, not exactly, but, 
 you see, that first time I met you I happened to be 
 riding from town with this jug full of vinegar. I 
 noticed the look you gave it, an* it tickled me most 
 to death. So, after that, every time I figured I'd 
 meet up with you I brought the jug along. I'd 
 pour out the vinegar an' fill it up with water, an' 
 sometimes I'd just pack it empty — then when I'd 
 hit town, I'd get it filled again. I bet Johnson, 
 over there, thinks I'm picklin' me a winter's supply 
 of prickly pears. I must have bought close to 
 half a barrel of vinegar this summer." 
 
 "Vil Holland! You carried that jug — went to 
 all that trouble, just to — to tease me?" 
 
 "That's about the size of it. An' Gosh! How 
 you hated that jug." 
 
 "It might have — it nearly did, make me hate 
 you, too." 
 
 "'Might have,' an' 'nearly,' an' 'if,' are all 
 words about alike — they all sort of fall short of 
 amountin' to any thin'. It 'might have' — but, 
 somehow, things don't work out that way. The 
 only thing that counts is, it didn't." 
 
 Out on the trail they met Watts riding toward 
 
The Race for the Register 347 
 
 town. "Wher's Microby?" he asked, addressing 
 Patty. 
 
 "Microby! I haven't seen Microby since early 
 this morning. She was riding down a coulee not 
 far from Vil's camp." 
 
 41 Didn't yo' send for her?" 
 
 "I certainly did not!" 
 
 The man's hand fumbled at his beard. "Be- 
 thune was along last evenin' an' hed a talk with 
 her, an* then he done tol' Ma yo' wanted Microby 
 should come up to yo* place, come daylight. 
 When I heern it, I mistrusted yo' wouldn't hev 
 no truck with Bethune, so after I done the chores, 
 I rode up ther'. They wasn't no one to hum." 
 The simple-minded man looked worried. "Be- 
 thune, he could do anything he wants with her. 
 She thinks he's grand — but, I know different. 
 Then I met up with Lord Clendennin' in the can- 
 yon, an' he tol* me how Bethune wus headin' fer 
 Canady. He said, had I lost anythin'. An' I said 
 'no,' an' he lafled an' says he guess that's right." 
 
 As Vil Holland listened, his eyes hardened, and 
 at the conclusion, something very like an oath 
 ground from his lips. Patty glanced at him in 
 surprise — never before had she seen him out of 
 poise. 
 
348 The Gold Girl 
 
 "You go back home," he advised Watts, in a 
 kindly tone, "to the wife and the kids. I'll find 
 Microby for you ! " 
 
 When the man had passed from sight into the 
 dip of a coulee, Vil leaned over and, drawing his 
 wife close to his breast, kissed her lips again and 
 again. "It's too bad, little girl, that our honey- 
 moon's got to be broke into this way, but you 
 remember I told you once that if I won you'd have 
 to be satisfied with what you got. You didn't 
 know what I meant, then, but you know, now — 
 an' I'm goin' to win again! I'm goin' to find that 
 child ! The poor little fool ! " Patty saw that his 
 eyes were flashing, and his voice sounded hard : 
 
 "You ride back to town and tell Len to get his 
 white goods together an' ride back with you to 
 Watts's. There's goin* to be a funeral — or better 
 yet, a weddin' arC a funeral in it for him by this 
 time to-morrow, or my name ain't Vil Holland!" 
 And then, abruptly, he turned and rode into the 
 North. 
 
 A wild impulse to overtake him and dissuade 
 him from his purpose took possession of the girl. 
 But the thought of Microby in the power of Be- 
 thune, and of the sorrowing face of poor Watts 
 stayed her. She saw her husband hitch his belt 
 
The Race for the Register 349 
 
 forward and swiftly look to his six-gun, and as the 
 sound of galloping hoofs grew fainter, she watched 
 his diminishing figure until it was swallowed up 
 in the distance. 
 
 Impulsively she stretched out her arms to him : 
 "Good luck to you, my knight!" she called, but 
 the words ended in a sob, and she turned her horse 
 and, with a vast happiness in her heart, rode back 
 toward the town. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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