Part 26 (2/2)

She ate her breakfast by lamplight, and as objects began to take form in the pearly light of the new day, she saddled her horse and rode up the trail to the notch in the hills--the trail that was a short cut, and that would carry her past Vil Holland's little white tent, nestling close beside its big rock at the edge of the little plateau.

”He will still be asleep, and I can take one more look at the far snow mountains from the spot that might have been the porch of--our cabin.”

Carefully keeping to the damp ground that bordered the little creek, she worked her way around the huge rock, and drew up in amazement. The little white tent was gone! Hastily, her eyes swept the plateau. The buckskin was gone, and the saddle was not hanging by its stirrup from its accustomed limb-stub. Crossing the creek, the girl stared at the row of packs, the blanket roll, and the neat tarpaulin-covered bundles that were ranged along the base of the rock.

”He has gone,” she murmured, as if trying to grasp the fact and then, again: ”He has gone.” Slowly, her eyes raised to the high-flung peaks that reared their snowy heads against the blue. And as she looked, the words of Vil Holland formed themselves in her brain. ”If there ain't any 'we,' there won't be any cabin--so there's nothing to worry about.” ”Nothing to worry about,” she repeated bitterly, and touching her horse with a spur, rode out across the plateau toward the head of a coulee that led to the trail for town. ”Where has he gone?” she wondered, and pulled up sharply as her horse entered the coulee.

Riding slowly down the trail ahead, mounted on the meditative Gee Dot, was Microby Dandeline. Urging her horse forward Patty gained her side, and realizing that escape was hopeless, the girl stared sullenly without speaking.

”Why, Microby!” she smiled, ignoring the sullen stare, ”you're miles from home, and it's hardly daylight! Where in the world are you going?”

”Hain't a-goin' nowher'. I'm prospectin'.”

”Where's Vil Holland, have you seen him?”

The girl nodded: ”He's done gone to town. He's mad, an' he roden fas'

as Buck kin run, an' he says, 'I'm gonna file one more claim, an' to h.e.l.l 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 a.s.sessments--it was no good. Was it possible that he was riding to file _her claim_? Was he no better than Bethune--only shrewder, more patient, richer in imagination?

With a swish the quirt descended upon her horse's flanks. The animal shot forward and, leaving Microby Dandeline staring open-mouthed, horse and rider dashed headlong down the coulee. Into the long white trail they swept, through the canyon, and out among the foothills toward Thompsons'. ”Why did I show him the map, and the pictures? Why did I trust him? Why did I trust anybody? I see it all, now! His continual spying, and his plausible explanation that he was watching Bethune. He asked me to marry him, and when, like the poor little fool I was, I showed him the location, he was only too glad to get the mine without being saddled with me.”

If Vil Holland reached town first--well, she could teach school.

Scalding tears blinded her as with quirt and spur she crowded her horse to his utmost. Only one slender hope remained. With Thompson's fresh horse, Lightning, she might yet win the race. The chance was slim, but she would take it! Her own horse was laboring heavily, a solid lather of sweat, as his feet pounded the trail that wound white and hot through the foothills. ”It's your last hard ride,” she sobbed into his ear as she urged him on. ”Win or lose, boy, it's your last hard ride--and we've got to make it!”

She whirled into Thompson's lane and, in the dooryard, threw herself from her horse almost into the arms of the big ranchman who stared at her in surprise. ”Must be somethin's busted loose in the hills, that folks is all takin' to the open!” he exclaimed.

”Where's Lightning?” cried the girl. ”Quick! I want him!”

”Lightnin'?” repeated Thompson. ”Why, Lightnin's gone--Vil Holland come along an hour or so ago, an' rode him on to town. Turned Buck into the corral, yonder--he was rode down almost as bad as yourn.”

Patty's brain reeled dizzily as from a blow. Lightning gone! Her one slim chance of saving her mine had vanished in a breath. She felt suddenly weak, and sick, and leaning against her saddle for support, she closed her eyes and buried her face in her arm.

”What's the matter, Miss? Somethin' wrong?”

The girl laughed, a dry hard laugh, and raising her head, looked into the man's face. ”Oh, no!” she said. ”Nothing's wrong--nothing except that I've lost my father's claim--lost it because I relied on your horse to carry me into town in time to file ahead of _him_.”

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

”Bethune! Bethune!” cried the girl bitterly. ”Bethune's got nothing to do with it! It's Vil Holland himself that's going to file my claim.

Have you got another horse here?” she cried. ”If you have I want him.

I'm not beaten yet! There's still a chance! Maybe Lightning will go down, or something. Quick--change my saddle!”

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

”I don't git the straight of it,” he said, eying her with a puzzled frown. ”But if it's a question of gittin' to town before Vil Holland kin beat you out of yer claim--you've got plenty of time--if you walk.”

<script>