Part 27 (1/2)

Patty shot the man one glance of withering scorn. ”You're all _crazy_!

He's got you hypnotized! Everybody thinks he's a saint----”

Thompson grinned. ”No, Miss, Vil ain't no saint--an' he ain't no devil--neither. But somewheres between the two of 'em is the place where good men fits in--an' that's Vil. You're all het up needless, an' barkin' up the wrong tree, as folks used to say back where I come from. Just come and have a talk with Miz T. She'll straighten you around all right. I'll slip in an' tell her to set the coffee-pot on, an' you kin take yer time about gittin' to town.” Thompson disappeared into the kitchen, and a moment later when he returned with his wife, the two stared in amazement at the flying figure that was just swinging from the lane into the long white trail.

Hours later the girl crossed the Mosquito Flats, forded the river, and pa.s.sed along the sandy street of the town. Her eyes felt hot and tired from continual straining ahead in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of a fallen horse, whose rider must continue his way on foot. But the plain was deserted, and the only evidence that anyone had proceeded her was an occasional glimpse of hoof prints in the white dust of the trail.

A short distance up the street, standing ”tied to the ground” before the hitching rail of a little false-front saloon, was Lightning. Patty noted as she pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s it by--no use for her to go there. She must find Len Christie and tell him she had come to teach his school. A great wave of repugnance swept over her, engulfed her, as her eyes traveled over the rows of small wooden houses with their stiff, uncomfortable porches, their treeless yards, and their flaunting paintiness.

”And to think, that I've got to _live_ in one of them!” she murmured, dully. ”Nothing could be worse--except the hotel.”

Opposite the register's office she pulled up, and gazed in fascination at the open door. Then deliberately she reined her horse to the sidewalk and dismounted. The characteristic thoroughness that had marked the progress of her search for her father's claim, and had impelled her to return to the false claim and procure the notice, and that very morning had prompted her to ride against the slender chance of Vil Holland's meeting with a mishap, impelled her now to read for herself the entry of her father's strike.

The register shoved his black skull-cap a trifle back upon his s.h.i.+ny head, adjusted his thick eyegla.s.ses, and smiled into the face of the girl. ”Things must be looking up out in the hills,” he hazarded.

”You're the second one to-day and it ain't noon yet.”

”I presume Mr. Holland has been here.”

”Yes, Vil come in. I guess he's around somewheres. He----”

”Relinquished one claim and filed another?”

”That's just what he done.”

Patty nodded wearily. She was gamely trying to appear disinterested.

”Did you want to file?” asked the man, whirling a large book about, and pus.h.i.+ng it toward her. ”Just enter your description there, an'

fill out the application fer a patent, an' file your field notes, and plat.”

The girl's glance strayed listlessly over the adjoining page, her eyes mechanically taking in the words. Suddenly, she became intensely alert. She leaned over the book and reread with feverish interest the written description. The location was filed in Vil Holland's name--but, _the description was not of her claim_!

”Where--where is this claim?” she gasped.

The old register turned the book and very deliberately proceeded to read the description. In her nervous excitement Patty felt that she must scream, and her fingers clutched the counter edge until the knuckles whitened. Finally the man looked up. ”That must be somewheres over on the Blackfoot side,” he announced. ”Must be Vil's figuring on pulling over there. Too bad we won't be seeing him much no more.” He swung the book back, as the import of his words dawned upon the girl she leaned weakly against the counter.

”Ain't you feeling well?” asked the old man, eying her with concern.

Without hearing him Patty picked up the pen, and as she wrote, her hand trembled so that she could scarcely form the letters. At last it was done, and the register once again swung the book and read the freshly penned words.

”Well, I'll be darned!” he exclaimed, when he had finished.

The blood had rushed back into the girl's face and she was regarding him with s.h.i.+ning eyes. ”What's the matter? Isn't it right? Because if it isn't you can show me how to do it, and I'll fix it.”

”Oh it's right--all right.” He was eying her quizzically. ”Only it's blamed funny. That there's the claim Vil Holland just relinquished.”

”_Just relinquished!_” gasped the girl, reaching out and shaking the old man's sleeve in her excitement. ”What do you mean? Tell me!”

”Mean just what I said--here's the entry.”

”Vil--Holland--just--relinquished,” she repeated, in a dazed voice.