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

"Well, if hit ain't Mr. Bethune an' Lord Clendenning! Ef you see one you know the other hain't fer off. Hain't he good lookin' though--Mr.

Bethune? Lord hain't so much fer looks, but he's some high up n.o.bility like over to England where he come from, only over yere they call 'em remittance men, an' they don't do nothin' much but ride around an'

drink whisky, an' they git paid for hit, too. Folks says how Mr.

Bethune's gran'ma wus a squaw, but I don't believe 'em. Anyways, I allus like him. He's got manners, an' hit don't stan' to reason no breed would have manners."

Patty could distinctly see the two riders as they lounged in their saddles. The larger, whose bulging blue eyes and drooping blond mustache gave him a peculiar walrus-like expression, she swept at a glance. The other was talking to Watts and the girl noted the slender figure with its almost feminine delicacy of mold, and the finely chiseled features dominated by eyes black as jet--eyes that glowed with a velvety softness as he spoke.

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

Watts rubbed his beard uncertainly. "Them fences hain't hoss tight. I be'n studyin' 'bout fixin' 'em."

"Why don't you get at it?"

"Well they's the resevoy, an' the ditches----"

"Never mind the ditches. All that fence needs is a few posts and some staples."

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

Reaching into his pocket, Bethune withdrew a gold piece which he tossed to Watts. "Maybe this will change your luck," he smiled. "The fact is I want that pasture--or, rather, Schultz does."

"Thought yo' said Schmidt."

"Did I? Those kraut names all sound alike to me. But his name is Schultz. The point is, he'll pay you five dollars a month to hold the pasture, and five dollars for every day or night he uses it. That ten spot pays for the first two months. Better buy a new ax and spade and some staples and get to work. The exercise will do you good, and Schultz may want to use that pasture in a couple of weeks or so."

"Well, I reckon I kin. Hit's powerful hot fer to work much, but that's a sight o' money. As I wus sayin' to Mr. Sinclair's darter----"

"Sinclair's daughter! What do you mean? Is Sinclair back?"

Patty noted the sudden flash of the jet black eyes at the mention of her father's name. It was as though a point of polished steel had split their velvet softness. Yet there was no hostility in the glance; rather, it was a gleam of intense interest. The girl's own interest in the quarter-breed had been casual at most, hardly more than that accorded by a pa.s.sing glance until she had chanced to hear him refer to the man in the Blackfoot country in one breath as Schmidt, and in the next as Schultz. She wondered at that and so had remained standing beside Mrs. Watts, screened from the outside by the morning-glory vines that served as a curtain for the window. The trifling incident of the changed name was forgotten in the speculation as to why her father's return to the hill country should be a matter of evident import to this sagebrush cavalier. So intent had she become that she hardly noticed the cruel bluntness of Watts's reply.

"He's dead."

"Dead!"

"Yas, he died back East an' his darter's come."

"Does she know he made a strike?" Patty noted the look of eagerness that accompanied the words.

"I do'no." Watts wagged his head slowly. "Mebbe so; mebbe not."

"Because, if she doesn't," Bethune hastened to add, "she should be told. Rod Sinclair was one of the best friends I had, and if he has gone I'm right here to see that his daughter gets a square deal. Of course if she has the location, she's all right." Patty wondered whether the man had purposely raised his voice, or was it her imagination?

Ma Watts had started for the door. "Come on out, honey, an' I'll make yo' acquainted with Mr. Bethune. He wus a friend of yo' pa, an' Lord too." As she followed the woman to the door, the girl was conscious of an indefinable feeling of distrust for the man. Somehow, his words had not rung true.

As the two women stepped from the house the hors.e.m.e.n swung from their saddles and stood with uncovered heads.

"This yere's Mr. Sinclair's darter, Mr. Bethune," beamed Ma Watts.

"An' I'd take hit proud ef yo'd all stay to dinner."

"Ah, Miss Sinclair, I am most happy to know you. Permit me to present my friend Lord Clendenning."

The Englishman bowed low. "The prefix is merely a euphonism Miss Sinclair. What you really behold in me is the decayed part of a decaying aristocracy."

Patty laughed. "My goodness, what frankness!"

"Come on, now, an' set by 'fore the vittles gits cold on us. Yere yo'

Horatius Ezek'l an' David Golieth, yo' hay them hosses!"

"No, no! Really, Mrs. Watts, we must not presume on your hospitality.

Important business demands our presence elsewhere."

"Lawzie, Mr. Bethune, there yo' go with them big words agin. Which I s'pose yo' mean yo' cain't stay. But they's a plenty, an' yo'

welcome." Again Bethune declined and as the woman re-entered the house, he turned to the girl.

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

"Thank you," answered Patty, flushing slightly under the scrutiny of the black eyes. "I am here to locate my father's claim. I want to do it alone, but if I can't I shall certainly ask a.s.sistance of his friends."

"Exactly. But, my dear Miss Sinclair, let me warn you. There are men in these hills who suspected that your father made a strike, who would stop at nothing to wrest your secret from you." The girl nodded. "I suppose so. But forewarned is forearmed, isn't it? I thank you."

"Thet Vil Holland wus by yeste'day," said Watts.

Bethune frowned. "What did he want?"

"Didn't want nothin'. Jest come a-ridin' by."

"I should think you'd had enough of him after the way he ran your sheep man off."

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

"That isn't the point. What right has Vil Holland and others of his ilk to tell you, or me, or anybody else who we shall, or shall not rent to? It is the principle of the thing. The running off of those sheep was a lawless act, and the sooner lawlessness, as exemplified by Vil Holland is stamped out of these hills, the better it will be for the community. He better not try to bulldoze me." Bethune turned to Patty. "That Vil Holland is the man I had in mind, Miss Sinclair, when I warned you to choose your friends wisely. He would stop at nothing to gain an end, even to posing as a friend of your father. In all probability he will offer to a.s.sist you, but if you have any map or description of your father's location do not under any circ.u.mstances show it to him."

Patty smiled. "If any such paper exists I shall keep it to myself."

Bethune returned the smile. "Good-by," he said. "I shall look forward to meeting you again. Shall you remain here?"

"I have made no plans," she answered, and as she watched the two riders disappear down the creek trail her lips twisted into a smile.

"May pose as a friend of your father ... and probably will offer to a.s.sist you;" she repeated under her breath. "Well, Mr. Bethune, I thank you again for the warning."

CHAPTER III

PATTY GOES TO TOWN