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 shiny 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 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 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 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!_" 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.

"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 knowing 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, 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_ was the man she had doubted! She, alone of all who knew him, had doubted him. Her cheeks burned with the shame of it. Not once, 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!

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, unsmiling 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.

"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."

"Struck it rich!" flared the girl. "Who made it possible for me to strike it rich? Don't you suppose I know you relinquished that claim?

Relinquished it so I could file it!"

"Old Grebble talks too much," growled the man. "The claim wasn't 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 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.

"It's about the school, I presume," he greeted. "Everything is all arranged, Miss Sinclair. You may a.s.sume 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 a.s.soom her duties to-day. So, havin'

disposed of presoom, an' a.s.soom, we'll rezoom, as you'd say if you was dealin' from the pulpit, an' if you ain't got anything 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----"