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 potatoes, bread and b.u.t.ter, and hot coffee awaited them in the dining-room, and it seemed to Patty that never before had food tasted so good. Twenty 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 uncarpeted stairs, with Microby Dandeline's cow-hide boots clattering noisily in her wake.

CHAPTER V

SHEEP CAMP

If Patty Sinclair had antic.i.p.ated 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 b.u.mping 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 encountered no "nortymobiles."

Despite the fact that they had started from town 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 Dandeline 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 niche 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 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. "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. .h.i.t. 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 whenever yo're a mind. Microby Dandeline, she ketched up Gee Dot an' went a-taggin' 'long fer 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 unloading 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 c.h.i.n.kin's tol'ble, an'

the roof's middlin' tight 'cept a couple places wher' 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 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 the everlasting hills. Her heart swelled with the pride of him. She was ashamed of that sudden welling of tears. The feeling of depression vanished 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."

"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 patience, and the heart to withstand a thousand disappointments--" She broke off suddenly as the soft rattle of bit-chains sounded from behind her, and whirled to face Vil Holland. The man regarded her gravely, unsmiling. A gauntleted 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 regarding 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."

"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. "h.e.l.lo, 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 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 for Schultz."

Patty noted an almost imperceptible narrowing of the cowpuncher's eyes, an expression, slight as it was, that spoke disapproval. The man's att.i.tude 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 a horse 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 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."