During the next few days Patty Sinclair paid scant attention to rock ledges. Each morning she saddled her cayuse and rode into the hills to the southward, crossing divides and following creeks and valleys from their sources down their winding, twisting lengths. After the first two or three trips she left her gun at home. It was heavy and cumbersome, and she realized, in her unskilled hand, useless. Always she felt that she was being followed, but, try as she would, never could catch so much as a fleeting glimpse of the rider who lurked on her trail. Nevertheless, during these long rides which she made for the sole purpose of familiarizing herself with all the short cuts through the hills, she derived satisfaction from the fact that, while the trips were of immense value to her, Vil Holland was having his trouble for his pains.

Ascertaining at length that, after crossing the high divide at the head of Monte’s Creek, any valley leading southward would prove a direct outlet onto the bench and thereby furnish a short cut to town, she returned once more to her prospecting-to the exploration of little valleys, and the examination of innumerable rock ledges.

Accepting as part of the game the fact that her cabin was searched almost daily during her absence she derived grim enjoyment in contemplation of the searcher’s repeated disappointment. Several attempts to surprise the marauder at his work proved futile, and she was forced to admit that in the matter of shrewdness and persistence, his ability exceeded her own. “The real test will come when I locate the mine,” she told herself one evening, as she sat alone in her little cabin. “Then the prize will go to the fastest horse.” She drew a small folding check-book from her pocket and frowningly regarded its latest stub. “A thousand dollars isn’t very much, and-it’s half gone.”

Next day she rode out of the hills and, following the trail for town, dismounted at Thompson’s ranch which nestled in its coulee well out upon the bench, and waited for the rancher, who drove up beside a huge stack with a load of alfalfa, to unhitch his team.

“Have you a good saddle horse for sale?” she asked, abruptly.

Thompson released the tug chains, and hung the bridles upon the hames, whereupon the horses of their own accord started toward the stable, followed by a ranch hand who slid from the top of the stack. Without answering, he called to the man: “Take the lady’s horse along an’ give him a feed.”

“It’s noon,” he explained, turning to the girl. “You’ll stay fer dinner.” He pointed toward the house. “You’ll find Miz T. in the kitchen. If you want to wash up, she’ll show you.”

The ranch hand was leading her horse toward the barn. “But,” objected Patty, “I didn’t mean to run in like this just at meal time. Mrs. Thompson won’t be expecting a guest, and I brought a lunch with me.”

Thompson laughed: “You must be a pilgrim in these parts,” he said. “Most folks would ride half a day to git here ‘round feedin’ time. We always count on two or three extry, so I guess they’ll be a-plenty.” The man’s laugh was infectious, and Patty found herself smiling. She liked him from the first. There was a ponderous heartiness about him, and she liked the way his little brown eyes sparkled from out their network of sun-browned wrinkles. “You trot along in, now, an’ tell Miz T. she can begin dishin’ up whenever she likes. We’ll be ’long d’rectly. They’ll be plenty time to talk horse after we’ve et. My work teams earns a good hour of noonin’, an’ I don’t begrudge ’em an hour an’ a half, hot days.”

Patty found Mrs. Thompson slight and quiet as her husband was big and hearty. But her smile was as engaging as his, and an indefinable something about her made the girl feel at home the moment she crossed the threshold. “I came to see Mr. Thompson about a horse, and he insisted that I stay to dinner,” she apologized.

“Why, of course you’ll stay to dinner. But you must be hot an’ tired. The wash dish is there beside the door. You better use it before Thompson an’ the hands comes, they always slosh everything all up-they don’t wash, they waller.”

“Mr. Thompson said to tell you you could begin to dish up whenever you’re ready.”

The woman smiled. “Yes, an’ have everythin’ set an’ git cold, while they feed the horses an’ then like’s not, stand ‘round a spell an’ size up the hay stack, er mebbe mend a piece of harness or somethin’. I guess you ain’t married, er you wouldn’t expect a man to meals ’til you see him comin’. Seems like no matter how hungry they be, if they’s some little odd job they can find to do just when you get the grub set on, they pick that time to do it. ‘Specially if it’s somethin’ that don’t ‘mount to anythin’, an’ like’s not’s b’en layin’ ’round in plain sight a week.”

Patty laughingly admitted she was not married. “But, I’d teach ’em a lesson,” she said. “I’d put the things on and let them get cold.”

The older woman smiled, and at the sound of voices, peered out the door: “Here they come now,” she said, and proceeded to carry heaping vegetable dishes and a steaming platter of savory boiled meat from the stove to the table. There was a prodigious splashing outside the door and a moment later Thompson appeared, followed by his two ranch hands, hair wet and shining, plastered tightly to their scalps, and faces aglow from vigorous scrubbing. “You mind Mr. Sinclair, that used to prospect in the hills,” introduced Mrs. Thompson; “this is his daughter.”

Her husband bowed awkwardly: “Glad to know you. We know’d yer paw-used to stop now an’ again on his way to town. He was a smart man. Liked to talk to him. He’d be’n all over.” The man turned his attention to his plate and the meal proceeded in solemn silence to its conclusion. The two ranch hands arose and disappeared through the door, and tilting back in his chair Thompson produced a match from his pocket, and proceeded to whittle it into a toothpick. “I heard in town how you was out in the hills,” he began. “They said yer paw went back East-” he paused as if uncertain how to proceed.

Patty nodded: “Yes, he went back home, and this spring he died. He told me he had made a strike and I came out here to locate it.”

The kindly brown eyes regarded her intently: “Ever do any prospectin’?”

“No. This is my first experience.”

“I never, either. But, if I was you I’d kind of have an eye on my neighbors.”

“You mean-the Wattses?” asked the girl in surprise.

The brown eyes were twinkling again: “No, Watts, he’s all right! Only trouble with Watts is he sets an’ herds the sun all day. But, they’s others besides Watts in the hills.”

“Yes,” answered the girl, quickly, “I know. And that is the reason I came to see you about a horse.”

“What’s the matter with the one you got?”

“Nothing at all. He seems to be a good horse. He’s fast too, when I want to crowd him. But, I need another just as good and as fast as he is. Have you one you will sell?”

“I’ll sell anything I got, if the price is right,” smiled the man.

Patty regarded him thoughtfully: “I haven’t very much money,” she said. “How much is he worth?”

Thompson considered: “A horse ain’t like a cow-brute. There ain’t no regular market price. Horses is worth just as much as you can get folks to pay fer ’em. But it looks like one horse ort to be enough to prospect ’round the hills on.”

“It isn’t that,” explained the girl. “If I buy him I shall try to arrange with you to leave him right here where I can get him at a moment’s notice. I shall probably never need him but once, but when I do, I shall need him badly.” She paused, but without comment the man waited for her to proceed: “I believe I am being followed, and if I am, when I locate the claim, I am going to have to race for the register’s office.”

Thompson leaned forward upon the table and chewed his toothpick rapidly: “By Gosh, an’ you want to have a fresh horse here for a change!” he exclaimed, his eyes beaming approval.

“Exactly. Have you got the horse?”

The man nodded: “You bet I’ve got the horse! I’ve got a horse out there in the corral that’ll run rings around anythin’ in this country unless it’s that there buckskin of Vil Holland’s-an’ I guess you ain’t goin’ to have no call to race him.”

Patty was on the point of exclaiming that the buckskin was the very horse she would have to race, but instead she smiled: “But, if your horse started fresh from here, and even Vil Holland’s horse had run clear from the mountains, this one could beat him to town, couldn’t he?”

“Could do it on three legs,” laughed the man.

“How much do you ask for him?” The girl waited breathless, thinking of her diminishing bank account.

Thompson’s brow wrinkled: “I hold Lightnin’ pretty high,” he said, after a pause. “You see, some of us ranchers is holdin’ a fast horse handy, a-waitin’ fer word from the hills-an’ when it comes, they’s goin’ to be the biggest horse-thief round-up the hill country ever seen. An’ unless I miss my guess they’ll be some that’s carried their nose pretty high that’s goin’ to snap down on the end of a tight one.”

“Now, Thompson, what’s the use of talkin’ like that? Them things is bad enough to have to do, let alone set around an’ talk about ’em. Anyone’d think you took pleasure in hangin’ folks.”

“I would-some folks.”

The little woman turned to Patty: “He’s just a-talkin’. Chances is, if it come to hangin’, Thompson would be the one to try an’ talk ’em out of it. Why, he won’t even brand his own colts an’ calves-makes the hands do it.”

“That’s different,” defended the man. “They’re little an’ young an’ they ain’t never done nothin’ ornery.”

“But you haven’t told me how much you want for your horse,” persisted the girl.

“Now just you listen to me a minute. I don’t want to sell that horse, an’ there ain’t no mortal use of you buyin’ him. He’s always here-right in the corral when he ain’t in the stable, an’ either place, all you got to do is throw yer kak on him an’ fog it.”

The girl stared at him in surprise: “You mean -”

“I mean that you’re plumb welcome to use Lightnin’ whenever you need him. An’ if they’s anything else I can do to help you beat out any ornery cuss that’d try an’ hornswaggle you out of yer claim, you can count on me doin’ it! An’ whether you know it ’er not, I ain’t the only one you can count on in a pinch neither.” The man waved her thanks aside with a sweep of a big hand, and rose from the table. “Miz T. an’ me’d like fer you to stop in whenever you feel like -”

“Yes, indeed, we would,” seconded the little woman. “Couldn’t you come over an’ bring yer sewin’ some day?”

Patty laughed: “I’m afraid I haven’t much sewing to bring, but I’ll come and spend the day with you some time. I’d love to.”

The girl rode homeward with a lighter heart than she had known in some time. “Now let him follow me all he wants to,” she muttered. “But I wonder why Mr. Thompson said I wouldn’t have to race the buckskin. And who did he mean I could count on in a pinch-Watts, I guess, or maybe he meant Mr. Bethune.”

As she saddled her horse next morning, Bethune presented himself at the cabin. “Where away?” he smiled as he rode close, and swung lightly to the ground.

“Into the hills,” she answered, “in search of my father’s lost mine.”

The man’s expression became suddenly grave: “Do you know, Miss Sinclair, I hate to think of your riding these hills alone.”

Patty glanced at him in surprise: “Why?”

“There are several reasons. For instance, one never knows what will happen-a misstep on a dangerous trail-a broken cinch-any one of a hundred things may happen in the wilds that mean death or serious injury, even to the initiated. And the danger is tenfold in the case of a tender-foot.”

The girl laughed: “Thank you. But, if anything is going to happen, it’s going to happen. At least, I am in no danger from being run down by a street car or an automobile. And I can’t be blown up by a gas explosion, or fall into a coal hole.”

“But there are other dangers,” persisted the man. “A woman, alone in the hills-especially you.”

“Why ‘especially me’? Plenty of women have lived alone before in places more dangerous than this, and have gotten along very well, too. You men are conceited. You think there can be no possible safety unless members of your own sex are at the helm of every undertaking or enterprise. But you are wrong.”

Bethune shook his head: “But I have reason to believe that there is at least one person in these hills who believes you possess the secret of your father’s strike-and who would stop at nothing to obtain that secret.”

“I suppose you mean Vil Holland. I agree that he does seem to take more than a passing interest in my comings and goings. But he doesn’t seem very fierce. Anyhow, I am not in the least afraid of him.”

“What do you mean that he seems to take an interest in your comings and goings?” The question seemed a bit eager. “Surely he has not been following you!”

“Hasn’t he? Then possibly you can tell me who has?”

“The scoundrel! And when you discover the lode he’ll wait ’til you have set your stakes and posted your notice, and have gotten out of sight, and then he’ll drive in his own stakes, stick up his own notice beside them and beat you to the register.”

Patty laughed: “Race me, you mean. He won’t beat me. Remember, I shall have at least a half-hour’s start.”

“A half-hour!” exclaimed Bethune. “And what is a half-hour in a fifty-mile race against that buckskin. Why, my dear girl, with all due respect for that horse of yours, Vil Holland’s horse could give you two hours’ start and beat you to the railroad.”

“Maybe,” smiled the girl. “But he’s going to have to do it-that is, if I ever locate the lode.”

“Ah, that is the point, exactly. It is that that brings me here. Not that alone,” he hastened to add. “For I would ride far any day to spend a few moments with so charming a lady-and indeed, I should not have delayed my visit this long but for some urgent business to the northward. At all events, I’m here, and here I shall stay until, together, we have solved our mystery of the hills.”

The girl glanced into the face alight with boyish enthusiasm, and felt irresistibly impelled to take this man into her confidence-to enlist his help in the working out of her unintelligible map, and to admit him to full partnership in her undertaking. There would be enough for both if they succeeded in uncovering the lode. Her father had intended that he should share in his mine. She recalled his eulogy of her father, and his frank admission that there had been no agreement of partnership. If anyone ever had the appearance of perfect sincerity and candor this man had. She remembered her seriously depleted bank account. Bethune had money, and in case the search should prove long-Suddenly the words of Vil Holland flashed into her brain with startling abruptness: “Remember yer dad knew enough to play a lone hand.” And again. “Did yer dad tell you about this partnership?” And the significant emphasis he placed upon the “Oh,” when she had answered in the negative.

Bethune evidently had taken her silence for assent. He was speaking again: “The first thing to do is to find the starting point on the map and work it out step by step, then when we locate the lode, you and Clen and I will file the first three claims, and we’ll file all the Wattses on the adjoining claims. That will give us absolute control of a big block of what is probably a most valuable property.”

Again Bethune had referred directly to the map which she had never admitted she possessed. He had not said, “If you have a map.” The man’s assumption angered her: “You still persist in assuming that I have a map,” she answered. “As a matter of fact, I’m depending entirely upon a photograph. I am riding blindly through the hills trying to find the spot that tallies with the picture.”

Bethune frowned and shook his head doubtfully: “You might ride the hills for years, and pass the spot a dozen times and never recognize it. If you do not happen to strike the exact view-point you might easily fail to recognize it. Then, too, the landscape changes with the seasons of the year. However,” his face brightened and the smile returned to his lips; “we have at least something to go on. We are not absolutely in the dark. Who knows? If the goddess of luck sits upon our shoulders, I myself may know the place well-may recognize it instantly! For years I have ridden these hills and I flatter myself that no one knows their hidden nooks and byways better than I. Even if I should not know the exact spot, it may be that I can tell by the general features its approximate locality, and thus limit our search to a comparatively small area.”

Patty knew that her refusal to show the photograph could not fail to place her in an unfavorable position. Either she would appear to distrust this man whom she had no reason to distrust, or her action would be attributed to a selfish intention to keep the secret to herself, even though she knew she could only file one claim. The man’s argument had been entirely reasonable-in fact, it seemed the sensible thing to do. Nevertheless, she did refuse, and refuse flatly: “I think, Mr. Bethune, that I would rather play a lone hand. You see, I started in on this thing alone, and I want to see it through-for the present, at least. After a while, if I find that I cannot succeed alone, I shall be glad of your assistance. I suppose you think me a fool, but it’s a matter of pride, I guess.”

Was it fancy, or did the black eyes flash a gleam of hate-a glitter of rage beneath their long up-curving lashes? And did the swarthy face flush a shade darker beneath its tan? Patty could not be sure, for the next moment he was speaking in a voice under perfect control: “I can well understand your feeling in the matter, Miss Sinclair, and I have nothing of reproach. I do think you are making a mistake. With Vil Holland knowing what he does of your father’s operations, time may be a vital factor in the success of your undertaking. Let me caution you again against carrying the photograph upon your person.”

“Oh, I keep that safely hidden where no one would ever think of searching for it,” smiled the girl, and Bethune noted that her eyes involuntarily swept the cabin with a glance.

The man mounted: “I will no longer keep you from your work,” he said. “I have arranged to spend the summer in the hills where I shall carry on some prospecting upon my own account. If I can be of any assistance to you-if you should need any advice, or help of any kind, a word will procure it. I shall stop in occasionally to see how you fare. Good-bye.” He waved his hand and rode off down the creek where, in a cottonwood thicket he dismounted and watched the girl ride away in the opposite direction, noted that Lord Clendenning swung stealthily, into the trail behind her, and swinging into his saddle rode swiftly toward the cabin.

In his high notch in the hills, Vil Holland chuckled audibly, and catching up his horse, headed for his camp.