The Gold Girl

by James B. Hendryx

  CHAPTER VIII

  PROSPECTING

  The gray of early morning was just beginning to render objects in thelittle room indistinguishable when Patty awoke. She made a hastytoilet, lighted the fire, and while the water was heating for hercoffee, delved into the pack sack and drew out a gray flannel shirtwhich she viewed critically from every conceivable angle. She tried iton, turning this way and that, before the mirror. "Daddy wasn't somuch larger than I am," she smiled, "I can take a tuck in the sleeves,and turn back the collar and it will fit pretty well. Anyway, it willbe better than that riding jacket. It will look less citified, andmore--more prospecty." A few moments sufficed for the alteration andas the girl stood before the mirror and carefully knotted herbrilliant scarf, she nodded emphatic approval.

  Breakfast over, she washed her dishes and as she put them on theirshelf her glance rested upon the bits of broken rock fragments.Instantly, her thoughts flew to the night before, and the feeling thatsomeone had been watching her. Rapidly her glance flashed about thecabin searching a place to hide them. "They're too heavy to carry,"she murmured. "And, yet," her eyes continued their search, lingeringfor a moment upon some nook or corner only to flit to another, andanother, "every place I can think of seems as though it would be thevery first place anyone would look." Her eyes fell upon the emptytomato can that she had forgotten to throw into the coulee after lastnight's supper. She placed the samples in the can. "I might put itwith the others in the cupboard, but if anybody looked there theywould be sure to see that it had been opened. Where do people hidethings? I might go out and dig a hole and bury it, but if anyone werewatching--" Suddenly her eyes lighted: "The very thing," she cried:"Nobody would think of looking among those old bottles and cars." Andplacing the can in the pan of dish-water, she carried it out and threwit onto the pile of rubbish in the coulee. Returning to the cabin, sheput on her father's Stetson, slipped his revolver into its holster,and buckling the belt about her waist, gave one last approving glanceinto the mirror, closed the door behind her, and saddled her horse.With the bridle reins in her hand she stood irresolute. In whichdirection should she start? Obviously, if she must search the wholecountry, she should begin somewhere and work systematically. She feltin the pocket of her skirt and reassured herself that the compass shehad taken from the pack sack was there. Her eyes swept the valley andcame to rest upon a deep notch in the hills that flanked it upon thewest. A coulee sloped upward to the notch, and mounting, the girlcrossed the creek and headed for the gap. It was slow and laboriouswork, picking her way among the loose rocks and fallen trees of thedeep ravine that narrowed and grew steeper as she advanced. Looserocks, disturbed by her horse's feet, clattered noisily behind her,and marks here and there in the soil told her that she was not thefirst to pass that way. "I wonder who it was?" she speculated. "EitherMonk Bethune, or Vil Holland, or Lord Clendenning, I suppose. They allseem to be forever riding back and forth through the hills." At lastshe gained the summit, and pulled up to enjoy the view. Judging bythe trampled buffalo grass that capped the divide, the rider whopreceded her had also stopped. She glanced backward, and there,showing above the tops of the trees that covered the slope, stood herown cabin, looking tiny and far away, but with its every detailstanding out with startling clearness. She could even see the axstanding where she had left it beside the door, and the box she hadplaced at the end of the log wall to take the place of the cupboard asa home for the pack rats. "Whoever it was could certainly keep trackof my movements from here without the least risk of being discovered,"she thought, "and if he had field glasses!" She blushed, and turnedher eyes to survey the endless succession of peaks and passes andvalleys that lay spread out over the sea of hills. "How in the worldam I ever going to find one tiny little valley among all these?" shewondered. Her heart sank at the vastness of it all, and at her ownhelplessness, and the utter hopelessness of her stupendous task. "Oh,I can never, never do it," she faltered, "--never." And, instantlyashamed of herself, clenched her small, gloved fist. "I will do it! Mydaddy found his mine, and he didn't have any pictures to go by either.He just delved and worked for years and years--and at last he foundit. I'd find it if there were twice as many hills and valleys. It maytake me years--and I may find it to-day--just think! This very day Imay ride into that little valley--or to-morrow, or the next day. Itcan't be far away. Mrs. Watts said daddy was always to be found withinten miles of the ranch."

  She headed her horse down the opposite slope that slanted at a mucheasier gradient than the one she had just ascended. The trees on thisside of the divide were larger and the hillside gradually flattenedinto a broad, tilted plateau. She gave her horse his head and breatheddeeply of the pine-laden air as the animal swung in beside a tinycreek that flowed smooth and black through the dusky silence of thepines whose interlacing branches, high above, admitted the sunlight inirregular splashes of gold. There was little under-brush and the horsefollowed easily along the creek, where here and there, in the softersoil of damp places, the girl could see the hoof marks of the riderwho had crossed the divide. "I wonder whether it was he who watched melast night? There was someone, I could feel it."

  The creek sheered sharply around an out-cropping shoulder of rock, andthe next instant Patty pulled up short, and sat staring at a littlewhite tent that nestled close against the side of the huge monolithwhich stood at the edge of a broad, grassed opening in the woods. Theflaps were thrown wide and the walls caught up to allow free passageof air. Blankets that had evidently covered a pile of boughs in onecorner, were thrown over the ridgepole from which hung a black leatherbinocular case, and several canvas bags formed an orderly row alongone side. A kettle hung suspended over a small fire in front of thetent, and a row of blackened cooking utensils hung from a wooden barsuspended between two crotched stakes. Out in the clearing, a man wasbridling a tall buckskin horse. The man was Vil Holland. Curbing adesire to retreat unobserved into the timber, the girl advanced boldlyacross the creek and pulled up beside the fire. At the sound the manwhirled, and Patty noticed that a lean, brown hand dropped swiftly tothe butt of the revolver.

  "Don't shoot!" she called, in a tone that was meant to be sarcastic,"I won't hurt you." Somehow, the sarcasm fell flat.

  The man buckled the throat-latch of his bridle and picking up thereins, advanced hat in hand, leading the horse. "I beg your pardon,"he said, gravely, "I didn't know who it was, when your horse splashedthrough the creek."

  "You have enemies in the hills? Those you would shoot, or who wouldshoot you?"

  He dropped the bridle reins, allowing them to trail on the ground. "Ifsome kinds of folks wasn't a man's enemy he wouldn't be fit to haveany friends," he said, simply. "And here in the hills it's just aswell to be forehanded with your gun. Won't you climb down? I supposeyou've had breakfast?"

  Patty swung from the saddle and stood holding the bridle reins. "Yes,I've had breakfast, thank you. Don't let me keep you from yours."

  "Had mine, too. If you don't mind I'll wash up these dishes, though.Just drop your reins--like mine. Your cayuse will stand as long as thereins are hangin'. It's the way they're broke--'tyin' 'em to theground,' we call it." He glanced at her horse's feet, and pointed to aplace beneath the fetlock from which the hair had been rubbed: "Ropeburnt," he opined. "You oughtn't to put him out on a picket rope. Usehobbles. There's a couple of pair in your dad's war-bag."

  "War-bag?"

  "Yeh, it's down in Watts's barn, if he ain't hauled it up for you."

  "What are hobbles?"

  The man stepped to the tent and returned a moment later with two heavystraps fastened together by a bit of chain and a swivel. "These arehobbles, they work like this." He stooped and fastened the strapsabout the forelegs of the horse just above the fetlock. "He can getaround all right, but he can't get far, and there is no rope to snaghim."

  Patty nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'll try it. But how do you knowthere are hobbles in dad's pack?"

  "Where would they be? He had a couple of pair. All his stuff is inthere. He
always traveled light."

  "Did you leave my father's war-bag, as you call it, at Watts's?"

  "Yeh, he was in somethin' of a hurry and didn't want to go around bythe trail, so he left his outfit here and struck straight through thehills."

  "Why was he in a hurry?"

  The man placed the dishes in a pan and poured water over them. "I'vegot my good guess," he answered, thoughtfully.

  "Which may mean anything, and tells me nothing."

  Holland nodded, as he carefully wiped his tin plate. "Yeh, that'sabout the size of it."

  His attitude angered the girl. "And I have heard he was not the onlyone in the hills that was in a hurry that day, and I suppose I canhave my 'good guess' at that, and I can have my 'good guess' as to whocut daddy's pack sack, too."

  "Yeh, an' you can change your guess as often as you want to."

  "And every time I change it, I'd get farther from the truth."

  "You might, an' you might get nearer." The cowpuncher was looking ather squarely, now. "You ain't left-handed, are you?" he asked,abruptly.

  "No, of course not! Why?"

  "Because, if you ain't, you better change that belt around so theholster'll carry on yer right side--or else leave it to home."

  The coldly impersonal tone angered the girl. "Much better leave ithome," she said, "so if anyone wanted to get my map and photographs,he could do it without risk."

  "If you had any sense you'd shut up about maps an' photos."

  "At least I've got sense enough not to tell whether I carry them withme, or keep them hidden in a safe place."

  "You carry 'em on you!" commanded the man, gruffly. "It's a good dealsafer'n _cachin_' 'em." He laid his dishes aside, poured the waterfrom the pan, wiped it, hung it in its place, and picking up hissaddle blanket, examined it carefully.

  "I wonder why my father entrusted his pack sack to you?" said Patty,eyeing him resentfully. "Were you and he such great friends?"

  "Knew one another tolerable well," answered Holland, dryly.

  "You weren't, by any chance--partners, were you?"

  He glanced up quickly. "Didn't I tell you once that yer dad played alone hand?"

  "You knew he made a strike?"

  "That's what folks think. But I suppose he told Monk Bethune all aboutit."

  The thinly veiled sneer goaded the girl to anger. "Yes, he did," sheanswered, hotly, "and he told me, too!"

  "Told Monk all about it, did he--location an' all, I suppose?"

  "He intended to, yes," answered the girl, defiantly. "The day he madehis strike, Mr. Bethune happened to be away up in British Columbia,and daddy told Lord Clendenning that he had made his strike, and hedrew a map and sent it to Mr. Bethune by Lord Clendenning."

  Holland smoothed the blanket into place upon the back of the buckskin,and reached for his saddle. "An' of course, Monk, he wouldn't filetill you come, so you'd be sure an' get a square deal----"

  "He never got the map or the photos. Lord Clendenning lost them in ariver. And he nearly lost his life, and was rescued by an Indian."

  There was a sound very like a cough, and Patty glanced sharply at thecowpuncher, but his back was toward her, and he was busy with hiscinch. "Tough luck," he remarked, as he adjusted the latigo strap."An', you say, yer dad told you all about this partnership business?"

  "No, he didn't."

  "Who did?"

  "Mr. Bethune."

  "Oh."

  Something in the tone made the girl feel extremely foolish. Hollandwas deliberately strapping the brown leather jug to his saddle horn,and gathering up her reins, she mounted. "At least, Mr. Bethune is agentleman," she emphasized the word nastily.

  "An' they can't hang him for that, anyway," he flung back, and swunglightly into the saddle, "I must be goin'."

  "And you don't even deny cutting the pack?"

  He looked her squarely in the eyes and shook his head. "No. You kindof half believe Monk about the partnership. But you don't believe Icut that pack, so what's the use denying it?"

  "I do----"

  "If you should happen to get lost, don't try to outguess your compass.Always pack a little grub an' some matches, an' if you need help,three shots, an' then three more, will bring anyone that's in hearin'distance."

  "I hope I shall never have to summon you for help."

  "It is quite a bother," admitted the other. "An' if you'll rememberwhat I've told you, you prob'ly won't have to. So long."

  The cowboy settled the Stetson firmly upon his head, and with never aglance behind him, headed his horse down the little creek.

  The girl watched him for a moment with angry eyes, and then, urgingher horse forward, crossed the plateau at a gallop, and headed up thevalley. "Of all the--the _boors_! He certainly is the limit. And theworst of it is I don't know whether he deliberately tries to insultme, or whether it's just ignorance. Anyway, I wouldn't trust him asfar as I could see him. And I do believe he cut daddy's pack sack, sothere!" The heavy revolver dangling at her side attracted herattention, and she pulled up her horse and changed it to the oppositeside. "I suppose I did look like a fool," she admitted, "but heneedn't have told me so. And I bet I know as much about a compass ashe does, anyway. And I'll tie my horse up with a rope if I want to."

  Beyond the plateau, the valley narrowed rapidly, and innumerableravines and coulees led steeply upward to lose themselves among thetimbered slopes of the mountain sides. Crossing a low divide at thehead of the valley, she reined in her horse and gazed with thumpingheart into the new valley that lay before her. There, scarcely a mileaway, stretched a rock ledge--and, yes, there were scraggly treesfringing its rim, and the valley was strewn with rock fragments! Hervalley! The valley of the photographs! She laughed aloud, and urgedher horse down the steep descent, heedless of the fact that upon theprecarious, loose rock footing of the slope, a misstep would meanalmost certain destruction.

  Directly opposite the face of the rock wall she pulled her horse to astand. "Surely, this must be the place, but--where is the crack? Itshould be about there." Her eyes searched the face of the cliff forthe zigzag crevice. "Maybe I'm too close to it," she muttered. "Thepicture was taken from a hillside across the valley. That must be thehill--the one with the bare patch half way up. That's right where hemust have stood when he took the photograph." The hillside roseabruptly, and abandoning her horse, the girl climbed the steep ascent,pausing at frequent intervals for breath. At last, she stood upon thebare shoulder of the hill and gazed out across the valley, and as shegazed, her heart sank. "It isn't the place," she muttered. "There isno big tree, and the rock cliff isn't a bit like the one in thepicture--and I thought I had found it sure! I wonder how many of thoserock walls there are in the hills? And will I ever find the rightone?"

  Once more in the saddle, she crossed another divide and scannedanother rock wall, and farther down, another. "I believe every singlevalley in these hills has its own rock ledge, and some of them threeor four!" she cried disgustedly, as she seated herself beside a tinyspring that trickled from beneath a huge rock, and proceeded to devourher lunch. "I had no idea how hungry I could get," she stared ruefullyat the paper that had held her two sandwiches. "Next time I'll bringabout six."

  Producing her compass, she leveled a place among the stones. "Let'ssee if I can point to the north without its help." She glanced at thesun and carefully scanned the tumultuous skyline. "It is there," sheindicated a gap between two peaks, and glanced at the compass. "I knewI wouldn't get turned around," she said, proudly. "I didn't miss itbut just a mite--anyway it's near enough for all practical purposes.If that's north," she speculated, "then I must have started east andthen turned south, and then west, and then south again, and my cabinmust be almost due north of me now." She returned the compass to herpocket. "I'll explore a little farther and then work toward home."

  Mounting, she turned northward, and emerging abruptly from a clump oftrees, caught a glimpse of swift motion a quarter of a mile away,where her trail had dipped into the valley, as a horse and riderdi
sappeared like a flash into the timber. "He's following me!" shecried angrily, "sneaking along my trail like a coyote! I'll tell himjust what I think of him and his cowardly spying." Urging her horseinto a run, she reached the spot to find it deserted, although itseemed incredible that anyone could have negotiated the divideunnoticed in that brief space of time. "I saw him plain as day," shemurmured, as she turned her horse toward the opposite side of thevalley. "I couldn't tell for sure that it was he--I didn't even seethe color of the horse--but who else could it be? He knew I startedout this way, and he knew that I carried the map and photos, and washunting daddy's claim. I know, now who was watching the other night."She shuddered. "And I've got to stay here 'til I find that claim,knowing all the time that I am being watched! There's no place I cango that he will not follow. Even in my own cabin, I'll always feelthat eyes are watching me. And when I do find the mine, he'll know itas soon as I do, and it will be a race to file." Drawing up sharply,she gritted her teeth, "And he knows the short cuts through the hills,and I don't. But I will know them!" she cried, "and when I do find themine, Mr. Vil Holland is going to have the race of his life!"

  Another parallel valley, and another, she explored before turning herhorse's head toward the high divide that she had reasoned separatedher from Monte's Creek at a point well above her cabin. Comparativelylow ridges divided these valleys, and as she topped each ridge, thegirl swerved sharply into the timber and, concealing herself, intentlywatched the back trail--a maneuver that caused the solitary horsemanwho watched from a safe distance, to chuckle audibly as he carefullywiped the lenses of his binoculars.

  The sunlight played only upon the higher peaks when at last, weary anddispirited, she negotiated the steep descent to Monte's Creek at apoint a mile above the sheep camp. "If he'd only photographedsomething besides a rock wall," she muttered, petulantly, "I'd standsome show of finding it." At the door of the cabin she slipped fromher saddle, and pausing with her hand on the coiled rope, dropped hereyes to the rubbed place below her horse's fetlock. A moment later sheknelt and fastened a pair of hobbles about the horse's ankles, and,removing the saddle, watched the animal roll clumsily in the grass,and shuffle awkwardly to the creek where he sucked greedily at thecold water. Entering the cabin, she lighted the lamp and stared abouther. Her glance traveled one by one over the objects of the littleroom. Everything was apparently as she had left it--yet--anuncomfortable, creepy sensation stole over her. She knew that the roomhad been searched.