Patty spent a miserable night. Brief periods of sleep were interspersed with long periods of wakefulness in which her brain traveled wearily over and over a long, long trail that ended always at a brown leather jug that swung by a strap from a saddle horn. She had found her father's claim—had accomplished the thing she had started out to accomplish—had vindicated her father's judgment in the eyes of the people back home—had circumvented the machinations of Bethune, and in all probability, the moment that she recorded her claim would be the possessor of more gold than she could possibly spend—and in the achievement there was no joy. There was a dull hurt in her heart, and the future stretched away, uninviting, heart-sickening, interminable. The world looked drab.
She ate her breakfast by lamplight, and as objects began to take form in the pearly light of the new day, she saddled her horse and rode up the trail to the notch in the hills—the trail that was a short cut, and that would carry her past Vil Holland's little white tent, nestling close beside its big rock at the edge of the little plateau. "He will still be asleep, and I can take one more look at the far snow mountains from the spot that might have been the porch of—our cabin."
Carefully keeping to the damp ground that bordered the little creek, she worked her way around the huge rock, and drew up in amazement. The little white tent was gone! Hastily, her eyes swept the plateau. The buckskin was gone, and the saddle was not hanging by its stirrup from its accustomed limb-stub. Crossing the creek, the girl stared at the row of packs, the blanket roll, and the neat tarpaulin-covered bundles that were ranged along the base of the rock.
"He has gone," she murmured, as if trying to grasp the fact and then, again: "He has gone." Slowly, her eyes raised to the high-flung peaks that reared their snowy heads against the blue. And as she looked, the words of Vil Holland formed themselves in her brain. "If there ain't any 'we,' there won't be any cabin—so there's nothing to worry about." "Nothing to worry about," she repeated bitterly, and touching her horse with a spur, rode out across the plateau toward the head of a coulee that led to the trail for town. "Where has he gone?" she wondered, and pulled up sharply as her horse entered the coulee. Riding slowly down the trail ahead, mounted on the meditative Gee Dot, was Microby Dandeline. Urging her horse forward Patty gained her side, and realizing that escape was hopeless, the girl stared sullenly without speaking.
"Why, Microby!" she smiled, ignoring the sullen stare, "you're miles from home, and it's hardly daylight! Where in the world are you going?"
"Hain't a-goin' nowher'. I'm prospectin'."
"Where's Vil Holland, have you seen him?"
The girl nodded: "He's done gone to town. He's mad, an' he roden fas' as Buck kin run, an' he says, 'I'm gonna file one more claim, an' to hell with the hill country, tell yo' dad good-by!'"
Patty sat for an instant as one stunned. "Gone to town! Mad! File one more claim!" What did it mean? Why was Vil Holland riding to town as fast as his horse could run? And what claim was he going to file? He had mentioned no claim—and if he had just made a strike, surely he would have mentioned it—last night. She knew that he already had a claim, and that he considered it worthless. He told her once that he hadn't even bothered to work out the assessments—it was no good. Was it possible that he was riding to file her claim? Was he no better than Bethune—only shrewder, more patient, richer in imagination?
With a swish the quirt descended upon her horse's flanks. The animal shot forward and, leaving Microby Dandeline staring open-mouthed, horse and rider dashed headlong down the coulee. Into the long white trail they swept, through the canyon, and out among the foothills toward Thompsons'. "Why did I show him the map, and the pictures? Why did I trust him? Why did I trust anybody? I see it all, now! His continual spying, and his plausible explanation that he was watching Bethune. He asked me to marry him, and when, like the poor little fool I was, I showed him the location, he was only too glad to get the mine without being saddled with me."