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."