"No good! Found a better one!" From the chaos of conflicting ideas the girl's thoughts began to take definite form. "The stakes in the ground were his stakes. Her father had never staked—would never have staked until ready to file."
Gradually it dawned upon her that, without knowing it was her father's, Vil Holland had staked and filed the claim. It was his. He did not know its value as her father had. He believed it to be worthless, but when he learned, only last night, back there in the cabin on Monte's Creek, that it was really of enormous value—that it was the claim Rod Sinclair had staked his reputation on, the claim for which Rod Sinclair's daughter had sought all summer—when he learned this he had relinquished—that she might come into her own! Hot tears filled her eyes and caused the objects in the little room to blur and swim together in hopeless jumble. She knew, now, the meaning of his furious ride, and why he had changed horses at Thompson's. And this was the man she had doubted! She, alone of all who knew him, had doubted him. Her cheeks burned with the shame of it. Not once, but again and again, she had doubted him—she, who loved him! This was the man with whom she had quarreled because he had carried a jug. Suddenly she realized why he had turned away from her—there in the little cabin. She recalled the words that came slowly from his lips, as, for a brief moment he stood holding her hand. "There is nothing for you in the hills." "And now, he is going away—his outfit's all packed, and he's going away!" With a sob she dashed from the office. As she blotted the tears from her eyes with a handkerchief that had been her father's, a wild, savage joy surged up within her. He should not go away! He was hers—hers! If he went, she would go too. He should never leave her! And never, never would she doubt him again!
She glanced down the street and her eyes fell upon Lightning, standing as he had stood a few minutes before. Only a moment she hesitated, and her spurs clicked rapidly as she hurried down the sidewalk. The door of the saloon stood open and she walked boldly in. Vil Holland stood at the bar shaking dice with the bartender. The latter looked up surprised, and Vil followed his glance to the figure of the girl who had paused just inside the doorway. She beckoned to him and he followed her out onto the sidewalk, and stood, Stetson in hand, regarding her gravely, unsmiling as was his wont.
"Vil—Vil Holland," she faltered, as a furious blush suffused her cheeks. "I've changed my mind."
"You mean——"
"I mean, I will marry you—I wanted to say it—last night—only—only——" her voice sounded husky, and far away.
"But, now, it's too late. It was different—then. I didn't know you'd made your strike. I thought we were both poor—but, now, you've struck it rich."
"Struck it rich!" flared the girl. "Who made it possible for me to strike it rich? Don't you suppose I know you relinquished that claim? Relinquished it so I could file it!"
"Old Grebble talks too much," growled the man. "The claim wasn't any good to me. I never went far enough in to get samples like those of your dad's. I'd have relinquished it anyway, as soon as I'd located another."
"But, you knew it was rich when you did relinquish it."