"Why, child, you are sleepy!" exclaimed Patty, in surprise.
"Yes, mom. I reckon I laid awake all night a-thinkin' about goin' to town."
"If I were you I would lie down on the hay and take a nap."
The girl eyed the hay longingly and shook her head. "I like to ride," she objected, sleepily.
"You will be riding just the same."
"Yes but we might see somethin'. Onct we seen a nortymobile without no hosses an' hit squarked louder'n a settin' hen an' went faster'n what a hoss kin run."
"You go to sleep and if there is anything to see I'll wake you up. If you don't sleep now you'll have to sleep when you get to town and I'm sure you don't want to do that."
"No, mom. Mebbe ef I hurry up an' sleep fast they won't no nortymobiles come, but if they does, you wake me."
"I will," promised Patty, and thus assured the girl curled up in the hay and in a moment was fast asleep.
Hour after hour as the horses plodded along the interminable trail, Patty Sinclair sat upon the hard wooden seat, while her thoughts ranged from plans for locating her father's lost claim, to the arrangement of her cabin; and from Vil Holland to the welfare of the girl, a pathetic figure as she lay sprawled upon the hay, with her bare legs, and the gray dust settling thickly upon her red dress and vivid pink sunbonnet.