"Because, if you ain't, you better change that belt around so the holster'll carry on yer right side—or else leave it to home."
The coldly impersonal tone angered the girl. "Much better leave it home," 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 with me, or keep them hidden in a safe place."
"You carry 'em on you!" commanded the man, gruffly. "It's a good deal safer'n cachin' 'em." He laid his dishes aside, poured the water from the pan, wiped it, hung it in its place, and picking up his saddle 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 a lone hand?"
"You knew he made a strike?"