The Gold Girl Part 23

"This ain't a doctor's job," protested the man. "My arm feels fine."

"It's so stiff you can hardly use it. It must feel fine. But it doesn't make a particle of difference how fine it feels. It needs attention. And, surely you won't refuse to do this for me, after I bandaged it all up? Because, if anything should go wrong it would be my fault."

Without a word the man picked up his bridle and walking to the buckskin, slipped it over his head and led him in. He saddled the horse with one hand, and as he turned toward the girl she held out the glove.

"Isn't this yours? I found it last evening--out in the hills."

Holland thrust his hand into it: "Yes, it's mine. I'm sure obliged to you. I lost it a couple of days ago. I hate to break in new gloves.

These have got a feel to 'em."

"Do you know where I found it?"

"No. Couldn't guess within twenty miles or so."

Patty looked him squarely in the eyes: "I found it over where Monk Bethune has just staked a claim. And he staked that particular claim because it was the spot I had indicated on a map that I prepared especially for the benefit of the man who has been searching my cabin all summer."

Holland nodded gravely, without showing the slightest trace of surprise. "Oh, that's where I dropped it, eh? I figured Monk thought he'd found somethin', the way he come out of your cabin the last time he searched it, so I followed him to the place you'd salted for him."

He paused, and for the first time since she had known him, Patty thought she detected a flicker of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. "He didn't waste much time there--just clawed around a few minutes where you'd pecked up the dirt, an' then sunk his stakes, an' wrote out his notice, an' high-tailed for the register's office. That was a pretty smart trick of yours but it wouldn't have fooled anyone that knows rock. Bethune's no prospector. He's a Canada crook--whisky runner, an'

cattle rustler, an' gambler. Somehow, he'd got a suspicion that your father made a strike he'd never filed, an' he's been tryin' to get holt of it ever since. I looked your plant over after he'd hit for town to file, an' when I tumbled to the game, I let him go ahead."

"But, suppose the rock had been right? Suppose, it had really been daddy's claim?"

"Buck can run rings around that cayuse of his any old day. I expect, if the rock had be'n right, Monk Bethune would of met up with an adventure of some sort a long ways before he hit town."

"You knew he was searching my cabin all the time?"

"Yes, I knew that. But, I saw you was a match for 'em--him an' the fake Lord, too."

"Is that the reason you threw Lord Clendenning into the creek, that day?"

"Yes, that was the reason. I come along an' caught him at it. Comical, wasn't it? I 'most laughed. I saw you slip back into the brush, but I'd got so far along with it I couldn't help finishin'. You thought the wrong man got throw'd in."

"You knew I thought that of you--and you didn't hate me?"

"Yes, I knew what you thought. You thought it was me that was searchin' your cabin, too. An' of course I didn't hate you because you couldn't hardly help figurin' that way after you'd run onto the place in the rim-rocks where I watched from. If it wasn't for the trees I could have strung along in a different place each time, but that's the only spot that your cabin shows up from."

"And you knew that they always followed me through the hills?"

"Yes, an' they wasn't the only ones that followed. Clendenning ain't as bad as Bethune, for all he's throw'd in with him. The days Bethune followed you, I followed Bethune. An' when Clendenning followed you, I prospected, mostly."

"You thought Bethune might have--have attacked me?"

"I wasn't takin' any chances--not with him, I wasn't. One day, I thought for a minute he was goin' to try it. It was the day you an'

him et lunch together--when he pretended to be so surprised at runnin'

onto you. I laid behind a rock with a bead draw'd on him. He stopped just exactly one step this side of h.e.l.l, that day."

Patty regarded the cowboy thoughtfully: "And Bethune told me he had to go over onto the east slope to see about some horses. It was after we had met Pierce, and Bethune asked about Mr. Samuelson and Pierce snubbed him. I believe Bethune planned that raid. And seeing us together that day, Pierce jumped to the conclusion that I was in with him."

"Yes, it was Monk's raid, all right, an' him an' Clendenning got away.

He doped it all out that day. I followed him when he quit you there on the trail, an' watched him plan out the route they'd take with the horses. Then I done some plannin' of my own. That's why we was able to head 'em off so handy. We didn't get Bethune an' Clendenning but I'll get 'em yet."

They had mounted and were riding toward Samuelson's. "Maybe he's made his escape across the line," ventured the girl, after a long silence.

Holland shook his head: "No, he ain't across the line. He don't think we savvy he was in on the raid, an' he'll stick around the hills an'

prob'ly put a crew to work on his claim." He relapsed into silence, and as they rode side by side, under the cover of her hat brim, Patty found opportunity to study the lean brown face.

"Where's your gun?" The man asked the question abruptly, without removing his eyes from the fore-trail.

"I left it home. I only carried it once or twice. It's heavy, and anyway it was silly to carry it, I don't even know how to fire it, let alone hit anything."

"If it's too heavy on your belt you can carry it on your saddle horn.

I'll show you how to use it--an' how to shoot where you hold it, too.

Mrs. Samuelson ain't as husky as you are, an' she can wipe a gnat's eye with a six-gun, either handed. Practice is all it takes, an'----"

"But, why should I carry it? Bethune would hardly dare harm me, and anyway, now that he thinks he has stolen my secret, he wouldn't have any object in doing so."

"You're goin' to keep on huntin' your dad's claim, ain't you?"

"Of course I am! And I'll find it, too."

"An', in the meantime, what if Bethune finds out he's been tricked?

These French breeds go crazy when they're mad--an' he'll either lay for you just to get even, or he'll see that he gets the right dope next time--an' maybe you know what that means, an' maybe you don't--but I do."

The girl nodded, and as the horses scrambled up the steep slope of a low divide, her eyes sought the hundred and one hiding places among the loose rocks and scrub that might easily conceal a lurking enemy, and she shuddered. As they topped the divide, both reined in and sat gazing silently down the little valley before them. It was the place of their first meeting, when the girl, tired, and lost and discouraged, had dismounted upon that very spot and watched the unknown horseman with his six-shooter, and his brown leather jug slowly ascend the slope. She glanced at him now, as he sat, rugged and lean, with his eyes on the little valley. He was just the same, grave and unsmiling, as upon the occasion of their first meeting. She noticed that he held his Stetson in his hand, and that the wind rippled his hair. "Just the same," she thought--and yet--. She was aware that her heart was pounding strangely, and that instead of a fear of this man, she was conscious of a wild desire to throw herself into his arms and cry with her face against the bandage that bulged the shirt sleeve just below the shoulder.

"I call this Lost Creek," said Holland, without turning his head. "I come here often--" and added, confusedly, "It's a short cut from my camp to the trail."

Patty felt an overpowering desire to laugh. She tried to think of something to say: "I--I thought you were a desperado," she murmured, and giggled nervously.

"An' I thought you was a schoolma'am. I guess I was the first to change my mind, at that."

Patty felt herself blushing furiously for no reason at all: "But--I have changed my mind--or I wouldn't be here, now."

Vil Holland nodded: "I expect I'll ride to town from Samuelson's. My jug's empty, an' I guess I might's well file that homestead 'fore someone else beats me to it. I've got a hunch maybe I'll be rollin' up that cabin--before snow flies."

CHAPTER XVII

UNMASKED

At the Samuelson's ranch they found not only the doctor but Len Christie. Mr. Samuelson's condition had taken a sudden turn for the better and it was a jubilant little group that welcomed Patty as she rode up to the veranda. Vil Holland had muttered an excuse and gone directly to the bunk house where the doctor sought him out a few minutes later and attended to his wound. From the top of "Lost Creek"

divide, the ride had been made almost in silence. The cowboy's reference to his jug had angered the girl into a moody reserve which he made no effort to dispel.

The news of Patty's rescue from the horse herd had preceded her, having been recounted by the Samuelson riders upon their return to the ranch, and Mrs. Samuelson blamed herself unmercifully for having allowed the girl to venture down the valley alone. Which self-accusation was promptly silenced by Patty, who gently forced the old lady into an arm chair, and called her Mother Samuelson, and seated herself upon the step at her feet, and a.s.sured her that she wouldn't have missed the adventure for the world.

"We'll have a jolly little dinner party this evening," beamed Mrs.