"What!" exclaimed Patty, remembering the barefoot track at the spring.
"I wasn"t yere las" time."
Patty curbed a desire to laugh. The girl was deliberately lying--but why? Was it because she feared displeasure at the invasion of the cabin. Patty thought not, for such was the established custom of the country. The girl did not look at her, but stood boring into the dirt with her bare toe.
"Well, you"re here now, anyway," smiled Patty. "Come on in and help me get supper, and then we"ll eat. You get the water, while I build the fire."
When the girl returned from the spring, Patty tried again: "While I was in town somebody came here and cooked a meal, and when they got through they washed all the dishes and put them away so nicely I thought sure it was you, and I was glad, because I like to have you come and see me."
"Hit wasn"t me," repeated the girl, stubbornly.
"I wonder who it could have been?"
"Mebbe hit was Mr. Christie. He was to our house las" night. He brung Davy some pencils an" a lot o" papers fer to draw pitchers. Pa "lowed how Davy"d git to foolin" away his time on "em, an" Mr. Christie says how ef he learnt to drawer good, folks buys "em, an" then Davy"ll git rich. Pa says, whut"s folks gonna pay money fer pitchers they kin git "em fer nothin"? But ef folks gits pitchers they does git rich, don"t they?"
"Why, yes----"
"You got pitchers, an" yo" rich."
Patty laughed. "I"m afraid I"m not very rich," she said.
"Will yo" give me a pitcher?"
"Why, yes." She glanced at the few prints that adorned the log wall, trying to make up her mind which she would part with, and deciding upon a mysterious moonlight-on-the-waves effect, lifted it from the wall and placed it in the girl"s hands.
Microby Dandeline stared at it without enthusiasm: "I want a took one," she said, at length.
"A what?"
"A one tooken with that," she pointed at the camera that adorned the top of the little cupboard.
"Oh," smiled Patty, "you want me to take your picture! All right, I"d love to take your picture. You can get on Gee Dot, and I"ll take you both. But we"ll have to wait till there is more light. The sun has gone down and it"s too dark this evening."
The girl shook her head, "Naw, I don"t want none like that. That hain"t no good. I want one like yo" pa tookened of his mine. Then I"ll git rich too."
"So that"s it," thought Patty, busying herself with the biscuit dough.
And instantly there flashed into her mind the words of Ma Watts, "Mr.
Bethune tellin" her how she"d git rich ef she could fin" a gol" mine, an" how she could buy her fine clos" like yourn an" go to the city an"
live." And she remembered that the woman had said that all the time she and Lord Clendenning had been wrangling over the eggs, Bethune and Microby had "talked an" laughed, friendly as yo" please."
"How do you know my father took any pictures of his mine?" asked Patty, cautiously.
""Cause he did."
"What would you do with the picture if I gave it to you?"
"I"d git rich."
"How?"
""Cause I would."
Patty whirled suddenly upon the girl and grasping her shoulder with a doughy hand shook her smartly: "Who told you that? What do you mean?
Who are you trying to get that picture for? Come! Out with it!"
"Le" me go," whimpered the girl, frightened by the unexpected attack.
"Not "til you tell me who told you about that picture. Come on--speak!" The shaking continued.
"Hit--wu-wu-wus--V-V-Vil Hol-Holland!" she sniffled readily--all too readily to be convincing, thought Patty, as she released her grip on the girl"s shoulder.
"Oh, it was Vil Holland, was it? And what does he want with it?"
"He--he--s-says h-how h-him an" m-me"d g-git r-r-rich!"
"Who told you to say it was Vil Holland?"
"Hit wus Vil Holland--an" that"s whut I gotta say," she repeated, between sobs. "An" now yo" mad--an"--an" Mr. Bethune he"ll--he"ll kill me."
"Mr. Bethune? What has Mr. Bethune got to do with it?"
The girl leaped to her feet and faced Patty in a rage: "An" he"ll kill yo", too--an" I"ll be glad! An" he says he"s gonna By G.o.d git that pitcher ef he"s gotta kill yo", an" Vil Holland, an" everyone in these d.a.m.n hills--an" I"m glad of hit! I don"t like yo" no more--an" pitcher shows _hain"t_ as good as circusts--an" I don"t like towns--an" I hain"t a-gonna wear no shoes an" stockin"s--an" I"m a-gonna tell ma yo" shuck me--an" she"ll larrup yo" good--an" pa"ll make yo" git out o" ar sheep camp--an" I"m glad of hit!" She rushed from the cabin, and mounting her pony, headed him down the creek, turning in the saddle every few steps to make hateful mouths at the girl who stood watching from the doorway.
CHAPTER XIV
THE SAMUELSONS
Patty retired that night with her thoughts in a whirl. So, it was Monk Bethune who, all along, had been plotting to steal the secret of her father"s strike? Monk Bethune, with his suave, oily manner, his professed regard for her father, and his burning words of love! Fool that she couldn"t have penetrated his thin mask of deceit! It all seemed so ridiculously plain, now. She remembered the flash of distrust that her first meeting with him engendered. And, step, by step, she followed the course of his insidious campaign to instill himself into her good graces. She thought of the blunt warning of Vil Holland when he told her that her father always played a lone hand, and his almost scornful question as to whether her father had told her of his partnership with Bethune. And she remembered her defiance of Holland, and her defense of Bethune. And, with a shudder, she recollected the moments when, in the hopelessness of her repeated failures, she had trembled upon the point of surrendering to his persuasive eloquence.
With the villainous scheming of Bethune exposed, her thoughts turned to the other, to her "guardian devil of the hills." What of Vil Holland? Had she misjudged this man, even as she had so nearly become the dupe of Bethune? She realized now, that nearly everyone with whom she had come into contact, distrusted Bethune, and that they trusted Vil Holland. She realized that her own distrust of him rested to a great extent upon the open accusations of Bethune, and the fact that he was blunt to rudeness in his conversations with her. If he were to be taken at his neighbors" valuation, why was it that he watched her comings and goings from his notch in the hills? Why did he follow her about upon her rides? And why did he carry that disgusting jug? She admitted that she had never seen him the worse for indulgence in the contents of the jug, but if he were not a confirmed drunkard, why should he carry it? She knew Bethune hated him--and that counted a point in his favor--now. But it did not prove that he was not as bad as Bethune. But why had Bethune told Microby that he would get that picture if he had to kill her and Vil Holland? What had Vil Holland to do with his getting the picture! Surely, Bethune did not believe that Vil Holland shared her secret! Vil Holland _must_ be lawless--the running of the sheep herder out of the hills was a lawless act. Why, then, were such men as Thompson and the Reverend Len Christie his friends? This question had puzzled her much of late, and not finding the answer, she realized her own dislike of the man had waned perceptibly. Instinctively, she knew that Len Christie was genuine.
She liked this "Bishop of All Outdoors," who could find time to ride a hundred miles to cheer a sick old man; who would think to bring pencils and drawing paper to a little boy who roamed over the hillsides with a piece of charcoal, searching for flat rocks upon which to draw his pictures; and who sang deep, full-throated ballads as he rode from one to the other of his scattered hill folk, upon his outlandish pinto. Surely, such men as he, and the jovial, whole-hearted Thompson--men who had known Vil Holland for years,--could not be deceived.
"Is it possible I"ve misjudged him?" she asked herself. And when at last she dropped to sleep it was to plunge into a confused jumble of dreams whose dominant figure was her lone horseman of the hills.
Patty resolved to keep her promise to Christie and ride over to the Samuelson ranch, before she started to work out the directions of her father"s map. "I may be weeks doing it if I continue to be as dumb as I have been," she laughed. "And when I get started I know I"ll never want to stop "til I"ve worked it out."
Immediately after breakfast she saddled her horse and returning to the cabin, picked up the little oiled silk packet that contained photograph and map. Where should she hide it? Her glance traveled from the locked trunks to the loose board in the floor. Each had been searched time and again. "Whoever he is, he"d think it was funny that I decided all at once to hide the map, when I"ve been carrying it with me so persistently," she muttered. Her eyes rested upon the little dressing table. "The very thing!" she cried. "I"ll leave it right out in plain sight, and he"ll think I forgot it." Her first impulse was to remove the thin gold chain but she shook her head: "No, it will look more as if I"d just slipped it off for the night if I leave the chain on. And besides," she smiled, "he ought to get some gold for his pains." With a last glance of approval at the little packet lying as if forgotten upon the dressing table, she closed the door and headed down the creek.
It was evident to Patty, upon reaching the Watts ranch that Microby Dandeline had not carried out her threat to "tell ma" about the shaking. For the mountain woman was loquaciously cordial as usual: "Decla"r ef hit hain"t yo", up an" a-ridin" fo" sun-up! Yo" sh.o.r.e favor yo" pa. He wus the gittin"est man--Yo"d a-thought he wus ridin"
fer wages, "stead o" jest prospectin". Goin" down the crick, to-day, eh? Well, I don"t reckon yo" pa"s claim"s down the crick, but yo"
cain"t never tell. He wus that clost-mouthed--I"ve heard him an" Watts set a hour, an" nary word between the two of "em. "Pears like they"s jest satisfied to be a-lightin" matches an" a-puffin" they pipes.
Wimmin folks hain"t like thet. They jest nach.e.l.ly got to let out a word now an" then, "er bust--one."
"Microby Dandeline!" there was a sudden rush of bare feet upon the wooden floor, and Patty caught a flick of calico and a flash of bare legs as the girl disappeared around the corner of the barn.