eally been searched--and there had been
times when even the dust and the cobwebs had been replaced. Whoever
had been searching the cabin had proven himself a master of detail,
and had at least, paid her the compliment of possessing imagination,
and a shrewdness equaling his own. Was it possible that the searcher,
emboldened by her repeated failure to spy upon him at his work, had
ceased to care whether or not she knew of his visits? The girl
recalled the three weary days she had spent watching from the
hillside. And how she had decided to buy a lock for her door, until
the futility of it had been brought home to her by the discovery that
her trunks were being searched along with her other belongings, and
their locks left in perfect condition. So far, he might well scorn her
puny attempts at discovery. Or, had a new factor entered the game? Had
someone of cruder mold undertaken to discover her secret? The thought
gave her a decided uneasiness. Tired out by her trip, she did not
light the fire, and after disposing of the cold lunch Mrs. Thompson
had put up for her, affixed the bar, and went to bed, with her six-gun
within reach of her hand.

For a long time she lay in the darkness, thinking. "The way it was
before, I haven't been in any physical danger. Mr. Vil Holland knows
that if what he is searching for is not here I must carry it on my
person. The obvious way to get it would be to take it away from me. Of
course the only way he could do that without my seeing him would be to
kill me. He hesitates at murder. Either there are depths of moral
turpitude into which he will not descend--or, he fears the
consequences. He has imagination. He assumes that sometime I'll leave
that packet at home--either through carelessness, or because I have
learned its contents by heart and don't need it. In the meantime, in
addition to his patient searching of the cabin, he is taking no
chances, and while he waits for the inevitable to happen he is
following me so if I do succeed in locating the claim, he can beat me
to the register. It's a pretty game--no violence--only patience and
brains. But this other," she shuddered, "there is something positively
brutal in the crude awkwardness of his work. If he thinks I carry what
he wants with me, would he hesitate at murder? I guess I'll have to
carry that gun again--and I better practice with it, too. If I can
only get rid of this last one, I believe I've got a scheme for
catching the other!" S