o 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' shore
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 nachelly 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.

"Land sakes! Thet gal acts like she's p'ssessed! She tellin' whut a
nice time she had to yo' place las' evenin', an' then a-runnin' away
like she's wild as a hawrk. Seems like she's a-gittin' mo' triflin'
every day----"

"Sence Monk Bethune's tuk to ha'ntin' this yere crick so reg'lar,"
interrupted Watts, who stood leaning against the door jamb.

"'T'aint nothin' agin Mr. Bethune, 'cause he's nice to Microby,"
retorted the woman; "I s'pose 'cordin' to yo' idee, he'd ort to cuss
her an' kick her aroun'."

"Might be better in the long run, an' he did," opined the man,
gloomily.

"Where's yo' manners at? Not sayin' 'howdy'?" reminded his wife.

"I be'n a-fixin' to," he apologized, "yo' lookin' mighty peart this
mawnin'." A cry from the baby brought a torrent of recrimination upon
the apathetic husband: "Watts! Watts! Looks like yo' ort to could look
af