got her, an' she's only got me!"

As Patty threaded the hills toward her cabin her thoughts followed the
events of the past few days; the visit of Len Christie in the early
morning, when he had inadvertently showed her how to read her father's
map, the staking of the false claim, the visit to the Samuelson ranch,
the horse raid, the finding of Vil Holland's glove and the bitter
disappointment that followed, then the finding of the notice that
disclosed the identity of the real thief, and her genuine joy in the
discovery, her visit to Holland's camp, and their long ride together.
"I tried to show him that all my distrust of him was gone, but he
hardly seemed to notice--unless--I wonder what he _did_ mean about
having a hunch that he would build that cabin before snow flies?"

For some time she rode in silence, then she burst out vehemently: "I
don't care! I could love him--so there! I could just adore him! And I
don't wonder everybody likes him. He seems always so--so capable--so
confident. You just can't help liking him. If it weren't for that old
jug! He had to drag that in, even up there when he stood on the spot
where we first met--and then at the Samuelsons' he wouldn't even wait
for dinner he was so crazy to get his old whisky jug filled. It never
seems to hurt him any," she continued. "But nobody can drink as much
as he does and not be hurt by it. I just know he meant that the cabin
was going to be for me--or, did he know that Mr. Samuelson was going
to ask him to winter the cattle? He's a regular cave man--I don't know
whether I've been proposed to, or not!"

She crossed the trail for town and struck into a valley that should
bring her out somewhere along the Watts fences. So engrossed was she
in her thoughts that she failed to notice the horseman who slipped
noiselessly into the scrub a quarter of a mile ahead. Slowly she rode
up the valley: "If he comes to teach me how to shoot, I'll tell him
that Mr. Samuelson wants to see him, and if he says any more about the
cabin, or--or anything--I'll tell him he can choose between me and his
jug. And, if he chooses the jug, and I don't find daddy's mine--it
isn't long 'til school opens. I don't mind--he has to work to get his
grub-stake, and so will I."

Her horse snorted and shied violently, and when Patty recovered her
seat it was to find her way blocked by a horseman who stood not ten
feet in front of her and leered into her eyes. The horseman was Monk
Bethune--a