lls for that rock wall! You
see, the map was like so much Greek to me, until I happened by
accident to learn how to read it. Before that, I just rode up and down
the valleys hunting for the wall with the broad crooked crack in it.
Here it is." The man had advanced to the table, and was bending over
the two photographs, examining them minutely. "And here's his map." He
picked up the paper and for several minutes studied the penciled
directions. Then he laid it down, and turned his attention to the
samples.

"High grade," he appraised, and returned them to the table beside the
photographs. "So, you don't have to teach school," he said, speaking
more to himself than to her. "An' you'll be goin' out of the hill
country for good an' all. There's nothin' here for you, now that
you've got what you come after. You'll be goin' back--East."

Patty laughed, and as Vil Holland looked into her face he saw that her
eyes held dancing lights. "I'm not going back East," she said. "I've
learned to love--the hill country. I have learned that--perhaps--there
is more here for me than--than even daddy's mine."

Vil Holland shook his head. "There's nothin' for you in the hills," he
repeated, slowly, and abruptly extended his hand. "I'm glad for your
sake your luck changed, Miss Sinclair. I hope the gold you take out of
there will bring you happiness. You've earnt it--every cent of it, an'
you've got it, an' now, as far as the hill country goes--the books are
closed. Good-night, I must be goin', now."

Abruptly as he had offered his hand, he withdrew it, and turning,
stepped through the door, mounted his horse, and rode out into the
night.

CHAPTER XIX

THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER

Beside the little table Patty Sinclair listened to the sound of hoofs
splashing through the shallows of the creek and thudding dully upon
the floor of the valley beyond. When the sounds told her that the
horseman had disappeared into the timber, she walked slowly to the
door, and leaning her arm against the jamb, stared for a long time
into the black sweep of woods that concealed the trail that led upward
to the notch in the hills, just discernible against the sky where the
stars showed through the last faint blush of after-glow in winking
points of gold.

"Nothing here for me," she repeated dully. "Nothing but trees, and
hills--and gold. He loves me," she laughed bitterly. "And yet, between
me, and his jug, he chose--the jug." She closed the door,