slipped the
bar into place, thrust the photographs and map into her pocket, and
threw herself face downward upon the bunk. And, in the edge of the
timber, Vil Holland turned his horse slowly about and headed him up
the ravine. At the notch in the hills he slipped to the ground and,
throwing an arm across the saddle, removed his Stetson and let the
night wind ripple his hair. Standing alone in the night with his
soul-hurt, he gazed far downward where a tiny square of yellow light
marked the window of the cabin.

"It's hell--the way things work out," he said, thoughtfully. "Yes,
sir, Buck, it sure is hell. If Len had told me a week ago about her
havin' to teach school, or even yesterday--she might have--But,
now--she's rich. An' that cracked rock claim turnin' out to be
_hers_--" He swung abruptly into the saddle and headed the buckskin
for camp.

Patty spent a miserable night. Brief periods of sleep were
interspersed with long periods of wakefulness in which her brain
traveled wearily over and over a long, long trail that ended always at
a brown leather jug that swung by a strap from a saddle horn. She had
found her father's claim--had accomplished the thing she had started
out to accomplish--had vindicated her father's judgment in the eyes of
the people back home--had circumvented the machinations of Bethune,
and in all probability, the moment that she recorded her claim would
be the possessor of more gold than she could possibly spend--and in
the achievement there was no joy. There was a dull hurt in her heart,
and the future stretched away, uninviting, heart-sickening,
interminable. The world looked drab.

She ate her breakfast by lamplight, and as objects began to take form
in the pearly light of the new day, she saddled her horse and rode up
the trail to the notch in the hills--the trail that was a short cut,
and that would carry her past Vil Holland's little white tent,
nestling close beside its big rock at the edge of the little plateau.
"He will still be asleep, and I can take one more look at the far snow
mountains from the spot that might have been the porch of--our cabin."

Carefully keeping to the damp ground that bordered the little creek,
she worked her way around the huge rock, and drew up in amazement. The
little white tent was gone! Hastily, her eyes swept the plateau. The
buckskin was gone, and the saddle was not hanging by its stirrup from
its accustomed limb-stub. Crossing the creek, the girl sta