he placed his
location on record, there would be a stampede to stake the adjoining
claims--and he was saving those claims for his friends."

"His strike may be only a pocket," ventured Clendenning.

"It is no pocket! Rod Sinclair was a mining man--he knows rock. If he
had struck a pocket he would have staked and filed at once--and taken
no chances. I tell you he went back East to let his friends in. The
fool!"

The Englishman finished his tea, rinsed out his tin cup in the spring,
and filled his pipe. "And you think the girl has got the description?"

Bethune shook his head. "No. A map, perhaps, or some photographs. If
she had the description she would not have come alone. The friends of
her father would have been with her, and they would have filed the
minute they hit the country. It's either a map, or nothing but his
word."

"And in either case we've got a chance."

"Yes," answered Bethune, viciously. "And this time we are not going to
throw away our chance!" He glanced meaningly at the Englishman, who
puffed contentedly at his pipe.

"Sinclair was too shrewd to have carried anything of importance, and
there would have been blood on our hands. As it is, we sleep good of
nights."

Bethune gave a shrug of impatience. "And the gold is still in the
hills, and we are no nearer to it than we were last fall."

"Yes, we are nearer. This girl will not be as shrewd as her father was
in guarding the secret, if she has it. If she hasn't it our chance is
as good as hers."

"And so is Vil Holland's! He believes Sinclair made a strike, and now
that Sinclair is out of the way, you may be sure he will leave no
stone unturned to horn in on it. The gold is in these hills and I'm
going to get it. If I can't get it one way, I will get it another."
The quarter-breed glanced about him and unconsciously lowered his
voice. "However, one could wish the girl had delayed her visit for a
couple of weeks. A person slipped me the word he could handle about
twenty head of horses."

The Englishman's face lighted. "I thought so when you began to dicker
with Watts for his pasture. We'll get him his bally horses, then. This
horse game I like, it's a sportin' game, and so is the whisky runnin'.
But I couldn't lay in the hills and shoot a man, cold blooded."

"And you've never been a success," sneered Bethune. "You never had a
dollar, except your remittance, until you threw in with me. And we'd
have been rich now, if it hadn't been for you