Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, K. Nordquist, and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net(This book was produced from scanned images of publicdomain material from the Google Print project.)
THE MAN WAS UPON HIS FEET, NOW, BENDING TOWARDS HER WITH ARMS OUTSTRETCHED. Drawing by Monahan.]
The Gold Girl
By
James B. Hendryx
Author of "The Promise," "The Gun-Brand," "The Texan," etc.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1920
COPYRIGHT, 1920
BY
JAMES B. HENDRYX
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--A HORSEMAN OF THE HILLS 1
II.--AT THE WATTS RANCH 10
III.--PATTY GOES TO TOWN 30
IV.--MONK BETHUNE 47
V.--SHEEP CAMP 65
VI.--BETHUNE PAYS A CALL 81
VII.--IN THE CABIN 98
VIII.--PROSPECTING 111
IX.--PATTY TAKES PRECAUTIONS 129
X.--THE BISHOP OF ALL OUTDOORS 146
XI.--LORD CLENDENNING GETS A DUCKING 162
XII.--BETHUNE TRIES AGAIN 180
XIII.--PATTY DRAWS A MAP 198
XIV.--THE SAMUELSONS 219
XV.--THE HORSE RAID 239
XVI.--PATTY FINDS A GLOVE 263
XVII.--UNMASKED 288
XVIII.--PATTY MAKES HER STRIKE 308
XIX.--THE RACE FOR THE REGISTER 327
* * * * *
The Gold Girl
CHAPTER I
A HORSEMAN OF THE HILLS
Patty Sinclair reined in her horse at the top of a low divide andgazed helplessly around her. The trail that had grown fainter andfainter with its ascent of the creek bed disappeared entirely at theslope of loose rock and bunch grass that slanted steeply to thedivide. In vain she scanned the deeply gored valley that lay beforeher and the timbered slopes of the mountains for sign of humanhabitation. Her horse lowered his head and snipped at the bunch grass.Stiffly the girl dismounted. She had been in the saddle since earlynoon with only two short intervals of rest when she had stopped todrink and to bathe her fare in the deliciously cold waters of mountainstreams--and now the trail had melted into the hills, and the broadshadows of mountains were lengthening. Every muscle of her body achedat the unaccustomed strain, and she was very hungry. She envied herhorse his enjoyment of the bunch grass which he munched with muchtongueing of the bit and impatient shaking of the head. With bridlereins gripped tightly she leaned wearily against the saddle.
"I'm lost," she murmured. "Just plain _lost_. Surely I must have comefifty miles, and I followed their directions exactly, and now I'mtired, and stiff, and sore, and hungry, and lost." A grim little smiletightened the corners of her mouth. "But I'm glad I came. If AuntRebecca could see me now! Wouldn't she just gloat? 'I told you so, mydear, just as I often told your poor father, to have nothing whateverto do with that horrible country of wild Indians, and ferociousbeasts, and desperate characters.'" Hot tears blurred her eyes at thethought of her father. "This is the country he loved, with itsmountains and its woods and its deep mysterious valleys--and I want tolove it, too. And I _will_ love it! I'll find his mine if it takes meall the rest of my life. And I'll show the people back home that hewas right, that he did know that the gold was here, and that hewasn't just a visionary and a ne'er-do-well!"
A rattle of loose stones set her heart thumping wildly and caused herto peer down the back trail where a horseman was slowly ascending theslope. The man sat loosely in his saddle with the easy grace of theslack rein rider. A roll-brim Stetson with its crown boxed into a peakwas pushed slightly back upon his head, and his legs were encased tothe thighs in battered leather chaps whose lacings were studded withsilver _chonchas_ as large as trade dollars. A coiled rope hung from astrap upon the right side of his saddle, while a leather-covered jugwas swung upon the opposite side by a thong looped over the horn. Allthis the girl took in at a glance as the rangy buckskin picked his wayeasily up the slope. She noted, also, the white butt-plates of therevolver that protruded from its leather holster. Her first impulsewas to mount and fly, but the futility of the attempt was apparent. Ifthe man followed she could hardly hope to elude him upon a horse thatwas far from fresh, and even if she did it would be only to plungedeeper into the hills--become more hopelessly lost. Aunt Rebecca'swords "desperate character" seemed suddenly to assume significance.The man was very close now. She could distinctly hear the breathing ofhis horse, and the soft rattle of bit-chains. Despite her defiantdeclaration that she was glad she had come, she knew that deep down inher heart, she fervidly wished herself elsewhere. "Maybe he's aranchman," she thought, "but why should any honest man be threadingunfrequented hill trails armed with a revolver and a brown leatherjug?" No answer suggested itself, and summoning her haughtiest,coldest look, she met the glance of the man who drew rein beside her.His features were clean-cut, bronzed, and lean--with the sinewyleanness of health. His gray flannel shirt rolled open at the throat,about which was loosely drawn a silk scarf of robin's-egg blue, heldin place by the tip of a buffalo horn polished to an onyx luster. Thehand holding the bridle reins rested carelessly upon the horn of hissaddle. With the other he raised the Stetson from his head.
"Good evenin', Miss," he greeted, pleasantly. "Lost?"
"No," she lied brazenly, "I came here on purpose--I--I like it here."She felt the lameness of the lie and her cheeks flushed. But the manshowed no surprise at the statement, neither did he smile. Instead,he raised his head and gravely inspected the endless succession ofmountains and valleys and timbered ridges.
"It's a right nice place," he agreed. To her surprise the girl couldfind no hint of sarcasm in the words, nor was there anything toindicate the "desperate character" in the way he leaned forward tostroke his horse's mane, and remove a wisp of hair from beneath theheadstall. It was hard to maintain her air of cold reserve with thissoft-voiced, grave-eyed young stranger. She wondered whether a"desperate character" could love his horse, and felt a wild desire totell him of her plight. But as her eyes rested upon the brown leatherjug she frowned.
The man shifted himself in the saddle. "Well, I must be goin'," hesaid. "Good evenin'."
Patty bowed ever so slightly, as he replaced the Stetson upon his headand touched his horse lightly with a spur. "Come along, you Buck,you!"
As the horse started down the steep descent on the other side of thedivide a feeling of loneliness that was very akin to terror grippedthe girl. The sunlight showed only upon the higher levels, and theprospect of spending the night alone in the hills without food orshelter produced a sudden chilling sensation in the pit of herstomach.
"Oh! Please----"
The buckskin turned in his tracks, and once more the man was besideher upon the ridge.
"I _am_ lost," she faltered. "Only, I hated to admit it."
"Folks always do. I've be'n lost a hundred times, an' I never _would_admit it."
"I started for the Watts's ranch. Do you know where it is?"
"Yes, it's over on Monte's Creek."
<
br /> Patty smiled. "I could have told _you_ that. The trouble is, someoneseems to have removed all the signs."
"They ought to put 'em up again," opined the stranger in the samegrave tone with which he had bid her good evening.
"They told me in town that I was to take the left hand trail where itforked at the first creek beyond the canyon."
The man nodded. "Yes, that about fits the case."
"But I did take the trail that turned to the left up the first creekbeyond the canyon, and I haven't seen the slightest intimation of aranch."
"No, you see, this little creek don't count, because most of the timeit's dry; an' this ain't a regular trail. It's an' old winter roadthat was used to haul out cord wood an' timber. Monte's Creek is twomiles farther on. It's a heap bigger creek than this, an' the trail'sbetter, too. Watts's is about three mile up from the fork. You can'tmiss it. It's the only ranch there."
"How far is it back to the trail?" asked the girl wearily.
"About two mile. It's about seven mile to Watts's that way around.There's a short cut, through the hills, but I couldn't tell you soyou'd find it. There's no trail, an' it's up one coulee an' downanother till you get there. I'm goin' through that way; if you'd liketo come along you're welcome to."
For a moment Patty hesitated but her eyes returned to the jug and shedeclined, a trifle stiffly. "No, thank you. I--I think I will goaround by the trail."
Either the man did not notice the curtness of the reply, or he choseto ignore it, for the next instant, noting the gasp of pain and thesudden tightening of the lips that accompanied her attempt to raiseher foot to the stirrup, he swung lightly to the ground, and beforeshe divined what he was about, had lifted her gently into the saddleand pressed the reins into her hand. Without a word he returned to hishorse, and with face flushed scarlet, the girl glared at the powerfulgray shoulders as he picked up his reins from the ground. The nextmoment she headed her own horse down the back trail and rode into thedeepening shadows. Gaining the main trail she urged her horse into arun.
"He--he's awfully strong," she panted, "and just _horrid!_"
From the top of the divide the man watched until she disappeared, thenhe stroked softly the velvet nose that nuzzled against his cheek.
"What d'you reckon, Buck? Are they goin' to start a school for thatlitter of young Wattses? There ain't another kid within twentymile--must be." As he swung into the saddle the leather covered jugbumped lightly against his knee. There was a merry twinkle of laughterin his blue eyes as, with lips solemn as an exhorter's, he addressedthe offending object. "You brown rascal, you! If it hadn't be'n foryou, me an' Buck might of made a hit with the lady, mightn't we, Buck?Scratch gravel, now you old reprobate, or we won't get to camp tillmidnight."
"Anyway, she ain't no kin to the Wattses," he added reflectively, "notan' that clean, she ain't."
The Gold Girl Page 1
