CHAPTER XI
LORD CLENDENNING GETS A DUCKING
Patty awoke at dawn and dressed hurriedly. Shivering in the chill air,she lighted a match and pushed back a lid of the little cast iron cookstove. Instead of the "cold fire" of neatly arranged wood andkindlings that she had built before leaving for town a pile of grayashes and blackened ends of charcoal greeted her.
"Whoever it was knew he had plenty of time at his disposal so hehelped himself to a meal," she muttered angrily. "He might, at least,have cut me some kindlings. I'm surprised that he had the good graceto wash up his dirty dishes." A few moments later, as the firecrackled merrily in the stove, she picked up the water pail andstepping through the door, threw back her head and breathed deeply ofthe crisp mountain air. "Oh, it's wonderful just to be alive!" shewhispered. "Even if everybody is against you. It's just like a greatbig game and, oh, I want to win! I've got to win!" she added, grimly,as her thoughts flew to her depleted bank account.
At the spring she paused in the act of filling her pail and stared ata mark in the mud at the edge of the tiny rill formed by the overflowfrom the catch basin. She leaned over and examined the mark moreclosely. It was the track of a bare foot. Then, for the first time inmany days, the girl threw back her head and laughed. "MicrobyDandeline!" she cried. "And I was picturing some skulking murdererlying in wait to pounce on me at the first opportunity. And here itwas only poor little Microby who happened along, and with her naturalcuriosity pawed over everything in the cabin, and then decided itwould be a grand stunt to cook herself a meal and eat it at mytable--and I haven't the least doubt that she arrayed herself in oneof my dresses when she did it." Patty hummed a light tune as, waterpail in hand, she made her way up the path to the cabin. "Whee! butit's a relief to feel that I won't have to ride these hills peeringbehind every tree and rock for a lurking assassin. And I won't have tocarry that horrid heavy old gun, either."
After breakfast she saddled her horse and headed up the ravine thatshe had followed upon the morning of her first ride. At the top of thedivide she pulled up her horse and gazed downward at the little cabin.As before she was impressed by the startling distinctness with whicheach object was visible. "Anyway, I'm glad my window is not on thisside," she muttered, as her eyes strayed to the ground at her horse'sfeet. For yards around, the buffalo grass had been trampled and paweduntil scarcely a spear remained. "Here's where he watches me start outeach morning, then he follows me until he's sure I'm well away fromthe valley, then he slips back and searches the cabin, and then takesup my trail again. The miserable sneak!" she cried, angrily. "If Mr.Thompson, and Watts, and that cowboy preacher knew what I knew abouthim, they wouldn't seem so impressed with him. Anyway," she added,defiantly, "Mr. Bethune and Lord Clendenning know him for what heis-and so do I."
It was in a very wrathful mood that she turned her horse's head andstruck into the timber, being careful to avoid Vil Holland's camp by awide margin. Crossing the timbered plateau, she topped a low divideand found herself at the head of a deep, rocky valley, whose courseshe could trace for miles as it wound in and out among the far hills.Giving her horse his head, she began the descent of the valley,scanning its sides carefully as the animal picked his way slowly amongthe rock fragments and patches of scrub timber that littered itsfloor. She had proceeded for perhaps an hour when, in passing themouth of a ravine that slanted sharply into the hills, she wasstartled by a rattling of loose stones, and a horse and rider emergedalmost directly into her path. The next moment Vil Holland raised theStetson from his head and addressed her gravely: "Good mornin' MissSinclair, I sure didn't mean to come out on you sudden, that way, butBuck slipped on the rocks an' we come mighty near pilin' up."
"It is about the first slip you've made, isn't it?" Patty answered,acidly. "Possibly if you'd left your jug at home you wouldn't havemade that."
"Oh no. We've slipped before. Fact is, we've been into about everykind of a jack-pot the hills can deal. We rolled half way down amountain once, an' barrin' a little skinnin' up, we come out of it allto the good. But it ain't the jug. Buck don't drink. It's surprisin'what a good habited horse he is. He's a heap better'n most folks."The man spoke gravely, with no hint of sarcasm in his tone, and Pattysniffed. He appeared not to notice. "How you comin' on with theprospectin'? Found yer dad's claim yet?"
"You ought to know whether I have or not," she retorted, hotly.
"That's so. If you had, you wouldn't still be huntin' it, would you?"
"No. And if I had, I'd have had a nice little race on my hands to fileit, wouldn't I?"
"Well, I expect maybe you would. But that horse of yours is prettyhandy on his feet. Used to belong to Bob Smith--that's his brand--thatKN on the left shoulder."
"Yes," answered the girl, meaningly. "I understand there is only onehorse in the hills that could outrun him."
"Buck can. I won ten dollars off Bob one time. We run a mile, an' Buckwon, easy. But the best thing about Buck, he's a distance horse. He'sgot the wind--an' he don't know what it means to quit. He could runall day if he had to, couldn't you, Buck?" The man stroked thebuckskin's neck affectionately as he talked.
Patty's eyes glinted angrily: "The stakes would have to be prettyhigh for you to run him, say, fifty miles, wouldn't they?"
"Yes. Pretty high," he repeated, and changed the subject abruptly."Must find it kind of lonesome out here in the hills, after livin' inthe East where there's lots of folks around all the time."
"Oh, not at all," answered the girl, quickly. "Some of my neighborsare good enough to call on me once in a while--_when I am at home_.And there is at least _one_ that calls very regularly when I am not athome. He is a genius for detail--that one. Sharp eyes, and a lighttouch. He's something of an expert in the matter of duplicate keys,too. In any large city he should make a grand success--as a burglar.It is really too bad that he's wasting his talents, here in thehills."
"Maybe he figures that the stakes are higher, and the risk less--herein the hills."
"Of course," sneered Patty. "And I must say his reasoning does himcredit. If he should succeed in burglarizing even the biggest bank inthe richest city, he could not expect to carry off a gold mine. And,here in the hills, instead of burglar-proof devices and armedpolicemen, he has only an unlocked cabin, and a woman to contendwith. Yes, the risk is far less here in the hills. His location speakswell for his reasoning--if not for his courage."
"I suppose he figures that plenty of brutes have got courage, but onlyhumans can reason," answered the man, blandly. "But, ridin' out in thehills this way--that must be a lonesome job."
"Not at all," she answered, in a voice that masked the anger againstthe man who sat calmly baiting her. "In fact, I never ride alone. Ihave an unseen escort, who accompanies me wherever I go. 'My guardiandevil of the hills' I call him, and even when I'm at home I know thathe is watching from his notch in the rim of the hills."
"Guardian devil," the man repeated. "That's pretty good." He did notsmile, in fact, Patty recalled, as she sat looking squarely into hiseyes, that she had never seen him smile--had never seen him expressany emotion. Without a trace of anger in tone or expression he hadordered the grasping hotel-keeper about--and had been obeyed to theletter. And without the slightest evidence of annoyance or displeasurehe had listened, upon several occasions to her own sarcastic outburstsagainst him. Here was a man as devoid of emotion as a fish, or onewhose complete self-mastery was astounding. "Pretty good," herepeated. "And does he know that you call him your 'guardian devil?'"
"Yes, I think he does--now," she answered, dryly. "By the way, Mr.Holland, you do a good deal of riding about the hills, yourself."
"Yeh, prospectors are apt to. Then, there's other little matters ofinterest here, too."
"Such as horse-thieving?" suggested the girl. "I heard you were paidto run down a gang of horse-thieves. I was wondering when you foundtime to earn your money."
"Yeh, there's some hair artists loose in the hills, an' some of theoutfits kind of wanted me to keep an eye out
for 'em."
An old saw flashed into the girl's mind, and the comers of her mouthdrew into a sarcastic smile.
"'Settin' a thief to catch a thief,' is what you're thinkin'. We ain'tso well acquainted yet as what we will be--when you get your eye teethcut."
"I suppose our real acquaintance will begin when the game we areplaying comes to a show-down?" she sneered. "But let me tell you this,if I win, our acquaintance will end, right where you think it willbegin!"
The cowboy nodded: "That's fair an' square. An' if I win--_you'll haveto be satisfied with what you get_. Good-day, I've fooled away timeenough already." And, with a word to his horse, Vil Hollanddisappeared up the valley in the direction from which the girl hadcome.
When her anger had cooled sufficiently, Patty smiled, a rather grim,tight-lipped little smile. "If he wins I'll have to be satisfied withwhat I get," she muttered. "At least, he's candid about it. I think,now, Mr. Vil Holland and I understand each other perfectly."
Late in the afternoon she emerged from the mouth of her valley and,crossing a familiar tongue of bench, found herself upon the trail nearthe point of its intersection with Monte's Creek. Turning up thecreek, she stopped for a few minutes' chat with Ma Watts.
"Law sakes! Climb right down an' set a while. I wus sayin' to Wattslas' night how we-all hain't see nawthin' of yo' fer hit's goin' on acouple of weeks 'cept yo' hirein' the team, an' not stoppin' in tospeak of, comin' er goin'. How be yo'? An' I 'spect yo' hain't foundyer pa's claim yet. I saved yo' up a dozen of aigs. Hed to mighty nearfight off that there Lord Clendennin' he wanted 'em so bad. But Idone tol' him yo' wus promised 'em, an' yo'd git 'em not nary nother.So there they be, honey, all packed in a pail with hay so's they won'tbreak. No sir, I tol' him how he couldn't hev' 'em if he wus twolords. An' all the time we wus a-augerin', Mr. Bethune an' MicrobyDandeline sot out yonder a-talkin' an' laughin', friendly as yo'please." Ma Watts paused for breath and her eye fell upon her spouse,who stood meekly beside the kitchen door. "Watts, where's yer manners?Cain't yo' say 'howdy' to Mr. Sinclair's darter--an' her a-payin' yo'good money fer rent an' fer team hire. Yo' ort to be 'shamed, standin'gawpin' like a mud turkle. Folks 'ud think yo' hain't got good sense."
"I aimed to say 'howdy' first chanct I got." He shoved a chair towardthe girl. "Set down an' take hit easy a spell."
"Where is Microby?" she asked, refusing the proffered seat with asmile, and leaning lightly against her saddle.
"Land sakes, I don't know! She's gittin' that no 'count, she goespokin' off somewhere's in the hills on Gee Dot. Says she'sa-prospectin'--like they all says when they're too lazy to do reg'larwork."
"My father was a prospector," answered the girl, quickly, "and therewasn't a lazy bone in his body. And I'm a prospector, and I'm sure I'mnot lazy."
"Law, there I went an' done hit!" exclaimed Ma Watts, contritely. "Ididn't mean no real honest-to-Gawd, reg'lar prospectors like yo' pawus, an' yo', an' Mr. Bethune. But there's that Vil Holland, he's acowpuncher, when he works, and a prospector when he don't. An' there'sLord Clendennin', he's a prospector all the time, 'cause he don'tnever work--an' that's the way hit goes. An' Microby Dandeline'sa-gittin' as triflin' as the rest. Mr. Bethune, he tellin' her howshe'd git rich ef she could find a gol' mind, an' how she could buyher some fine clos' like yourn, an' go to the city to live like thefolks in the pitchers. Mr. Bethune, he's done found minds. He's rich.An' he's got manners, too. Watts, he's allus makin' light ofmanners--says they don't 'mount to nawthin'. But thet's 'cause hehain't quality. Quality's got 'em, an' they're nice to hev."
"Gre't sight o' quality--him," growled Watts. "He's part Injun."
"Hit don't make no diff'ence what he's part!" defended the woman."He's rich, an' he's purty lookin', an' he's got manners like I donetol' yo'. Ef I wus you I'd marry up with him, an----"
"Why, Mrs. Watts! What do you mean?" exclaimed the girl flushing withannoyance.
"Jest what I be'n aimin' to tell yo' fer hit's goin' on quite a spell.Yo'n him 'ud step hit off right pert. Yo' pretty, an' yo' rich, er yo'will be when yo' find yo' pa's mind, an' yo' manners is most as goodas his'n."
The humor of the mountain woman's serious effort at match-makingstruck Patty, and she interrupted with a laugh: "There are severalobjections to that arrangement," she hastened to say. "In the firstplace Mr. Bethune has never asked me to marry him. He may have seriousobjections, and as for me, I'm not ready to even think of marrying."
"Don't take long to git ready, onct yo' git in the notion. An' I betMr. Bethune hain't abuzzin' 'round up an' down this yere crick fernawthin'. Law sakes, child, when I tuk a notion to take Watts, come asupper time I wusn't no more a mind to git married than yo' be, an',by cracky! come moonrise me an' Watts had forked one o' pa's mewelswith nothin' on but a rope halter, an' wus headin' down the branchwith pa an' my brother Lafe a-cuttin' through the lau'ls with theirrifle-guns fer to head us off."
"Yo' didn't take me fer looks ner manners, neither," reminded Watts.
"Law, I'd a be'n single yet, ef I hed. No sir, I tuk yo' to save asight o' killin' that's what I done. Yo' see, Miss, my pa wus sot onme not marryin' no Watts--not that I aimed to, 'til he says I dasn't.But Watts hed be'n a pesterin' 'round right smart, nights, an' palowed he'd shore kill him daid ef he didn't mind his ownbusiness--so'd my brothers, they wus five of 'em, an' nary one thatwusn't mighty handy with his rifle-gun.
"So Watts, he quit a-comin' to the cabin, but me an' him made hit upthet he'd hide out on t'other side o' the branch an' holler like aowl, an' then I'd slip out the back do'--an' that's the way we doneour co'tin'. My folks didn't hev no truck with the Wattses thet livedon t'other side the mountain, 'count of them killin' two Strunkses away back, the Strunkses bein' my pa's ma's folks, over a hawg. Eventhen I didn't hev no notion o' marryin' Watts, jest done hit to bea-doin' like, ontil pa an' the boys ketched on to whut we wus up to.After thet, hit got so't every time they heerd a squinch owl holler,they'd begin a-shootin' into the bresh with their rifle guns. Wattslowed they was comin' doggone clust to him a time er two, an' how heaimed to bring along his own gun some night, an' start a shootin'back.
"Law knows wher it would ended, whut one with another, the Biggses an'the Strunkses, an' the Rawlins, an' the Craborchards would hev be'ndrug into hit, along of the Wattses an' the Scrogginses. So I tukWatts, an' we went to live with his folks, an' we sent back the mewelwith Job Swenky, who they wouldn't nobody kill 'cause he wus a daftie.An' pa brung back the mewel hisself, come alone, an' 'thouten hisrifle-gun. He says seem' how Watts hed got me fair an' squr, an' wewus reg'lar married, he reckoned the ol' grudge wus dead, theStrunkses wasn't no count much, nohow, an' we wus welcome to keep themewel to start on. So Watts's pa killed a shoat, an' brung out a bigjug o' corn whisky, an' we-all et an' drunk all we could hold, an'from then on 'til whut time we come away from ther, they wusn't a man,outside a couple o' revenoos, killed on B'ar Track.
"So yo' see," the woman continued, with a smile. "Hit don't take notime to git ready, onct yo' git in the notion."
"I'm afraid I haven't the same provocation," Patty laughed, as shepicked up her pail of eggs and swung into the saddle. "Good-by, and besure and tell Microby Dandeline to come up and see me. Maybe she'dlike to come up on Sunday. I never ride on Sunday."
"She'll come fast enough," promised Ma Watts, and watched theretreating girl until a bend of the creek carried her out of sight.
The long shadows of the mountains were slowly climbing the oppositewall of the valley, as the girl rode leisurely up Monte's Creek. Andas she rode, she smiled: "Why is it that every married woman--andespecially the older ones, thinks it is her bounden duty to pounceupon and marry off every single one? It is not one bit different outhere in the heart of the hills, than it is in Middleton, or New York.And, it isn't because they're all so happy in their own marriages,either. Look at old Mrs. Stratford, who was bound and determined thatI must marry that Archie Smith-Jones; she's been married four times,and divorced three. And Archie never will amount to a row of pins
. Helooks like a tailor's model, and acts like a Rolls-Royce. And, Idon't see any supreme bliss about Mrs. Watts's married existence,although she's perfectly satisfied, I guess, poor thing. I love thesubtle finesse with which she tried to arrange a match between me andMr. Bethune. ''Ef I wus yo' I'd marry up with him'--just like that!Shades of Mrs. Stratford who spent two whole months trying to getArchie and me into the same canoe! And when she did, the blamed thingtipped over and ruined the only decent summer things I had, allbecause that fool Archie thought he had to stand up to fend the canoeoff the pier.... At least, Mr. Bethune has got some sense, and he isgood looking, and he seems to have money, and there is a certain dashand verve about him that one would hardly expect to find here in thehills--and yet--there's something--it isn't his Indian blood, I don'tcare a cent about that--but sometimes, there's something about himthat makes me wonder if he's genuine."
She passed through the cottonwood grove and emerged into the open onlya few hundred yards below the sheep camp. A moment later she haltedabruptly and stared toward the cabin. Two saddled horses stood beforethe door, reins hanging loosely, and upon the edge of a low cut-bank,just below the shallow waters of the ford, two men were struggling,locked in each other's embrace. Hastily the girl drew back into thecover of the grove and watched with intense interest the two formsthat weaved precariously above the deep pool formed by a sudden bendin the creek. The horses she recognized as Vil Holland's buckskin, andthe big, blaze-faced bay ridden by Lord Clendenning. In the gatheringdusk she could not make out the faces of the two men, but by theirheaving, circling, swaying figures she knew that mighty muscles werebeing strained to their utmost, and that soon one or the other mustgive in. A dozen questions flashed through the girl's brain. What werethey doing there? Why were they fighting at the very door of hercabin? And, above all, what would be the outcome? Would one of themkill the other? Would one of them be left maimed and bleeding for herto bind up and coax back to life?
The men were on the very verge of the cut-bank, now, and it seemedinevitable that both must go crashing into the creek. "Serve 'em rightif they would," muttered Patty, "I'd like to give 'em a push." Withthe words on her lips, she saw a blur of motion, one of the formsleaped lightly back, and the other poised for a second, arms wavingwildly in a vain effort to regain his balance, then fell suddenlybackward and toppled headlong into the creek. Patty could distinctlyhear the mighty splash with which he struck the water, as the otheradvanced to the edge and peered downward. She knew that this other wasVil Holland, and a moment later he turned away and catching up thereins of the buckskin, swung into the saddle, splashed through theford, and disappeared into the scrub timber of the opposite side ofthe valley.
Patty urged her horse forward, at the imminent risk of injury to herpail of eggs. When she had almost reached the cabin, a grotesque,dripping form crawled heavily from the creek bed, gave one hurriedglance in her direction, mounted his horse, and disappeared in athunder of galloping hoofs.
The Gold Girl Page 11
