The Gold Girl

by James B. Hendryx

  CHAPTER XVI

  PATTY FINDS A GLOVE

  Dismounting before her cabin, Patty dropped her reins, pushed open thedoor, and entered. Her eyes flew to the little dressing table. Thepacket was gone! With a thrill of exultation she carefully inspectedthe room. Everything was exactly as she had left it. No blunderingMicroby had been here during her absence, for well she knew thatMicroby could no more have invaded the cabin without leaving traces ofher visit than she could have flown to the moon. It was midday. Shehad intended to rest when she reached the cabin, but her impatience toestablish once for all the identity of the cunning prowler dispelledher weariness, and after a hurried luncheon, she was once more in thesaddle. "We've both earned a good rest, old fellow," she confided toher horse, as he threaded the coulee she had marked 1 NW, "but it'sonly six or seven miles, and we simply must know who it is that hasbeen calling on us so persistently. And when I find daddy's mine andhave just oodles of money, I'm going to make it up to you for workingyou so hard. You're going to have a nice, big, light, roomy box stall,and a great big grassy pasture with a creek running through it, andyou're going to have oats three times a day, and you're never going tohave to work any more, and every day I'll saddle you myself and we'lltake a ride just for fun."

  Having disposed of her horse's future in this eminently satisfactorymanner, the girl fell to planning her own. She would build a big houseand live in Middleton, and fairly flaunt her gold in the faces ofthose who had scoffed at her father--no, she _hated_ Middleton! Shewould go there once in a while, to visit Aunt Rebecca, but mainly toshow the narrow, hide-bound natives what they had missed by notbacking her father with a few of their miserable dollars. She wouldlive in New York--in Washington--in Los Angeles. No, she would liveright here in the hills--the hills, that daddy had loved, and whosesecret he had wrested from their silent embrace. And when she tired ofthe hills she would travel. Not the slightest doubt as to her abilityto locate her father's claim assailed her, now that she had learnedto read his map.

  It was wonderfully good to be alive. Her glance traveled from the tinycreek whose shallow waters purled and burbled about her horse's feet,to the high-flung peaks of the mountains, their loftier reachesrearing naked and craggy above the dark green girdle of pines. Slowlyand majestically, hardly more than a speck against the blue, an eaglesoared. It was a good world--courage and perseverance made things workout right. It was cowardly to despair--to become disheartened. Shewould find her father's mine--but, first she would prove that Bethunewas a scoundrel of the deepest dye. And she would prove, she admittedto herself she wanted to prove, that Vil Holland was all his friendsbelieved him to be. But, she blushed with shame--what must he think ofher? Of her defense of Bethune, of her deliberate rudeness, and worstof all, of her night ride with the horse-thieves? He knew she hadsuspected him--had even accused him. Would he ever regard her as otherthan a silly fool? Vividly she pictured him as he had looked lashinghis way to her through the wildly crowding horse herd, determined,capable, masterful--and wondered vaguely what her answer would havebeen had he made love to her as Bethune had done? She smiled at thethought of Vil Holland, the unsmiling, the outspoken, theself-sufficient Vil Holland making love!

  Upon the summit of a high ridge she paused and gazed down into thelittle valley where she had located the false claim. A few momentsmore and she would know to a certainty the identity of the prowler whohad repeatedly searched her cabin. Certain as she was whose stakes shewould find marking the claim, it was with a rapidly beating heart thatshe urged her horse into the valley and across the creek toward therock wall. Yes, there was a stake! And another! And there was the plotof ground she had laboriously broken at the foot of the wall. Sheswung from the saddle and examined the spot. The rock fragments shehad selected from her father's samples were gone! And now to find thenotice! As she turned to search for the other stakes, her glancerested upon an object that held her rooted in her tracks. For a momenther heart stopped beating as she stared at the little patch of graybuckskin that lay limp and neglected where it had fallen. Slowly shewalked to it, stooped, and recovered it from the ground. It was agauntleted riding glove--Vil Holland's. She could not be mistaken,she had seen that glove upon the hand of its owner too many times,with its deep buckskin fringe, and the horseshoe embroidered in redand green silk upon its back.

  For a long time she stared at the green and red horseshoe. So it wasVil Holland, after all, and not Monk Bethune, who had systematicallysearched her cabin. Vil Holland, who had watched continually from hisnotch in the hills. She had been right in the first place, and theothers had been wrong. Everybody disliked Bethune, and disliking him,had attributed to him all the crookedness of the hill country, and allthe time, under their very noses, Vil Holland was the realplotter--and they liked him! She could see it all, now--how, withBethune for the scapegoat, he was enabled, unsuspected, to plan andcarry out his various schemes, and with no possible chance ofdetection--for he himself was the confidential employee of theranchmen--the man whose business it was to put an end to thelawlessness of the hill country.

  Patty was surprised that she was not angry. Indeed, she was notconscious of any emotion. She realized, as she stood there holding thegaily embroidered glove in her hand, that the rapture, the gladnessof mere existence had left her, and that where only a few minutesbefore, her heart had throbbed with the very joy of living, it nowseemed like a thing of weight, whose heaviness oppressed her. She feltstrangely alone and helpless. She glanced about her. The sun stillshone on the green pines and the sparkling waters of the creek, andabove the high-tossed crags the eagle still circled, but the thrill ofjoy in these things was gone. Slowly she turned and, still holding theglove, mounted, and headed for the cabin on Monte's Creek.

  At the door she unsaddled her horse, hobbled him, and turned himloose. She realized that she was very tired, and threw herself downupon the bunk. When she awoke the cabin was in darkness. The doorstood wide open as she had left it. For a moment she lay trying tocollect her bewildered senses. Through the open door, dimlysilhouetted against the starry sky, she made out the notch in thevalley rim. Her sense rallied with a rush, and she started nervouslyas a pack rat scurried across the floor and paused upon the door sillto peer inquisitively at her with his beady eyes. Crossing the room,she closed and barred the door, and lighted the lamp. It was twelveo'clock. She peered at herself in the glass and with an exclamation ofanger, dampened her wash-cloth and scrubbed furiously at her cheekwhere, in deep tracery appeared the perfect shape of a horseshoe.

  She was very hungry, and rummaging in the cupboard set out a coldlunch which she devoured to the last crumb. Then she blew out the lampand, removing her riding boots, threw herself down upon the bunk tothink. She was angry now, and the longer she thought the angrier shegot. "I can see it all as plain as day," she muttered. "There isn'tanything he wouldn't do! He _did_ cut that pack sack, and he ran thesheep man out of the hills because he knew it would be dangerous forhim to have a neighbor that might talk. And the Samuelson horse raid!Of all the diabolical plotting! With his outlaw friends holdingtrusted positions on the ranch, and old Mr. Samuelson sick in bed! Oh,it was cleverly planned! And that Pierce was right in with them. Nowonder he wanted to lock me in his cellar!

  "Who, then, was the man that lay sprawled by the side of the trail?"The girl shuddered at the memory of the cheap cotton shirt torn openat the throat, and the moonlight shining whitely upon the bare leg."Some loyal rancher, probably, who dared to oppose the outlaws. It'smurder!" she cried aloud. "And yesterday I thought he was watching upthere in the hills to see that no harm came to me!" She laughed--ahard, bitter laugh that held as much of mirth as the gurgle of a tiderip. "But he's come to the end of his rope! I'll expose him! I'm notafraid of his lawless crew! He'll find out it will take more thanrescuing me from that herd of wild horses to buy my silence! I'll ridestraight to Samuelson's ranch in the morning, and from there toThompson's, and I'll tell them about his part in the raid, and abouthis watching like a vulture from his notch in
the hills, and about hisstealing what he thought was daddy's map, and about his filing theclaim. And did show 'em the glove and--" She paused abruptly: "What afool I was to come away without the notice! That would have proved itbeyond any doubt, even if he hasn't recorded the claim!" For a longtime she lay in the darkness planning her course for the day. Allthought of sleep had vanished, and her eyes continually sought thewindow for signs of approaching light.

  At the first faint glow of dawn the girl caught up her horse andheaded for the false claim. It was but the work of a moment to locatethe stake to which the notice was attached by means of a bit of twine.Removing the paper, she thrust it into her pocket and returned to thecabin where she ate breakfast before starting for the Samuelson ranch.Hurriedly washing the dishes, she picked up the glove and thrust itinto the bosom of her shirt, and drawing the crumpled notice from herpocket, smoothed it out upon the table. Her glance traveled rapidlyover the penciled words to the signature, and she stared like one in adream. The blood left her face. She closed her eyes and passed herhand slowly over the lids. She opened them, and with a nervelessfinger, touched the paper as if to make sure that it was real. Then,very slowly, she rose from her chair and crossing the room, stood inthe doorway and gazed toward the notch in the hills until hot tearswelled into her eyes and blurred the distant skyline. The next momentshe was upon her bunk, where she lay shaken between fits of sobbingand hysterical laughter. She drew the glove, with its fringed gauntletand its gaudily embroidered horseshoe from her shirt front and ran herfingers along its velvety softness. Impulsively, passionately, shepressed the horseshoe to her lips, and leaping to her feet, thrust theglove inside her shirt and stepping lightly to the table reread thepenciled lines upon the crumpled paper, and over and over again sheread the signature; RAOUL BETHUNE, known also as MONK BETHUNE.

  The atmosphere of the little cabin seemed stifling. Crumpling thepaper into her pocket, she stepped out the door. She must dosomething--go some place--talk to someone! Her horse stood saddledwhere she had left him, and catching up the reins she mounted andheaded him at a gallop for the ravine that led to the trampled notchin the hills. During the long upward climb the girl managed to collecther scattered wits. Where should she go? She breathed deeply of thepine-laden air. It was still early morning. A pair of magpies flittedin short flights from tree to tree along the trail, scoldingincessantly as they waited to be frightened on to the next tree.Patches of sunlight flashed vivid contrasts in their black and whiteplumage, and set off in a splendor of changing color the green andpurple and bronze of their iridescent feathering. A deer bounded awayin a blur of tan and white, and a little farther on, a porcupinelumbered lazily into the scrub. It was good to be alive! Whatdifference did it make which direction she chose? All she wanted thismorning was to ride, and ride, and ride! She had her father's map withher but was in no mood to study out its intricacies, nor to rideslowly up and down little valleys, scrutinizing rock ledges. She wouldvisit the Samuelson ranch, and find out about the horse raid, andinquire after Mr. Samuelson, and then--well, there would be plenty oftime to decide what to do then. But first, she would swing around bythe little tent beside the creek and see if Vil Holland had returned.Surely, he must have returned by this time, and she must tell him howit was she had been riding with the horses--and, she must give himback his glove. She blushed as she felt the pressure of its soft bulkwhere it rested just below her heart. Surely, he would need hisglove--and maybe, if she were nice to him, he would tell her how itcame to be there--and maybe he would explain--_this_. Her horse hadstopped voluntarily after his steep climb, and she glanced down at thetrampled grass, and from that to her own little cabin far below onMonte's Creek.

  She wondered, as she rode through the timber how it was she had beenso quick to doubt this grave, unsmiling hillman upon such a meretriviality as the finding of a glove. And then she wondered at herchanged attitude toward him. She had feared him at first, thendespised him. And now--she recalled with a thrill, the lean ruggednessof him, the unwavering eyes and the unsmiling lips--now, at least, sherespected him, and she no longer wondered why the people of the hillsand the people of the town held him in regard. She knew that he hadnever sought to curry her favor--had never deviated a hair's breadthfrom the even tenor of his way in order to win her regard and, intheir chance conversations, he had been blunt even to rudeness. And,yet, against her will, her opinion of him had changed. And this changehad nothing whatever to do with her timely rescue from the horseherd--it had been gradual, so gradual that it had been an accomplishedfact even before she suspected that any change was taking place.

  The huge rock behind which nestled the little tent loomed before her,and hastily removing the glove from its hiding place, she camesuddenly upon his camp. A blackened coffee pot was nestled closeagainst a tiny fire upon which a pair of trout and some strips ofbacon sizzled in a frying pan. She glanced toward the creek, at thesame moment that Vil Holland turned at the sound of her horse'sfootsteps, and for several seconds they faced each other in silence.The man was the first to speak:

  "Good mornin'. If you'll step back around that rock for a minute, I'llslip into my shirt."

  And suddenly Patty realized that he was stripped to the waist, but hereyes never left the point high on his upper arm, almost against theshoulder, where a blood-stained bandage dangled untidily.

  "You're hurt!" she cried, swinging from the saddle and running towardhim.

  "Nothin' but a scratch. I got nicked a little, night before last, an'I just now got time to do it up again. It don't amount toanything--don't even hurt, to speak of. I can let that go, if you'lljust----"

  "Well, I won't just go away--or just anything else, except just attendto that wound--so there!" She was at his side, examining the clumsybandage. "Sit right down beside the creek, and I'll look at it. Thefirst thing is to find out how badly you're hurt."

  "It ain't bad. Looks a lot worse than it is. It was an unhandy placeto tie up, left-handed."

  Scooping up water in her hand Patty applied it to the bandage, andafter repeating the process several times, began very gently toremove the cloth. "Why it's clear through!" she cried, as the bandagecame away and exposed the wound.

  "Just through the meat--it missed the bone. That cold water feelsgood. It was gettin' kind of stiff."

  "What did you put on it?"

  "Nothin'. Didn't have anything along, an' wouldn't have had time tofool with it if I'd been packin' a whole drug-store."

  "Where's your whisky?"

  "I ain't got any."

  "Where's your jug? Surely there must be some in it--enough to wash outthis wound."

  The man shook his head. "No, the jug's plumb empty an' dry. I ain'tbe'n to town for 'most a week."

  Patty was fumbling at her saddle for the little "first aid" kit thatshe faithfully carried, and until this moment, had never found usefor. "Probably the only time in the world it would ever do you anygood, you haven't got it!" she exclaimed, disgustedly, as she unrolleda strip of gauze from about a tiny box of salve.

  "I'm sorry there ain't any whisky in the jug. I never thought ofkeepin' it for accident."

  The girl smeared the wound full of salve and adjusted the bandage,"Now," she said, authoritatively, "you're going to eat your breakfastand then we're going to ride straight to Samuelson's ranch. The doctorwill be there and he can dress this wound right."

  "It's all right, just the way it is," said Holland. "I've seen fellowsdone up in bandages, one way an' another, but not any that was better'tended to than that." He glanced approvingly at the neatly bandagedarm. "Anyhow, this is nothin' but a scratch an' it'll be all healedup, chances are, before we could get to Samuelson's."

  "No, it won't be all healed up before you get to Samuelson's either!Run along, now, and I'll stay here while you finish dressing, and whenyou're through, you call me. I've had breakfast but I can drink a cupof coffee, if you'll ask me."

  "You're asked," the man replied, gravely, "and while I go to the tent,you might take that outfit an' j
erk a couple more trout out of thecreek." He pointed to a light fishing pole with hook and line attachedthat leaned against a tree. "It ain't as fancy as the outfit LenChristie packs, but it works just as good, an' ain't any bother totake care of."

  A few minutes later Vil Holland emerged from the tent. "Sorry I ain'tgot a table," he apologized, "but a fryin' pan outfit's always suitedme best--makes a fellow feel kind of free to pull stakes an' driftwhen the notion hits him."

  "But, you've camped here for a long time."

  The man glanced about him: "Yes, a long time. I guess I know everyplace in the hills for a hundred miles round an' this is the pick of'em all, accordin' to my notions. Plenty of natural pasture, plenty oftimber, an' this little creek's the coldest, an' it always seems tome, its water is the sparklin'est of 'em all. An' then, away off theretowards the big mountains, early in the mornin' an' late in theevenin', when it's all kind of dim down here, you can see the sunlighton the snow--purple, an' pink, an' sometimes it shines like silver an'gold. It lays fine for a ranch. Sometime, maybe, I'm goin' tohomestead it. I'll build the cabin right there, close by the big rock,an' I'll build a porch on it so in the evenin's we could watch thelights way up there on the snow."

  Patty smiled: "Who is 'we'?" she asked, mischievously.

  The man regarded her gravely: "Things like that works themselves out.If there ain't any 'we', there won't be any cabin--so there's nothin'to worry about."

  "Did you catch the horse-thieves?"

  Vil Holland's face clouded. "Part of 'em. Not the main ones, though."

  Patty shuddered. "I saw one of them lying back there by the trail. Itwas horrible."

  "Yes, an' a couple of more went the same way, further on. We'd ratherhave got 'em alive, but they'd had their orders, an' they took theirmedicine. We got the horses, though."

  "I suppose you're wondering how I came to be in among those horses?"

  "I figured you'd got mixed up in it at Samuelson's, somehow. The boysdidn't know nothin' about it--except Pierce--an' he guessed wrong."

  Patty laughed. "He accused me of being one of the gang, and eventhreatened to lock me in his cellar."

  "He won't again," announced the man, dryly.

  "I rode down there to get him to go for the doctor. Mr. Samuelson wasworse, and there was no one else to go. And when I started on fortown, the horses swept down on me and carried me along with them."

  "Was the doctor got?" asked Holland with sudden interest.

  "Yes, I rode on down to Thompson's, and Mr. Thompson sent a man totown. He was provoked with you for not letting him in on the raid."

  "He'll get over it. You see, I didn't want to call out the marriedmen. I surmised there'd be gun-play an' there wasn't any use takin'chances with men that was needed, when there's plenty of us around thehills that it don't make any difference to anyone if we come back ornot. I didn't figure on lettin' Pierce in."

  When they had finished washing the dishes the girl glanced toward thebuckskin that was snipping grass in the clearing: "It's time we weregoing. The doctor may start for town this morning and we'll meet himon the trail."

  "This ain't a doctor's job," protested the man. "My arm feels fine."

  "It's so stiff you can hardly use it. It must feel fine. But itdoesn't make a particle of difference how fine it feels. It needsattention. And, surely you won't refuse to do this for me, after Ibandaged it all up? Because, if anything should go wrong it would bemy fault."

  Without a word the man picked up his bridle and walking to thebuckskin, slipped it over his head and led him in. He saddled thehorse with one hand, and as he turned toward the girl she held out theglove.

  "Isn't this yours? I found it last evening--out in the hills."

  Holland thrust his hand into it: "Yes, it's mine. I'm sure obliged toyou. I lost it a couple of days ago. I hate to break in new gloves.These have got a feel to 'em."

  "Do you know where I found it?"

  "No. Couldn't guess within twenty miles or so."

  Patty looked him squarely in the eyes: "I found it over where MonkBethune has just staked a claim. And he staked that particular claimbecause it was the spot I had indicated on a map that I preparedespecially for the benefit of the man who has been searching my cabinall summer."

  Holland nodded gravely, without showing the slightest trace ofsurprise. "Oh, that's where I dropped it, eh? I figured Monk thoughthe'd found somethin', the way he come out of your cabin the last timehe searched it, so I followed him to the place you'd salted for him."He paused, and for the first time since she had known him, Pattythought she detected a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "He didn'twaste much time there--just clawed around a few minutes where you'dpecked up the dirt, an' then sunk his stakes, an' wrote out hisnotice, an' high-tailed for the register's office. That was a prettysmart trick of yours but it wouldn't have fooled anyone that knowsrock. Bethune's no prospector. He's a Canada crook--whisky runner, an'cattle rustler, an' gambler. Somehow, he'd got a suspicion that yourfather made a strike he'd never filed, an' he's been tryin' to getholt of it ever since. I looked your plant over after he'd hit fortown to file, an' when I tumbled to the game, I let him go ahead."

  "But, suppose the rock had been right? Suppose, it had really beendaddy's claim?"

  "Buck can run rings around that cayuse of his any old day. I expect,if the rock had be'n right, Monk Bethune would of met up with anadventure of some sort a long ways before he hit town."

  "You knew he was searching my cabin all the time?"

  "Yes, I knew that. But, I saw you was a match for 'em--him an' thefake Lord, too."

  "Is that the reason you threw Lord Clendenning into the creek, thatday?"

  "Yes, that was the reason. I come along an' caught him at it. Comical,wasn't it? I 'most laughed. I saw you slip back into the brush, butI'd got so far along with it I couldn't help finishin'. You thoughtthe wrong man got throw'd in."

  "You knew I thought that of you--and you didn't hate me?"

  "Yes, I knew what you thought. You thought it was me that wassearchin' your cabin, too. An' of course I didn't hate you because youcouldn't hardly help figurin' that way after you'd run onto the placein the rim-rocks where I watched from. If it wasn't for the trees Icould have strung along in a different place each time, but that's theonly spot that your cabin shows up from."

  "And you knew that they always followed me through the hills?"

  "Yes, an' they wasn't the only ones that followed. Clendenning ain'tas bad as Bethune, for all he's throw'd in with him. The days Bethunefollowed you, I followed Bethune. An' when Clendenning followed you, Iprospected, mostly."

  "You thought Bethune might have--have attacked me?"

  "I wasn't takin' any chances--not with him, I wasn't. One day, Ithought for a minute he was goin' to try it. It was the day you an'him et lunch together--when he pretended to be so surprised at runnin'onto you. I laid behind a rock with a bead draw'd on him. He stoppedjust exactly one step this side of hell, that day."

  Patty regarded the cowboy thoughtfully: "And Bethune told me he had togo over onto the east slope to see about some horses. It was after wehad met Pierce, and Bethune asked about Mr. Samuelson and Piercesnubbed him. I believe Bethune planned that raid. And seeing ustogether that day, Pierce jumped to the conclusion that I was in withhim."

  "Yes, it was Monk's raid, all right, an' him an' Clendenning got away.He doped it all out that day. I followed him when he quit you there onthe trail, an' watched him plan out the route they'd take with thehorses. Then I done some plannin' of my own. That's why we was able tohead 'em off so handy. We didn't get Bethune an' Clendenning but I'llget 'em yet."

  They had mounted and were riding toward Samuelson's. "Maybe he's madehis escape across the line," ventured the girl, after a long silence.

  Holland shook his head: "No, he ain't across the line. He don't thinkwe savvy he was in on the raid, an' he'll stick around the hills an'prob'ly put a crew to work on his claim." He relapsed into silence,and as they rode side by side, under th
e cover of her hat brim, Pattyfound opportunity to study the lean brown face.

  "Where's your gun?" The man asked the question abruptly, withoutremoving his eyes from the fore-trail.

  "I left it home. I only carried it once or twice. It's heavy, andanyway it was silly to carry it, I don't even know how to fire it, letalone hit anything."

  "If it's too heavy on your belt you can carry it on your saddle horn.I'll show you how to use it--an' how to shoot where you hold it, too.Mrs. Samuelson ain't as husky as you are, an' she can wipe a gnat'seye with a six-gun, either handed. Practice is all it takes, an'----"

  "But, why should I carry it? Bethune would hardly dare harm me, andanyway, now that he thinks he has stolen my secret, he wouldn't haveany object in doing so."

  "You're goin' to keep on huntin' your dad's claim, ain't you?"

  "Of course I am! And I'll find it, too."

  "An', in the meantime, what if Bethune finds out he's been tricked?These French breeds go crazy when they're mad--an' he'll either layfor you just to get even, or he'll see that he gets the right dopenext time--an' maybe you know what that means, an' maybe youdon't--but I do."

  The girl nodded, and as the horses scrambled up the steep slope of alow divide, her eyes sought the hundred and one hiding places amongthe loose rocks and scrub that might easily conceal a lurking enemy,and she shuddered. As they topped the divide, both reined in and satgazing silently down the little valley before them. It was the placeof their first meeting, when the girl, tired, and lost anddiscouraged, had dismounted upon that very spot and watched theunknown horseman with his six-shooter, and his brown leather jugslowly ascend the slope. She glanced at him now, as he sat, rugged andlean, with his eyes on the little valley. He was just the same, graveand unsmiling, as upon the occasion of their first meeting. Shenoticed that he held his Stetson in his hand, and that the windrippled his hair. "Just the same," she thought--and yet--. She wasaware that her heart was pounding strangely, and that instead of afear of this man, she was conscious of a wild desire to throw herselfinto his arms and cry with her face against the bandage that bulgedthe shirt sleeve just below the shoulder.

  "I call this Lost Creek," said Holland, without turning his head. "Icome here often--" and added, confusedly, "It's a short cut from mycamp to the trail."

  Patty felt an overpowering desire to laugh. She tried to think ofsomething to say: "I--I thought you were a desperado," she murmured,and giggled nervously.

  "An' I thought you was a schoolma'am. I guess I was the first tochange my mind, at that."

  Patty felt herself blushing furiously for no reason at all: "But--Ihave changed my mind--or I wouldn't be here, now."

  Vil Holland nodded: "I expect I'll ride to town from Samuelson's. Myjug's empty, an' I guess I might's well file that homestead 'foresomeone else beats me to it. I've got a hunch maybe I'll be rollin' upthat cabin--before snow flies."