CHAPTER VII
IN THE CABIN
For a long time after the departure of her visitors, Patty Sinclairsat thinking. Was it true, all this man had told her? She rememberedvividly the beautiful tribute he had paid her father and the emotionthat had gripped him as he finished. Surely his words rang true. Theywere true, or else the man was a consummate actor as well as anunscrupulous knave. She recalled the boyish smile, the story of LordClendenning's terrible journey, and the impatience with which he hadsilenced the Englishman's self-criticism. What would be more naturalthan that two men thrown together in the middle of the hill country,as her father and Bethune had been thrown together, should have pooledtheir interests, especially if each possessed an essential that theother did not. There had been somehow a sincerity about the man thatcarried conviction. She liked his ready admission that her father'sknowledge of mining greatly exceeded his own. And the assertion thathe had advanced sums of money for the carrying on of the work soundedplausible enough, for the girl knew that her father's income had beensmall--pitiably small, but enough, he had always insisted, for hismeager needs. Unquestionably, up to that point the man's words hadcarried the ring of truth. Then came the false notes; the openaccusation of Vil Holland, and the warning as to the concealment ofthe map and photos which she had twice purposely refused to admit thatshe possessed. This was the second time he had gone out of his way towarn her against Vil Holland. On occasion of their previous meeting,he had hinted that Holland might pose as a friend of her father--apose Bethune, himself, boldly assumed. Perhaps Vil Holland had been afriend of her father. In the matter of the pack sack, to whom would aman intrust his belongings, if not to a friend? Surely not to anenemy, nor to one he had reason to suspect. And now Bethune openlyaccused him of cutting the pack sack, and intimated that he would nothesitate to rob her of her secret.
For a long time she sat with her elbow on the table and her chinresting in her palm, staring out at the overshadowing hills. "If therewas only somebody," she muttered. "Somebody I could--" Suddenly sheleaped to her feet. "No, I'm glad there isn't! I'll play the gamealone! I came out here to do it, and I'll do it, in spite of forty VilHollands, and Bethunes, and Lord Clendennings! I'll find the minemyself--and I'll call it a mine, too, if I want to! And then, after Ifind it, if Mr. Monk Bethune can show me that he is entitled to ashare in it, I'll give it to him--and not before. I'll stay right heretill I find it, or till my money gives out, and when it does, I'llearn some more and come back again till that's gone!" Crossing theroom, she stamped determinedly out the door, threw the saddle onto hercayuse, and rode rapidly down the creek. Horseback riding alwaysexhilarated her, even back home where she had been obliged to keep toroads, or the well-worn courses of the hunt club. But here in thehills where the very air was a tonic that sent the blood coursingthrough her veins, and where tier after tier, the mighty mountainsrolled away into the distance, as if flaunting a challenge to come andexplore their secrets, and unscarred valleys gave glimpses of alluringvistas, the exhilaration amounted almost to intoxication. As herhorse's feet thudded the ground, and splashed in and out of theshallows of the creek, she laughed aloud for the very joy of living.She pulled her horse to a walk as she skirted the fence of Watts'supper pasture, and her eyes rested with approval upon the straightenedposts and taut wire. "At last Mr. Watts has bestirred himself. I hopehe will keep on, now, that he's got the habit, and fix up the rest ofthe ranch. I wonder why that Vil Holland disapproved when he mentionedthat he had leased his pasture. It seems as though nothing can happenin this country unless Vil Holland is mixed up in it someway. And, nowI'm down this far, I'll just find out whether Vil Holland did takethat pack down here for daddy. And if he did I'll let him know mightyquick, the next time I see him, that I know all about it's being cutopen."
With her tubs on a bench, and the baby propped and tied securely in anold wooden rocker, Ma Watts was up to her elbows in her "week'sworsh." Watts sat in his accustomed place, his chair tilted againstthe shady side of the house. "Laws sakes, ef hit hain't Mr. Sinclair'sdarter!" cried the woman, shaking the suds from her bare arms, "How beyo', honey? An' how's the sheep camp? Microby Dandeline tellen us howyo'-all scrubbed, an' scraped, an' cleaned 'til hit shined like anigger's heel. Hit's nice to be clean, that-a-way ef yo' got time, butwith five er six young-uns to take keer of, an' a passel of chickensa-runnin' in under foot all day, seems like a body cain't keep cleannohow. Microby says how yo' got a rale curtin' in yo' winder, an' allkinds of pert doin' an' fixin's. That's hit, git right down off yerhorse. Land! I wus so busy hearin' 'bout yo' fixin' up the sheep camp,thet I plumb fergot my manners. Watts, get a cheer! An' 'pears likeyo' could say 'Howdy' when anyone comes a visitin'."
"I aimed to," mumbled Watts apologetically, as he dragged a chair fromthe kitchen, "I wus jest a-aidgin' 'round fer a chanct."
"I can't stay but a minute, see, the shadows are already half wayacross the valley. I just thought I'd take a little ride beforesupper."
"Law, yes, some folks likes to ride hossback, but fer me, I'd a heapruther go in a jolt wagon. Beats all the dif'fence in folks. Seemslike the folks out yere jist take to hit nachel. Yo' be'n huntin' yo'pa's location yet?"
"No, I've been getting things in shape around the cabin. I'm going tostart prospecting to-morrow." She glanced back along the valley, "Isuppose my father came along this way when he left his pack on his wayEast," she said.
"No, mom," Watts rubbed his chin, reflectively. "Hit wus Vil Hollandbrung in his pack. Seems like yo' pa wus in a right smart of a hurrywhen he left, so Vil taken his pack down yere an' me an' the boys puthit in the barn fer to keep hit saft. Then Vil he rud on down thecrick, hell bent fer 'lection----"
"Watts! Hain't yo' shamed a-cussin'?" cried his scandalized spouse.
"Why was he in such a hurry?" asked the girl.
"I dunno. He jes' turned the mewl loost an' says to keep the pack tillyo' pa come back, an' larruped off."
Patty rose from the chair and gathered up her bridle reins. "I must begoing, really. You see, I've got my chores to do, and supper to get,and I want to go to bed early so I'll be fresh in the morning." Shemounted, and turned to Ma Watts: "Can't you come up some day and bringthe children? I'd love to have you. Let's arrange the day now, so Iwill be sure to be home."
"Lawzie, I'd give a purty! Listen at thet, now, Watts. Cain't we fixto go?"
Watts fumbled his beard: "Why, yas, I reckon, some day, mebbe."
"What day can you come?" asked Patty.
"Well, le's see, this yere's about a Tuesday." He paused, glanced upat the sky, and gave careful scrutiny to the horizon. "How'd Sunday aweek suit yo'--ef hit don't rain?"
"Fine," agreed the girl, smiling. "And, by the way, I came down pastthe upper pasture. The fence looks grand. It didn't take long to fixit, did it?"
"Well, hit tuk quite a spell--all day yeste'day, an' up 'til noonto-day. We only got one side an' halft another done, an' they's twosides an' a halft yet. But Mr. Bethune came by this noon, him an'Lord, an' 'lowed he worn't in no gret hurry fer hit, causen he heerdfrom Schultz thet the hoss business 'ud haf to wait over a spell----"
"An' Lord, he come down an' boughten a lot of aigs offen me. Him an'Mr. Bethune is both got manners."
"Women folks likes 'em better'n what men does, seems like," opinedWatts, reflectively.
"Why don't men like them?" asked the girl eagerly.
"I dunno. Seems like they jes' nachelly mistrust 'em someways."
"Did my father like him--Mr. Bethune?"
"'Cordin' to Mr. Bethune they wus gret buddies, but when I'd runacrost yo' pa in the hills, 'pears like he wus allus alone er elsenVil Holland was along. But, Mr. Bethune claims he set a heap by yo'pa, like the time he come an' 'lowed to take away his pack. I wouldn'tlet hit go, 'cause thet hain't the way Vil said, an' Mr. Bethune, hestarted in to git mad, but then he laffed, an' said hit didn't make nodiff'ence, 'cause all he wanted wus to be shore hit wus saft kep."
"An' Pa mos' hed to shoot him, though, 'fore h
e laffed. I done tol' Pahe hadn't ort to. Lessen yo' runnin' a still, yo' hain't no call toshoot folks comin' 'round."
"Shoot him!" exclaimed Patty, staring in surprise at the easy-goingWatts.
"Yas, he aimed to take thet pack anyways. So I went in an' got downthe ol' rifle-gun an' pintedly tole him I'd shoot him dead ef he laidholt o' thet pack, an' then he laffed an' rud off."
"But, would you have shot him, really?"
"Yas," answered the mountaineer, in a matter-of-fact tone, "I'd of hedto."
Patty rode home slowly and in silence--thinking. And that evening, bythe light of her coal-oil lamp she puzzled over the roughly sketchedmap with its cryptic signs and notations. There were a half-dozensamples, too--chips of rough, heavy rock that didn't look a bit likegold. "High grade," her daddy had called them as he babbledincessantly upon his death-bed. But they looked dull and unpromisingto the girl as they lay upon the table. She returned to the sketch.With the exception of a single small dot, placed beside what wasevidently the principal creek of the locality, the map consisted onlyof lines and shadings which evidently indicated creeks andmountains--no cross, no letter, no number--nothing to indicatelandmark or location, only a confusing network of creeks and feedersbranching out like the limbs of a tree. Along the bottom of the paperthe girl read the following line:
"SC 1 S1 1/2 E 1 S [up arrow] to [union symbol] 2 W to a. to b. stake L.C.[zigzag symbol] centre."
"I suppose that was all clear as daylight to daddy, and maybe it wouldbe to anyone who is used to maps, but as for doing me any good, hemight as well have copied a line from the Chinese dictionary."
She stared hopelessly at the unintelligible line, and then at the twophotographs. One, taken evidently from a point well up the side of ahill, showed a narrow valley, flanked upon the opposite side by a highrock wall. Toward the upper end of the wall an irregular crack orcleft split it from top to bottom. The other was a "close up" taken atthe very base of the cleft, and showed only the narrow aperture in therock, and the ground at its base. For a long time she sat studying thephotographs, memorizing every feature and line of them; theconformation of the valley, the contour of the rock wall, the positionand shapes of the trees and rock fragments. "That must be the mine,"she concluded, at length, "right there at the bottom of that crack."She closed her eyes and conjured a mental picture of the littlevalley, of the rock wall, and of the cleft that would mark thelocation. "I'd know it if I should see it," she muttered, "let's see:big broken rocks strewn along the floor of the valley, and a tinycreek, and then the rock cliff, it must be about as high as--abouttwice as tall as the trees that grow along the foot of it, and it'shighest at the upper end, then there's a big tree standing alonealmost in the middle of the valley, and the gnarled, scraggly treesthat grow along the top of the rocks, and the valley must be as wideas from here to that clump of trees beyond my wood-pile--about ablock, I guess. And there's the big crack in the cliff that startsstraight," she traced the course of the crack with her finger upon thetable top, "and then zigzags to the ground." Her glance returned tothe map, and she frowned. "I don't think that's a bit of good to me.But I don't care as long as I have the photographs. I'll just ride,and ride, and ride through these hills till I find that valley, andthen--" The little clock on the shelf beside the mirror ticked loudly.Her thoughts strayed far beyond the confines of the little cabin onMonte's Creek, as she planned how she would spend the golden streamthat was to flow from the foot of the rock ledge.
Gradually her vision became confused, the incessant ticking of thelittle clock sounded farther, and farther away, her head settled torest upon her folded arms, and she was in the midst of a struggle ofsome kind, in which a belted cowboy and a suave, sloe-eyedquarter-breed were fighting to gain possession of her mine--or, werethey trying to help her locate it? And what was it daddy was trying totell her? She couldn't quite hear. She wished he would talklouder--but it was something about the mine, and the men who werestruggling.... She awoke with a start, and glanced swiftly about thecabin. The roots of her hair along the back of her neck tingleduncomfortably. She felt she was not alone--that somewhere eyes werewatching her. The chintz curtain that screened the open window swayedlightly in the night breeze and she jumped nervously. "I'm a perfectfool!" she exclaimed, aloud: "As if any 'Jack the Peeper' would beprowling around these mountains! It's just nerves, that's all it is."
Slipping the map and the photographs beneath a plate, she crossed tothe door and made sure the bar was in place, took the white buttedrevolver from its holster, and with a determined tightening of thelips, stepped to the window, drew the curtain aside, and stood peeringout into the dark. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock, andthe purling of the water as it rushed among the stones of the shallowford. Overhead the stars winked brightly, in sharp contrast to thevelvet blackness of the pines. The sound of the water soothed her, andshe laughed--a forced little laugh, but it made her feel better.Crossing to the table she blew out the lamp and, placing her revolverat the head of her bunk, undressed in the darkness. She raised theplate, took the map and the two precious photographs, placed them intheir envelope, and slipped the chain about her neck.
For a long time she lay between her blankets, wide awake, consciousthat she was straining her ears to catch some faint sound. A halfdozen times she caught herself listening with nerves on edge andmuscles taut, and each time forced herself to relax. But always shecame back to that horrible, tense listening. She charged herself withcowardice, and pooh-poohed her fears, but it was no use, and she woundup by covering her head with her blanket. "I don't care, there _was_somebody watching, but if he thinks he's going to find out where Ikeep these," her hand clutched the little oiled packet, "he'll have tocome again, that's all."
It was nearly an hour later that Monk Bethune quitted his post closeagainst the cabin wall, at the point where the chinking had fallenaway from the logs, and slipped silently into the timber.