weather Girls would have no
thought of anything except that treasure, and all the adventure it
brought.

From early morning until late at night their one interest would be
unravelling the mystery of Lost Canyon.

Even the old professor whose mind was set on Indian relics, would
forget his errand to the hills and all that it involved and be heart
and soul in the venture of the hidden treasure.

For Fate upsets all plans and leads into strange and undreamed-of
adventures.

CHAPTER VIII

_KIT'S HOME FOLKS_

Kit's greeting to her quiet, undemonstrative father was as effusive as
he would allow it to be. She threw both arms about him with a cry of
joy but all he said was: "You're home! That's good!" His tall,
stooped figure was that of a hard working man, an outdoor man. His
face bore criss-cross wrinkles stamped by the winds and heat of the
mountain.

It was from him that Kit had inherited her deep-set brown eyes, her
tall, slight body. Father and daughter were very much alike in looks
but her mother had given her a disposition of joyousness that her
silent father admired but utterly lacked.

Kit knew her father's way. She saw the happiness in his eyes and knew
that he had missed her, perhaps even more than her sociable mother had
done. Ma Patten could make friends with everybody who came near, and
in that way she had worked off a lot of her loneliness at her
daughter's absence. But Dad Patten confided in no one, not even Ma
knew what was in his heart.

After the greeting was over the old man turned to the professor and
continued his conversation without another glance at Kit. One could
see that the professor and the mountaineer were already friends. Not
many words had passed between them by way of introduction but the
vigorous handshake assured the city man that he was welcome, and only
when they began to talk of Indians and their ways did Dad Patten speak.
The two men were in the middle of a discussion when Kit arrived home.

After a few minutes she disappeared and the next thing the professor
saw was Kit trying to embrace a stout old squaw. But the two years
separation from Indian Mary had made Kit a stranger to her, at least
one would judge so by the graven image attitude she put on.

Kit grabbed her by the shoulder. "Now look here, Mary, don't put on
any airs with me. Didn't you pretty nearly bring me up? Why, I'm
almost like your own child. Tell me, don't you love me almost as much