we had been long together God knows how I came to depend on
those smiles. Then, at last, we struck it--and poor Rod--" The man's
voice which had dropped very low, broke suddenly. He cleared his
throat and turning abruptly, stared out the door toward the green
sweep of pines on the mountain slopes.

There was a long silence during which the words kept repeating
themselves in the girl's brain. "_Then, at last, we struck it._" What
did he mean? His back was toward her, and she saw that the muscles of
his neck worked slowly, as though he were swallowing repeatedly.

When at last she spoke, her voice sounded strangely dull to her own
ears. "Do you mean that you and my father were partners, and that you
know the location of his mine?"

Bethune faced her, laying the belt gently upon the table. "Partners?"
He repeated the word as though questioning himself. "Hardly partners,
I should say. We were--it is hard to define the exact relationship
that existed between Rod Sinclair and me. There was never any
agreement of partnership, rather a sort of tacit understanding, that
when we struck the lode, we should work it together. Your father knew
vastly more about rock than I, although I had long suspected the
existence of this lode. But extensive interests to the northward
prevented me from making any continued search for it. However, I found
time at intervals to spend a month or six weeks in these hills, and it
was upon one of these occasions that we struck up the acquaintance
that ripened into a sort of mutuality of interest. Neighbors are few
and far between in the hill country, and those not exactly of the type
that attract men of education. I think each found in the other a man
of his own stripe, and thus a friendship sprang up between us that
gradually led to a merging of interests. His were by far the most
valuable activities in the field, while I, from time to time, advanced
certain funds for the carrying on of the work.

"But let us not talk of business matters. Time enough for that." He
stepped to the doorway and glanced down the creek. "Here comes Clen
and we must be going. While he stopped at Watts's to reset a shoe I
rode on to inquire if there is any way in which I may serve the
daughter of my friend.

"Oh-ho! I see Clen is carrying something very gingerly. He has
prevailed upon the good Mrs. Watts to sell him some eggs. A great
gourmand--but a good fellow at heart. I think a great deal of Clen,
even though it was h