olland himself that's going to file my claim.
Have you got another horse here?" she cried. "If you have I want him.
I'm not beaten yet! There's still a chance! Maybe Lightning will go
down, or something. Quick--change my saddle!"

Catching up a rope, Thompson ran to the corral and throwing his loop
over the head of a horse led him out and transferred the girl's saddle
and bridle.

"I don't git the straight of it," he said, eying her with a puzzled
frown. "But if it's a question of gittin' to town before Vil Holland
kin beat you out of yer claim--you've got plenty of time--if you
walk."

Patty shot the man one glance of withering scorn. "You're all _crazy_!
He's got you hypnotized! Everybody thinks he's a saint----"

Thompson grinned. "No, Miss, Vil ain't no saint--an' he ain't no
devil--neither. But somewheres between the two of 'em is the place
where good men fits in--an' that's Vil. You're all het up needless,
an' barkin' up the wrong tree, as folks used to say back where I come
from. Just come and have a talk with Miz T. She'll straighten you
around all right. I'll slip in an' tell her to set the coffee-pot on,
an' you kin take yer time about gittin' to town." Thompson disappeared
into the kitchen, and a moment later when he returned with his wife,
the two stared in amazement at the flying figure that was just
swinging from the lane into the long white trail.

Hours later the girl crossed the Mosquito Flats, forded the river, and
passed along the sandy street of the town. Her eyes felt hot and tired
from continual straining ahead in a vain effort to catch a glimpse of
a fallen horse, whose rider must continue his way on foot. But the
plain was deserted, and the only evidence that anyone had proceeded
her was an occasional glimpse of hoof prints in the white dust of the
trail.

A short distance up the street, standing "tied to the ground" before
the hitching rail of a little false-front saloon, was Lightning. Patty
noted as she passed that he showed signs of hard riding, and that the
inevitable jug dangled motionless from the saddle horn. Her lips
stiffened, and her hand tightened on the bridle reins, as she forced
her eyes to the front. Farther on, she could see the little
white-painted frame office of the register. She would pass it by--no
use for her to go there. She must find Len Christie and tell him she
had come to teach his school. A great wave of repugnance swept over
her, engulfed her, as her eyes tra