veled over the rows of small wooden
houses with their stiff, uncomfortable porches, their treeless yards,
and their flaunting paintiness.

"And to think, that I've got to _live_ in one of them!" she murmured,
dully. "Nothing could be worse--except the hotel."

Opposite the register's office she pulled up, and gazed in fascination
at the open door. Then deliberately she reined her horse to the
sidewalk and dismounted. The characteristic thoroughness that had
marked the progress of her search for her father's claim, and had
impelled her to return to the false claim and procure the notice, and
that very morning had prompted her to ride against the slender chance
of Vil Holland's meeting with a mishap, impelled her now to read for
herself the entry of her father's strike.

The register shoved his black skull-cap a trifle back upon his shiny
head, adjusted his thick eyeglasses, and smiled into the face of the
girl. "Things must be looking up out in the hills," he hazarded.
"You're the second one to-day and it ain't noon yet."

"I presume Mr. Holland has been here."

"Yes, Vil come in. I guess he's around somewheres. He----"

"Relinquished one claim and filed another?"

"That's just what he done."

Patty nodded wearily. She was gamely trying to appear disinterested.

"Did you want to file?" asked the man, whirling a large book about,
and pushing it toward her. "Just enter your description there, an'
fill out the application fer a patent, an' file your field notes, and
plat."

The girl's glance strayed listlessly over the adjoining page, her eyes
mechanically taking in the words. Suddenly, she became intensely
alert. She leaned over the book and reread with feverish interest the
written description. The location was filed in Vil Holland's
name--but, _the description was not of her claim_!

"Where--where is this claim?" she gasped.

The old register turned the book and very deliberately proceeded to
read the description. In her nervous excitement Patty felt that she
must scream, and her fingers clutched the counter edge until the
knuckles whitened. Finally the man looked up. "That must be somewheres
over on the Blackfoot side," he announced. "Must be Vil's figuring on
pulling over there. Too bad we won't be seeing him much no more." He
swung the book back, as the import of his words dawned upon the girl
she leaned weakly against the counter.

"Ain't you feeling well?" asked the old man, eying her with concern.