anythin'. It 'might have'--but,
somehow, things don't work out that way. The only thing that counts
is, it didn't."

Out on the trail they met Watts riding toward town. "Wher's Microby?"
he asked, addressing Patty.

"Microby! I haven't seen Microby since early this morning. She was
riding down a coulee not far from Vil's camp."

"Didn't yo' send for her?"

"I certainly did not!"

The man's hand fumbled at his beard. "Bethune was along last evenin'
an' hed a talk with her, an' then he done tol' Ma yo' wanted Microby
should come up to yo' place, come daylight. When I heern it, I
mistrusted yo' wouldn't hev no truck with Bethune, so after I done the
chores, I rode up ther'. They wasn't no one to hum." The simple-minded
man looked worried. "Bethune, he could do anything he wants with her.
She thinks he's grand--but, I know different. Then I met up with Lord
Clendennin' in the canyon, an' he tol' me how Bethune wus headin' fer
Canady. He said, had I lost anythin'. An' I said 'no,' an' he laffed
an' says he guess that's right."

As Vil Holland listened, his eyes hardened, and at the conclusion,
something very like an oath ground from his lips. Patty glanced at him
in surprise--never before had she seen him out of poise.

"You go back home," he advised Watts, in a kindly tone, "to the wife
and the kids. I'll find Microby for you!"

When the man had passed from sight into the dip of a coulee, Vil
leaned over and, drawing his wife close to his breast, kissed her lips
again and again. "It's too bad, little girl, that our honeymoon's got
to be broke into this way, but you remember I told you once that if I
won you'd have to be satisfied with what you got. You didn't know what
I meant, then, but you know, now--an' I'm goin' to win again! I'm
goin' to find that child! The poor little fool!" Patty saw that his
eyes were flashing, and his voice sounded hard:

"You ride back to town and tell Len to get his white goods together
an' ride back with you to Watts's. There's goin' to be a funeral--or
better yet, a weddin' _an'_ a funeral in it for him by this time
to-morrow, or my name ain't Vil Holland!" And then, abruptly, he
turned and rode into the North.

A wild impulse to overtake him and dissuade him from his purpose took
possession of the girl. But the thought of Microby in the power of
Bethune, and of the sorrowing face of poor Watts stayed her. She saw
her husband hitch his belt forward and swiftly look to his six-gun