The McClintocks decided after all not to put in a freight outfit to Piodie. The Dodsons beat them to it by putting in a large number of wagons as adjuncts to the stages they ran from Carson. From Hugh’s partners word came at intervals of the progress made in sinking the shaft of the Ground Hog, which was the name they had given the mine. These messages reflected Budd’s enthusiasm. The postscript of each of them, whether it came in the form of a letter or a word-of-mouth greeting, was to the effect that he expected to strike the ledge now at any time. He wrote in one note: Bald Knob is sure looking up. Ralph Dodson has done made some locations above us, and two lads from American Flat of the name of Jenson have staked out a claim just below us down the hill. They’re running a tunnel in from the hillside. Well, Kid, look out for news of a big strike soon. We’re sure right close to the vein, looks like. Hugh smiled when he read it. Budd had been on the verge of a discovery so many times that his non-resident partner discounted the prophecy. There was no use in building up hopes that would probably never be realized. In another letter the fat man mentioned a second piece of news. “Our schoolmarm here, Miss Victoria Lowell, has begun scratching dirt right lively on that claim you staked out for her. She has got a Swede on the job, but she has been out ’most every Saturday to see how tricks are. I notice Ralph Dodson has been mighty attentive to her. _You better drift over, Kid, and do your assessment work on that claim if you aim to get it patented in your name._ Me, if I was a high-stepping colt like you, I’ll be doggoned if I’d let that smooth guy Dodson jump as rich a prospect as the Little Schoolmarm.” This time Hugh did not smile. Budd, of course, was on the wrong track. He had leaped to the conclusion that Hugh was in love with the girl because he had staked a claim for her, and in his blunt blundering way he was giving his friend a tip. McClintock was troubled. He profoundly distrusted Ralph Dodson, had disliked him from the first moment when their eyes met. The fellow was a ravening wolf if he had ever seen one. But he was handsome, well-dressed, the kind of man who is like wildfire among women. He probably knew how to make love amazingly well. And Vicky—impetuous, imperious little Vicky of the brave heart and generous instincts—was just the girl to yield to the glamour of his charm. He could see now her flashing face, finely cut like a rare brilliant, full of fire and high lights. She had better be dead than the wife of Ralph Dodson. The thing worried him. It would not let him alone. At work and in his leisure hours he thought of the girl with keen-edged anxiety. His imagination began to play him tricks. At dusk, as he walked to his room, he would see her filmily in front of him, moving like sweet music toward the open arms of Dodson. Once she turned and gave Hugh her cryptic, tantalizing smile.