She crossed the trail for town and struck into a valley that should bring her out somewhere along the Watts fences. So engrossed was she in her thoughts that she failed to notice the horseman who slipped noiselessly into the scrub a quarter of a mile ahead. Slowly she rode up the valley: "If he comes to teach me how to shoot, I'll tell him that Mr. Samuelson wants to see him, and if he says any more about the cabin, or--or anything--I'll tell him he can choose between me and his jug. And, if he chooses the jug, and I don't find daddy's mine--it isn't long 'til school opens. I don't mind--he has to work to get his grub-stake, and so will I." Her horse snorted and shied violently, and when Patty recovered her seat it was to find her way blocked by a horseman who stood not ten feet in front of her and leered into her eyes. The horseman was Monk Bethune--a malignant, terrifying Bethune, as he sat regarding her with his sneering smile. The girl's first impulse was to turn and fly, but as if divining her thoughts, the man pushed nearer, and she saw that his eyes gleamed horribly between lids drawn to slits. Had he discovered that she had tricked him with a false claim? If not why the glare of hate and the sneering smile that told plainer than words that he had her completely in his power, and knew it. "So, my fine lady--we meet again! We have much to talk about--you and I. But, first, about the claim. You thought you were very wise with your lying about not having a map. You thought to save the whole loaf for yourself--you thought I was fool enough to believe you. If you had let me in, you would have had half--now you have nothing. The claim is all staked and filed, and the adjoining claims for a mile are staked with the stakes of my friends--and you have nothing! You were the fool! You couldn't have won against me. Failing in my story of partnership with your father, I had intended to marry you, and failing in that, I should have taken the map by force--for I knew you carried it with you. But I dislike violence when the end may be gained by other means, so I waited until, at last, happened the thing I knew would happen--you became careless. You left your precious map and photograph in plain sight upon your little table--and now you have nothing." So he had not discovered the deception, but, through accident or design, had seized this opportunity to gloat over her, and taunt her with her loss. His carefully assumed mask of suave courtliness had disappeared, and Patty realized that at last she was face to face with the real Bethune, a creature so degenerate that he boasted openly of having stolen her secret, as though the fact redounded greatly to his credit. A sudden rage seized her. She touched her horse with the spur: "Let me pass!" she demanded, her lips white.