"Into the hills," she answered, "in search of my father's lost mine." The man's expression became suddenly grave: "Do you know, Miss Sinclair, I hate to think of your riding these hills alone." Patty glanced at him in surprise: "Why?" "There are several reasons. For instance, one never knows what will happen--a misstep on a dangerous trail--a broken cinch--any one of a hundred things may happen in the wilds that mean death or serious injury, even to the initiated. And the danger is tenfold in the case of a tender-foot." The girl laughed: "Thank you. But, if anything is going to happen, it's going to happen. At least, I am in no danger from being run down by a street car or an automobile. And I can't be blown up by a gas explosion, or fall into a coal hole." "But there are other dangers," persisted the man. "A woman, alone in the hills--especially you." "Why 'especially me'? Plenty of women have lived alone before in places more dangerous than this, and have gotten along very well, too. You men are conceited. You think there can be no possible safety unless members of your own sex are at the helm of every undertaking or enterprise. But you are wrong." Bethune shook his head: "But I have reason to believe that there is at least one person in these hills who believes you possess the secret of your father's strike--and who would stop at nothing to obtain that secret." "I suppose you mean Vil Holland. I agree that he does seem to take more than a passing interest in my comings and goings. But he doesn't seem very fierce. Anyhow, I am not in the least afraid of him." "What do you mean that he seems to take an interest in your comings and goings?" The question seemed a bit eager. "Surely he has not been following you!" "Hasn't he? Then possibly you can tell me who has?" "The scoundrel! And when you discover the lode he'll wait 'til you have set your stakes and posted your notice, and have gotten out of sight, and then he'll drive in his own stakes, stick up his own notice beside them and beat you to the register." Patty laughed: "Race me, you mean. He won't beat me. Remember, I shall have at least a half-hour's start." "A half-hour!" exclaimed Bethune. "And what is a half-hour in a fifty-mile race against that buckskin. Why, my dear girl, with all due respect for that horse of yours, Vil Holland's horse could give you two hours' start and beat you to the railroad." "Maybe," smiled the girl. "But he's going to have to do it--that is, if I ever locate the lode." "Ah, that is the point, exactly. It is that that brings me here. Not that alone," he hastened to add. "For I would ride far any day to spend a few moments with so charming a lady--and indeed, I should not have delayed my visit this long but for some urgent business to the northward. At all events, I'm here, and here I shall stay until, together, we have solved our mystery of the hills."