The girl glanced into the face alight with boyish enthusiasm, and felt
irresistibly impelled to take this man into her confidence--to enlist
his help in the working out of her unintelligible map, and to admit
him to full partnership in her undertaking. There would be enough for
both if they succeeded in uncovering the lode. Her father had
intended that he should share in his mine. She recalled his eulogy of
her father, and his frank admission that there had been no agreement
of partnership. If anyone ever had the appearance of perfect sincerity
and candor this man had. She remembered her seriously depleted bank
account. Bethune had money, and in case the search should prove
long--Suddenly the words of Vil Holland flashed into her brain with
startling abruptness: "Remember yer dad knew enough to play a lone
hand." And again. "Did yer dad tell you about this partnership?" And
the significant emphasis he placed upon the "Oh," when she had
answered in the negative.
Bethune evidently had taken her silence for assent. He was speaking
again: "The first thing to do is to find the starting point on the map
and work it out step by step, then when we locate the lode, you and
Clen and I will file the first three claims, and we'll file all the
Wattses on the adjoining claims. That will give us absolute control of
a big block of what is probably a most valuable property."
Again Bethune had referred directly to the map which she had never
admitted she possessed. He had not said, "If you have a map." The
man's assumption angered her: "You still persist in assuming that I
have a map," she answered. "As a matter of fact, I'm depending
entirely upon a photograph. I am riding blindly through the hills
trying to find the spot that tallies with the picture."
Bethune frowned and shook his head doubtfully: "You might ride the
hills for years, and pass the spot a dozen times and never recognize
it. If you do not happen to strike the exact view-point you might
easily fail to recognize it. Then, too, the landscape changes with the
seasons of the year. However," his face brightened and the smile
returned to his lips; "we have at least something to go on. We are not
absolutely in the dark. Who knows? If the goddess of luck sits upon
our shoulders, I myself may know the place well--may recognize it
instantly! For years I have ridden these hills and I flatter myself
that no one knows their hidden nooks and byways better than I. Even if
I should not know the exact spot, it may be that I can tell by the
general features its approximate locality, and thus limit our search
to a comparatively small area."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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