"'The lone horseman riding into the purple dusk,' à la the sensational
novelist," chuckled Jennie Stone. "Who do you suppose that was, Min?"
"Dunno," declared the Yucca girl. But it was plain she was somewhat
disturbed by the appearance of the horseman. And so was Flapjack.
They whispered together over their own fire, and Flapjack warned Tom
Cameron to be sure that his automatic was well oiled and that he kept it
handy during his turn at watching the camp that night.
Morning came, however, without anything more threatening than the almost
continuous howling of a coyote.
Ruth, who wandered about a little by herself the second day at
Freezeout, saw Flapjack go over to the ridge where they had seen the
lone horseman. He came back, shaking his head.
"Who was the man, Mr. Peters?" she asked him curiously.
"Dunno, Miss. He ain't projectin' around here now, that's sure. His pony
done took him away from there on a gallop. But there ain't many single
men that's honest hoverin' about these parts."
"What do you mean?" asked the surprised Ruth. "That only married men are
to be trusted in Arizona?"
He grinned at her. "You're some joker, Miss," he replied. Then, seeing
that the girl was genuinely puzzled, he added: "I mean that 'nless a
man's got something to be 'fraid of, he usually has a partner in these
regions. 'Tain't healthy to prospect round alone. Something might happen
to you--rock fall on you, or you git took sick, and then there ain't
nobody to do for you, or for to ride for the doctor."
"Oh!"
"Men that's bein' chased by the sheriff, on t'other hand," went on
Flapjack, frankly, "sometimes prefers to be alone. You git me?"
"I understand," admitted the girl of the Red Mill. "But don't let Miss
Cullam hear you say it. She will be determined to start back for the
railroad at once, if you do."
Flapjack promised to say nothing to disturb the rest of the party, and
Ruth knew she could trust Min's good judgment. But she began to worry in
her own mind about who the strange horseman could be, and about his
business near Freezeout Camp. She naturally connected the unknown with
the traces she had seen of recent placer washings and with the campfire
the ashes of which had been warm when her party arrived.
With these suspicions, those that had centered about Edith Phelps in
Ruth's mind, began to be connected. She could not explain it. It did not
seem possible that the Ardmore sophomore could have any real interest in
the making of this picture of "The Forty-Niners." Yet, why had Edith
come into the Hualapai Range?
Why Edith had kept Ann Hicks from meeting her friends as soon as they
arrived at Yucca was more easily understood. Edith wished to get ahead
of Ruth's party on the trail without her presence in Arizona being known
to the freshman party.
But why, _why_ had she come? The perplexing question returned to Ruth
Fielding's mind time and again.
And the man who had met Edith and with whom she had presumably ridden
away from Handy Gulch--who could _he_ be? Had the two come to Freezeout
Camp, and were they lingering about the vicinity now? Was the stranger
on horseback revealed against the skyline the evening before, Edith
Phelps' comrade?
"If I take any of the girls into my confidence about this," thought
Ruth, "it will not long be a secret. Perhaps, too, I might frighten them
needlessly. Surely Edith, and whoever she is with, cannot mean us any
real harm. Better keep still and see what comes of it."
It bothered her, however. And it coaxed her mind away from the important
matter of the scenario. However, she was doing pretty well with that and
Rebecca had several scenes of the first two episodes ready for Mr.
Hammond.
That afternoon, while she was absorbed in sketching out the third
episode of her scenario, and Rebecca was beating the typewriter keys in
busy staccato, Helen came running from the far end of the camp and burst
into the sanctum sanctorum in wild disorder.
"What do you mean?" demanded her chum, almost angry at Helen's
thoughtlessness. "Don't you know that I am supposed to be 'dead to the
world'?"
"Oh, Ruthie, forgive me! But I had to tell you at once. There's a
strange woman about the camp. Miss Cullam and I both saw her."
"A strange woman!" repeated Ruth. "I'm sure Miss Cullam didn't send you
hotfoot to tell me."
"No-o. But I had to tell you--I just _had_ to," Helen declared. "Don't be
mean, Ruthie. Do take an interest in something besides your old movie
picture."
"Why, I am interested," admitted Ruth. "But who is this strange woman?"
"Goodness!" exclaimed Helen. "That's just what's the matter. We don't
know. We didn't see her face. She had a big shawl--or a Navajo
blanket--around her."
"An Indian squaw!" exclaimed Rebecca who could not help hearing. "I'd
like to see one myself."
"We-ell, maybe she was an Indian squaw," admitted Helen, slowly. "But
why did she run from us?"
"Afraid of you," chuckled Ruth. "I expect to the eyes of the untutored
savage you and Miss Cullam looked perfectly awful."
"Now, Ruth!"
"But why bring your conundrums to me--just when I am busiest, too?"
"Well, I never! I thought you might be interested," sniffed Helen.
"I am, dear. But don't you see that your news is so--er--_sketchy?_ I
might be perfectly enthralled about this Indian squaw if I really met
her. Capture her and bring her into camp."
Helen went off rather offended. As it happened, it was Ruth herself who
was destined to learn more about the mysterious woman, as well as the
lone horseman. But much happened before that.
Before the end of the week Mr. Hammond rode into Freezeout with a
nondescript outfit, including a dozen workmen prepared to put the old
camp into shape for the making of the great film.
The old camp became a busy place immediately. Flapjack Peters "came out
strong," as his daughter expressed it, at this juncture. His memory of
old times at these very diggings and at similar mines proved to be keen,
and he became a valuable aid to Mr. Hammond.
Four days later the wagons appeared and the girls got their trunks. That
very night there was a "regular party" in one of the old saloons and
dancehalls that chanced, even after all these years, to be habitable.
One of the teamsters had brought his fiddle, and at the prospect of a
dance, even with the paucity of men, the Ardmore girls were delighted.
But, to tell the truth, the "party" was arranged more for the sake of
Min Peters than for aught else.
"She's got to get used to wearing fit clothes before those movie people
come," Ann Hicks said firmly. "You leave it to me, girls. I know how to
coax her on."
And Ann proved the truth of her statement. Not that Min was not eager to
see herself "all dolled up," as Jennie called it, in one of the two big
mirrors the wagons had brought along for use in the actresses' dressing
cabins. But she was fiercely independent, and to suggest that she accept
the college girls' frocks and furbelows as gifts would have angered her.
But Ann induced her to "borrow" the things needed, and from the trunks
of all were obtained the articles necessary to make Min Peters appear at
the party as well dressed as any girl need be. Nor was she so awkward as
some had feared.
"And pretty was no name for it."
"See there!" cried Helen, under her breath, to her chum. "The girl is
cutting you out, Ruth, with old Tommy-boy. He's asked her to dance."
Ruth only smiled at this. She had put Tom up to that herself, for she
learned from Ann that the Yucca girl knew how to dance.
"Of course she can. There is scarcely a girl in the West who doesn't
dance. Goodness, Ruthie! don't you remember how crazy they were for
dancing around Silver Ranch, and the fun we had at the schoolhouse dance
at The Crossing? Maybe we ain't on to all those new foxtrots and tangos;
but we can _dance_."
So it proved with Min. She flushed deeply when Tom asked her, and she
hesitated. Then, seeing the other girls whirling about the floor, two
and two, the temptation to "show 'em" was too much. She accepted Tom's
invitation and the young fellow admitted afterward that he had danced
with "a lot worse girls back East."
Before the evening was over, Min was supremely happy. And perhaps the
effect on her father was quite as important as upon Min herself. For the
first time in her life he saw his daughter in the garb of girls of her
age--saw her as she should be.
"By mighty!" the man muttered, staring at Min. "I don't git it--not
right. Is that sure 'nuff my girl?"
"You should be proud of her," said Mr. Hammond, who heard the old-timer
say this. "She deserves a lot from you, Peters. I understand she's been
your companion on all your prospecting trips since her mother died."
"That's right. She's been the old man's best friend. She's skookum. But
I had no idee she'd look like that when she was fussed up same's other
girls. She's been more like a boy to me."
"Well, she's no boy, you see," Mr. Hammond said dryly.
Out of the dance, however, Ruth gained her desire. She explained to Min
that she needed just her to make the motion picture complete. And Min,
bashfully enough but gratefully, agreed to act the part of the "lookout"
in the "palace of pleasure" afterward appearing in a girl's garb in the
hotel parlor.
Ruth was deep in her story now and could give attention to little else.
Mr. Grimes and the motion picture company would arrive in a week, and by
that time the several important buildings would be ready and the main
street of Freezeout appear as it had been when the placer diggings were
in full swing.
Something happened before the company arrived, however, which was of an
astounding nature. Ruth, riding with Helen and Jennie one afternoon east
of the camp, came upon the ridge where the lone horseman had been
observed. And here, overhanging the gorge, was a place where the quartz
ledge had been laid bare by pick and shovel.
"See that rock, girls? Look, how it sparkles!" said Helen. "Suppose it
should be a vein of gold?"
"Suppose it _is!_" cried Jennie, scrambling off her horse.
"'Fools' gold,' more likely, girls," Ruth said.
"What is that?" demanded Jennie.
"Pyrites. But we might take some samples and show them to Flapjack."
"Do you suppose that old fellow actually knows gold-bearing quartz when
he sees it?" asked Helen, in doubt.
They picked up several pieces of the broken rock, and that evening after
supper showed Peters and Min their booty. Flapjack actually turned pale
when he saw it.
"Where'd you git this, Miss?" he asked Ruth.
"Well, it isn't two miles from here," said the girl of the Red Mill.
"What do you think of it?"
"I think this here is a placer diggin's," said Peters, slowly. "But it's
sure that wherever there's placer there must be a rock-vein where the
gold washed off, or was ground off, ages and ages ago. D'you
understand?"
"Yes!" cried Helen, breathlessly.
"Oh! suppose we have found gold!" murmured Jennie, quite as excited as
Helen.
"The rock-vein ain't never been found around here," said Flapjack. "I
know, for I've hunted it myself. Both banks of the crick, up an' down,
have been s'arched----"
"But suppose this was found a good way from the stream?"
"Mebbe so," said the old prospector. "The crick might ha' shifted its
bed a dozen times since the glacier age. We don't know."
"But how shall we find out if this rock is any good?" asked Jennie,
eagerly.
"Mr. Hammond's goin' to send a man out to Handy Gulch with mail
to-morrow," said the prospector. "He'll send these samples to the
assayer there. He'll send back word whether it's good for anything or
not. But I tell you right now, ladies. If I'm any jedge at all, that
ore'll assay a hundred an' fifty dollars to the ton--or nothin'."