"I took No. 200 to the northern half of No. 210."

"Why?" she asked, surprised.

"Because," he said, reddening, "my calculations tell me that this gives me ample margin."

She looked at him in calm disapproval, shaking her head; but her blue eyes softened.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You have miscalculated, Mr. White. The spot lies somewhere within the plot numbered from half of 210 to 220."

"I am very much afraid that _you_ have miscalculated, Miss Sandys. I did not even attempt to purchase your plot--except half of 210."

"Nor did I even consider _your_ plot, Mr. White," she said sorrowfully, "and I had my choice. Really I am very sorry for you, but you have made a complete miscalculation."

"I don't see how I could. I worked it out from the Valdez map."

"So did I."

She had the volume under her arm; he had his in his pocket.

"Let me show you," he began, drawing it out and opening it. "Would you mind looking at the map for a moment?"

Her dainty head a trifle on one side, she looked over his shoulder as he unfolded the map for her.

"Here," he said, plucking a dead gra.s.s stem and tracing the Causeway on the map, "here lie my lots--including, as you see, the spot marked by Valdez with a Maltese cross.... I'm sorry; but how in the world could you have made your mistake?"

He turned to glance at the girl and saw her amazement and misunderstood it.

"It's too bad," he added, feeling profoundly sorry for her.

"Do you know," she said in a voice quivering with emotion, "that a very terrible thing has happened to us?"

"To _us_?"

"To _both_ of us. I--we--oh, please look at my map! It is--it is different from yours!"

With nervous fingers she opened the book, spread out the map, and held it under his horrified eyes.

"Do you see!" she exclaimed. "According to _this_ map, my lots include the Maltese cross of Valdez! I--I--p-please excuse me----" She turned abruptly and entered her tent; but he had caught the glimmer of sudden tears in her eyes and had seen the pitiful lips trembling.

On his own account he was sufficiently scared; now it flashed upon him that this plucky young thing had probably spent her last penny on the chance that Bangs had told the truth about "The Journal of Pedro Valdez."

That the two maps differed was a staggering blow to him; and his knees seemed rather weak at the moment, so he sat down on his unpacked tent and dropped his face in his palms.

Lord, what a mess! His last cent was invested; hers, too, no doubt. He hadn't even railroad fare North. Probably she hadn't either.

He had gambled and lost. There was scarcely a chance that he had not lost. And the same fearful odds were against her.

"The poor little thing!" he muttered, staring at her tent. And after a moment he sprang to his feet and walked over to it. The flap was open; she sat inside on a camp-chair, her red head in her arms, doubled over in an att.i.tude of tragic despair.

"Miss Sandys?"

She looked up hastily, the quick colour dyeing her pale cheeks, her long, black lashes glimmering with tears.

"Do you mind talking it over with me?" he asked.

"N-no."

"May I come in?"

"P-please."

He seated himself cross-legged on the threshold.

"There's only one thing to do," he said, "and that is to go ahead. We must go ahead. Of course the hazard is against us. Let us face the chance that Bangs was only a clever romancer. Well, we've already discounted that. Then let us face the discrepancy in our two maps. It's bad, I'll admit. It almost knocks the last atom of confidence out of me.

It has floored you. But you must not take the count. You must get up."

He paused, looking around him with troubled eyes; then somehow the sight of her pathetic figure--the soft, helpless youth of her--suddenly seemed to prop up his back-bone.

"Miss Sandys, I am going to stand by you anyway! I suppose, like myself, you have invested your last dollar in this business?"

"Y-yes."

He glanced at the pick, shovel and spade in the corner of her tent, then at her hands.

"Who," he asked politely, "was going to wield these?"

She let her eyes rest on the ma.s.sive implements of honest toil, then looked confusedly at him.

"I was."

"Did you ever try to dig with any of these things?"

"N-no. But if I _had_ to do it I knew I could."

He said, pleasantly: "You have all kinds of courage. Did you bring a shot-gun?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how to load and fire it?"

"The clerk in the shop instructed me."

"You are the pluckiest girl I ever laid eyes on.... You camped here all alone last night, I suppose?"

"Yes."

"How about it?" he asked, smilingly. "Were you afraid?"