Over on the Dry Side by Louis L’Amour

He was a man, she knew suddenly, who rarely smiled.
    â€œValue is a matter of personal attitude,” he said. “What is very valuable to one man may be utterly useless to another. Your outfit thinks it must be gems or gold.”
    â€œYou don’t?”
    â€œLook,” he said quietly, “none of us can know for sure. My brother was a man of letters, an explorer, a scholar, a man of inquisitive mind. To him, the most valuable thing would be a book, an ancient manuscript, a clue to some historical revelation.”
    â€œA book! Just think of that!” She was amazed. She stared at him. “Why, those men out there would go mad with disgust! They’d never believe it. They’d never accept it. All this effort for something not made of gold?”
    â€œThey have a faith,” he said. “They’re believers, the men of your family. They live with that one idea in mind—to find a treasure that probably doesn’t exist. But you could never convince them of its nonexistence.”
    â€œYou truly don’t believe there’s gold?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWe’ll have to drink from the same cup,” she said.
    â€œCharming!” He smiled again. “It will be a privilege.”
    She indicated the flowers in one of the pots. “Did you leave those?”
    â€œNo. I thought you put them there.” Suddenly he chuckled. “Doby…I’ll bet it was Doby.”
    â€œHe must be the young man living with his father in Clive’s house below. I’ve seen them from here.”
    â€œThat’s right. He’s Kernohan’s son…They’ve moved in on Clive’s place. Doby’s the one who whipped one of your boys.”
    She made a face. “That was Wiley. I never liked him. Nor Ollie Fenelon, either.”
    â€œAre they kin of yours?”
    â€œWiley isn’t.”
    â€œI think Doby’s dreaming about you,” Chantry said. “He found this place, and he wasn’t at all happy I was coming up here. He wants you left alone.”
    â€œI believe I like Doby.”
    â€œHe’s sixteen, and lonesome. I know how he’s feeling because I’ve felt it myself. I used to dream about a golden-haired princess I could rescue from all kinds of danger.”
    â€œBut you don’t anymore?”
    He smiled, looking across the room into her eyes. “A man never stops dreaming. I like Doby. He’s a good lad. He’s got a father who works hard even when the odds are against him.”
    She refilled the cup and handed it to him. “They’ll kill you, you know, all those men. There are too many of them.”
    â€œWe all must die. Sooner or later. But I don’t think I’ll make it easy for them. How many are there?”
    â€œFifteen to twenty. Some of them come and go.”
    â€œWhere do you fit in?”
    â€œMac Mowatt is my stepfather. My mother is dead. I am Marny Fox…I am told our name was Shannach until the English made us change it.”
    â€œThey’re a bad lot out there, you know.”
    â€œSome of them are bad,” she spoke with heat, “and some of them are not. Some are simply loyal to Mac Mowatt. Oh, there’s bad ones among them, but Frank is fine. He’s Mac’s oldest son. If it hadn’t been for Frank…” She hestitated. “Frank is different. He’d prefer to be ranching somewhere. He’s a good man, a solid man, but he’s loyal to his father.…And he’s been like a father to me.”
    They sat silently then, listening to the soft rustle of the aspen leaves. Chantry emptied the cup and handed it back and Marny refilled it from the coffee-pot on the hearth. He knelt beside the fire and added a few sticks to the coals. The day was waning and she must leave soon.…There was always danger—the danger of discovery—if she stayed long.
    â€œIt’s damned foolishness,” he said irritably.