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diff --git a/31870-h/31870-h.htm b/31870-h/31870-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1201d27 --- /dev/null +++ b/31870-h/31870-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10847 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" > +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta name="generator" content="eppg.py 0.61 (21-Mar-2010)" /> + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Frances of the Ranges by Amy Bell Marlowe</title> + <style type="text/css"> + body {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%;} + p {margin-top:1ex; margin-bottom:0; text-align:justify;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size:x-small; text-align:right; text-indent:0; + position:absolute; right:2%; padding:1px 3px; font-style:normal; + font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration:none; + background-color:inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color:silver;} + h1,h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h1 {font-size:1.6em; margin-top:4ex; margin-bottom:2ex;} + h2 {font-size:1.4em; margin-top:4ex; margin-bottom:2ex;} + a {text-decoration:none;} + div.toc a {text-decoration:underline;} + div.loi a {text-decoration:underline;} + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none; border-top:thin dashed silver; clear:both;} + div.figcenter {text-align:center; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em;} + div.figcenter p {text-align:center;} + p.center {text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + p.caption {font-size:smaller;} + div.titlepage {} + div.titlepage p {text-align:center;} + .fs20 {font-size:2.0em;} + .mb20 {margin-bottom:20px;} + .fs14 {font-size:1.4em;} + .mb40 {margin-bottom:40px;} + .mb10 {margin-bottom:10px;} + .fs08 {font-size:0.8em;} + .mb100 {margin-bottom:100px;} + .fs12 {font-size:1.2em;} + .c {text-align:center;} + .sc {font-variant:small-caps;} + hr.hr15 {border:none;border-bottom:1px solid black; width:15%; text-align:center;} + .i {font-style:italic;} + table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; clear:both;} + td.tcol1 {text-align:right; padding-right:1ex; vertical-align:top;} + td.tcol2 {text-align:left; padding-right:2ex; font-variant:small-caps; vertical-align:top;} + td.tcol3 {text-align:right; vertical-align:bottom;} + td.center {text-align:center;} + td.fs12 {font-size:1.2em;} + td.fs08 {font-size:0.8em;} + td.tar {text-align:right;} + span.h2fs {font-size:smaller;} + .b {font-weight:bold;} + .mb00 {margin-bottom:00px;} + div.bquote {font-size:1.0em; margin:12px 5%;} + div.bquote p {text-indent:0em; margin-bottom:4px; margin-top:4px;} + .tar {text-align:right;} + .mr100 {margin-right:100px;} + .mt00 {margin-top:00px;} + hr.tb {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; margin-top:10px; margin-bottom:10px; text-align:center; width:40%;} + .mt20 {margin-top:20px;} + </style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Frances of the Ranges, by Amy Bell Marlowe + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Frances of the Ranges + The Old Ranchman's Treasure + +Author: Amy Bell Marlowe + +Release Date: April 3, 2010 [EBook #31870] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES OF THE RANGES *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.fadedpage.com + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a id='link_i1'></a><img src='images/ifpc.jpg' alt='' /> +<p class='center caption'> +FRANCES PULLED BACK ON MOLLY’S BRIDLE REINS. <i>Frontispiece</i> (<i>Page 125</i>). +</p> +</div> + +<hr class='pb' /> + +<div class='titlepage'> +<p class='fs20 mb20'>FRANCES OF THE<br />RANGES</p> +<p class='mb20'>OR</p> +<p class='fs14 mb40'>THE OLD RANCHMAN’S<br />TREASURE</p> +<p class='mb20'>BY</p> +<p class='fs14 mb10'>AMY BELL MARLOWE</p> +<p class='fs08 mb100'>AUTHOR OF<br />THE OLDEST OF FOUR, THE GIRLS OF HILLCREST<br />FARM, WYN’S CAMPING DAYS, ETC.</p> +<p class='mb20'>NEW YORK<br /> +<span class='fs12'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</span><br /> +PUBLISHERS</p> +<p class='fs08'>Made in the United States of America</p> +</div> + +<hr class='pb' /> + +<p class='c sc fs08'>Copyright, 1915, by</p> +<p class='c sc'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<hr class='hr15' /> +<p class='c i'>Frances of the Ranges</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> + +<table summary='TOC'> +<tr><td colspan='3' class='center fs12'>CONTENTS</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='3' class='center fs12'></td></tr> +<tr><td class='fs08'>CHAPTER</td><td colspan='2' class='tar fs08'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>I.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE ADVENTURE IN THE COULIE</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_1'>1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>II.</td><td class='tcol2'>“FRANCES OF THE RANGES”</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_2'>11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>III.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE OLD SPANISH CHEST</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_3'>19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>IV.</td><td class='tcol2'>WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_4'>34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>V.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE SHADOW IN THE COURT</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_5'>41</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>VI.</td><td class='tcol2'>A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_6'>49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>VII.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE STAMPEDE</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_7'>57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>VIII.</td><td class='tcol2'>IN PERIL AND OUT</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_8'>65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>IX.</td><td class='tcol2'>SURPRISING NEWS</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_9'>75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>X.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE MAN FROM BYLITTLE</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_10'>87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XI.</td><td class='tcol2'>FRANCES ACTS</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_11'>98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XII.</td><td class='tcol2'>MOLLY</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_12'>109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XIII.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE GIRL FROM BOSTON</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_13'>115</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XIV.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE CONTRAST</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_14'>125</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XV.</td><td class='tcol2'>IN THE FACE OF DANGER</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_15'>131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XVI.</td><td class='tcol2'>A FRIEND INSISTENT</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_16'>140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XVII.</td><td class='tcol2'>AN ACCIDENT</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_17'>151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XVIII.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE WAVE OF FLAME</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_18'>160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XIX.</td><td class='tcol2'>MOST ASTONISHING!</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_19'>171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XX.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE BOSTON GIRL AGAIN</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_20'>182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXI.</td><td class='tcol2'>IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_21'>192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXII.</td><td class='tcol2'>WHAT PRATT THOUGHT</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_22'>204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXIII.</td><td class='tcol2'>A GAME OF PUSS IN THE CORNER</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_23'>212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXIV.</td><td class='tcol2'>A GOOD DEAL OF EXCITEMENT</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_24'>223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXV.</td><td class='tcol2'>A PLOT THAT FAILED</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_25'>229</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXVI.</td><td class='tcol2'>FRANCES IN SOFTER MOOD</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_26'>242</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXVII.</td><td class='tcol2'>A DINNER DANCE IN PROSPECT</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_27'>253</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXVIII.</td><td class='tcol2'>THE BURSTING OF THE CHRYSALIS</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_28'>271</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXIX.</td><td class='tcol2'>“THE PANHANDLE–PAST AND PRESENT”</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_29'>283</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tcol1'>XXX.</td><td class='tcol2'>A REUNION</td><td class='tcol3'><a href='#link_30'>295</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class='pb' /> + +<h1>FRANCES OF THE RANGES</h1> + +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1'></a>1</span><a id='link_1'></a>CHAPTER I<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE ADVENTURE IN THE COULIE</span></h2> + +<p>The report of a bird gun made the single rider +in sight upon the short-grassed plain pull in her +pinto and gaze westerly toward the setting sun, +now going down in a field of golden glory.</p> + +<p>The pinto stood like a statue, and its rider +seemed a part of the steed, so well did she sit in +her saddle. She gazed steadily under her hand–gazed +and listened.</p> + +<p>Finally, she murmured: “That’s the snarl of a +lion–sure. Get up, Molly!”</p> + +<p>The pinto sprang forward. There was a deep +coulie ahead, with a low range of grass-covered +hills beyond. Through those hills the lions often +came down onto the grazing plains. It was behind +these hills that the sun was going down, for the +hour was early.</p> + +<p>As she rode, the girl loosened the gun she carried +in the holster slung at her hip. On her saddle +horn was coiled a hair rope.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2'></a>2</span>She was dressed in olive green–her blouse, +open at the throat, divided skirts, leggings, and +broad-brimmed hat of one hue. Two thick plaits +of sunburned brown hair hung over her shoulders, +and to her waist. Her grey eyes were keen and +rather solemn. Although the girl on the pinto +could not have been far from sixteen, her face +seemed to express a serious mind.</p> + +<p>The scream of that bane of the cattlemen–the +mountain lion–rang out from the coulie again. +The girl clapped her tiny spurs against the pinto’s +flanks, and that little animal doubled her pace. In +a minute they were at the head of the slope and the +girl could see down into the coulie, where low mesquite +shrubs masked the bottom and the little +spring that bubbled there.</p> + +<p>Something was going on down in the coulie. +The bushes waved; something rose and fell in their +midst like a flail. There was a voice other than +that of the raucous tones of the lion, and which +squalled almost as loudly!</p> + +<p>A little to one side of the shrubs stood a quivering +grey pony, its ears pointed toward the rumpus +in the shrubs, blowing and snorting. The rider +of that empty saddle was plainly in trouble with +the snarling lion.</p> + +<p>The cattlemen of the Panhandle looked upon +the lion as they did upon the coyote–save that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3'></a>3</span> +the former did more damage to the herds. Roping +the lion, or shooting it with the pistol, was a general +sport. But caught in a corner, the beast–unlike +the coyote–would fight desperately. Whoever +had attacked this one had taken on a larger +contract than he could handle. That was plain.</p> + +<p>Urged by the girl the pinto went down the slope +of the hollow on a keen run. At the bottom she +snorted and swerved from the mesquite clump. +The smell of the lion was strong in Molly’s +nostrils.</p> + +<p>“Stand still, Molly!” commanded the girl, and +was out of the saddle with an ease that seemed +phenomenal. She ran straight toward the thrashing +bushes, pistol in hand.</p> + +<p>The lion leaped, and the person who had been +beating it off with the shotgun was borne down +under the attack. Once those sabre-sharp claws got +to work, the victim of the lion’s charge would be +viciously torn.</p> + +<p>The girl saw the gun fly out of his hands. The +lion was too close upon its prey for her to use the +pistol. She slipped the weapon back into its holster +and picked up the shotgun. Plunging through +the bushes she swung the gun and knocked the +beast aside from its prey. The blow showed the +power in her young arms and shoulders. The +lion rolled over and over, half stunned.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4'></a>4</span>“Quick!” she advised the victim of the lion’s +attack. “He’ll be back at us.”</p> + +<p>Indeed, scarcely had she spoken when the brute +scrambled to its feet. The girl shouldered the +gun and pulled the other trigger as the beast +leaped.</p> + +<p>There was no report. Either there was no shell +in that barrel, or something had fouled the trigger. +The lion, all four paws spread, and each claw displayed, +sailed through the air like a bat, or a flying +squirrel. Its jaws were wide open, its teeth bared, +and the screech it emitted was, in truth, a terrifying +sound.</p> + +<p>The girl realized that the original victim of the +lion’s attack was scrambling to his feet. She +dropped to her knee and kept the muzzle of the +gun pointed directly for the beast’s breast. The +empty gun was her only defense in that perilous +moment.</p> + +<p>“Grab my gun! Here in the holster!” she +panted.</p> + +<p>The lion struck against the muzzle of the shotgun, +and the girl–in spite of the braced position +she had taken–was thrown backward to the +ground. As she fell the pistol was drawn from its +holster.</p> + +<p>The empty shotgun had saved her from coming +into the embrace of the angry lion, for while she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5'></a>5</span> +fell one way, the animal went another. Then +came three shots in rapid succession.</p> + +<p>She scrambled to her feet, half laughing, and +dusting the palms of her gantlets. The lion was +lying a dozen yards away, while the victim of its +attack stood near, the blue smoke curling from the +revolver.</p> + +<p>“My goodness!”</p> + +<p>After the excitement was all over that exclamation +from the girl seemed unnecessary. But the fact +that startled her was, that it was not a man at all +to whose aid she had come. He was a youth little +older than herself.</p> + +<p>“I say!” this young man exclaimed. “That +was plucky of you, Miss–awfully plucky, don’t +you know! That creature would have torn me +badly in another minute.”</p> + +<p>The girl nodded, but seemed suddenly dumb. +She was watching the youth keenly from under +the longest, silkiest lashes, it seemed to Pratt +Sanderson, he had ever seen.</p> + +<p>“I hope you’re not hurt?” he said, shyly, extending +the pistol toward the girl. She stood with +her hands upon her hips, panting a little, and with +plenty of color in her brown cheeks.</p> + +<p>“How about you?” she asked, shortly.</p> + +<p>It was true the young man appeared much the +worse for the encounter. In the first place, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6'></a>6</span> +stood upon one foot, a good deal like a crane, for +his left ankle had twisted when he fell. His left +arm, too, was wrenched, and he felt a tingling +sensation all through the member, from the shoulder +to the tips of his fingers.</p> + +<p>Beside, his sleeve was ripped its entire length, +and the lion’s claws had cut deep into his arm. +The breast of his shirt was in strips.</p> + +<p>“I say! I’m hurt, worse than I thought, eh?” +he said, a little uncertainly. He wavered a +moment on his sound foot, and then sank slowly +to the grass.</p> + +<p>“Wait! Don’t let yourself go!” exclaimed +the girl, getting into quick action. “It isn’t so +bad.”</p> + +<p>She ran for the leather water-bottle that hung +from her saddle. Molly had stood through the +trouble without moving. Now the girl filled the +bottle at the spring.</p> + +<p>Pratt Sanderson was lying back on his elbows, +and the white lids were lowered over his black eyes.</p> + +<p>The treatment the range girl gave him was +rather rough, but extremely efficacious. She +dashed half the contents of the bottle into his face, +and he sat up, gasping and choking. She tore +away his tattered shirt in a most matter-of-fact +manner and began to bathe the scratches on his +chest with her kerchief (quickly unknotted from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7'></a>7</span> +around her throat), which she had saturated with +water. Fortunately, the wounds were not very +deep, after all.</p> + +<p>“You–you must think me a silly sort of +chap,” he gasped. “Foolish to keel over like +this―”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t been used to seeing blood,” the +girl observed. “That makes a difference. I’ve +been binding up the boys’ cuts and bruises all my +life. Never was such a place as the old Bar-T for +folks getting hurt.”</p> + +<p>“Bar-T?” ejaculated the young man, with sudden +interest. “Then you must be Miss Rugley, +Captain Dan Rugley’s daughter?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said the girl, quietly. “Captain +Rugley is my father.”</p> + +<p>“And you’re going to put on that very clever +spectacle at the Jackleg schoolhouse next month? +I’ve heard all about it–and what you have done +toward making it what Bill Edwards calls a howling +success. I’m stopping with Bill. Mrs. +Edwards is my mother’s friend, and I’m the +advance guard of a lot of Amarillo people who +are coming out to the Edwardses just to see your +‘Pageant of the Panhandle.’ Bill and his wife +are no end enthusiastic about it.”</p> + +<p>The deeper color had gradually faded out of +the girl’s cheeks. She was cool enough now; but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8'></a>8</span> +she kept her eyes lowered, just the same. He +would have liked to see their expression once more. +There had been a startled look in their grey depths +when first she glanced at him.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid they make too much of my part +in the affair,” said she, quietly. “I am only one +of the committee―”</p> + +<p>“But they say you wrote it all,” the young fellow +interposed, eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Oh–<i>that</i>! It happened to be easy for me to +do so. I have always been deeply interested in the +Panhandle–‘The Great American Desert’ as the +old geographies used to call all this great Middle +West, of Kansas, Nebraska, the Indian Territory, +and Upper Texas.</p> + +<p>“My father crossed it among the first white +men from the Eastern States. He came back here +to settle–long before I was born, of course–when +a plow had never been sunk in these range +lands. He belongs to the old cattle régime. He +wouldn’t hear until lately of putting wheat into +any of the Bar-T acres.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, well, by all accounts he is one of the few +men who still know how to make money out of +cows,” laughed Pratt Sanderson. “Thank you, +Miss Rugley. I can’t let you do anything more for +me―”</p> + +<p>“You are a long way from the Edwards’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9'></a>9</span> +place,” she said. “You’d better ride to the Bar-T +for the night. We will send a boy over there with +a message, if you think Mrs. Edwards will be +worried.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I’d better do as you say,” he said, +rather ruefully. “Mrs. Edwards <i>will</i> be worried +about my absence over supper time. She says I’m +such a tenderfoot.”</p> + +<p>For a moment a twinkle came into the veiled +grey eyes; the new expression illumined the girl’s +face like a flash of sunlight across the shadowed +field.</p> + +<p>“You rather back up her opinion when you +tackle a lion with nothing but birdshot–and one +barrel of your gun fouled in the bargain,” she +said. “Don’t you think so?”</p> + +<p>“But I killed it with a revolver!” exclaimed +the young fellow, struggling to his feet again.</p> + +<p>“That pistol throws a good-sized bullet,” said +the ranchman’s daughter, smiling. “But I’d never +think of picking a quarrel with a lion unless I had +a good rope, or something that threw heavier lead +than birdshot.”</p> + +<p>He looked at her, standing there in the after-glow +of the sunset, with honest admiration in his +eyes.</p> + +<p>“I <i>am</i> a tenderfoot, I guess,” he admitted. +“And you were not scared for a single moment!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10'></a>10</span>“Oh, yes, I was,” and Frances Rugley’s laugh +was low and musical. “But it was all over so +quickly that the scare didn’t have a chance to show. +Come on! I’ll catch your pony, and we’ll make +the Bar-T before supper time.”</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span><a id='link_2'></a>CHAPTER II<br /><span class='h2fs'>“FRANCES OF THE RANGES”</span></h2> + +<p>The grey was a well-trained cow-pony, for +the Edwards’ ranch was one of the latest in that +section of the Panhandle to change from cattle to +wheat raising. A part of its range had not as yet +been plowed, and Bill Edwards still had a corral +full of good riding stock.</p> + +<p>Pratt Sanderson got into his saddle without +much trouble and the girl whistled for Molly.</p> + +<p>“I’ll throw that lion over my saddle,” she said. +“Molly won’t mind it much–especially if you +hold her bridle with her head up-wind.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Miss Rugley,” the young man returned. +“My name is Pratt Sanderson–I don’t +know that you know it.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Mr. Sanderson,” she repeated.</p> + +<p>“They don’t call me <i>that</i> much,” the young +fellow blurted out. “I answer easier to my first +name, you know–Pratt.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Pratt,” said the girl, frankly. “I +am Frances Rugley–Frances Durham Rugley.”</p> + +<p>She lifted the heavy lion easily, flung it across +Molly, and lashed it to the saddle; then she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span> +mounted in a hurry and the ponies started for the +ranch trail which Frances had been following +before she heard the report of the shotgun.</p> + +<p>The youth watched her narrowly as they rode +along through the dropping darkness. She was a +well-matured girl for her age, not too tall, her +limbs rounded, but without an ounce of superfluous +flesh. Perhaps she knew of his scrutiny; but her +face remained calm and she did not return his +gaze. They talked of inconsequential things as +they rode along.</p> + +<p>Pratt Sanderson thought: “<i>What</i> a girl she is! +Mrs. Edwards is right–she’s the finest specimen +of girlhood on the range, bar none! And she is +more than a little intelligent–quite literary, don’t +you know, if what they say is true of her. Where +did <i>she</i> learn to plan pageants? Not in one of +these schoolhouses on the ranges, I bet an apple! +And she’s a cowgirl, too. Rides like a female +Centaur; shoots, of course, and throws a rope. +Bet she knows the whole trade of cattle herding.</p> + +<p>“Yet there isn’t a girl who went to school with +me at the Amarillo High who looks so well-bred, +or who is so sure of herself and so easy to converse +with.”</p> + +<p>For her part, Frances was thinking: “And he +doesn’t remember a thing about me! Of course, +he was a senior when I was in the junior class. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span> +has already forgotten most of his schoolmates, I +suppose.</p> + +<p>“But that night of Cora Grimshaw’s party he +danced with me six times. He was in the bank +then, and had forgotten all ‘us kids,’ I suppose. +Funny how suddenly a boy grows up when he gets +out of school and into business. But me―</p> + +<p>“Well! I should have known him if we hadn’t +met for twenty years. Perhaps that’s because he +is the first boy I ever danced with–in town, I +mean. The boys on the ranch don’t count.”</p> + +<p>Her tranquil face and manner had not betrayed–nor +did they betray now–any of her thoughts +about this young fellow whom she remembered +so clearly, but who plainly had not taxed his memory +with her.</p> + +<p>That was the way of Frances Durham Rugley. +A great deal went on in her mind of which nobody–not +even Captain Dan Rugley, her father–dreamed.</p> + +<p>Left motherless at an early age, the ranchman’s +daughter had grown to her sixteenth year different +from most girls. Even different from most +other girls of the plains and ranges.</p> + +<p>For ten years there was not a woman’s face–white, +black, or red–on the Bar-T acres. The +Captain had married late in life, and had loved +Frances’ mother devotedly. When she died +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span> +suddenly the man could not bear to hear or see +another woman on the place.</p> + +<p>Then Frances grew into his heart and life, and +although the old wound opened as the ranchman +saw his daughter expand, her love and companionship +was like a healing balm poured into his sore +heart.</p> + +<p>The man’s strong, fierce nature suddenly went +out to his child and she became all and all to him–just +as her mother had been during the few years +she had been spared to him.</p> + +<p>So the girl’s schooling was cut short–and +Frances loved books and the training she had +received at the Amarillo schools. She would have +loved to go on–to pass her examinations for college +preparation, and finally get her diploma and +an A. B., at least, from some college.</p> + +<p>That, however, was not to be. Old Captain +Rugley lavished money on her like rain, when she +would let him. She used some of the money to +buy books and a piano and pay for a teacher for +the latter to come to the ranch, while she spent +much midnight oil studying the books by herself.</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley’s health was not all it should +have been. Frances could not now leave him for +long.</p> + +<p>Until recently the old ranchman had borne +lightly his seventy years. But rheumatism had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span> +taken hold upon him and he did not stand as +straight as of old, nor ride so well.</p> + +<p>He was far from an invalid; but Frances realized–more +than he did, perhaps–that he had +finished his scriptural span of life, and that his +present years were borrowed from that hardest +of taskmasters, Father Time.</p> + +<p>Often it was Frances who rode the ranges, instead +of Captain Rugley, viewing the different +herds, receiving the reports of underforemen and +wranglers, settling disputes between the punchers +themselves, looking over chuck outfits, buying +hay, overseeing brandings, and helping cut out fat +steers for the market trail.</p> + +<p>There was nothing Frances of the ranges did +not know about the cattle-raising business. And +she was giving some attention to the new grain-raising +ideas that had come into the Panhandle +with the return of the first-beaten farming horde.</p> + +<p>For the Texas Panhandle has had its two farming +booms. The first advance of the farmers into +the ranges twenty-five years or more before had +been a rank failure.</p> + +<p>“They came here and plowed up little spots +in our parsters that air eyesores now,” one old +cowman said, “and then beat it back East when +they found it didn’t rain ’cordin’ ter schedule. +This land ain’t good for nothin’ ’cept cows.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span>But this had been in the days of the old unfenced +ranges, and before dry-farming had +become a science. Now the few remaining cattlemen +kept their pastures fenced, and began +to think of raising other feed than river-bottom +hay.</p> + +<p>The cohorts of agriculturists were advancing; +the cattlemen were falling back. The ancient +staked plains of the Spanish <i>conquestadors</i> were +likely to become waving wheat fields and smiling +orchards.</p> + +<p>The young girl and her companion could not +travel fast to the Bar-T ranch-house for two reasons: Pratt +Sanderson was sore all over, and the +mountain lion slung across Frances’ pony caused +some trouble. The pinto objected to carrying +double–especially when an occasional draft of +evening air brought the smell of the lion to her +nostrils.</p> + +<p>The young fellow admired the way in which the +girl handled her mount. He had seen many half-wild +horsemen at the Amarillo street fairs, and +the like; since coming to Bill Edwards’ place he +had occasionally observed a good rider handling +a mean cayuse. But this man-handling of a half-wild +pony was nothing like the graceful control +Frances of the ranges had over Molly. The pinto +danced and whirled and snorted, and once almost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span> +got her quivering nose down between her knees–the +first position of the bucking horse.</p> + +<p>At every point Frances met her mount with a +stern word, or a firm rein, or a touch of the spur +or quirt, which quickly took the pinto’s mind off +her intention of “acting up.”</p> + +<p>“You are wonderful!” exclaimed the youth, +excitedly. “I wish I could ride half as good as +you do, Miss Frances.”</p> + +<p>Frances smiled. “You did not begin young +enough,” she said. “My father took me in his +arms when I was a week old and rode a half-wild +mustang twenty miles across the ranges to exhibit +me to the man who was our next-door neighbor +in those days. You see, my tuition began early.”</p> + +<p>It was not yet fully dark, although the ranch-house +lamps were lit, when they came to the home +corral and the big fenced yard in front of the +Bar-T.</p> + +<p>Two boys ran out to take the ponies. One of +these Frances instructed to saddle a fresh pony +and ride to the Edwards place with word that +Pratt Sanderson would remain all night at the +Bar-T.</p> + +<p>The other boy was instructed to give the mountain +lion to one of the men, that the pelt might be +removed and properly stretched for curing.</p> + +<p>“Come right in, Pratt,” said the girl, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span> +frank cordiality. “You’ll have a chance for a +wash and a brush before supper. And dad will +find you some clean clothes.</p> + +<p>“There’s dad on the porch, though he’s forbidden +the night air unless he puts a coat on. Oh, +he’s a very, very bad patient, indeed!”</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span><a id='link_3'></a>CHAPTER III<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE OLD SPANISH CHEST</span></h2> + +<p>Pratt saw a tall, lean man–a man of massive +frame, indeed, with a heavy mustache that had +once been yellow but had now turned grey, +teetering on the rear legs of a hard-bottomed +chair, with his shoulders against the wall of the +house.</p> + +<p>There were plenty of inviting-looking chairs +scattered about the veranda. There were rugs, +and potted plants, and a lounge-swing, with a big +lamp suspended from the ceiling, giving light +enough over all.</p> + +<p>But the master of the Bar-T had selected a +straight-backed, hard-bottomed chair, of a kind +that he had been used to for half a century and +more. He brought the front legs down with a +bang as the girl and youth approached.</p> + +<p>“What’s kept you, Frances?” he asked, mellowly. +“Evening, sir! I take it your health’s +well?”</p> + +<p>He put out a hairy hand into which Pratt confided +his own and, the next moment, vowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span> +secretly he would never risk it there again! His +left hand tingled badly enough since the attentions +of the mountain lion. Now his right felt as though +it had been in an ore-crusher.</p> + +<p>“This is Pratt Sanderson, from Amarillo,” the +daughter of the ranchman said first of all. “He’s +a friend of Mrs. Bill Edwards. He was having +trouble with a lion over in Brother’s Coulie, when +I came along. We got the lion; but Pratt got +some scratches. Can’t Ming find him a flannel +shirt, Dad?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” agreed Captain Rugley, his eyes +twinkling just as Frances’ had a little while before. +“You tell him as you go in. Come on, Pratt +Sanderson. I’ll take a look at your scratches myself.”</p> + +<p>A shuffle-footed Chinaman brought the shirt to +the room Pratt Sanderson had been ushered to +by the cordial old ranchman. The Chinaman assisted +the youth to get into the garment, too, for +Captain Rugley had already swathed the scratches +on Pratt’s chest and arm with linen, after treating +the wounds with a pungent-smelling but soothing +salve.</p> + +<p>“San Soo, him alle same have dlinner ready +sloon,” said Ming, sprinkling ‘l’s’ indiscriminately +in his information. “Clapen an’ Misse Flank +wait on pleaza.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span>The young fellow, when he was presentable, +started back for the “pleaza.”</p> + +<p>Everything he saw–every appointment of the +house–showed wealth, and good taste in the use +of it. The old ranchman furnished the former, of +course; but nobody but Frances, Pratt thought, +could have arranged the furnishings and adornments +of the house.</p> + +<p>The room he was to occupy as a guest was +large, square, grey-walled, was hung with bright +pictures, a few handsome Navajo blankets, and +had heavy soft rugs on the floor. There was a +gay drapery in one corner, behind which was a +canvas curtain masking a shower bath with nickel +fittings.</p> + +<p>The water ran off from the shallow marble +basin through an open drain under the wall. The +bed was of brass and looked comfortable. There +was a big steamer chair drawn invitingly near the +window which opened into the court, or garden, +around which the house was built.</p> + +<p>The style of the building was Spanish, or Mexican. +A fountain played in the court and there +were trees growing there, among the branches of +which a few lanterns were lit, like huge fireflies.</p> + +<p>In passing back to the front porch of the ranch-house +(farther south it would have been called +<i>hacienda</i>) Pratt noted Spanish and Aztec armor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span> +hanging on the walls; high-backed, carven chairs +of black oak, mahogany, and other heavy woods; +weapons of both modern and ancient Indian manufacture, +and those of the style used by Cortez and +his cohorts when they marched on the capital city +of the great Montezuma.</p> + +<p>In a glass-fronted case, too, hung a brilliant +cloak of parakeet feathers such as were worn by +the Aztec nobles. Lights had been lit in the hall +since he had arrived and the treasures were now +revealed for the first time to the startled eye of +the visitor.</p> + +<p>The sight of these things partially prepared +him for the change in Frances’ appearance. Her +smooth brown skin and her veiled eyes were the +same. She still wore her hair in girlish plaits. +She was quite the simple, unaffected girl of sixteen. +But her dress was white, of some soft and filmy +material which looked to the young fellow like +spider’s web in the moonlight. It was cut a little +low at the throat; her arms were bared to the +elbow. She wore a heavy, glittering belt of alternate +red-gold links and green stones, and on one +arm a massive, wrought-gold bracelet–a serpent +with turquoise eyes.</p> + +<p>“Frances is out in her warpaint,” chuckled +Captain Rugley’s mellow voice from the shadow, +where he was tipped back in his chair again.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span>“You gave me these things out of your treasure +chest, Daddy, to wear when we had company,” +said the girl, quite calmly.</p> + +<p>She wore the barbarous ornaments with an air +of dignity. They seemed to suit her, young as +she was. And Pratt knew that the girdle and +bracelet must be enormously valuable as well as +enormously old.</p> + +<p>The expression “treasure chest” was so odd +that it stuck in the young man’s mind. He was +very curious as to what it meant, and determined, +when he knew Frances better, to ask about it.</p> + +<p>A little silence had fallen after the girl’s speech. +Then Captain Rugley started forward suddenly +and the forelegs of his chair came sharply to the +planks.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” he said, into the darkness outside +the radiance of the porch light. “Who’s there?”</p> + +<p>Frances fluttered out of her chair. Pratt noted +that she slipped into the shadow. Neither she nor +the Captain had been sitting in the full radiance +of the lamp.</p> + +<p>The visitor had heard nothing; but he knew +that the old ranchman was leaning forward listening +intently.</p> + +<p>“Who’s there?” the captain demanded again.</p> + +<p>“Don’t shoot, neighbor!” said a hoarse voice +out of the darkness. “I’m jest a-paddin’ of it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span> +Amarillo way. Can I get a flop-down and a bite +here?”</p> + +<p>“Only a tramp, Dad,” breathed Frances, with +a sigh.</p> + +<p>“How did you get into this compound?” demanded +Captain Rugley, none the less suspiciously +and sternly.</p> + +<p>“I come through an open gate. It’s so ’tarnal +dark, neighbor―”</p> + +<p>“You see those lights down yonder?” snapped +the Captain. “They are at the bunk-house. +Cook’ll give you some chuck and a chance to +spread your blanket. But don’t you let me catch +you around here too long after breakfast to-morrow +morning. We don’t encourage hobos, and +we already have all the men hired for the season +we want.”</p> + +<p>“All right, neighbor,” said the voice in the +darkness, cheerfully–too cheerfully, in fact, Pratt +Sanderson thought. An ordinary man–even one +with the best intentions in the world–would have +been offended by the Captain’s brusk words.</p> + +<p>A stumbling foot went down the yard. Captain +Rugley grunted, and might have said something +explanatory, but just then Ming came softly to the +door, whining:</p> + +<p>“Dlinner, Misse.”</p> + +<p>“Guess Pratt’s hungry, too,” grunted the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span> +Captain, rising. “Let’s go in and see what the neighbors +have flung over the back fence.”</p> + +<p>But sad as the joke was, all that Captain Rugley +said seemed so open-hearted and kindly–save +only when he was talking to the unknown tramp–that +the guest could not consider him vulgar.</p> + +<p>The dining-room was long, massively furnished, +well lit, and the sideboard exposed some rare +pieces of old-fashioned silver. Two heavy candelabra–the +loot of some old cathedral, and of +Spanish manufacture–were set upon either end of +the great serving table.</p> + +<p>All these treasures, found in the ranch-house +of a cowman of the Panhandle, astounded the +youth from Amarillo. Nothing Mrs. Bill +Edwards had said of Frances of the ranges and +her father had prepared him for this display.</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley saw his eyes wandering from +one thing to the other as Ming served a perfect +soup.</p> + +<p>“Just pick-ups over the Border,” the old man +explained, with a comprehensive wave of his hand +toward the candelabra and other articles of value. +“I and a partner of mine, when we were in the +Rangers years and years ago, raided over into +Mexico and brought back the bulk of these things.</p> + +<p>“We cached them down in Arizona till after I +was married and built this ranch-house. Poor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span> +Lon! Never have heard what became of him. +I’ve got his share of the treasure out of old Don +Milo Morales’ <i>hacienda</i> right here. When he +comes for it we’ll divide. But I haven’t heard +from Lon since long before Frances, here, was +born.”</p> + +<p>This was just explanation enough to whet the +curiosity of Pratt. Talk of the Texas Rangers, +and raiding over the Border, and looting a Mexican +<i>hacienda</i>, was bound to set the young man’s +imagination to work.</p> + +<p>But the dinner, as it was served in courses, took +up Pratt’s present attention almost entirely. +Never–not even when he took dinner at the home +of the president of the bank in Amarillo–had he +eaten so well-cooked and well-served a meal.</p> + +<p>Despite his commonplace speech, Captain Rugley +displayed a familiarity with the niceties of +table etiquette that surprised the guest. Frances’ +mother had come from the East and from a family +that had been used to the best for generations. +And the old ranchman, in middle age, had set himself +the task of learning the niceties of table +manners to please her.</p> + +<p>He had never fallen back into the old, careless +ways after Frances’ mother died. He ate to-night +in black clothes and a soft, white shirt in the +bosom of which was a big diamond. Although +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span> +he had sat on the veranda without a coat–contrary +to his doctor’s orders–he had slipped one +on when he came to the table and, with his neatly +combed hair, freshly shaven face, and well-brushed +mustache, looked well groomed indeed.</p> + +<p>He would have been a bizarre figure at a city +table; nevertheless, he presided at his own board +with dignity, and was a splendid foil for the +charming figure of Frances opposite.</p> + +<p>In the midst of the repast the Captain said, suddenly, +to the soft-footed Chinaman:</p> + +<p>“Ming! telephone down to Sam at the bunk-house +and see if a hobo has just struck there, on +his way to Amarillo. I told him he could get +chuck and a sleep. Savvy?”</p> + +<p>“Jes so, Clapen,” said Ming, softly, and +shuffled out.</p> + +<p>It was evident that the tramp was on the Captain’s +mind. Pratt believed there must be some +special reason for the old ranchman’s worrying +over marauders about the Bar-T.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to mar the friendliness of +the dinner, however; not even when Ming slipped +back and said in a low voice to the Captain:</p> + +<p>“Him Slilent Slam say no hobo come to blunk-house.”</p> + +<p>They finished the meal leisurely; but on rising +from the table Captain Rugley removed a heavy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span> +belt and holster from its hook behind the sideboard +and slung it about his hips.</p> + +<p>Withdrawing the revolver, he spun the cylinder, +made sure that it was filled, and slipped it back in +the holster. All this was done quite as a matter +of course. Frances made no comment, nor did +she seem surprised.</p> + +<p>The three went back to the porch for a little +while, although the night air was growing chill. +Frances insisted that her father wear his coat, and +they both sat out of the brighter radiance of the +hanging lamp.</p> + +<p>She and her guest were talking about the forthcoming +pageant at the Jackleg schoolhouse. Pratt +had begun to feel enthusiastic over it as he learned +more of the particulars.</p> + +<p>“People scarcely realize,” said Frances, “that +this Panhandle of ours has a history as ancient as +St. Augustine, Florida. And <i>that</i>, you know, is +called the oldest white settlement in these United +States.</p> + +<p>“Long, long ago the Spanish explorers, with +Indian guides whom they had enslaved, made a +path through the swarming buffaloes up this way +and called the country <i>Llano Estacada</i>, the staked +plain. Our geographers misapplied the name +‘Desert’ to this vast country; but Nebraska, Kansas, +and Oklahoma threw off that designation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span> +because it was proven that the rains fell more often +than was reported.”</p> + +<p>“What has built up those states,” said Pratt, +with a smile, “is farming, not cattle.”</p> + +<p>The Captain grunted, for he had been listening +to the conversation.</p> + +<p>“You ought to have seen those first hayseeds +that tried to turn the ranges into posy beds and +wheat fields,” he chuckled. “They got all that +was coming to them–believe me!”</p> + +<p>Frances laughed. “Daddy is still unconverted. +He does not believe that the Panhandle is fit for +anything but cattle. But he’s going to let me have +two hundred acres to plow and sow to wheat–he’s +promised.”</p> + +<p>The Captain grunted again.</p> + +<p>“And last year we grew a hundred acres of milo +maize and feterita. Helped on the winter feed–didn’t +it, Daddy?” and she laughed.</p> + +<p>“Got me there, Frances–got me there,” admitted +the old ranchman. “But I don’t hope to +live long enough to see the Bar-T raising more +wheat than steers.”</p> + +<p>“No. It’s stock-raising we want to follow, I +believe,” said the girl, calmly. “We must raise +feed for our steers, fatten them in fenced pastures, +and ship them more quickly.”</p> + +<p>“My goodness!” exclaimed Pratt, admiringly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span> +“you talk as though you understood all about it, +Miss Frances.”</p> + +<p>“I think I <i>do</i> know something about the new +conditions that face us ranchers of the Panhandle,” +the girl said, quietly. “And why shouldn’t I? +I have been hearing it talked about, and thinking +of it myself, ever since I can remember.”</p> + +<p>Secretly Pratt thought she must have given her +attention to something beside the ranch work and +cattle-raising. Of this he was assured when they +went inside later, and Frances sat down to the +piano. The instrument was in a big room with a +bare, polished floor. It was evidently used for +dancing. There was a talking machine as well as +a piano. The girl played the latter very nicely +indeed. There were a few scratches on the floor +of the room, and she saw Pratt looking at them.</p> + +<p>“I told Ratty M’Gill he shouldn’t come in here +with the rest of the boys to dance if he didn’t take +his spurs off,” she said. “We have an old-time +hoe-down for the boys pretty nearly every week, +when we’re not too rushed on the ranch. It keeps +’em better contented and away from the towns on +pay-days.”</p> + +<p>“Are the cowpunchers just the same as they +used to be?” asked Pratt. “Do they go to town +and blow it wide open on pay-nights?”</p> + +<p>“Not much. We have a good sheriff. But it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span> +wasn’t so long ago that your fancy little city of +Amarillo was nothing but a cattleman’s town. +I’m going to have a representation of old Amarillo +in our pageant–you’ll see. It will be true to life, +too, for some of the very people who take part in +our play lived in Amarillo at the time when the +sight of a high hat would draw a fusillade of +bullets from the door of every saloon and dance-hall.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t!” gasped Pratt. “Was Amarillo ever +like <i>that</i>?”</p> + +<p>“And not twenty years ago,” laughed Frances. +“It had a few hundred inhabitants–and most of +them ruffians. Now it claims ten thousand, has +bricked streets that used to be cow trails, electric +lights, a street-car service, and all the comforts and +culture of an ‘effete East.’”</p> + +<p>Pratt laughed, too. “It’s a mighty comfortable +place to live in–beside Bill Edwards’ ranch, +for instance. But I notice here at the Bar-T you +have a great many of the despised Eastern luxuries.”</p> + +<p>“‘Do-funnies’ daddy calls them,” said +Frances, smiling. “Ah! here he is.”</p> + +<p>The old ranchman came in, the holstered pistol +still slung at his hip.</p> + +<p>“All secure for the night, Daddy?” she asked, +looking at him tenderly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span>“Locked, barred, and bolted,” returned her +father. “I tell you, Pratt, we’re something of a +fort here when we go to bed. The court’s free +to you; but don’t try to get out till Ming opens up +in the morning. You see, we’re some distance +from the bunk-house, and nobody but the two +Chinks are here with us now.”</p> + +<p>“I see, sir,” said Pratt.</p> + +<p>But he did not see; he wondered. And he wondered +more when, after separating from Frances +for the night, he found his way through the hall to +the door of the room that had been assigned to +him for his use.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the hall was another door, +open more than a crack, with a light shining behind +it. Pratt’s curiosity got the better of him and he +peeped.</p> + +<p>Captain Dan Rugley was standing in the middle +of the almost bare room, before an old dark, Spanish +chest. He had a bunch of keys in one hand +and in the other dangled the ancient girdle and the +bracelet Frances had worn.</p> + +<p>“That must be the ‘treasure chest’ she spoke +of,” thought the youth. “And it looks it! Old, +old, wrought-iron work trimmings of Spanish +design. What a huge old lock! My! it would +take a stick of dynamite to blow that thing open +if one hadn’t the key.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span>The Captain moved quickly, turning toward the +door. Pratt dodged back–then crept silently away, +down the hall. He did not know that the eye of +the old ranchman watched him keenly through the +crack of the door.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span><a id='link_4'></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><span class='h2fs'>WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT</span></h2> + +<p>Frances looked through her barred window, +out over the fenced yard, and down to the few +twinkling watch-lights at the men’s quarters. All +the second-story windows of the ranch-house, overlooking +the porch roof, were barred with iron rods +set in the cement, like those on the first floor. The +Bar-T ranch-house was a veritable fort.</p> + +<p>There was a reason for this that the girl did not +entirely understand, although her father often +hinted at it. His stories of his adventures as a +Texas Ranger, and over the Border into Mexico, +amused her; but they had not impressed her much. +Perhaps, because the Captain always skimmed over +the particulars of those desperate adventures +which had so spiced his early years–those years +before the gentle influence of Frances’ mother +came into his life.</p> + +<p>He had mentioned his partner, “Lon,” on this +evening. But he seldom particularized about him.</p> + +<p>Frances could not remember when her father +had gone into Arizona and returned from thence +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span> +with a wagon-train loaded with many of the most +beautiful of their household possessions. It was +when she was a very little girl.</p> + +<p>With the other things, Captain Rugley had +brought back the old Spanish chest which he +guarded so anxiously. She did not know what was +in the chest–not all its treasures. It was the one +secret her father kept from her.</p> + +<p>Out of it he brought certain barbarous ornaments +that he allowed her to wear now and then. +She was as much enamored of jewelry and beautiful +adornments as other girls, was Frances of the +ranges.</p> + +<p>There was perfect trust between her father and +herself; but not perfect confidence. No more +than Pratt Sanderson, for instance, did she know +just how the old ranchman had become possessed +of the great store of Indian and Spanish ornaments, +or of the old Spanish chest.</p> + +<p>Certain she was that he could not have obtained +them in a manner to wrong anybody else. He +spoke of them as “the loot of old Don Milo +Morales’ <i>hacienda</i>”; but Frances knew well +enough that her good father, Captain Dan Rugley, +had been no land pirate, no so-called Border +ruffian, who had robbed some peaceful Spanish +ranch-owner across the Rio Grande of his possessions.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span>Frances was a bit worried to-night. There +were two topics of thought that disturbed her.</p> + +<p>Motherless, and with few female friends even, +she had been shut away with her own girlish +thoughts and fears and wonderings more than most +girls of her age. Life was a mystery to her. She +lived in books and in romances and in imagination’s +pictures more than she did in the workaday +world about her.</p> + +<p>There seems to be little romance attached to +the everyday lives we live, no matter how we are +situated. The most dreary and uncolored existence, +in all probability, there is in the world to-day +is the daily life of a real prince or princess. We +look longingly over the fence of our desires and +consider all sorts and conditions of people outside +as happier and far better off than we.</p> + +<p>That was the way it was with Frances. Especially +on this particular night.</p> + +<p>Her unexpected meeting with Pratt Sanderson +had brought to her heart and mind more strongly +than for months her experiences in Amarillo. She +remembered her school days, her school fellows, +and the difference between their lives and that +which she lived at present.</p> + +<p>Probably half the girls she had known at school +would be delighted (or thought they would) to +change places with Frances of the ranges, right +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span> +then. But the ranch girl thought how much better +off she would be if she were continuing her +education under the care of people who could +place her in a more cultivated life.</p> + +<p>Not that she was disloyal, even in thought, to +her father. She loved him intensely–passionately! +But the life of the ranges, after her taste +of school and association with cultivated people, +could not be entirely satisfactory.</p> + +<p>So she sat, huddled in a white wool wrapper, by +the barred, open window, looking out across the +plain. Only for the few lights at the corrals and +bunk-house, it seemed a great, horizonless sea of +darkness–for there was no moon and a haze had +enveloped the high stars since twilight.</p> + +<p>No sound came to her ears at first. There is +nothing so soundless as night on the plains–unless +there be beasts near, either tamed or wild.</p> + +<p>No coyote slunk about the ranch-house. The +horses were still in the corrals. The cattle were +all too far distant to be heard. Not even the song +of a sleepy puncher, as he wheeled around the +herd, drifted to the barred window of Frances’ +room.</p> + +<p>Her second topic for thought was her father’s +evident expectation that the ranch-house might be +attacked. Every stranger was an object of suspicion +to him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span>This did not abate one jot his natural Western +hospitality. As mark his open-handed reception +of Pratt Sanderson on this evening. They kept +open house at the Bar-T ranch. But after dark–or, +after bedtime at least–the place was barred +like a fort in the Indian country!</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley never went to his bed save after +making the rounds, armed as he had been to-night, +with Ming to bolt the doors. The only way a +marauder could get into the inner court was by +climbing the walls and getting over the roof, and +as the latter extended four feet beyond the second-story +walls, such a feat was well-nigh impossible.</p> + +<p>The cement walls themselves were so thick that +they seemed impregnable even to cannon. The +roof was of slates. And, as has been pointed out +already, all the outer first-floor windows, and all +those reached from the porch roof, were barred.</p> + +<p>Frances knew that her father had been seriously +troubled to-night by the appearance of the strange +and unseen tramp in the yard, and the fact that +the arrival of that same individual had not been +reported from the men’s quarters.</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley telephoned and learned from +his foreman, Silent Sam Harding, that nobody had +come to the bunk-house that night asking for lodging +and food.</p> + +<p>Frances was about to seek her bed. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span> +yawned, curled her bare toes up closer in the robe, +and shivered luxuriously as the night air breathed +in upon her. In another moment she would pop +in between the blankets and cuddle down―</p> + +<p>Something snapped! It was outside, not in!</p> + +<p>Frances was wide awake on the instant. Her +eyelids that had been so drowsy were propped +apart–not by fear, but by excitement.</p> + +<p>She had lived a life which had sharpened her +physical perceptions to a fine point. She had no +trouble in locating the sound that had so startled +her. Somebody was climbing the vine at the corner +of the veranda roof, not twenty feet from her +window. She crouched back, well sheltered in +the shadow, but able to see anything that appeared +silhouetted between her window and the dark curtain +of the night.</p> + +<p>There was no light in the room behind her; +indeed every lamp in the ranch-house had been +extinguished some time before. It was evident +that this marauder–whoever he was–had waited +for the quietude of sleep to fall upon the place.</p> + +<p>Back in the room at the head of Frances’ bed +hung her belt with the holster pistol she wore when +riding about the ranges. In these days it was considered +perfectly safe for a girl to ride alone, save +that coyotes sometimes came within range, or such +a savage creature as had been the introduction of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span> +Pratt Sanderson and herself so recently. It was +the duty of everybody on the ranges to shoot and +kill these “varmints,” if they could.</p> + +<p>Frances did not even think of this weapon now. +She did not fear the unknown; only that the mystery +of the night, and of his secret pursuit, surrounded +him. Who could he be? What was he +after? Should she run to awaken her father, or +wait to observe his appearance above the edge of +the veranda roof?</p> + +<p>A dried stick of the vine snapped again. There +was a squirming figure on the very edge of the +roof. Frances knew that the unknown lay there, +panting, after his exertions.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span><a id='link_5'></a>CHAPTER V<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE SHADOW IN THE COURT</span></h2> + +<p>A dozen things she <i>might</i> have done afterward +appealed to Frances Rugley. But as she crouched +by her chamber window watching the squirming +human figure on the edge of the roof, she was +interested in only one thing:</p> + +<p><i>Who was he?</i></p> + +<p>This question so filled her thought that she was +neither fearful nor anxious. Curiosity controlled +her actions entirely for the few next minutes. And +so she observed the marauder rise up, carefully +balance himself on the slates of the veranda roof, +and tiptoe away to the corner of the house. He +did not come near her window; nor could she see +his face. His outlines were barely visible as he +drifted into the shadow at the corner–soundless +of step now. Only the cracking of the dry branch, +as he climbed up, had betrayed him.</p> + +<p>“I wish he had come this way,” thought +Frances. “I might have seen what he looked +like. Surely, we have no man on the ranch who +would do such a thing. Can it be that father is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span> +right? Did the fellow who hailed us to-night +come here to the Bar-T for some bad purpose?”</p> + +<p>She waited several minutes by her window. +Then she bethought her that there was a window +at the end of a cross-hall on the side of the house +where the man had disappeared, out of which she +might catch another glimpse of him.</p> + +<p>So she thrust her bare feet into slippers, tied +the robe more firmly about her, and hurried out +of the room. Nor did she think now of the +charged weapon hanging at the head of her bed.</p> + +<p>She believed nobody would be astir in the great +house. The Chinamen slept at the extreme rear +over the kitchen. Their guest, Pratt Sanderson, +was on the lower floor and at the opposite side, +with his windows opening upon the court around +which the <i>hacienda</i> was built.</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley’s rooms were below, too. +Frances knew herself to be alone in this part of +the house.</p> + +<p>Nothing had ever happened to Frances Rugley +to really terrify her. Why should she be afraid +now? She walked swiftly, her robe trailing behind, +her slippered feet twinkling in and out under +the nightgown she wore. In the cross-hall she +almost ran. There, at the end, was the open window. +Indeed, there were no sashes in these hall +windows at this time of year; only the bars.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span>The night air breathed in upon her. Was that +a rustling just outside the bars? There was no +light behind her and she did not fear being seen +from without.</p> + +<p>Tiptoeing, she came to the sill. Her ears were +quick to distinguish sounds of any character. +There <i>was</i> a strange, faint creaking not far from +that wide-open casement. She could not thrust +her head between the bars now (she remembered +vividly the last time she had done that and got +stuck, and had to shriek for Daddy to come and +help her out), but she could press her face close +against them and stare into the blackness of the +outer world.</p> + +<p>There! something stirred. Her eyes, growing +more accustomed to the darkness, caught the +shadow of something writhing in the air.</p> + +<p>What could it be? Was it alive? A man, +or―</p> + +<p>Then the bulk of it passed higher, and the +strange creaking sound was renewed. Frances +almost cried aloud!</p> + +<p>It was the man she had before seen. He was +mounting directly into the air. The over-thrust +of the ranch-house roof made the shadow very +thick against the house-wall. The man was swinging +in the air just beyond this deeper shadow.</p> + +<p>“What can he be doing?” Frances thought.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span>She had almost spoken the question aloud. But +she did not want to startle him–not yet.</p> + +<p>First, she must learn what he was about. Then +she would run and tell her father. This night +raider was dangerous–there was no doubt of +that.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” quavered Frances, suddenly, and under +her breath. The uncertain bulk of the man hanging +in the air had disappeared!</p> + +<p>For a minute she could not understand. He +had disappeared like magic. His very corporeal +body–and she noted that it had been bulky when +she first saw him roll over the edge of the veranda +roof and sit up–had melted into thin air.</p> + +<p>And then she saw something swinging, pendulum-like, +before her. She thrust an arm between +the bars and seized the thing. It was a rope +ladder.</p> + +<p>The whole matter, then, was as plain as daylight. +The man had climbed to the porch roof, +with the rope ladder wound around his body. +That was what had made him seem so bulky.</p> + +<p>Selecting this spot as a favorable one, he had +flung the grappling-hook over the eaves. There +must be some break in the slates which held the +hook. Once fastened there, the man had quickly +worked his way up to the roof, and Frances had +arrived just in time to see him squirm out of sight.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span>There were a dozen questions in Frances’ mind. +How did he get here? Who was he? What did +he want? Was he the man Captain Rugley had +seemed to be expecting to try to make a raid upon +the ranch-house? Was he alone? How did he +know he could make the hook of his ladder fast +at this point? Was there a traitor about who had +broken a slate in the roof? Or was the broken +place the result of an accident, and the marauder +had noted it by daylight from the ground?</p> + +<p>Question after question flashed through her +mind. But there was one query far more important +than all the others:</p> + +<p>Where was the man going over the roof?</p> + +<p>Frances let the ladder swing away from her +clutch again. If she held it the fellow above +might become alarmed.</p> + +<p>She turned from the window and darted back +along the hall. At the end was a door leading +out onto the balcony which surrounded the inner +court of the house at the level of the second story. +The roof sloped out from the main wall of the +building at this inner side, just as it did in +front–indeed, the eaves were even longer. But +the pillars of the balcony met the overhang at its verge, making it very easy indeed for an active +person to swarm down from the roof.</p> + +<p>Once on the balcony, the interior of the house +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span> +was open to a marauder by a dozen doors, while +there were likewise two flights of stairs descending +directly into the court.</p> + +<p>There were no lamps in the court now. It was +a well, filled with grey shadows. Frances leaned +over the balustrade and heard no sound. She +looked up. The edge of the roof was a sharply +defined line against the lighter background of the +sky. But there was no moving figure silhouetted +against that background.</p> + +<p>Where had the man gone who had climbed the +rope ladder? He could not so quickly have +descended into the court; Frances was positive of +that.</p> + +<p>She shivered a little. There was something +quite disturbing about this mysterious marauder. +She wished now she had aroused her father immediately +on first descrying the man.</p> + +<p>She started around the gallery. Her father’s +room lay upon the other side of the house. She +could reach his windows by descending the outside +stairway there. Her slippered feet made no +sound; the wool robe did not rustle. Had she +been seen by anybody she might have been taken +for a ghost. But the black shadow of the roof of +the gallery swathed Frances about, and it would +have taken keen eyes indeed to distinguish her +form.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span>Down the stair she sped. She was almost at its +foot when something held her motionless again. +She halted with a gasp, while before her, from the +direction of the softly playing fountain, a figure +drifted in.</p> + +<p>Frances held her breath. Was <i>this</i> the man +who had come over the roof of the house? Or +was it another?</p> + +<p>She crouched silently behind the railing. The +figure passed her, going toward her father’s windows. +She dared not whisper, for she did not +think it bulky enough for her father’s huge frame.</p> + +<p>On the trail of the figure she started, her heart +palpitating with excitement, yet never for a moment +considering her own peril.</p> + +<p>There were other bedrooms beside that of Captain +Rugley in this direction. And there was +that small apartment in which the old Spanish +chest was so carefully locked.</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley never allowed the key of this +door or the key of the chest to go out of his possession. +He had always intimated that if a thief +ever tried to break into the Bar-T ranch-house, he +would first of all try to get at the treasure chest.</p> + +<p>There were plenty of valuable things scattered +about the house, but they were bulky–hard for a +thief to remove. Although Frances did not know +just what her father’s treasure consisted of, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span> +believed it must be of such a nature that it could +be removed by a thief.</p> + +<p>Frances, her eyes now well used to the gloom, +hurried along in the wake of the drifting shadow, +without sound. She came to the first window +opening into her father’s sleeping apartment. Like +a wraith she glided in, believing at last that her +duty was to awaken her father.</p> + +<p>But when she reached his bed she found it undisturbed. +It seemed his pillow had not been lain +upon that night. She felt swiftly over the smooth +bed, and with growing alarm–not for herself, but +alarm for the missing man.</p> + +<p>Where could he have gone? What had happened +here since the lights went out and that mysterious +marauder had come in over the ranch-house +roof?</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span><a id='link_6'></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><span class='h2fs'>A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION</span></h2> + +<p>Frances knew her way about her father’s room +in the dark as well as she did about her own. She +knew where every piece of furniture stood. She +knew where the chair was on which he carelessly +threw his outer clothing at night.</p> + +<p>Like most men who for years have slept in the +open, Captain Rugley did not remove all his clothing +when he went to bed. He usually lay between +blankets on the outside of his bed, with his boots +and trousers ready to jump into at a moment’s +notice. Of some of the practices of his life on +the plains, with the dome of heaven for a roof-tree, +he could not be broken.</p> + +<p>She fumbled for the chair, and found it empty. +She reached for the belt and holster which he +usually hung on a hook at the head of the bed. +They, too, were gone, and Frances felt relieved.</p> + +<p>She did not withdraw from the room through +either of the long windows. Instead, she crept +through her father’s office and out of the door of +that room into the great, main hall.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span>Along this a little way was the door of the room +to which Pratt Sanderson had been assigned, and +that of the treasure room as well.</p> + +<p>Frances scarcely gave Pratt a thought. She +presumed him far in the land of dreams. She did +not take into consideration the fact that about +now the scratches of the mountain lion would become +painful, and Pratt correspondingly restless. +Frances was mainly troubled by her father’s +absence from his room. Had he, too, seen the +mysterious shadow in the court? Was he on the +watch for a possible marauder?</p> + +<p>By feeling rather than eyesight she knew the +door to the treasure room was closed. Was her +father there?</p> + +<p>She doubled her fist and raised it to knock upon +the panel. Then she hesitated. The slightest +sound would ring through the silent house like an +alarm of fire.</p> + +<p>Inclining her ear to the door, she listened. But +the oak planking was thick and there was no +crevice, now the portal was closed, through which +any slight sound could penetrate. She could not +have even distinguished the heavy breathing of a +sleeping man behind the door.</p> + +<p>Uncertain, wondering, yet quite mistress of herself +again, Frances went on along the corridor. +Here was an open door before her into the court. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span> +Had that shadow she had seen come this way? +she wondered.</p> + +<p>The hiss of a voice, almost in her ear, <i>did</i> +startle her:</p> + +<p>“My goodness! is it you, Miss Frances?”</p> + +<p>A clammy hand clutched her wrist. She knew +that Pratt Sanderson must have been horribly +wrought up and nervous, for he was trembling.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter? Why are you out of +your bed, Pratt?” she asked, quite calmly.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t sleep. Fever in those scratches, I +s’pose,” said the young man. “I got up and went +outside to get a drink at the fountain–and to +bathe my face and wrists. Isn’t it hot?”</p> + +<p>“You <i>are</i> feverish,” whispered Frances, cautiously. +“Have you seen daddy?”</p> + +<p>“The Captain?” returned Pratt, wonderingly. +“Oh, no. He isn’t up, is he?”</p> + +<p>“He’s not in his room―”</p> + +<p>“And you’re not in yours,” said Pratt, with a +nervous laugh. “We all seem to be out of our +beds at the hour when graveyards yawn, eh?”</p> + +<p>Frances had a reassuring laugh ready.</p> + +<p>“I think you would better go to bed again, +Pratt,” she said. “You–you saw nothing in the +court?”</p> + +<p>“No. But I thought I heard a big bird overhead +when I was splashing the water about out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span> +there. Imagination, of course,” he added. +“There are no big night-flying birds out here on +the plains?”</p> + +<p>“Not that I know of,” returned she.</p> + +<p>“I made some noise. I didn’t know what it +was I scared up. Seemed to be on the roof of the +house.”</p> + +<p>Frances thought of the mysterious man and his +rope ladder. But she did not mention them to +Pratt.</p> + +<p>“Put some more of father’s salve on those +scratches,” she advised. “It’s an Indian salve +and very healing. He was taught by an old +Indian medicine man to make it.”</p> + +<p>“All right. Good-night, Miss Frances,” said +Pratt, and withdrew into his room, from which he +had appeared so suddenly to accost her.</p> + +<p>Pratt’s mention of “the bird on the roof” disturbed +Frances a good deal. She turned to run +back upstairs and learn if the ladder was still hanging +from the eaves. But as she started to do so +she realized that the door of the treasure room +had been silently opened.</p> + +<p>“Frances!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Dad!”</p> + +<p>“What are you running about the house for +at this time o’ night?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>She laughed rather hysterically. “Why are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span> +you out of your bed, sir–with your rheumatism?” +she retorted.</p> + +<p>“Good reason. Thought I heard something,” +growled the Captain.</p> + +<p>“Good reason. Thought I <i>saw</i> something,” +mocked Frances, seizing his arm.</p> + +<p>She stepped inside the room with him. He +flashed an electric torch for a moment about the +place. She saw he had a cot arranged at one +side, and had evidently gone to bed here, beside +the treasure chest.</p> + +<p>“Why is this, sir?” she demanded, with pretty +seriousness.</p> + +<p>“Reckon the old man’s getting nervous,” said +Captain Rugley. “Can’t sleep in my reg’lar bed +when there are strangers in the house.”</p> + +<p>Frances started. “What do you mean?” she +cried.</p> + +<p>“Well, there’s that young man.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Pratt is all right,” declared Frances, +confidently.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know anything <i>for</i> him–and do know +one thing <i>against</i> him,” growled the old ranchman. +“He’s been up and about all night, so far. +Weren’t you just talking to him?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Dad! But Pratt is all right.”</p> + +<p>“That’s as may be. What was he doing wandering +around that court?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span>“Oh, Dad! Don’t worry about <i>him</i>. His arm +and chest hurt him―”</p> + +<p>“Humph! didn’t hurt him when he went to bed, +did they? Yet he was sneaking along this hall and +looking into this very room when the door was +slightly ajar. I saw him,” said the old ranchman, +bitterly.</p> + +<p>Frances was amazed by this statement; but she +realized that her father was oversuspicious regarding +the interest of strangers in the old Spanish +chest and its contents.</p> + +<p>“Never mind Pratt,” she said. “I came downstairs +to find you, Daddy, because there really <i>is</i> a +stranger about the house.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Frances?” was the sharp +retort.</p> + +<p>The girl told him briefly about the man she had +observed climbing up to the veranda roof, and +later to the roof of the house by aid of the rope +ladder.</p> + +<p>“And Pratt tells me he heard some sound up +there. He thought it was a big bird,” she concluded.</p> + +<p>“Come on!” said her father, hastily. “Let’s +see that ladder.”</p> + +<p>He locked the door of the treasure room and +strode up the main stairway. Frances kept close +behind him and warned him to step softly–rather +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span> +an unnecessary bit of advice to an old Indian +trailer like Captain Rugley!</p> + +<p>But when they came to the window through +which Frances had seen the dangling ladder it was +gone. The old ranchman shot a ray of his electric +torch through the opening; but the light revealed +nothing.</p> + +<p>“Gone!” he announced, briefly.</p> + +<p>“Do–do you think so, Dad?”</p> + +<p>“Sure. Been scared off.”</p> + +<p>“But what could he possibly want–climbing +up over our roof, and all that?”</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley stood still and stroked his chin +reflectively. “I reckon I know what they’re +after―</p> + +<p>“They? But, Daddy, there was only one +man.”</p> + +<p>“One that was coming over the roof,” said her +father. “But he had pals–sure he did! If one +of them wasn’t in the house―”</p> + +<p>“Why, Dad!” exclaimed Frances, in wonder.</p> + +<p>“You can’t always tell,” said the old ranchman, +slowly. “There’s a heap of valuables in +that chest. Of course, they don’t all belong to +me,” he added, hastily. “My partner, Lon, has +equal rights in ’em–don’t ever forget that, +Frances, if something should happen to me.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Dad! how you talk!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span>“We can never tell,” sighed her father. +“Treasure is tempting. And it looks to me as +though this fellow who climbed over the roof expected +to find somebody inside to help him. That’s +the way it looks to me,” he repeated, shaking his +head obstinately.</p> + +<p>“Dear Dad! you don’t mean that you think +Pratt Sanderson would do such a thing?” said +Frances, in a horrified tone.</p> + +<p>“We don’t know him.”</p> + +<p>“But his coming here to the Bar-T was unexpected. +I urged him to come. That lion really +scratched him―”</p> + +<p>“Yes. It doesn’t look reasonable, I allow,” +admitted her father; but she could see he was not +convinced of the honesty of Pratt Sanderson.</p> + +<p>There was a difference of opinion between +Frances and Captain Rugley.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span><a id='link_7'></a>CHAPTER VII<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE STAMPEDE</span></h2> + +<p>The remainder of the night passed in quietness. +That there really had been a marauder about the +Bar-T ranch-house could not be doubted; for a +slate was found upon the ground in the morning, +and the place in the roof where it had been broken +out was plainly visible.</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley sent one of the men up with a +ladder and new slates to repair the damage. He +reported that the marks of the grappling-hook in +the roof sheathing were unmistakable, too.</p> + +<p>Although her father had expressed himself as +doubtful of the good intentions of Pratt Sanderson, +Frances was glad to see at breakfast that he +treated the young man no differently than before. +Pratt slept late and the meal was held back for +him.</p> + +<p>“The attentions of that old mountain lion +bothered me so that I did not sleep much the fore +part of the night,” Pratt explained.</p> + +<p>“How about that bird you heard on the roof?” +the Captain asked, calmly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span>“I don’t know what it was. It sounded like +big wings flapping,” the young fellow explained. +“But I really didn’t see anything.”</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley grunted, and said no more. He +grunted a good deal this morning, in fact, for +every movement gave him pain.</p> + +<p>“The rheumatism has got its fangs set in me +right, this time,” he told Frances.</p> + +<p>“That’s for being out of your warm bed and +chasing all over the house without a coat on in +the night,” she said, admonishingly.</p> + +<p>“Goodness!” said her father. “Must I be +<i>that</i> particular? If so, I <i>am</i> getting old, I +reckon.”</p> + +<p>She made him promise to keep out of draughts +when she mounted Molly to ride away on an +errand to a distant part of the ranch. She rode +off with Pratt Sanderson, for he was traveling in +the same direction, toward Mr. Bill Edwards’ +place.</p> + +<p>Frances of the ranges was more silent than she +had been when they rode together the night before. +Pratt found it hard to get into conversation with +her on any but the most ephemeral subjects.</p> + +<p>For instance, when he hinted about Captain +Rugley’s adventures on the Border:</p> + +<p>“Your father is a very interesting talker. He +has seen and done so much.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span>“Yes,” said Frances.</p> + +<p>“And how adventurous his life must have been! +I’d love to get him in a story-telling mood some +day.”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t talk much about old times.”</p> + +<p>“But, of course, you know all about his adventures +as a Ranger, and his trips into Mexico?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Frances.</p> + +<p>“Why! he spoke last night as though he often +talked about it. About the looting of― Who +was the old Spanish grandee he mentioned?”</p> + +<p>“I know very little about it, Pratt,” fluttered +Frances. “That’s just dad’s talk.”</p> + +<p>“But that gorgeous girdle and bracelet you +wore!”</p> + +<p>Frances secretly determined not to wear jewelry +from the treasure chest again. She had never +thought before about its causing comment and +conjecture in the minds of people who did not +know her father as well as she did.</p> + +<p>Suppose people believed that Captain Dan +Rugley had actually stolen those things in some +raid into Mexico? Such a thought had never +troubled her before. But she could see, now, that +strangers might misjudge her father. He talked +so recklessly about his old life on the Border that +he might easily cause those who did not know him +to believe that not alone the contents of that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span> +mysterious treasure chest but his other wealth was +gained by questionable means.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, a herd of steers, crossing from one +of the extreme southern ranges of the Bar-T to +the north where juicier grass grew, attracted the +attention of the guest from Amarillo.</p> + +<p>“Are those all yours, Frances?” he asked, +when he saw the mass of dark bodies and tossing +horns that appeared through rifts in the dust cloud +that accompanies a driven herd even over sod-land.</p> + +<p>“My father’s,” she corrected, smiling. “And +only a small herd. Not more than two thousand +head in that bunch.”</p> + +<p>“I’d call two thousand cows a whole lot,” Pratt +sighed.</p> + +<p>“Not for us. Remember, the Bar-T has been +in the past one of the great cattle ranches of the +West. Daddy is getting old now and cannot +attend to so much work.”</p> + +<p>“But you seem to know all about it,” said Pratt, +with enthusiasm. “Don’t you really do all the +overseeing for him?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” laughed Frances. “Not at all. +Silent Sam is the ranch manager. I just do what +either dad or Sam tell me. I’m just errand girl +for the whole ranch.”</p> + +<p>But Pratt knew better than that. He saw now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span> +that she was watching the oncoming mass of steers +with a frown of annoyance. Something was going +wrong and Frances was troubled.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” he asked, curiously.</p> + +<p>“I thought that was Ratty M’Gill with that +bunch,” Frances answered, more as though thinking +aloud than consciously answering Pratt’s question. +“The rascal! He’d run all the fat off a +bunch of cows between pastures.”</p> + +<p>She pulled Molly around and headed the pinto +for the herd. It was not in his way, but Pratt +followed her example and rode his grey hard after +the cowgirl.</p> + +<p>Not a herdsman was in sight. The steers were +coming on through the dust, sweating and steaming, +evidently having been driven very hard since +daybreak. Occasionally one bawled an angry protest; +but those in front were being forced on by +the rear ranks, which in turn were being harassed +by the punchers in charge.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, a bald-faced steer shot out of the ruck +of the herd, darting at right angles to the course. +For a little way a steer can run as fast as a race-horse. +That’s why the creatures are so very hard +to manage on occasion.</p> + +<p>To Pratt, who was watching sharply, it was a +question which got into action first–Frances or +her wise little pinto. He did not see the girl +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span> +speak to Molly; but the pony turned like a shot +and whirled away after the careering steer. At +the same moment, it seemed, Frances had her hair +rope in her hand.</p> + +<p>The coils began to whirl around her head. The +pinto was running like the wind. The bald-faced, +ugly-looking brute of a steer was soon running +neck and neck with the well-mounted girl.</p> + +<p>Pratt followed. He was more interested in the +outcome of the chase than he was in where his +grey was putting his feet.</p> + +<p>There was an eerie yell behind them. Pratt +saw a wild-looking, hatless cowboy racing a black +pony toward them. The whole herd seemed to +have been turned in some miraculous way, and +was thundering after Old Baldface and the girl.</p> + +<p>Pratt began to wonder if there was not danger. +He had heard of a stampede, and it looked to him +as though the bunch of steers was quite out of +hand. Had he been alone, he would have pulled +out and let the herd go by.</p> + +<p>But either Frances did not see them coming, or +she did not care. She was after that bald-faced +steer, and in a moment she had him.</p> + +<p>The whirling noose dropped and in some wonderful +way settled over a horn and one of the +steer’s forefeet. When Molly stopped and +braced herself, the steer pitched forward, turned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span> +a complete somersault, and lay on the prairie at +the mercy of his captor.</p> + +<p>“Hurray!” yelled Pratt, swinging his hat.</p> + +<p>He was riding recklessly himself. He had seen +a half-tamed steer roped and tied at an Amarillo +street fair; but <i>that</i> was nothing like this. It had +all been so easy, so matter-of-fact! No display +at all about the girl’s work; but just as though she +could do it again, and yet again, as often as the +emergency arose.</p> + +<p>Frances cast a glowing smile over her shoulder +at him, as she lay back in the saddle and let Molly +hold Old Baldface in durance. But suddenly her +face changed–a flash of amazed comprehension +chased the triumphant smile away. She opened +her lips to shout something to Pratt–some warning. +And at that instant the grey put his foot +into a ground-dog hole, and the young man from +Amarillo left the saddle!</p> + +<p>He described a perfect parabola and landed on +his head and shoulders on the ground. The grey +scrambled up and shot away at a tangent, out of +the course of the herd of thundering steers. He +was not really hurt.</p> + +<p>But his rider lay still for a moment on the +prairie. Pratt Sanderson was certainly “playing +in hard luck” during his vacation on the ranges.</p> + +<p>The mere losing of his mount was not so bad; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span> +but the steers had really stampeded, and he lay, +half-stunned, directly in the path of the herd.</p> + +<p>Old Baldface struggled to rise and seized upon +the girl’s attention. She used the rope in a most +expert fashion, catching his other foreleg in a loop, +and then catching one of his hind legs, too. He +was secured as safely as a fly in a spider-web.</p> + +<p>Frances was out of her saddle the next moment, +and ran back to where Pratt lay. She knew +Molly would remain fixed in the place she was +left, and sagging back on the rope.</p> + +<p>The girl seized the young man under his armpits +and started to drag him toward the fallen +steer. The bulk of Old Baldface would prove a +protection for them. The herd would break and +swerve to either side of the big steer.</p> + +<p>But one thing went wrong in Frances’ calculations. +Her rope slipped at the saddle. For some +reason it was not fastened securely.</p> + +<p>The straining Molly went over backward, kicking +and squealing as the rope gave way, and the +big steer began to struggle to his feet.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span><a id='link_8'></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /><span class='h2fs'>IN PERIL AND OUT</span></h2> + +<p>Pratt Sanderson had begun to realize the situation. +As Frances’ pony fell and squealed, he +scrambled to his knees.</p> + +<p>“Save yourself, Frances!” he cried. “I am +all right.”</p> + +<p>She left him; but not because she believed his +statement. The girl saw the bald-faced steer staggering +to its feet, and she knew their salvation +depended upon the holding of the bad-tempered +brute.</p> + +<p>The stampeded herd was fast coming down +upon them; afoot, she nor Pratt could scarcely +escape the hoofs and horns of the cattle.</p> + +<p>She saw Ratty M’Gill on the black pony flying +ahead of the steers; but what could one man do +to turn two thousand head of wild cattle? Frances +of the ranges had appreciated the peril which +threatened to the full and at first glance.</p> + +<p>The prostrate carcase of the huge steer would +serve to break the wave of cattle due to pass over +this spot within a very few moments. If Baldface +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span> +got up, shook off the entangling rope and ran, +Frances and Pratt would be utterly helpless.</p> + +<p>Once under the hoofs of the herd, they would +be pounded into the prairie like powder, before the +tail of the stampede had passed.</p> + +<p>Frances, seeing the attempts of the big steer to +climb to its feet, ran forward and seized the rope +that had slipped through the ring of her saddle. +She drew in the slack at once; but her strength was +not sufficient to drag the steer back to earth.</p> + +<p>Snorting and bellowing, the huge beast was all +but on his feet when Pratt Sanderson reached the +girl’s side.</p> + +<p>Pratt was staggering, for the shock of his fall +had been severe. He understood her, however, +when she cried:</p> + +<p>“Jump on it, Pratt! Jump on it!”</p> + +<p>The young man leaped, landing with both feet +on the taut rope. Frances, at the same instant, +threw herself backward, digging her heels into the +sod.</p> + +<p>The shock of the tightening of the rope, therefore, +fell upon the steer. Down he went bellowing +angrily, for he had not cast off the noose that +entangled him.</p> + +<p>“Don’t let him get loose, Pratt! Stand on the +rope!” commanded Frances.</p> + +<p>With the slack of the lariat she ran forward, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span> +caught a kicking hind foot, then entangled one of +the beast’s forefeet, and drew both together with +all her strength. The bellowing steer was now +doubly entangled; but he was not secure, and well +did Frances know it.</p> + +<p>She ran in closer, although Pratt cried out in +warning, and looped the rope over the brute’s +other horn. Slipping the end of her rope through +the loop that held his feet together, Frances got a +purchase by which she could pull the great head +of the beast aside and downward, thus holding +him helpless. It was impossible for him to get +up after he was thus secured.</p> + +<p>“Got him! Quick, Pratt, this way!” Frances +panted.</p> + +<p>She beckoned to the Amarillo young man, and +the latter instantly joined her. She had conquered +the steer in a few seconds; the herd was now thundering +down upon them. M’Gill, on the black +pony, dashed by.</p> + +<p>“Bully for you, Miss Frances,” he yelled.</p> + +<p>“You wait, Ratty!” Frances said; but, of +course, only Pratt heard. “Father and Sam will +jack you up for this, and no mistake!”</p> + +<p>Then she whipped out her revolver and fired it +into the air–emptying all the chambers as the +herd came on.</p> + +<p>The steers broke and passed on either side of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span> +their fallen brother. The tossing horns, fiery eyes +and red, expanded nostrils made them look–to +Pratt’s mind–fully as savage as had the mountain +lion the evening before.</p> + +<p>Then he looked again at his comrade. She was +only breathing quickly now; she gave no sign of +fear. It was all in the day’s work. Such adventures +as this had been occasional occurrences with +Frances of the ranges since childhood.</p> + +<p>Pratt could scarcely connect this alert, vigorous +young girl with her who had sat at the piano in the +ranch-house the previous evening!</p> + +<p>“You’re a wonder!” murmured Pratt Sanderson, +to himself. And then suddenly he broke out +laughing.</p> + +<p>“What’s tickling you, Pratt?” asked Frances, +in her most matter-of-fact tone.</p> + +<p>“I was just wondering,” the Amarillo young +man replied, “what Sue Latrop will think of you +when she comes out here.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s she?” asked Frances, a little puzzled +frown marring her smooth forehead. She was +trying to remember any girl of that name with +whom she had gone to school at the Amarillo +High.</p> + +<p>“Sue Latrop’s a distant cousin of Mrs. Bill +Edwards, and she’s from Boston. She’s Eastern +to the tips of her fingers–and talk about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span> +‘culchaw’! She has it to burn,” chuckled Pratt. +“Bill Edwards says she is just ‘putting on dog’ +to show us natives how awfully crude we are. But +I guess she doesn’t know any better.”</p> + +<p>The steers had swept by, and Pratt was just a +little hysterical. He laughed too easily and his +hand shook as he wiped the perspiration and dust +from his face.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t think she would be a nice girl at +all,” Frances said, bluntly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s not at all bad. Rather pretty and–my +word–some dresser! No end of clothes +she’s brought with her. She’s coming out to the +Edwards ranch before long, and you’ll probably +see her.”</p> + +<p>Frances bit her lip and said nothing for a +moment. The big steer struggled again and +groaned. The girl and Pratt were afoot and the +stampede of cattle had swept their mounts away. +Even Molly, the pinto, was out of call.</p> + +<p>The half dozen punchers who followed the +maddened steers had no time for Frances and +her companion. A great cloud of dust hung over +the departing herd and that was the last the castaways +on the prairie would see of either cattle or +punchers that day.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got to walk, I reckon,” Frances said, +slowly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span>“How about this steer?” asked the young man, +curiously.</p> + +<p>“I think he’s tamed enough for the time,” said +the girl, with a smile. “Anyway I want my rope. +It’s a good one.”</p> + +<p>She began to untangle the bald-faced steer. He +struggled and grunted and tossed his wide, wicked +horns free. To tell the truth Pratt was more +than a little afraid of him. But he saw that +Frances had reloaded the revolver she carried, +and he merely stepped aside and waited. The +girl knew so much better what to do that he could +be of no assistance.</p> + +<p>“Now, Pratt,” she said, at last, “stand from +under! Hoop-la!”</p> + +<p>She swung the looped lariat and brought it +down smartly upon the beast’s back as it struggled +to its shaking legs. The steer bellowed, shook +himself like a dog coming out of the water, or a +mule out of the harness, and trotted away briskly.</p> + +<p>“He’ll follow the herd, I reckon,” Frances said, +smiling again. “If he doesn’t they’ll pick him +out at the next round-up. His brand is too plain +to miss.”</p> + +<p>“And now we’re afoot,” said Pratt. “It’s a +long walk for you back to the house, Frances.”</p> + +<p>“And longer for you to the Edwards ranch,” +she laughed. “But perhaps you will fall in with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span> +some of Mr. Bill’s herders. They’ll have an +extra mount or two. I’ll maybe catch Molly. +She’s a good pinto.”</p> + +<p>“But oughtn’t I to go back with you?” questioned +Pratt, doubtfully. “You see–you’re +alone–and afoot―”</p> + +<p>“Why! it isn’t the first time, Pratt,” laughed +the girl. “Don’t fret about me. This range to +me is just like your backyard to you.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it sounds silly,” admitted Pratt. +“But I haven’t been used to seeing girls quite as +independent as you are, Frances Rugley.”</p> + +<p>“No? The girls you know don’t live the sort +of life I do,” said the range girl, rather wistfully.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that they have anything on you,” +put in Pratt, stoutly. “I think you’re just wonderful!”</p> + +<p>“Because I am doing something different from +what you are used to seeing girls do,” she said, +with gravity. “That is no compliment, Pratt.”</p> + +<p>“Well! I meant it as such,” he said, earnestly. +He offered his hand, knowing better than to urge +his company upon her. “And I hope you know +how much obliged to you I am. I feel as though +you had saved my life twice. I would not have +known what to do in the face of that stampede.”</p> + +<p>“Every man to his trade,” quoted Frances, +carelessly. “Good-bye, Pratt. Come over again +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span> +to see us,” and she gave his hand a quick clasp +and turned away briskly.</p> + +<p>He stood and watched her for some moments; +then, fearing she might look back and see him, he +faced around himself and set forth on his long +tramp to the Edwards ranch.</p> + +<p>It was true Frances did not turn around; but +she knew well enough Pratt gazed after her. He +would have been amazed had he known her reason +for showing no further interest in him–for not +even turning to wave her hand at him in good-bye. +There were tears on her cheeks, and she was +afraid he would see them.</p> + +<p>“I am foolish–wicked!” she told herself. +“Of course he knows other–and nicer–girls than +<i>me</i>. And it isn’t just that, either,” she added, +rather enigmatically. “But to remember all those +girls I knew in Amarillo! How different their +lives are from mine!</p> + +<p>“How different they must look and behave. +Why, I’m a perfect <i>tomboy</i>. Pratt said I was +wonderful–just as though I were a trick pony, or +an educated goose!</p> + +<p>“I do things he never saw a girl do before, and +he thinks it strange and odd. But if that Sue +Latrop should see me and say that I was not nice, +he’d begin to see, too, that it is a fact.</p> + +<p>“Riding with the boys here on the ranch, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span> +officiating at the branding-pen, riding herd, cutting +out beeves and playing the cowboy generally, has +not added to my ‘culchaw,’ that is sure. I don’t +know that I’d be able to ‘act up’ in decent society +again.</p> + +<p>“Pratt looked at me big-eyed last evening +when I dressed for dinner. But he was only +astonished and amused, I suppose. He didn’t +expect me to look like that after seeing me in this +old riding dress.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” sighed Frances of the ranges. “I +wouldn’t leave daddy, or do anything to displease +him, poor dear! But I wish he could be content +to live nearer to civilization.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got enough money. <i>I</i> don’t want any +more, I’m sure. We could sell the cattle and turn +our ranges into wheat and milo fields. Then we +could live in town part of the year–in Amarillo, +perhaps!”</p> + +<p>The thought was a daring one. Indeed, she +was not wholly confident that it was not a wicked +thought.</p> + +<p>Just then she reached the summit of a slight +ridge from which she could behold the home corrals +of the <i>hacienda</i> itself, still a long distance ahead, +and glowing like jewels in the morning sunshine.</p> + +<p>Such a beautiful place! After all, Frances +Rugley loved it. It was home, and every tender +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span> +tie of her life bound her to it and to the old man +who she knew was sitting somewhere on the +veranda, with his pipe and his memories.</p> + +<p>There never was such another beautiful place +as the old Bar-T! Frances was sure of that. She +longed for Amarillo and what the old Captain +called “the frills of society”; but could she give +up the ranch for them?</p> + +<p>“I reckon I want to keep my cake and eat it, +too,” she sighed. “And that, daddy would say, +‘is plumb impossible!’”</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span><a id='link_9'></a>CHAPTER IX<br /><span class='h2fs'>SURPRISING NEWS</span></h2> + +<p>Frances arrived at home about noon. The +last few miles she bestrode Molly, for that intelligent +creature had allowed herself to be caught. +It was too late to go on the errand to Cottonwood +Bottom before luncheon.</p> + +<p>Silent Sam Harding met her at the corral gate. +He was a lanky, saturnine man, with never a laugh +in his whole make-up. But he was liked by the +men, and Frances knew him to be faithful to the +Bar-T interests.</p> + +<p>“What happened to Ratty’s bunch?” he asked, +in his sober way.</p> + +<p>“Did you see them?” cried Frances, leaping +down from the saddle.</p> + +<p>“Saw their dust,” said Sam.</p> + +<p>“They stampeded,” Frances said, warmly. +“And Mr. Sanderson and I lost our ponies–pretty +nearly had a bad accident, Sam,” and she +went on to give the foreman of the ranch the particulars. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span> +“I thought something was wrong. I got that +little grey hawse of Bill Edwards’. He just come +in,” said Sam.</p> + +<p>“Ratty M’Gill was running those steers,” +Frances told him. “I must report him to daddy. +He’s been warned before. I think Ratty’s got +some whiskey.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder. There was a bootlegger +through here yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“The man who tried to get over our roof!” +exclaimed Frances.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe.”</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose he’s known to Ratty?” questioned +the girl, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Dunno. But Ratty’s about worn out his welcome +on the Bar-T. If the Cap says the word, I’ll +can him.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Frances, “he shouldn’t have +driven that herd so hard. I’ll have to speak to +daddy about it, Sam, though I hate to bother him +just now. He’s all worked up over that business +of last night.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t understand it,” said the foreman, shaking +his head.</p> + +<p>“Could it have been the bootlegger?” queried +Frances, referring to the illicit whiskey seller of +whom she suspected the irresponsible Ratty M’Gill +had purchased liquor. The “bootleggers” were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span> +supposed to carry pint flasks of bad whiskey in +the legs of their topboots, to sell at a fancy price +to thirsty punchers on the ranges.</p> + +<p>“Dunno how that slate come broken on the +roof,” grumbled Sam. “The feller knowed just +where to go to hitch his rope ladder. Goin’ to +have one of the boys ride herd on the <i>hacienda</i> at +night for a while.” This was a long speech for +Silent Sam.</p> + +<p>Frances thanked him and went up to the house. +She did not find an opportunity of speaking to +Captain Rugley about Ratty M’Gill at once, however, +for she found him in a state of great excitement.</p> + +<p>“Listen to this, Frances!” he ejaculated, when +she appeared, waving a sheet of paper in his hand, +and trying to get up from the hard chair in which +he was sitting.</p> + +<p>A spasm of pain balked him; his bronzed face +wrinkled as the rheumatic twinge gripped him; +but his hawklike eyes gleamed.</p> + +<p>“My! my!” he grunted. “This pain is something +fierce.”</p> + +<p>Frances fluttered to his side. “Do take an +easier chair, Daddy,” she begged. “It will be so +much more comfortable.”</p> + +<p>“Hold on! this does very well. Your old +dad’s never been used to cushions and do-funnies. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span> +But see here! I want you to read this.” He +waved the paper again.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Daddy?” Frances asked, without +much curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Heard from old Lon at last–yes, ma’am! +What do you know about that? From good old +Lon, who was my partner for twenty years. I’ve +got a letter here that one of the boys brought +from the station just now, from a minister, back +in Mississippi. Poor old Lon’s in a soldier’s +home, and he’s just got track of me.</p> + +<p>“My soul and body, Frances! Think of it,” +added the excited Captain. “He’s been living +almost like a beggar for years in a Confederate +soldiers’ home–good place, like enough, of its +kind, but here am I rolling in wealth, and that +treasure chest right here under my eye, and Lon +suffering, perhaps―”</p> + +<p>The Captain almost broke down, for with the +pain he was enduring and all, the incident quite +unstrung him. Frances had her arms about him +and kissed his tear-streaked cheek.</p> + +<p>“Foolish, am I?” he demanded, looking up at +her, “But it’s broken me up–hearing from my +old partner this way. Read the letter, Frances, +won’t you?”</p> + +<p>She did so. It was from the chaplain of the +Bylittle Soldiers’ Home, of Bylittle, Mississippi.</p> + +<div class='bquote'> +<p class='mb00'>“Captain Daniel Rugley,<br /> +  “Bar-T Ranch,<br /> +    “Texas Panhandle.</p> +<p>“Dear Sir:</p> +</div> + +<div class='bquote'> +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span>“I am writing in behalf of an old soldier in this +institution, one Jonas P. Lonergan, who was at +one time a member of Company K, Texas +Rangers, and who before that time served honorably +in Company P, Fifth Regiment, Mississippi +Volunteers, during the War between the States.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Lonergan is a sadly broken man, having +passed through much evil after his experiences on +the Border and in Mexico in your company. +Indeed, his whole life has been one of privation +and hardship. Now, bent with years, he has been +obliged to seek refuge with some of his ancient +comrades at Bylittle.</p> + +<p>“In several private talks with me, Captain +Rugley, he has mentioned the incidents relating +to the looting and destruction of Señor Morales’ +<i>hacienda</i>, over the Border in Mexico, while you +and he were on detail in that vicinity as Rangers.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the old man is rambling; but he +always talks of a treasure chest which he claims +you and he rescued from the bandits and removed +into Arizona, hiding the same in a certain valley +at the mouth of a cañon which he calls Dry Bone +Cañon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span>“Mr. Lonergan always speaks of you as ‘the +whitest man who ever lived.’ ‘If my old partner, +Captain Dan, knew how I was fixed or where I +was, he’d have me rollin’ in luxury in no time,’ he +has said to me; ‘providing he’s this same Captain +Dan Rugley that’s owner of the Bar-T Ranch in +the Panhandle.’</p> + +<p>“You know (if you know him at all) that Mr. +Lonergan had no educational advantages. Such +men have difficulty in keeping up communication +with their friends.</p> + +<p>“He claims to have lost track of you twenty-odd +years ago. That when you separated you +both swore to divide equally the contents of Señor +Morales’ treasure chest, the hiding place of which +at that time was in a hostile country, Geronimo and +his braves being on the warpath.</p> + +<p>“If you are Jonas P. Lonergan’s old-time partner +you will remember the particulars more clearly +than I can state them.</p> + +<p>“If this be the case, I am sure I need only state +the above and certify to the identity of Mr. Lonergan, +to bring from you an expression of your +remembrance and the statement whether or no +any property to which Mr. Lonergan might make +a claim is in your possession.</p> + +<p>“Mr. L. speaks much of the treasure chest and +tells marvelous stories of its contents. He does +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span>not seem to desire wealth for himself, however, +for he well knows that he has but a few months to +live, nor does he seem ever to have cared greatly +for money.</p> + +<p>“His anxiety is for the condition of a sister of +his who was left a widow some years ago, and +for her son. Mr. L. fears that the nephew has +not the chance of getting on in life that he would +like the boy to have. In his old age Mr. L. feels +keenly the fact that he was never able to do anything +for his family, and the fate of his widowed +sister and her son is much on his mind.</p> + +<p>“A prompt reply, Captain Rugley, if you are the +old-time partner of my ancient friend, will be +gratefully received by the undersigned, and joyfully +by Mr. Lonergan.</p> +</div> <!-- block quote --> + +<div class='bquote'> +<p class='tar mr100 mb00'>Respectfully,</p> +<p class='tar mt00'>(Rev.) <span class='sc'>Decimus Tooley</span>.</p> +</div> + +<p>“Why! what do you think of that?” gasped +Frances, when she had read the letter to the very +last word.</p> + +<p>Her father’s face was shining and there were +tears in his eyes. His joy at hearing from his old +companion-in-arms was unmistakable.</p> + +<p>This turning up of Jonas Lonergan meant the +parting with a portion of the mysterious wealth +that the old ranchman kept hidden in the Spanish +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span> +chest–wealth that he might easily keep if he +would.</p> + +<p>Frances was proud of him. Never for an +instant did he seem to worry about parting with +the treasure to Lonergan. His fears for it had +never been the fears of a miser who worshiped +wealth–no, indeed!</p> + +<p>Now it was plain that the thought of seeing his +old partner alive again, and putting into his hands +the part of the treasure rightfully belonging to +him, delighted Captain Dan Rugley in every fibre +of his being.</p> + +<p>“The poor old codger!” exclaimed the ranchman, +affectionately. “And to think of Lon being +in need, and living poor–maybe actually suffering–when +I’ve been doing so well here, and have had +this old chest right under my thumb all these years.</p> + +<p>“You see, Frances,” said the Captain, making +more of an explanation than ever before, “Lon +and I got possession of that chest in a funny way.</p> + +<p>“We’d been sent after as mean a man as ever +infested the Border–and there were some mighty +mean men along the Rio Grande in those days. +He had slipped across the Border to escape us; but +in those times we didn’t pay much attention to the +line between the States and Mexico.</p> + +<p>“We went after him just the same. He was +with a crowd of regular bandits, we found out. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span> +And they were aiming to clean up Señor Milo +Morales’ <i>hacienda</i>.</p> + +<p>“We got onto their plans, and we rode hard to +the <i>hacienda</i> to head them off. We knew the +old Spaniard–as fine a Castilian gentleman as +ever stepped in shoe-leather.</p> + +<p>“We stopped with him a while, beat off the +bandits, and captured our man. After everything +quieted down (as we thought) we started for the +Border with the prisoner. Señor Morales was an +old man, without chick or child, and not a relative +in the world to leave his wealth to. His was one +of the few Castilian families that had run out. +Neither in Mexico nor in Spain did he have a +blood tie.</p> + +<p>“His vast estates he had already willed to the +Church. Such faithful servants as he had (and +they were few, for the <i>peon</i> is not noted for gratitude) +he had already taken care of.</p> + +<p>“Lon and I had saved his life as well as his +personal property, he was good enough to say, and +he showed us this treasure chest and what was in it. +When he passed on, he said, it should be ours if we +were fixed so we could get it before the Mexican +authorities stepped in and grabbed it all, or before +bandits cleaned out the <i>hacienda</i>. It was a toss-up +in those days between the two, which was the most +voracious!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span>“Well, Frances, that’s how it stood when we +rode away with Simon Hawkins lashed to a pony +between us. Before we reached the river we +heard of a big band of outlaws that had come +down from the Sierras and were trailing over +toward Morales’.</p> + +<p>“We hurried back, leaving Simon staked down +in a hide-out we knew of. But Lon and I were +too late,” said the old Captain, shaking his head +sadly. “Those scoundrels had got there ahead +of us, led by the men we had first beaten off, and +they had done their worst.</p> + +<p>“The good old Señor–as harmless and lovely +a soul as ever lived–had been brutally murdered. +One or two of his servants had been killed, too–for +appearance’s sake, I suppose. The others, +especially the <i>vaqueros</i>, had joined the outlaws, +and the <i>hacienda</i> was being looted.</p> + +<p>“But Lon and I took a chance, stole in by night, +found the treasure chest, and slipped away with it. +I went back alone before dawn, found a six-mule +team already loaded with household stuff and +drove off with it, thus stealing from the thieves.</p> + +<p>“A good many of these fine old things we have +here were on that wagon. I decided that they +belonged to me as much as to anybody. Get them +once over the boundary into God’s country and the +thieving Mexican Government–only one degree +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span> +removed at that time from the outlaws themselves–would +not dare lay claim to them.</p> + +<p>“We did this,” concluded Captain Dan, with a +sigh of reminiscence, and with his eyes shining, +“and we got Simon into the jail at Elberad, too.</p> + +<p>“Lon and I kept on up into Arizona, into Dry +Bone Cañon, and there we cached the stuff. Air +and sand are so dry there that nothing ever decays, +and so all these rugs and hangings and featherwork +were uninjured when I brought them away to this +ranch soon after you were born.</p> + +<p>“That’s the story, my dear. I never talk much +about it, for it isn’t altogether my secret. You +see, my old partner, Lon, was in on it. And now +he’s going to come for his share―”</p> + +<p>“Come for his share, Daddy?” asked Frances, +in surprise.</p> + +<p>“Yes–sir-ree–sir!” chuckled the old ranchman. +“Think I’m going to let old Lon stay in +that soldiers’ home? Not much!”</p> + +<p>“But will he be able to travel here to the Panhandle?”</p> + +<p>“Of course! What the matter is with Lon, +he’s been shut indoors. I know what it is. Why! +he’s younger than I am by a year or two.”</p> + +<p>“But if he can’t travel alone―”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go after him! I’ll hire a private car! +My goodness! I’ll hire a whole train if it’s necessary +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span> +to get him out of that Bylittle place! That’s +what I’ll do!</p> + +<p>“And he shall live here with us–so he shall! +He and I will divide this treasure just as I’ve been +aching to do for years. You shall have jewels +then, my girl!”</p> + +<p>“But, dear!” gasped Frances, “you are not +well enough to go so far.”</p> + +<p>“Now, don’t bother, Frances. Your old dad +isn’t dead yet–not by any means! I’ll be all right +in a day or two.”</p> + +<p>But Captain Rugley was not all right in so short +a time. He actually grew worse. Frances sent a +messenger for the doctor the very next morning. +Whether it was from the exposure of the night the +stranger tried to climb over the <i>hacienda</i> roof or not, Captain Rugley took to his bed. The physician +pronounced it rheumatic fever, and a very +serious case indeed.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span><a id='link_10'></a>CHAPTER X<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE MAN FROM BYLITTLE</span></h2> + +<p>Responsibility weighed heavily upon the +young shoulders of Frances of the ranges in these +circumstances.</p> + +<p>Old Captain Rugley insisted upon being out of +doors, ill as he was, and they made him as comfortable +as possible on a couch in the court where +the fountain played. Ming was in attendance +upon him all day long, for Frances had many +duties to call her away from the ranch-house at this +time. But at night she slept almost within touch +of the sick man’s bed.</p> + +<p>He did not get better. The physician declared +that he was not in immediate danger, although the +fever would have to run its course. The pain that +racked his body was hard to bear; and although he +was a stoic in such matters, Frances would see his +jaws clench and the muscles knot in his cheeks; +and she often wiped the drops of agony from his +forehead while striving to hide the tears that came +into her own eyes.</p> + +<p>He demanded to know how long he was “going +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span> +to be laid by the heels”; and when he learned that +the doctor could not promise him a swift return +to health, Captain Rugley began to worry.</p> + +<p>It was of his old partner he thought most. That +the affairs of the ranch would go on all right in +the hands of his young daughter and Silent Sam, +he seemed to have no doubt. But the letter from +the chaplain of the Bylittle Soldiers’ Home was +forever troubling him. Between his spells of +agony, or when his mind was really clear, he +talked to Frances of little but Jonas Lonergan and +the treasure chest.</p> + +<p>“He is troubling his mind about something, and +it is not good for him,” the doctor, who came +every third day (and had a two hundred-mile +jaunt by train and buckboard), told Frances. +“Can’t you calm his mind, Miss Frances?”</p> + +<p>She told the medical man as much about her +father’s ancient friend as she thought was wise. +“He desires to have him brought here,” she +explained, “so that they can go over, face to face +and eye to eye, their old battles and adventures.”</p> + +<p>“Good! Bring the man–have him brought,” +said the physician.</p> + +<p>“But he is an old soldier,” said Frances. She +read aloud that part of the Reverend Decimus +Tooley’s letter relating to the state of Mr. Lonergan’s +health.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span>“Don’t know what we can do about it, then,” +said the doctor, who was a native of the Southwest +himself. “Your father and the old fellow seem +to be ‘honing’ for each other. Too bad they +can’t meet. It would do your father good. I +don’t like his mind’s being troubled.”</p> + +<p>That night Frances was really frightened. Her +father began muttering in his sleep. Then he +talked aloud, and sat up in bed excitedly, his face +flushed, and his tongue becoming clearer, although +his speech was not lucid.</p> + +<p>He was going over in his distraught mind the +adventures he had had with Lon when they two had +foiled the bandits and recovered possession of the +Señor’s treasure chest.</p> + +<p>Frances begged him to desist, but he did not +know her. He babbled of the long journey with +the mule team into the mouth of Dry Bone Cañon, +and the caching of the treasure. For an hour he +talked steadily and then, growing weaker, gradually +sank back on his pillows and became silent.</p> + +<p>But the effort was very weakening. Frances +telephoned from the nearest station for the doctor. +Something <i>had</i> to be done, for the exertion and +excitement of the night had left Captain Rugley in +a state that troubled the girl much.</p> + +<p>She had no friend of her own sex. Mrs. Bill +Edwards was a city woman whom, after all, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span> +scarcely knew, for the lady had not been married +to Mr. Edwards more than a year.</p> + +<p>There were other good women scattered over +the ranges–some “nesters,” some small cattle-raisers’ +wives, and some of the new order of Panhandle +farmers; but Frances had never been in +close touch with them.</p> + +<p>The social gatherings at the church and schoolhouse +at Jackleg had been attended by Frances and +Captain Rugley; but the Bar-T folk really had no +near neighbors.</p> + +<p>The girl’s interest in the forthcoming pageant +had called the attention of other people to her +more than ever before; but to tell the truth the +young folk were rather awe-stricken by Frances’ +abilities as displayed in the preparation for the +entertainment, while the older people did not +know just how to treat the wealthy ranchman’s +daughter–whether as a person of mature years, +or as a child.</p> + +<p>Riding back from the railroad station, where +one of the boys with the buckboard three hours +later would meet the physician, she thought of +these facts. Somehow, she had never felt so +lonely–so cut off from other people as she did +right now.</p> + +<p>The railroad crossed one corner of the Bar-T’s +vast fenced ranges; but there were twenty long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span> +miles between the house and the station. She had +ridden Molly hard coming over to speak to the +doctor on the telephone; but she took it easy going +back.</p> + +<p>Somewhere along the trail she would meet the +buckboard and ponies going over to meet the +doctor. And as she walked her pony down the +slope of the trail into Cottonwood Bottom, she +thought she heard the rattle of the buckboard +wheels ahead.</p> + +<p>A clump of trees hid the trail for a bit; when +she rounded it the way was empty. Whoever she +had heard had turned off the trail into the cottonwoods.</p> + +<p>“Maybe he didn’t water the ponies before he +started,” thought Frances, “and has gone down +to the ford. That’s a bit of carelessness that I do +not like. Whom could Sam have sent with the +bronchos for the doctor?”</p> + +<p>She turned Molly off the trail beyond the +bridge. The wood was not a jungle, but she could +not see far ahead, nor be seen. By and by she +smelled tobacco smoke–the everlasting cigarette +of the cattle puncher. Then she heard the sound +of voices.</p> + +<p>Why this latter fact should have made Frances +suspicious, she could not have told. It was her +womanly intuition, perhaps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span>Slipping out of the saddle, she tied Molly with +her head up-wind. She was afraid the pinto +would smell her fellows from the ranch, and signal +them, as horses will.</p> + +<p>Once away from her mount, she passed between +the trees and around the brush clumps until she +saw the ford of the river sparkling below her. +There were the hard-driven ponies, their heads +drooping, their flanks heaving, standing knee-deep +in the stream–this fact in itself an offense that +she could not overlook.</p> + +<p>The animals had been overdriven, and now the +employee of the ranch who had them in charge was +allowing them to cool off too quickly–and in the +cold stream, too!</p> + +<p>But who was he? For a moment Frances could +not conceive.</p> + +<p>The figure of the driver was humped over on +the seat in a slouching attitude, sitting sideways, +and with his back toward the direction from which +the range girl was approaching. He faced a man +on a shabby horse, whose mount likewise stood +in the stream and who had been fording the river +from the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>This horseman was a stranger to Frances. He +wore a broad-brimmed black hat, no chaps, no +cartridge belt or gun in sight, and a white shirt and +a vest under his coat, while shoes instead of boots +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span> +were on his feet. He was neither puncher nor +farmer in appearance. And his face was bad.</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt of that latter fact. +He wore a stubble of beard that did not disguise +the sneering mouth, or the wickedly leering expression +of his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well, I done my part, old fellow,” drawled +the man in the seat of the buckboard, just as +Frances came within earshot. “’Tain’t my fault +you bungled it.”</p> + +<p>Frances stopped instead of going on. It was +Ratty M’Gill!</p> + +<p>She could not understand why he was not on +the range, or why Sam had sent the ne’er-do-well +to meet the doctor. It puzzled her before the +puncher’s continued speech began to arouse her +curiosity.</p> + +<p>“You’ll sure find yourself in a skillet of hot +water, old fellow,” pursued Ratty, inhaling his +cigarette smoke and letting it forth through his +nostrils in little puffs as he talked. “The old +Cap’s built his house like a fort, anyway. And +he’s some man with a gun–believe me!”</p> + +<p>“You say he’s sick,” said the other man, and +he, too, drawled. Frances found herself wondering +where she had heard that voice before.</p> + +<p>“He ain’t so sick that he can’t guard that chest +you was talkin’ about. He’s had his bed made up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span> +right in the room with it. That’s whatever,” said +Ratty.</p> + +<p>“Once let me get in there,” said the other, +slowly.</p> + +<p>“Sam’s set some of the boys to ride herd on +the house,” chuckled Ratty.</p> + +<p>“That’s the way, then!” exclaimed the other, +raising his clenched fist and shaking it. “You get +put on that detail, Ratty.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see you blessed first,” declared the +puncher, laughing. “I don’t see nothing in it but +trouble for me.”</p> + +<p>“No trouble for you at all. They didn’t get +you before.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said the puncher. “More by good luck +than good management. I don’t like going things +blind, Pete. And you’re always so blamed secretive.”</p> + +<p>“I have to be,” growled the other. “You’re +as leaky as a sieve yourself, Ratty. I never could +trust you.”</p> + +<p>“Nor nobody else,” laughed the reckless +puncher. “Sam’s about got my number now. If +he ain’t the gal has―”</p> + +<p>“You mean that daughter of the old man’s?”</p> + +<p>“Yep. She’s an able-minded gal–believe me! +And she’s just about boss of the ranch, specially +now the old Cap is laid by the heels for a while.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span>The other was silent for some moments. Ratty +gathered up the reins from the backs of the tired +ponies.</p> + +<p>“I gotter step along, Pete,” he said. “Gal’s +gone to telephone for the medical sharp, who’ll +show up on Number 20 when she goes through +Jackleg. I’m to meet him. Or,” and he began +to chuckle again, “José Reposa was, and I took his +place so’s to meet you here as I promised.”</p> + +<p>“And lots of good your meeting me seems to +do me,” growled the man called Pete.</p> + +<p>“Well, old fellow! is that my fault?” +demanded the puncher.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I gotter git inside that +<i>hacienda</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Walk in. The door’s open.”</p> + +<p>“You think you are smart, don’t you?” snarled +Pete, in anger. “You tell me where the chest is +located; but it couldn’t be brought out by day. But +at night― My soul, man! I had the team all +ready and waiting the other night, and I could +have got the thing if I’d had luck.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t have luck,” chuckled Ratty M’Gill. +“And I don’t believe you’d ’a’ had much more luck +if you’d got away with the old Cap’s chest.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you there’s a fortune in it!”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know―”</p> + +<p>“And I suppose you do?” snarled Pete.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span>“I know no sane man ain’t going to keep a +whole mess of jewels and such, what you talk +about, right in his house. He’d take ’em to a +bank at Amarillo, or somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“Not that old codger. He’d keep ’em under +his own eye. He wouldn’t trust a bank like he +would himself. Humph! I know his kind.</p> + +<p>“Why,” continued Pete, excitedly, “that old +feller at Bylittle is another one just like him. +These old-timers dug gold, and made their piles +half a dozen times, and never trusted banks–there +warn’t no banks!”</p> + +<p>“Not in them days,” admitted Ratty. “But +there’s a plenty now.”</p> + +<p>“You say yourself he’s got the chest.”</p> + +<p>“Sure! I seen it once or twice. Old Spanish +carving and all that. But I bet there ain’t much +in it, Pete.”</p> + +<p>“You’d ought to have heard that doddering +old idiot, Lonergan, talk about it,” sniffed Pete. +“Then your mouth would have watered. I tell +you that’s about all he’s been talkin’ about the last +few months, there at Bylittle. And I was orderly +on his side of the barracks and heard it all.</p> + +<p>“I know that the parson, Mr. Tooley, was goin’ +to write to this Cap Rugley. Has, before now, +it’s likely. Then something will be done about +the treasure―”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span>“Waugh!” shouted Ratty. “Treasure! You +sound like a silly boy with a dime story book.”</p> + +<p>The puncher evidently did not believe his friend +knew what he was talking about. Pete glowered +at him, too angry to speak for a minute or two.</p> + +<p>Frances began to worm her way back through +the brush. She put the biggest trees between her +and the ford of the river. When she knew the +two men could not see or hear her, she ran.</p> + +<p>She had heard enough. Her mind was in a +turmoil just then. Her first thought was to get +away, and get Molly away. Then she would +think this startling affair out.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span><a id='link_11'></a>CHAPTER XI<br /><span class='h2fs'>FRANCES ACTS</span></h2> + +<p>She got away from the Bottom without disturbing +Ratty and the man from Bylittle. Once Molly +was loping over the plain again, Frances began to +question her impressions of the dialogue she had +overheard.</p> + +<p>In the first place, she was sure she had heard +the voice of the man, Pete, before. It was the +same drawling voice that had come out of the +darkness asking for food and a bed the evening +Pratt Sanderson stopped at the Bar-T Ranch.</p> + +<p>The voice had been cheerful then; it was snarling +now; but the tones were identical. Then, +going a step farther, Frances realized, from the +talk she had just heard, that this Pete was the man +who had tried to get over the roof of the ranch-house. +One and the same man–tramp and robber.</p> + +<p>Ratty had shown Pete the way. Ratty was a +traitor. He might easily have seen the broken +slate on the roof and pointed it out to the mysterious +Pete.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span>The latter had been an orderly in the Bylittle +Soldiers’ Home, and had heard the story of the +Spanish treasure chest, when old Mr. Lonergan +was rambling about it to the chaplain.</p> + +<p>The fellow’s greed had started him upon the +quest of the treasure so long in Captain Rugley’s +care. Perhaps he had known Ratty M’Gill +before; it seemed so. And yet, Ratty did not +seem entirely in the confidence of the robber.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Ratty must leave the ranch. +Frances was determined upon this.</p> + +<p>She could not tell her father about him; and she +shrank from revealing the puncher’s villainy to +Silent Sam Harding. Indeed, she was afraid of +what Sam and the other boys on the ranch might +do to punish Ratty M’Gill. The Bar-T punchers +might be rather rough with a fellow like Ratty.</p> + +<p>Frances believed the boys on the Bar-T were +loyal to her father and herself. Ratty’s defection +hurt her as much as it surprised her. She had +never thought him more than reckless; but it +seemed he had developed more despicable characteristics.</p> + +<p>These and similar thoughts disturbed Frances’ +mind as she made her way back to the ranch-house. +She found her father very weak, but once more +quite lucid. Ming glided away at her approach +and Frances sat down to hold the old ranchman’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span> +hand and tell him inconsequential things regarding +the work on the ranges, and the gossip of the bunk-house.</p> + +<p>All the time the girl’s heart hungered to nurse +him herself, day and night, instead of depending +upon the aid of a shuffle-footed Chinaman. The +mothering instinct was just as strong in her nature +as in most girls of her age. But she knew her +duty lay elsewhere.</p> + +<p>Before this time Captain Rugley had never +entirely given over the reins of government into +the hands of Silent Sam. He had kept in touch +with ranch affairs, delegating some duties to +Frances, others to Sam or to the underforeman. +Now the girl had to be much more than the intermediary +between the old ranchman and his employees.</p> + +<p>The doctor had impressed her with the rule that +his patient was not to be worried by business matters. +Many things she had to do “off her own +bat,” as Sam Harding expressed it. The matter +of Ratty M’Gill’s discharge must be one of these +things, Frances saw plainly.</p> + +<p>She waited now for the doctor’s appearance +with much anxiety of mind. The Captain was +quiet when the physician came; but the effect of +his delirium of the night before was plain to the +medical eye.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span>“Something must be done to ease his mind of +this anxiety about his old chum, Frances,” said the +doctor, taking her aside. “That, I take it, was +the burden of his trouble when he rambled last +night in his speech?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Try to get the fellow brought here, then,” +said the doctor, with decision.</p> + +<p>“That Mr. Lonergan?”</p> + +<p>“The old soldier–yes. Can’t it be done?”</p> + +<p>“I–I don’t know,” said the troubled girl. +“The chaplain writes that he is a sick man―”</p> + +<p>“And so is your father. I warn you. A very +sick man. And he cannot be moved, while this +Lonergan can probably travel if his fare is paid.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Doctor! If it is only a matter of money, +father, I know, would hire a private car–a whole +train, he said!–to get his old partner here,” +Frances declared.</p> + +<p>“Good! I advise you to go ahead and send +for the man,” said the physician. “It’s the best +prescription for Captain Rugley that I can give +you. He has his mind set upon seeing his old +friend, and these delirious spells will be repeated +unless his longing is satisfied. And such attacks +are weakening.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see that, Doctor!” agreed Frances.</p> + +<p>She sat down that very hour and wrote to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span> +Reverend Decimus Tooley, explaining why she, +instead of Captain Rugley, wrote, and requesting +that Jonas Lonergan be made ready for the trip +from Bylittle to Jackleg, in the Panhandle, where +a carriage from the Bar-T Ranch would meet him.</p> + +<p>She told the chaplain of the soldiers’ home that +a private car would be supplied for Captain +Rugley’s old partner to travel in, if it were necessary. +She would make all arrangements for +transportation immediately upon receiving word +from Mr. Tooley that the old man could travel.</p> + +<p>Haste was important, as she explained. Likewise +she asked the following question–giving no +reason for her curiosity:</p> + +<p>“Did there recently leave the Bylittle Home an +employee–an orderly–whose first name is Peter? +And if so, what is his reputation, his full name, +and why did he leave the Home?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe that will puzzle the Reverend Mr. +Tooley some,” thought Frances of the ranges. +“But I am indeed curious about this friend of +Ratty M’Gill’s. And now I’ll tell Silent Sam that +there is a man lurking about the Bar-T who must +be watched.”</p> + +<p>She said nothing to Captain Rugley about sending +for Lonergan until she had written. The doctor +said it would be just as well not to discuss the +matter much until it was accomplished. He also +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span> +left soothing medicine to be given to the patient if +he again became delirious.</p> + +<p>Frances was so much occupied with her father +all that day that she could do nothing about Ratty +M’Gill. She had noticed, however, that the +Mexican boy, José Reposa, had driven the doctor to +the ranch and that he took him back to the train +again.</p> + +<p>The reckless cowpuncher had somehow bribed +the Mexican boy to let him take his place on the +buckboard that forenoon.</p> + +<p>“Ratty is like a rotten apple in the middle of +the barrel,” thought Frances. “If I let him +remain on the ranch he will contaminate the other +boys. No, he’s got to go!</p> + +<p>“But if I tell him why he is discharged it will +warn him–and that Pete–that we suspect, or +know, an attempt is being made to rob father’s +old chest. Now, what shall I do about this?”</p> + +<p>The conversation between Ratty and Pete at the +ford which she had overheard gave Frances an +idea. She saw that the contents of the treasure +chest ought really to be put into a safety deposit +vault in Amarillo. But the old ranchman considered +it his bounden duty to keep the treasure in +his own hands until his partner came to divide it; +and he would be stubborn about any change in this +plan.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span>Lonergan could not get to the Bar-T for three +weeks, or more. In the meantime suppose Pete +made another attempt to steal the contents of the +Spanish chest?</p> + +<p>Frances Rugley felt that she could depend upon +nobody in this emergency for advice; and upon +few for assistance in carrying out any plan she +might make to thwart those bent upon robbing the +<i>hacienda</i>. To see the sheriff would advertise the +matter to the public at large. And that, she well +knew, would make Captain Dan Rugley very +angry.</p> + +<p>Whatever she did in this matter, as well as in +the affair of Ratty M’Gill, must be done without +advice.</p> + +<p>Her mind slanted toward Pratt Sanderson at +this time. Had her father not seemed to suspect +the young fellow from Amarillo, Frances would +surely have taken Pratt into her confidence.</p> + +<p>Now that Captain Rugley had given a clear +explanation of how he had come possessed of a +part of the loot of Señor Milo Morales’ <i>hacienda</i>, +Frances was not afraid to take a friend into her +confidence.</p> + +<p>There was no friend, however, that she cared +to confide in save Pratt. And it would anger her +father if she spoke to the young fellow about the +treasure.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span>She knew this to be a fact, for when Pratt Sanderson +had ridden over from the Edwards Ranch +to inquire after Captain Rugley’s health, the old +ranchman had sent out a courteously worded +refusal to see Pratt.</p> + +<p>“I’m not so awfully fond of that young chap,” +the Captain said, reflectively, at the time. “And +seems to me, Frances, he’s mighty curious about +my health.”</p> + +<p>“But, Daddy!” Frances cried, “he was only +asking out of good feeling.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that,” growled the old ranchman. +“I haven’t forgotten that he was here in +the house the night that other fellow tried to +break in. Looks curious to me, Frances–sure +does!”</p> + +<p>She might have told him right then about Ratty +M’Gill and the man Pete; but Frances was not an +impulsive girl. She studied about things, as the +colloquialism has it. And she knew very well that +the mere fact that Ratty and the stranger were +friends would not disprove Pratt’s connection with +the midnight marauder. Pete might have had an +aid inside, as well as outside, the <i>hacienda</i>.</p> + +<p>So Frances said nothing more to the old ranchman, +and nothing at all to Pratt about that which +troubled her. They spoke of inconsequential +things on the veranda, where Ming served cool +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span> +drinks; and then the Amarillo young man rode +away.</p> + +<p>“Sue Latrop and that crowd will be out to-morrow, +I expect,” he said, as he departed. “Don’t +know when I can get over again, Frances. I’ll +have to beau them around a bit.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Pratt,” said Frances, without comment.</p> + +<p>“By the way,” called Pratt, from his saddle +and holding in his pony, “your father being so ill +isn’t going to make you give up your part in the +pageant, Frances?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty of time for that,” she returned, but +without smiling. “I hope father will be well +before the date set for the show.”</p> + +<p>Pratt’s departure left Frances with a sinking +heart; but she did not betray her feelings. To be +all alone with her father and the two Chinamen +at the ranch-house seemed hard indeed; and with +the responsibility of the treasure chest on her +heart, too!</p> + +<p>Her father, it was true, had insisted on having +his couch placed at night in the room with the +Spanish chest. He seemed to consider that, ill as +he was, he could guard the treasure better than +anybody else.</p> + +<p>Frances had to devise a plan without either her +father’s advice or that of anybody else. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span> +prepared for the adventure by begging the Captain +to have burlap wrapped about the chest and +securely roped on.</p> + +<p>“Then it won’t be so noticeable,” she told him, +“when people come in to call on you.” For some +of the other cattlemen of the Panhandle rode +many miles to call at the Bar-T Ranch; and, of +course, they insisted upon seeing Captain Rugley.</p> + +<p>Ming and San Soo (the latter was very tall and +enormously strong for a coolie) corded the Spanish +chest as directed, and under the Captain’s eye. +Then Frances threw a Navajo blanket over it and +it looked like a couch or divan.</p> + +<p>To Silent Sam she said; “I want a four-mule +wagon to go to Amarillo for supplies. When can +I have it?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you have the goods come by rail to +Jackleg?” asked the foreman, somewhat surprised +by the request.</p> + +<p>Now, Jackleg was not on the same railroad as +Amarillo. Frances shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, Sam. There’s something particular +I must get at Amarillo.”</p> + +<p>“You going with the wagon, Miss Frances?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I want a good man to drive–Bender, +or Mack Hinkman. None of the Mexicans will +do. We’ll stop at Peckham’s Ranch and at the +hotel in Calas on the way.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span>“Whatever ye say,” said Sam. “When do ye +want to go?”</p> + +<p>“Day after to-morrow,” responded Frances, +briskly. “It will be all right then?”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” agreed Silent Sam. “I’ll fix ye up.”</p> + +<p>Frances had several important things to do +before the time stated. And, too, before that +time, something quite unexpected happened.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span><a id='link_12'></a>CHAPTER XII<br /><span class='h2fs'>MOLLY</span></h2> + +<p>Frances’ secret plans did not interfere with her +usual tasks. She started in the morning to make +her rounds. Molly had been resting and would +now be in fine fettle, and the girl expected to call +her to the gate when she came down to the corral +in which the spare riding stock was usually kept.</p> + +<p>Instead of seeing only José Reposa or one of +the other Mexicans hanging about, here was a row +of punchers roosting along the top rail of the corral +fence, and evidently so much interested in what +was going on in the enclosure that they did not +notice the approach of Captain Rugley’s daughter.</p> + +<p>“Better keep off’n the leetle hawse, Ratty!” +one fellow was advising the unseen individual who +was partly, at least, furnishing the entertainment +for the loiterers.</p> + +<p>“She looks meek,” put in another, “but believe +me! when she was broke, it was the best day’s +work Joe Magowan ever done on this here ranch. +Ain’t that so, boys?”</p> + +<p>“Ratty warn’t here then,” said the first speaker. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span> +“He don’t know that leetle Molly hawse and +what capers she done cut up―”</p> + +<p>“Molly!” ejaculated Frances, under her +breath, and ran forward.</p> + +<p>At that instant there was a sudden hullabaloo +in the corral. Some of the men cheered; others +laughed; and one fell off the fence.</p> + +<p>“Go it!”</p> + +<p>“Hold tight, boy!”</p> + +<p>“Tie a knot in your laigs underneath her, +Ratty! She’s a-gwine to try to throw ye clean ter +Texarkana!”</p> + +<p><i>“What’s he doing with my pony?”</i></p> + +<p>The cry startled the string of punchers. They +turned–most of them looking sheepish enough–and +gaped, wordlessly, at Frances, who came running +to the fence.</p> + +<p>Molly was her pet, her own especial property. +Nobody else had ridden the pinto since she was +broken by the head wrangler, Joe Magowan. Nor +was Molly really broken, in the ordinary acceptation +of the term.</p> + +<p>Frances could ride her–could do almost anything +with her. She was the best cutting-out pony +on the ranch. She was gentle with Frances, but she +had never shown fondness for anybody else, and +would look wall-eyed on the near approach of anybody +but the girl herself. None but Joe and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span> +Frances had ever bridled her or cinched the saddle +on Molly.</p> + +<p>Ratty M’Gill was the culprit, of course; nor did +he hear Frances’ cry as she arrived at the corral. +He had bestridden the nervous pinto and Molly +was “acting up.”</p> + +<p>Ratty had his rope around her neck and a loop +around her lower jaw, as Indians guide their half-wild +steeds. At every bound the puncher jerked +the pony’s jaw downward and raked her flanks +with his cruel spurs. These latter were leaving +welts and gashes along the pinto’s heaving sides.</p> + +<p>“You cruel fellow!” shrieked Frances. “Get +off my pony at once!”</p> + +<p>“Say! she’s trying to buck, Miss Frances,” one +of the men warned her. “She’ll be sp’il’t if he +lets her beat him now. You won’t never be able +to ride her, once let her git the upper hand.”</p> + +<p>“Mind you own concerns, Jim Bender!” exclaimed +the girl, both wrathful and hurt. “I can +manage that pony if she’s let alone.” Then she +raised her voice again and cried to Ratty:</p> + +<p>“M’Gill! you get off that horse! At once, I tell +you!”</p> + +<p>“The Missus is sure some peeved,” muttered +Bender to one of his mates.</p> + +<p>“And why shouldn’t she be? We’d never +ought to let Ratty try to ride that critter.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span>“Molly!” shouted Frances, climbing the fence +herself as quickly as any boy.</p> + +<p>She dropped over into the corral where the +other ponies were running about in great excitement.</p> + +<p>“Molly, come here!” She whistled for the pinto +and Molly’s head came up and her eyes rolled in +the direction of her mistress. She knew she was +being abused; and she remembered that Frances +was always kind to her.</p> + +<p>Whether Ratty agreed or not, the pinto galloped +across the corral.</p> + +<p>“Get down off that pony, you brute!” exclaimed +Frances, her eyes flashing at the half-serious, +half-grinning cowboy.</p> + +<p>“She’s some little pinto when she gits in a tantrum,” +remarked the unabashed Ratty.</p> + +<p>Frances had brought her bridle. Although +Molly stood shaking and quivering, the girl slipped +the bit between her jaws and buckled the straps +in a moment. She held the pony, but did not attempt +to lead her toward the saddling shed.</p> + +<p>“M’Gill,” Frances said, sharply, “you go to +Silent Sam and get your time and come to the +house this noon for your pay. You’ll never bestride +another pony on this ranch. Do you hear +me?”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” demanded the cowpuncher, his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span> +face flaming instantly, and his black eyes sparkling.</p> + +<p>She had reproved him before his mates, and +the young man was angry on the instant. But +Frances was angry first. And, moreover, she had +good reason for distrusting Ratty. The incident +was one lent by Fortune as an excuse for his discharge.</p> + +<p>“You are not fit to handle stock,” said Frances, +bitingly. “Look what you did to that bunch of +cattle the other day! And I’ve watched you more +than once misusing your mount. Get your pay, and +get off the Bar-T. We’ve no use for the like of +you.”</p> + +<p>“Say!” drawled the puncher, with an ugly leer. +“Who’s bossing things here now, I’d like to +know?”</p> + +<p>“I am!” exclaimed the girl, advancing a step +and clutching the quirt, which swung from her +wrist, with an intensity that turned her knuckles +white. “You see Sam as I told you, and be at the +house for your pay when I come back.”</p> + +<p>The other punchers had slipped away, going +about their work or to the bunk-house. Ratty +M’Gill stood with flaming face and glittering eyes, +watching the girl depart, leading the trembling +Molly toward the exit of the corral.</p> + +<p>“You’re a sure short-tempered gal this A. M.,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span> +he growled to himself. “And ye sure have got it +in for me. I wonder why? I wonder why?”</p> + +<p>Frances did not vouchsafe him another look. +She stood in the shadow of the shed and petted +Molly, fed her a couple of lumps of sugar from +her pocket, and finally made her forget Ratty’s +abuse. But Molly’s flanks would be tender for +some time and her temper had not improved by +the treatment she had received.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly scandalous!” exclaimed Frances, to +herself, almost crying now. “Just to show off +before the other boys. Oh! he was mean to you, +Molly dear! A fellow like Ratty M’Gill will +stand watching, sure enough.”</p> + +<p>Finally, she got the saddle cinched upon the +nervous pinto and rode her out of the corral and +away to the ranges for her usual round of the +various camps. She had not been as far as the +West Run for several days.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span><a id='link_13'></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE GIRL FROM BOSTON</span></h2> + +<p>Cow-ponies are never trained to trot. They +walk if they are tired; sometimes they gallop; but +usually they set off on a long, swinging lope from +the word “Go!” and keep it up until the riders +pull them down.</p> + +<p>The moment Frances of the ranges had swung +herself into Molly’s saddle, the badly treated pinto +leaped forward and dashed away from the corrals +and bunk-house. Frances let her have her head, +for when Molly was a bit tired she would forget +the sting and smart of Ratty M’Gill’s spurs and +quirt.</p> + +<p>Frances had not seen Silent Sam that morning; +but was not surprised to observe the curling smoke +of a fresh fire down by the branding pen. She +knew that a bunch of calves and yearlings had been +rounded up a few days before, and the foreman +of the Bar-T would take no chance of having them +escape to the general herds on the ranges, and so +have the trouble of cutting them out again at the +grand round-up.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span>It was impossible, even on such a large ranch +as the Bar-T, to keep cattle of other brands from +running with the Bar-T herds. A breach made in +a fence in one night by some active young bull +would allow a Bar-T herd and some of Bill Edwards’ +cattle, for instance, to become associated.</p> + +<p>To try to separate the cattle every time such a +thing happened would give the punchers more than +they could do. The cattle thus associated were +allowed to run together until the round-up. Then +the unbranded calves would always follow their +mothers, and the herdsmen could easily separate +the young stock, as well as that already branded, +from those belonging on other ranches.</p> + +<p>Although it was a bit out of her direct course, +Frances pulled Molly’s head in the direction of the +branding fire. Before she came in sight of the +bawling herd and the bunch of excited punchers, +a cavalcade of riders crossed the trail, riding in the +same direction.</p> + +<p>No cowpunchers these, but a party of horsemen +and horsewomen who might have just ridden +out of the Central Park bridle-path at Fifty-ninth +Street or out of the Fens in Boston’s Back Bay +section.</p> + +<p>At a distance they disclosed to Frances’ vision–unused +to such sights–a most remarkable jumble +of colors and fashions. In the West khaki, brown, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span> +or olive grey is much worn for riding togs by the +women, while the men, if not in overalls, or chaps, +clothe themselves in plain colors.</p> + +<p>But here was actually more than one red coat! +A red coat with never a fox nearer than half a +thousand miles!</p> + +<p>“Is it a circus parade?” thought Frances, setting +spurs to her pinto.</p> + +<p>And no wonder she asked. There were three +girls, or young women, riding abreast, each in a +natty red coat with tails to it, hard hats on their +heads, and skirts. They rode side-saddle. Luckily +the horses they rode were city bred.</p> + +<p>There were two or three other girls who were +dressed more like Frances herself, and bestrode +their ponies in sensible style. The males of the +party were in the Western mode; Frances recognized +one of them instantly; it was Pratt Sanderson.</p> + +<p>He was not a bad rider. She saw that he +accompanied one of the girls who wore a red coat, +riding close upon her far side. The cavalcade +was ambling along toward the branding pen, which +was in the bottom of a coulie.</p> + +<p>As Frances rode up behind the party, Molly’s +little feet making so little sound that her presence +was unnoticed, the Western girl heard a rather +shrill voice ask:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span>“And what are they doing it for, Pratt? I +re’lly don’t just understand, you know. Why burn +the mark upon the hides of those–er–embryo +cows?”</p> + +<p>“I’m telling you,” Pratt’s voice replied, and +Frances saw that it was the girl next to him who +had asked the question. “I’m telling you that all +the calves and young stock have to be branded.”</p> + +<p>“Branded?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. They belong to the Bar-T, you see; +therefore, the Bar-T mark has to be burned on +them.”</p> + +<p>“Just fancy!” exclaimed the girl in the red +coat. “Who would think that these rude cattle +people would have so much sentiment. This +Frances Rugley you tell about owns all these +cows? And does she have her monogram burned +on all of them?”</p> + +<p>Frances drew in her mount. She wanted to +laugh (she heard some of the party chuckling +among themselves), and then she wondered if +Pratt Sanderson was not, after all, making as much +fun of her as he was of the girl in the red coat?</p> + +<p>Pratt suddenly turned and saw the ranchman’s +daughter riding behind them. He flushed, but +smiled, too; and his eyes were dancing.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sue!” he exclaimed. “Here is Frances +now.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span>So this was Sue Latrop–the girl from Boston. +Frances looked at her keenly as she turned to look +at the Western girl.</p> + +<p>“My dear! Fancy! So glad to know you,” she +said, handling her horse remarkably well with one +hand and putting out her right to Frances.</p> + +<p>The latter urged Molly nearer. But the pinto +was not on her good behavior this morning. She +had been too badly treated at the corral.</p> + +<p>Molly shook her head, danced sideways, +wheeled, and finally collided with Pratt’s grey +pony. The latter squealed and kicked. Instantly, +Molly’s little heels beat a tattoo on the grey’s +ribs.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” exclaimed Pratt, recovering his seat +and pulling in the grey. “What’s the matter with +that horse, Frances?”</p> + +<p>Molly was off like a rocket. Frances fairly +stood in the stirrups to pull the pinto down–and +she was not sparing of the quirt. It angered her +that Molly should “show off” just now. She had +heard Sue Latrop’s shrill laugh.</p> + +<p>When she rode back Frances did not offer to +shake hands with the Boston girl. And, as it +chanced, she never did shake hands with her.</p> + +<p>“You ride such perfectly ungovernable horses +out here,” drawled the Boston girl. “Is it just +for show?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span>“Our ponies are not usually family pets,” +laughed Frances. Yet she flushed, and from that +moment she was always expecting Sue to say cutting +things.</p> + +<p>“They tell me it is so interesting to see the +calves–er–monogrammed; do you call it?” said +Sue, with a little cough.</p> + +<p>“Branded!” exclaimed Pratt, hurriedly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! So interesting, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“We do not consider it a show,” said Frances, +bluntly. “It is a necessary evil. I never fancied +the smell of scorched hair and hide myself; and +the poor creatures bawl so. But branding and slitting +their ears are the only ways we have of marking +the cattle.”</p> + +<p>“Re’lly?” repeated Sue, staring at her as +though Frances were more curious than the bawling +cattle.</p> + +<p>The irons were already in the fire when the +party rode down to the scene of the branding. +Silent Sam was in charge of the gang. They had +rounded up nearly two hundred calves and yearlings. +Some of the cows had followed their off-spring +out of the herd, and were lowing at the +corral fence.</p> + +<p>Afoot and on horseback the men drove the half-wild +calves into the branding pen runway. As they +came through they were roped and thrown, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span> +Sam and an assistant clapped the irons to their +bony hips. The smell of singed hair was rather +unpleasant, and the bawling of the excited cattle +drowned all conversation.</p> + +<p>When a calf or a yearling was let loose, he ran +as hard as he could for a while, with the smoking +“monogram,” as Sue Latrop called it, the object +of his tenderest attention. But the smart of it did +not last for long, and the branded stock soon went +to graze contentedly outside the corral fence, +forgetting the experience.</p> + +<p>Frances had a chance to speak to Sam for a +moment.</p> + +<p>“Ratty will come to you for his time. I’m +going to pay him off this noon. I’ve got good +reason for letting him go.”</p> + +<p>“I bet ye,” agreed Sam, for whatever Frances +said or did was right with him.</p> + +<p>Pratt insisted upon Frances meeting all these +people from Amarillo. There was Mrs. Bill +Edwards, whom she already knew, as chaperon. +Most of the others were young people, although +nearer Pratt’s age than that of the ranchman’s +daughter.</p> + +<p>Sue Latrop was the only one from the East. +She had been to Amarillo before, and she evidently +had much influence over her girl friends from that +Panhandle city, if over nobody else. Two of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span> +girls had copied her riding habit exactly; and if +imitation is the sincerest flattery, then Sue was flattered +indeed.</p> + +<p>The Boston girl undoubtedly rode well. She +had had schooling in the art of sticking to a side-saddle +like a fly on a wall!</p> + +<p>Her horse curvetted, arched his neck, played +pretty tricks at command, and was long-legged +enough to carry her swiftly over the ground if she +so desired. He made the scrubby, nervous little +cow-ponies–including Molly–look very shabby +indeed.</p> + +<p>Sue Latrop apparently believed she was ever so +much better mounted than the other girls, for she +was the only one who had brought her own horse. +The others, including Pratt, were mounted on Bill +Edwards’ ponies.</p> + +<p>While they were standing in a group and talking, +there came a yell from the branding pen. A +section of rail fence went down with a crash. +Through the fence came a little black steer that +had escaped several “branding soirées.”</p> + +<p>Blackwater, as the Bar-T boys called him, was +a notorious rebel. He was originally a maverick–a +stray from some passing herd–and had joined +the Bar-T cattle unasked. That was more than +two years before. He had remained on the Bar-T +ranges, but was evidently determined in his dogged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span> +mind not to submit to the humiliation of the branding-iron.</p> + +<p>He had been rounded up with a bunch of yearlings +and calves a dozen times; but on each occasion +had escaped before they got him into the +corral. It was better to let the black rebel go than +to lose a dozen or more of the others while chasing +him.</p> + +<p>This time, however, Silent Sam had insisted +upon riding the rebel down and hauling him, bawling, +into the corral.</p> + +<p>But the rope broke, and before the searing-iron +could touch the black steer’s rump he went +through the fence like a battering-ram.</p> + +<p>“Look out for that ornery critter, Miss +Frances!” yelled the foreman of the Bar-T +Ranch.</p> + +<p>Frances saw him coming, headed for the group +of visitors. She touched Molly with the spur, and +the intelligent cow-pony jumped aside into the +clear-way. Frances seized the rope hanging at her +saddle.</p> + +<p>Pratt had shouted a warning, too. The visitors +scattered. But for once Sue Latrop did not manage +her mount to the best advantage.</p> + +<p>“Look out, Sue!”</p> + +<p>“Quick! He’ll have you!”</p> + +<p>These and other warnings were shouted. With +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span> +lowered front the black steer was charging the +horse the girl from Boston rode.</p> + +<p>Unlike the trained cow-ponies from Bill Edwards’ +corral, this gangling creature did not know, +of himself, what to do in the emergency. The +other mounts had taken their riders immediately +out of the way. Sue’s horse tossed his head, +snorted, and pawed the earth, remaining with his +flank to the charging steer.</p> + +<p>“Get out o’ that!” yelled Pratt, and laid his +quirt across the stubborn horse’s quarters.</p> + +<p>But to no avail. Sue could neither manage him +nor get out of the saddle to escape Blackwater. +The maverick was fortunately charging the +strange horse from the off side, and he was coming +like a shot from a cannon.</p> + +<p>The cowpunchers at the pen were mounting +their ponies and racing after the black steer, but +they were too far away to stop him. In another +moment he would head into the body of Sue’s +mount with an awful impact!</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span><a id='link_14'></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE CONTRAST</span></h2> + +<p>“Frances!”</p> + +<p>Pratt Sanderson fairly shrieked the ranch girl’s +name. He could do nothing to save Sue Latrop +himself, nor could the other visitors from Amarillo. +Silent Sam and his men were too far away.</p> + +<p>If with anybody, it lay with Frances Rugley to +save the Boston girl. Frances already had her +rope circling her head and Molly was coming on +the jump!</p> + +<p>The wicked little black steer was almost upon +the gangling Eastern horse ere Frances stretched +forward and let the loop go.</p> + +<p>Then she pulled back on Molly’s bridle reins. +The cow-pony began to slide, haunches down and +forelegs stiffened. The loop dropped over the +head of the black steer.</p> + +<p>Had Blackwater been a heavier animal, he +would have overborne Frances and her mount at +the moment the rope became taut. For it was not +a good job at all–that particular roping Frances +was afterward ashamed of.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span>To catch a big steer in full flight around the +neck only is to court almost certain disaster; but +Blackwater did not weigh more than nine hundred +pounds.</p> + +<p>Nor was Molly directly behind him when +Frances threw the lariat. The rope tautened from +the side–and at the very instant the mad steer +collided with Sue Latrop’s mount.</p> + +<p>The wicked head of the steer banged against +the horse’s body, which gave forth a hollow sound; +the horse himself squealed, stumbled, and went +over with a crash.</p> + +<p>Fortunately Sue had known enough to loosen +her foot from the stirrup. As Frances lay back in +her own saddle, and she and Molly held the black +steer on his knees, Pratt drove his mount past the +stumbling horse, and seized the Boston girl as she +fell.</p> + +<p>She cleared her rolling mount with Pratt’s help. +Otherwise she would have fallen under the heavy +carcase of the horse and been seriously hurt.</p> + +<p>Blackwater had crashed to the ground so hard +that he could not immediately recover his footing. +He kicked with a hind foot, and Frances caught +the foot expertly in a loop, and so got the better +of him right then and there. She held the brute +helpless until Sam and his assistants reached the +spot.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span>It was Pratt who had really done the spectacular +thing. It looked as though Sue Latrop owed her +salvation to the young man.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah for Pratt!” yelled one of the other +young fellows from the city, and most of the +guests–both male and female–took up the cry. +Pratt had tumbled off his own grey pony with Sue +in his arms.</p> + +<p>“You’re re’lly a hero, Pratt! What a fine +thing to do,” the girl from Boston gasped. +“Fancy my being under that poor horse.”</p> + +<p>The horse in question was struggling to his feet, +practically unhurt, but undoubtedly in a chastened +spirit. One of the boys from the branding pen +caught his bridle.</p> + +<p>Pratt objected to the praise being showered +upon him. “Why, folks, I didn’t do much,” he +cried. “It was Frances. She stopped the +steer!”</p> + +<p>“You saved my life, Pratt Sanderson,” declared +Sue Latrop. “Don’t deny it.”</p> + +<p>“Lots of good I could have done if that black +beast had been able to keep right on after your +horse, Sue,” laughed Pratt. “You ask Mr. Sam +Harding–or any of them.”</p> + +<p>Sue’s pretty face was marred by a frown, and +she tossed her head. “I don’t need to ask them. +Didn’t you catch me as I fell?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span>“Oh, but, Sue―”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said the Boston girl, in a tone +quite loud enough for Frances to hear, “those cowmen +would back up their employer. They’d say +she helped me. But I know whom to thank. You +are too modest, Pratt.”</p> + +<p>Pratt was silenced. He saw that it was useless +to try to convince Sue that she was wrong. It +was plain that the girl from Boston did not wish +to feel beholden to Frances Rugley.</p> + +<p>So the young man dropped the subject. He ran +after his own pony, and then brought Sue’s stubborn +mount to her hand. Sue was being congratulated +and made much of by her friends. None +of them spoke to Frances.</p> + +<p>Pratt came over to the latter before she could +ride away after the bawling steer. Blackwater +was going to be branded this time if it took the +whole force of the Bar-T to accomplish it!</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Frances, for what you did,” the +young man said, grasping her hand. “And Bill +will thank you, too. He’ll know that it was your +work that saved her; Mrs. Edwards isn’t used to +cattle and isn’t to be blamed. I feel foolish to +have them put it on me.”</p> + +<p>Frances laughed. She would not show Pratt +that this whole series of incidents had hurt her +deeply.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span>“Don’t make a mountain out of a mole-hill, +Pratt,” she said. “And you did do a brave thing. +That girl would have been hurt if you had not +caught her.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” he grumbled.</p> + +<p>“I reckon she thinks so, anyway,” said Frances, +her eyes twinkling. “How does it feel to be a +hero, Pratt?”</p> + +<p>Pratt blushed and turned away. “I don’t want +to wear any laurels that are not honestly my own,” +he muttered.</p> + +<p>“But you don’t object to Miss Boston’s expression +of gratitude, Pratt?” teased Frances.</p> + +<p>He made a little face at her as he went back to +the ranchman’s wife and her guests; without another +word Frances spurred Molly in the other +direction, and before Mrs. Bill Edwards could +speak to her the girl of the ranges was far away.</p> + +<p>She headed for the West Run, where a large +herd of the Bar-T cattle grazed. Nor did she look +back again to see what became of the group of +riders who were with Mrs. Edwards and Pratt.</p> + +<p>Frances had no heart for such company just +then. Sue Latrop’s manner had really hurt the +Western girl. Perhaps Frances was easily +wounded; but Sue had plainly revealed her opinion +of the ranchman’s daughter.</p> + +<p>The contrast between them cut Frances to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span> +quick. She keenly realized how she, herself, must +appear in the company of the pretty Eastern girl.</p> + +<p>“Of course, Pratt, and Mrs. Edwards, and all +of them, must see how superior she is to me,” +Frances thought, as Molly galloped away with her. +“But just the same, I don’t like that Sue Latrop a +bit!”</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span><a id='link_15'></a>CHAPTER XV<br /><span class='h2fs'>IN THE FACE OF DANGER</span></h2> + +<p>Frances was going by the way of Cottonwood +Bottom because the trail was better and there were +fewer gates to open.</p> + +<p>The Bar-T kept a gang riding fence all the time; +but even so, it was impossible always to keep up +the wires. Frances seldom if ever rode from home +without wire cutters and staples in a pocket of her +saddle.</p> + +<p>She stopped several times on this morning to +mend breaks and to tighten slack wires, so it was +late when she found the herd at West Run. Here +were chuck-wagon, horse corral and camp–a regular +“cowboy’s home,” in fact.</p> + +<p>The boss of the outfit was Asa Bird, and Tom +Phipps was the wrangler, while a Mexican, named +Miguel, was cooking for the outfit.</p> + +<p>“Ya-as, Miss Frances,” drawled Asa, “I reckon +we need a right smart of things. Mike says he’s +most out o’ provisions; but for the love of home +don’t send us no more beans. We’ve jest about +been beaned to death! No wonder them Greasers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span> +are fighting among themselves all the endurin’ +time. It’s the <i>frijoles</i> they eat makes ’em so fractious–sure is!”</p> + +<p>Frances wrote out a list of the goods needed, +for the next supply wagon that passed this way +to drop at the camp, and looked over the outfit +in general in order to report fully to Sam and her +father regarding the conditions at the West Run.</p> + +<p>It was high noon before she got in sight of the +cottonwoods on her homeward trail. She was hurrying +Molly, for she did not want to keep Ratty +M’Gill waiting for his money. As she had told +him, she wanted the reckless cowboy off the Bar-T +ranges before nightfall.</p> + +<p>She had struck the plain above the river ford +when she sighted a single rider far ahead, and +going in her own direction. It was plain that the +man–whoever he was–was heading for the ford +instead of the bridge where the new trail crossed.</p> + +<p>Something about this fact–or about the slouching +rider himself–made Frances suspicious. She +was reminded of the last time she had come this +way and of the dialogue she had overheard +between Ratty M’Gill and the man named Pete.</p> + +<p>“If he turns to look back, he will see me,” +thought the excited girl.</p> + +<p>Instantly she was off Molly’s back. There +might be no time to ride out of sight over the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span> +ridge. Here was an old buffalo wallow, and she +took advantage of it.</p> + +<p>In the old days when the bison roamed the +plains of the Panhandle the beasts made wallows +in which they ground off the grass, and the grassroots +as well, leaving a barren hollow from two +to four feet in depth. These dust baths were used +frequently by the heavily-coated buffalo in hot +weather.</p> + +<p>Holding Molly by the head the girl commanded +her to lie down. The cow-pony, perfectly amenable +to her young mistress now, obeyed the order, +grunting as she dropped to her knees, the saddle +squeaking.</p> + +<p>“Be dead!” ordered Frances, sternly. The +pinto rolled on her side, stretched out her neck, +and blinked up at the girl. She was entirely hidden +from any chance glance thrown back by the +stranger on the trail; and when Frances dropped +down, too, both of them were well out of sight of +any one riding the range.</p> + +<p>The range girl waited until she was quite sure +the stranger had ridden beyond the first line of +cottonwoods. Perhaps he merely wished to water +his steed at the ford, but Frances had her doubts +of him.</p> + +<p>When she finally stood up to scrutinize the plain +ahead, there was no moving object in sight. Yet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span> +she did not mount and ride Molly when she had +got the pinto on its legs.</p> + +<p>Instead, she led the pony, and kept off the wellworn +trail, too. The pounding of hoofs on a hard +trail can be distinguished for a long distance by a +man who will take the trouble to put his ear to the +ground. The sound travels almost as far as the +jar of a coming railroad train on the steel rails.</p> + +<p>It was more than two miles to the beginning of +the cottonwood grove, and one cannot walk very +fast and lead a horse, too. But with a hand on +Molly’s neck, and speaking an urgent word to the +pinto now and then, Frances was able to accomplish +the journey within a reasonable time.</p> + +<p>Meantime she saw no sign of the man on horseback, +nor of anybody else. He had ridden down +to the ford, she was sure, and was still down there.</p> + +<p>Once among the trees, Frances tied the pinto +securely and crept through the thickets toward the +shallow part of the stream. She heard no voices +this time; but she did smell smoke.</p> + +<p>“Not tobacco,” thought Frances Rugley, with +decision. “He’s built a campfire. He is going to +stay here for a time. What for, I wonder? Is he +expecting to meet somebody?”</p> + +<p>This Cottonwood Bottom, as it was called, was +on the Bar-T range. Nobody really had business +here save the ranch employees. The trail to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span> +<i>hacienda</i> was not a general road to any other ranch +or settlement. It was curious that this lone man +should come here and make camp.</p> + +<p>She came in sight of him ere long. He had +kindled a small fire, over which already was a battered +tin pot in which coffee beans were stewing. +The rank flavor was wafted through the grove.</p> + +<p>His scrubby pony was grazing, hobbled. The +man’s flapping hat brim hid his face; but Frances +knew him.</p> + +<p>It was Pete, the man who had been orderly at +the Soldiers’ Home, at Bylittle, Mississippi, and +who had frankly owned to coming to the Panhandle +for the purpose of robbing Captain Dan +Rugley.</p> + +<p>The girl of the ranges was much puzzled what +to do in this emergency. Should she creep away, +ride Molly hard back to the ranch-house, arouse +Sam and some of the faithful punchers, and with +them capture this ne’er-do-well and run him off +the ranges?</p> + +<p>That seemed, on its face, the more sensible if +the less romantic thing to do. Yet the very publicity +attending such a move was against it.</p> + +<p>The suspicion that Captain Rugley had a treasure +hidden away in the old Spanish chest was not +a general one. It might have been lazily discussed +now and then over some outfit’s fire when other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span> +subjects of gossip had “petered out,” to use the +punchers’ own expression.</p> + +<p>But it was doubtful if even Ratty M’Gill believed +the story. Frances had heard him scoff at +the man, Pete, for holding such a belief.</p> + +<p>If she attempted to capture this tramp by the +fire, making the affair one of importance, the +story of the Spanish treasure chest would spread +over half the Panhandle.</p> + +<p>“What the boys didn’t know wouldn’t hurt +them!” Frances told herself, and she would not +ask for help. She had already laid her plans and +she would stick to them.</p> + +<p>And while she hesitated, discussing these things +in her mind, a figure afoot came down the slope +toward the ford and the campfire. It was Ratty +M’Gill, walking as though already footsore, and +with his saddle and accoutrements on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>The high-heeled boots worn by cowpunchers are +not easy footwear to walk in. And a real cattleman’s +saddle weighs a good bit! Ratty flung down +the leather with a grunt, and dropped on the +ground beside the fire.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” growled the +man, Pete. “Been pulling leather?”</p> + +<p>“There ain’t no hawse bawn can make me git +off if I don’t want,” returned Ratty M’Gill, +sharply. “I got canned.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span>“Fired?”</p> + +<p>“Yep. And by that snip of a gal,” and he said +it viciously.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t you man enough to have a pony of your +own?”</p> + +<p>“Sam wouldn’t sell me one–the hound! Nor +I didn’t have no money to spare for a mount, anyway. +I’d rustle one out of the herd if the wranglers +hadn’t drove ’em all up the other way las’ +night. And I said I’d come over here to see you +again.”</p> + +<p>“What else?” demanded Pete, suspiciously. +He seemed to know that Ratty had not come here +to the ford for love of him.</p> + +<p>“Wal, old man! I tried to go to headquarters. +Went in to see the Cap. Nothing doing. If +the gal had canned me, that was enough. So he +said, and so Sam Harding said. I’m through at +the Bar-T.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a nice thing,” snarled Pete. “And just +as I got up a scheme to use you there!”</p> + +<p>“Mebbe you can use me now,” grunted Ratty.</p> + +<p>“I–don’t–know.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I seen something that you’d like to know +about.”</p> + +<p>“What is that?” asked Pete, quickly.</p> + +<p>“The old Cap has taken a tumble to himself. +Guess he was put wise by what happened the other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span> +night–you know. He’s going to send the chest +to the Amarillo bank.”</p> + +<p>“<i>What?</i>”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” said Ratty, with his slow drawl, +and evidently enjoying the other’s discomfiture.</p> + +<p>“How do you know?” snapped Pete.</p> + +<p>“Seed it. Standing all corded up and with a +tag on it, right in the hall. Knowed Sam was +going to get ready a four-mule team for Amarillo +to-morrow morning. The gal’s going with it, and +Mack Hinkman to drive. Good-night! if there’s +treasure in that chest, you’ll have to break into +the Merchants’ and Drovers’ Bank of Amarillo to +get at it–take that from me!”</p> + +<p>Pete leaned toward him and his hairy hand +clutched Ratty’s knee. What he said to the discharged +employee of the Bar-T Ranch Frances +did not hear. She had, however, heard enough. +She was worried by what Ratty had said about +his interview with Captain Rugley. Her father +should not have been disturbed by ranch business +just then.</p> + +<p>The girl crept back through the grove, found +Molly where she had left her, and soon was a +couple of miles away from the ford and making +for the ranch-house at Molly’s very best pace.</p> + +<p>She found her father not so much excited as she +had feared. Ratty had forced his way into the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span> +stricken cattleman’s room and done some talking; +but the Captain was chuckling now over the incident.</p> + +<p>“That’s the kind of a spirit I like to see you +show, Frances,” he declared, patting her hand. +“If those punchers don’t do what you tell ’em, +bounce ’em! They’ve got to learn what you say +goes–just as though I spoke myself. And Ratty +M’Gill never was worth the powder to blow him +to Halifax,” concluded the ranchman, vigorously.</p> + +<p>Frances was glad her father approved of her +action. But she did not believe they were well rid +of Ratty just because he had started for Jackleg +Station.</p> + +<p>She had constantly in mind Ratty and the man, +Pete, with their heads together beside the campfire; +and she wondered what villainy they were +plotting. Nevertheless, in the face of possible +danger, she went ahead with her scheme of starting +for Amarillo in the morning. And, as Ratty +had said, the chest, burlapped, corded, and tagged, +stood in the main hall of the ranch-house, ready +for removal.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span><a id='link_16'></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /><span class='h2fs'>A FRIEND INSISTENT</span></h2> + +<p>It was a long way to the Peckham ranch-house, +at which Frances meant to make her first night +stop. The greater part of the journey would then +be over.</p> + +<p>The second night she proposed to stay at the +hotel in Calas, a suburb of Amarillo. Her errands +in the big town would occupy but a few hours, and +she expected to be back at Peckham’s on the third +evening, and at home again by the end of the +fourth day.</p> + +<p>She was troubled by the thought of being so long +away from her father’s side; but he was on the +mend again and the doctor had promised to see +him at least once while she was away from the +ranch.</p> + +<p>Her reason she gave for going to Amarillo was +business connected with the forthcoming pageant, +“The Panhandle: Past and Present.” This explanation +satisfied her father, too–and it was true +to a degree.</p> + +<p>She heard from the chaplain of the Bylittle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span> +Soldiers’ Home the day before she was to start on her +brief journey, and she sent José Reposa with a long +prepaid telegraph message to the station, arranging +for a private car in which Jonas P. Lonergan was +to travel from Mississippi to the Panhandle. +She hoped the chaplain would come with him. +About the ex-orderly of the home the letter said +nothing. Perhaps Mr. Tooley had overlooked +that part of her message.</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley was delighted that his old partner +was coming West; the announcement seemed +to have quieted his mind. But he lay on his bed, +watching the corded chest, with his gun hanging +close at hand.</p> + +<p>That is, he watched one of the corded and burlapped +chests. The secret of the second chest was +known only to Frances herself and the two Chinamen. +Anybody who entered the great hall of the +<i>hacienda</i> saw that one, as Ratty had, standing +ready for removal. The one in Captain Rugley’s +room was covered by the blanket and looked like +an ordinary divan.</p> + +<p>Frances believed San Soo and Ming were to be +trusted. But to Silent Sam she left the guarding +of the ranch-house during her absence.</p> + +<p>Day was just beginning to announce itself by +faint streaks of pink and salmon color along the +eastern horizon, when the four-mule wagon and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span> +Frances’ pony arrived at the gate of the compound. +The two Chinamen, Sam himself, and Mack +Hinkman, the driver, had all they could do to +carry the chest out to the wagon.</p> + +<p>Frances came out, pulling on her gantlets. She +had kissed her father good-bye the evening before, +and he was sleeping peacefully at this hour.</p> + +<p>“Have a good journey, Miss Frances,” said +Sam, yawning. “Look out for that off mule, +Mack. <i>Adios.</i>”</p> + +<p>The Chinamen had scuttled back to the house. +Frances was mounted on Molly, and the heavy +wagon lurched forward, the mules straining in the +collars under the admonition of Mack’s voice and +the snap of his bullwhip.</p> + +<p>The wagon had a top, and the flap at the back +was laced down. No casual passer-by could see +what was in the vehicle.</p> + +<p>Frances rode ahead, for Molly was fresh and +was anxious to gallop. She allowed the pinto to +have her head for the first few miles, as she rode +straight away into the path of the sun that rose, +red and jovial-looking, above the edge of the plain.</p> + +<p>A lone coyote, hungry after a fruitless night of +wandering, sat upon its haunches not far from the +trail, and yelped at her as she passed. The morning +air was as invigorating as new wine, and her +cares and troubles seemed to be lightened already.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span>She rode some distance ahead of the wagon; but +at the line of the Bar-T she picketed Molly and +built a little fire. She carried at her saddle the +means and material for breakfast. When the +slower moving mule team came up with her there +was an appetizing odor of coffee and bacon in the +air.</p> + +<p>“That sure does smell good, Ma’am!” declared +Mack. “And it’s on-expected. I only got +a cold bite yere.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll have that at noon,” said Frances, +brightly. “But the morning air is bound to make +one hungry for a hot drink and a rasher of bacon.”</p> + +<p>In twenty minutes they were on the trail again. +Frances now kept close to the wagon. Once off +the Bar-T ranges she felt less like being out of +sight of Mack, who was one of the most trustworthy +men in her father’s employ.</p> + +<p>He was not much of a talker, it was true, so +Frances had little company but her own thoughts; +but <i>they</i> were company enough at present.</p> + +<p>As she rode along she thought much about the +pageant that was to be held at Jackleg; many of +the brightest points in that entertainment were +evolved by Frances of the ranges on this long ride +to the Peckham ranch.</p> + +<p>There were several breaks in the monotony +of the journey. One was when another covered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span> +wagon came into view, taking the trail far ahead +of them. It came from the direction of Cottonwood +Bottom, and was drawn by two very good +horses. It was so far ahead, however, that neither +Frances nor Mack could distinguish the outfit or +recognize the driver.</p> + +<p>“Dunno who that kin be,” said Mack, “’nless +it’s Bob Ellis makin’ for Peckham’s, too. I +learned he was going to town this week.”</p> + +<p>Bob Ellis was a small rancher farther south. +Frances was doubtful.</p> + +<p>“Would Ellis come by that trail?” she queried. +“And why doesn’t he stop to pass the time of +day with us?”</p> + +<p>“That’s so!” agreed Mack. “It couldn’t be +Bob, for he’d know these mules, and he ain’t been +to the Bar-T for quite a spell. I dunno who that +kin be, then, Miss Frances.”</p> + +<p>Frances had had her light fowling-piece put in +the wagon, and before noon she sighted a flock of +the scarce prairie chickens. Away she scampered +on Molly after the wary birds, and succeeded, in +half an hour, in getting a brace of them.</p> + +<p>Mack picked and cleaned the chickens on the +wagon-seat. “They’ll help out with supper to-night, +if Miz’ Peckham ain’t expectin’ company,” +he remarked.</p> + +<p>But they were not destined to arrive at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span> +Peckham ranch without an incident of more importance +than these.</p> + +<p>It was past mid-afternoon. They had had their +cold bite, rested the mules and Molly, and the +latter was plodding along in the shade of the +wagon-top all but asleep, and her rider was in a +like somnolent condition. Mack was frankly snoring +on the wagon-seat, for the mules had naught to +do but keep to the trail.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Molly lifted her head and pricked her +ears. Frances came to herself with a slight shock, +too. She listened. The pinto nickered faintly.</p> + +<p>Frances immediately distinguished the patter of +hoofs. A single pony was coming.</p> + +<p>The girl jerked Molly’s head around and they +dropped back behind the wagon which kept on +lumberingly, with Mack still asleep on the seat. +From the south–from the direction of the distant +river–a rider came galloping up the trail.</p> + +<p>“Why!” murmured Frances. “It’s Ratty +M’Gill!”</p> + +<p>The ex-cowboy of the Bar-T swung around +upon the trail, as though headed east, and grinned +at the ranchman’s daughter. His face was very +red and his eyes were blurred, and Frances feared +he had been drinking.</p> + +<p>“Hi, lady!” he drawled. “Are ye mad with +me?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span>“I don’t like you, M’Gill,” the girl said, +frankly. “You don’t expect me to, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Aw, why be fussy?” asked the cowboy, gaily. +“It’s too pretty a world to hold grudges. Let’s +be friends, Frances.”</p> + +<p>Frances grew restive under his leering smile and +forced gaiety. She searched M’Gill sharply with +her look.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t gallop out of your way to tell me +this,” she said. “What do you want of me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, just to say how-de-do!” declared the fellow, +still with his leering smile. “And to wish +you a good journey.”</p> + +<p>“What do you know about my journey?” asked +Frances, quickly.</p> + +<p>But Ratty M’Gill was not so much intoxicated +that he could be easily coaxed to divulge any secret. +He shook his head, still grinning.</p> + +<p>“Heard ’em say you were going to Amarillo, +before I went to Jackleg,” he drawled. “Mighty +lonesome journey for a gal to take.”</p> + +<p>“Mack is with me,” said Frances, shortly. “I +am not lonely.”</p> + +<p>“Whew! I bet that hurt me,” chuckled Ratty +M’Gill. “My room’s better than my comp’ny, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“It certainly is,” said the girl, frankly.</p> + +<p>“Now, you wouldn’t say that if you knowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span> +something that I know,” declared the fellow, grinning +slily.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that anything you may say would +interest me,” the girl replied, sharply, and turned +Molly’s head.</p> + +<p>“Aw, hold on!” cried Ratty. “Don’t be so +abrupt. What I gotter say to you may help a lot.”</p> + +<p>But Frances did not look back. She pushed +Molly for the now distant wagon. In a moment +she knew that Ratty was thundering after her. +What did he mean by such conduct? To tell the +truth, the ranchman’s daughter was troubled.</p> + +<p>Surely, the reckless fellow did not propose to +attack Mack and herself on the open trail and in +broad daylight? She opened her lips to shout for +the sleeping wagon-driver, when a cloud of dust +ahead of the mules came into her view.</p> + +<p>She heard the clatter of many hoofs. Quite a +cavalcade was coming along the trail from the east. +Out of the dust appeared a figure that Frances had +learned to know well; and to tell the truth she was +not sorry in her heart to see the smiling countenance +of Pratt Sanderson.</p> + +<p>“Hold on, Frances! Ye better listen to me a +minute!” shouted the ex-cowboy behind her.</p> + +<p>She gave him no attention. Molly sprang +ahead and she met Pratt not far from the wagon. +He stopped abruptly, as did the girl of the ranges. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span> +Ratty M’Gill brought his own mount to a sudden +halt within a few yards.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” exclaimed Pratt. “What’s the matter, +Frances?”</p> + +<p>“Why, Pratt! How came you and your +friends to be riding this way?” returned the range +girl.</p> + +<p>She saw the red coat of the girl from Boston +in the party passing the slowly moving wagon, +and she was not at all sure that she was glad to +see Pratt, after all!</p> + +<p>But the young man had seen something suspicious +in the manner in which Ratty M’Gill had +been following Frances. The fellow now sat easily +in his saddle at a little distance and rolled a +cigarette, leering in the meantime at the ranch girl +and her friend.</p> + +<p>“What does that fellow want?” demanded +Pratt again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t mind him,” said Frances, hurriedly. +“He has been discharged from the Bar-T―”</p> + +<p>“That’s the fellow you said made the steers +stampede?” Pratt interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t like his looks,” the Amarillo young man +said, frankly. “Glad we came up as we did.”</p> + +<p>“But you must go on with your friends, Pratt,” +said Frances, faintly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span>“Goodness! there are enough of them, and the +other fellows can get ’em all back to Mr. Bill +Edwards’ in time for supper,” laughed Pratt. “I +believe I’ll go on with you. Where are you +bound?”</p> + +<p>“To Peckham’s ranch,” said Frances, faintly. +“We shall stop there to-night.”</p> + +<p>The rest of the party passed, and Frances +bowed to them. Sue Latrop looked at the ranch +girl, curiously, but scarcely inclined her head. +Frances felt that if she allowed Pratt to escort her +she would make the Boston girl more of an enemy +than she already felt her to be.</p> + +<p>“We–we don’t really need you, Pratt,” said +Frances. “Mack is all right―”</p> + +<p>“That fellow asleep on the wagon-seat? Lots +of good <i>he</i> is as an escort,” laughed Pratt.</p> + +<p>“But I don’t really need you,” said the girl, +weakly.</p> + +<p>“Oh! don’t be so offish!” cried the young +man, more seriously. “Don’t you suppose I’d be +glad of the chance to ride with you for a way?”</p> + +<p>“But your friends―”</p> + +<p>“You’re a friend of mine,” said Pratt, seriously. +“I don’t like the look of that Ratty M’Gill. I’m +going to Peckham’s with you.”</p> + +<p>What could Frances say? Ratty leered at her +from his saddle. She knew he must be partly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span> +intoxicated, for he was very careless with his matches. +He allowed a flaming splinter to fall to the trail, +after he lit his cigarette, and, drunk or sober, a +cattleman is seldom careless with fire on the plains.</p> + +<p>It was mid-pasturage season and the ranges +were already dry. A spark might at any time start +a serious fire.</p> + +<p>“We-ell,” gasped Frances, at last. “I can’t +stop you from coming!”</p> + +<p>“Of course not!” laughed Pratt, and quickly +turned his grey pony to ride beside the pinto.</p> + +<p>The wagon was now a long way ahead. They +set off on a gallop to overtake it. But when +Frances looked over her shoulder after a minute, +Ratty M’Gill still remained on the trail, as though +undecided whether to follow or not.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span><a id='link_17'></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /><span class='h2fs'>AN ACCIDENT</span></h2> + +<p>It was not until later that Frances was disturbed +by the thought that Pratt was suspected by +her father of having a strong curiosity regarding +the Spanish treasure chest.</p> + +<p>“And here he has forced his company upon +me,” thought the girl. “What would father say, +if he knew about it?”</p> + +<p>But fortunately Captain Rugley was not at hand +with his suspicions. Frances wished to believe the +young man from Amarillo truly her friend; and +on this ride toward Peckham’s they became better +acquainted than before.</p> + +<p>That is, the girl of the ranges learned to know +Pratt better. The young fellow talked more +freely of himself, his mother, his circumstances.</p> + +<p>“Just because I’m in a bank–the Merchants’ +and Drovers’–in Amarillo doesn’t mean that I’m +wealthy,” laughed Pratt Sanderson. “They don’t +give me any great salary, and I couldn’t afford this +vacation if it wasn’t for the extra work I did +through the cattle-shipping season and the kindness +of our president.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span>“Mother and I are all alone; and we haven’t +much money,” pursued the young man, frankly. +“Mother has a relative somewhere whom she suspects +may be rich. He was a gold miner once. +But I tell her there’s no use thinking about rich +relatives. They never seem to remember their +poor kin. And I’m sure one can’t blame them +much.</p> + +<p>“We have no reason to expect her half-brother +to do anything for me. Guess I’ll live and die a +poor bank clerk. For, you know, if you haven’t +money to invest in bank stock yourself, or influential +friends in the bank, one doesn’t get very high in +the clerical department of such an institution.”</p> + +<p>Frances listened to him with deeper interest +than she was willing to show in her countenance. +They rode along pleasantly together, and nothing +marred the journey for a time.</p> + +<p>Ratty had not followed them–as she was quite +sure he would have done had not Pratt elected +to become her escort. And as for the strange +teamster who had turned into the trail ahead of +them, his outfit had long since disappeared.</p> + +<p>Once when Frances rode to the front of the +covered wagon to speak to Mack, she saw that +Pratt Sanderson lifted a corner of the canvas at +the back and took a swift glance at what was +within.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span>Why this curiosity? There was nothing to be +seen in the wagon but the corded chest.</p> + +<p>Frances sighed. She could credit Pratt with +natural curiosity; but if her father had seen that +act he would have been quite convinced that the +young man from Amarillo was concerned in the +attempt to get the treasure.</p> + +<p>It was shortly thereafter that the trail grew +rough. Some heavy wagon-train must have gone +this way lately. The wheels had cut deep ruts and +left holes in places into which the wheels of the +Bar-T wagon slumped, rocking and wrenching the +vehicle like a light boat caught in a cross-sea.</p> + +<p>The wagon being nearly empty, however, Mack +drove his mules at a reckless pace. He was desirous +of reaching the Peckham ranch in good season +for supper, and, to tell the truth, Frances, herself, +was growing very anxious to get the day’s ride +over.</p> + +<p>This haste was a mistake. Down went one forward +wheel into a hole and crack went the axle. +It was far too tough a stick of oak to break short +off; but the crack yawned, finger-wide, and with a +serious visage Mack climbed down, after quieting +his mules.</p> + +<p>The teamster’s remarks were vividly picturesque, +to say the least. Frances, too, was troubled +by the delay. The sun was now low behind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span> +them–disappearing below distant line of low, rolling +hills.</p> + +<p>Pratt got off his horse immediately and offered +to help. And Mack needed his assistance.</p> + +<p>“Lucky you was riding along with us, Mister,” +grumbled the teamster. “We got to jack up the +old contraption, and splice the axle together. I +got wire and pliers in the tool box and here’s the +wagon-jack.”</p> + +<p>He flung the implements out upon the ground. +They set to work, Pratt removing his coat and +doing his full share.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Frances sat on her pony quietly, +occasionally riding around the stalled wagon so +as to get a clear view of the plain all about. For +a long time not a moving object crossed her line +of vision.</p> + +<p>“Who you looking for, Frances?” Pratt asked +her, once.</p> + +<p>“Oh, nobody,” replied the girl.</p> + +<p>“Do you expect that fellow is still trailing us?” +he went on, curiously.</p> + +<p>“No-o. I think not.”</p> + +<p>“But he’s on your mind, eh?” suggested Pratt, +earnestly. “Just as well I came along with you,” +and he laughed.</p> + +<p>“So Mack says,” returned Frances, with an +answering smile.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span>Was she expecting an attack? Would Ratty +come back? Was the man, Pete, lurking in some +hollow or buffalo wallow? She scanned the horizon +from time to time and wondered.</p> + +<p>The sun sank to sleep in a bed of gold and crimson. +Pink and lavender tints flecked the cloud-coverlets +he tucked about him.</p> + +<p>It was full sunset and still the party was delayed. +The mules stamped and rattled their harness. +They were impatient to get on to their suppers and +the freedom of the corral.</p> + +<p>“We’ll sure be too late for supper at Miz’ +Peckham’s,” grumbled Mack.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’re only troubled about your eats,” +joked Pratt.</p> + +<p>At that moment Frances uttered a little cry. +Both Pratt and the teamster looked up at her +inquiringly.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Frances?” asked the +young fellow.</p> + +<p>“I–I thought I saw a light, away over there +where the sun is going down.”</p> + +<p>“Plenty of light there, I should say,” laughed +Pratt. “The sun has left a field of glory behind +him. Come on, now, Mr. Mack! Ready for this +other wire?”</p> + +<p>“Glory to Jehoshaphat!” grunted the teamster. +“The world was made in a shorter time than it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span> +takes to bungle this mean, ornery job! I got a +holler in me like the Cave of Winds.”</p> + +<p>“Hadn’t we better take a bite here?” Frances +demanded. “It will be bedtime when we reach +the Peckhams.”</p> + +<p>“Wal, if you say so, Miss,” said the teamster. +“I kin eat as soon as you kin cook the stuff, sure! +But I did hone for a mess of Miz’ Peckham’s flapjacks.”</p> + +<p>Frances, well used to campwork, became immediately +very busy. She ran for greasewood and +such other fuel as could be found in the immediate +vicinity, and started her fire.</p> + +<p>It smoked and she got the strong smell of it in +her nostrils, and it made her weep. Pratt, tugging +and perspiring under the wagon-body, coughed +over the smoke, too.</p> + +<p>“Seems to me, Frances,” he called, “you’re filling +the entire circumambient air with smoke–ker-<i>chow</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Why! the wind isn’t your way,” said Frances, +and she stood up to look curiously about again.</p> + +<p>There seemed to be a lot of smoke. It was rolling +in from the westward across the almost level +plain. There was a deep rose glow behind it–a +threatening illumination.</p> + +<p>“Wow!” yelled Pratt.</p> + +<p>He had just crawled out from beneath the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span> +wagon and was rising to his feet. An object flew +by him in the half-dusk, about shoulder-high, and +so swiftly that he was startled. He stepped back +into a gopher-hole, tripped, and fell full length.</p> + +<p>“What in thunder was that?” he yelled, highly +excited.</p> + +<p>“A jack-rabbit,” growled Mack. “And going +some. Something scare’t that critter, sure’s you’re +bawn!”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you ever see a jack before, Pratt?” +asked Frances, her tone a little queer, he thought.</p> + +<p>“Not so close to,” admitted the young fellow, +as he scrambled to his feet. “Gracious! if he had +hit me he’d have gone clear through me like a +cannon-ball.”</p> + +<p>It was only Frances who had realized the unexpected +peril. She had tried to keep her voice +from shaking; but Mack noticed her tone.</p> + +<p>“What’s up, Miss?” he asked, getting to his +legs, too.</p> + +<p>“Fire!” gasped the range girl, clutching suddenly +at Pratt’s arm.</p> + +<p>“You mean smoke,” laughed Pratt. He saw +her rubbing her eyes with her other hand.</p> + +<p>But Mack had risen, facing the west. He uttered +a funny little cluck in his throat and the +laughing young fellow wheeled in wonder.</p> + +<p>Along the horizon the glow was growing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span> +rapidly. A tongue of yellow flame shot high in the +air. A long dead, thoroughly seasoned tree, +standing at the forks of the trail, had caught fire +and the flame flared forth from its top like a +banner.</p> + +<p><i>The prairie was afire!</i></p> + +<p>“Glory to Jehoshaphat!” groaned Mack Hinkman, +again. “Who done that?”</p> + +<p>“Goodness!” gasped Pratt, quite horror-stricken.</p> + +<p>Frances gathered up the cooking implements +and flung them into the wagon. She had hobbled +Molly and the grey pony; now she ran for them.</p> + +<p>“Got that axle fixed, Mack?” she shouted over +her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Not for no rough traveling, I tell ye sure, +Miss Frances!” complained the teamster. “That +was a bad crack. Have to wait to fix it proper at +Peckham’s.” Then he added, <i>sotto voce</i>: “If we +get the blamed thing there at all.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t say that, man!” gasped Pratt Sanderson. +“Surely there’s not much danger?”</p> + +<p>“This here spot will be scorched like an overdone +flapjack in half an hour,” declared Hinkman. +“We got to git!”</p> + +<p>Frances heard him, distant as she was.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mack! you know we can’t reach the river +in half an hour, even if we travel express speed.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span>“Well! what we goin’ ter do then?” demanded +the teamster. “Stay here and fry?”</p> + +<p>Pratt was impressed suddenly with the thought +that they were both leaning on the advice and leadership +of the girl! He was inexperienced, himself; +and the teamster seemed quite as helpless.</p> + +<p>A pair of coyotes, too frightened by the fire to +be afraid of their natural enemy, man, shot by in +the dusk–two dim, grey shapes.</p> + +<p>Frances released Molly and the grey pony from +their hobbles. She leaped upon the back of the +pinto and dragged the grey after by his bridle-reins. +She was back at the stalled wagon in a few +moments.</p> + +<p>Already the flames could be seen along the +western horizon as far as the unaided eye could +see anything, leaping under the pall of rising +smoke. The fire was miles away, it was true; but +its ominous appearance affrighted even Pratt Sanderson, +who knew so little about such peril.</p> + +<p>Mack was fastening straps and hooking up +traces; they had not dared leave the mules hitched +to the wagon while they were engaged in its +repair.</p> + +<p>“Come on! get a hustle on you, Mister!” exclaimed +the teamster. “We got to light out o’ +here right sudden!”</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span><a id='link_18'></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE WAVE OF FLAME</span></h2> + +<p>Pratt was pale, as could be seen where his face +was not smudged with earth and axle-grease. He +came and accepted his pony’s bridle from Frances’ +hand.</p> + +<p>“What shall we do?” he asked, trying to keep +his voice steady.</p> + +<p>It was plain that the teamster had little idea of +what was wise or best to do. The young fellow +turned to Frances of the ranges quite as a matter +of course. Evidently, she knew so much more +about the perilous circumstances than he did that +Pratt was not ashamed to take Frances’ commands.</p> + +<p>“This is goin’ to be a hot corner,” the teamster +drawled again; but Pratt waited for the girl to +speak.</p> + +<p>“Are you frightened, Pratt?” she asked, suddenly, +looking down at him from her saddle, and +smiling rather wistfully.</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” said the young fellow. “I expect +I shall be if it is very terrible.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span>“But you don’t expect me to be scared?” asked +Frances, still gravely.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think it is your nature to show apprehension,” +returned he.</p> + +<p>“I’m not like other girls, you mean. That girl +from Boston, for instance?” Frances said, looking +away at the line of fire again. “Well!” and she +sighed. “I am not, I suppose. With daddy I’ve +been up against just such danger as this before. +You never saw a prairie fire, Pratt?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am!” exclaimed Pratt. “I never +did.”</p> + +<p>“The grass and greasewood are just right for +it now. Mack is correct,” the girl went on. “This +will be a hot corner.”</p> + +<p>“And that mighty quick!” cried Mack.</p> + +<p>“But you don’t propose to stay here?” gasped +Pratt.</p> + +<p>“Not much! Hold your mules, Mack,” she +called to the grumbling teamster. “I’m going to +make a flare.”</p> + +<p>“Better do somethin’ mighty suddent, Miss,” +growled the man.</p> + +<p>She spurred Molly up to the wagon-seat and +there seized one of the blankets.</p> + +<p>“Got a sharp knife, Pratt?” she asked, shaking +out the folds of the blanket.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span>“Slit this blanket, then–lengthwise. Halve it,” +urged Frances. “And be quick.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, Miss Frances!” called the teamster. +“Set a backfire both sides of the trail. We +got to save ourselves. Be sure ye run it a mile or +more.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to burn the prairie ahead of +us?” panted Pratt.</p> + +<p>“Yes. We’ll have to. I hope nobody will be +hurt. But the way that fire is coming back there,” +said Frances, firmly, “the flames will be ten feet +high when they get here.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean it!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. You’ll see. Pray we may get a burned-over +area before us in time to escape. The flames +will leap a couple of hundred feet or more before +the supply of gas–or whatever it is that burns so +high above the ground–expires. The breath of +that flame will scorch us to cinders if it reaches us. +It will kill and char a big steer in a few seconds. +Oh, it is a serious situation we’re in, Pratt!”</p> + +<p>“Can’t we keep ahead of it?” demanded the +young man, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Not for long,” replied Frances, with conviction. +“I’ve seen more than one such fire, as I +tell you. There! Take this rawhide.”</p> + +<p>The ranchman’s daughter was not idle while she +talked. She showed him how to knot the length of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span> +rawhide which she had produced from under the +wagon-seat to one end of his share of the blanket. +Her own fingers were busy with the other half +meanwhile.</p> + +<p>“Into your saddle now, Pratt. Take the +right-hand side of the trail. Ride as fast as you +can toward the river when I give the word. Go a +mile, at least.”</p> + +<p>The ponies were urged close to the campfire +and he followed Frances’ example when she flung +the tail of her piece of blanket into the blaze. The +blankets caught fire and began to smoulder and +smoke. There was enough cotton mixed with the +wool to cause it to catch fire quickly.</p> + +<p>“All right! We’re off!” shouted Frances, and +spurred her pinto in the opposite direction. Immediately +the smouldering blanket-stuff was blown +into a live flame. Wherever it touched the dry +grass and clumps of low brush fire started like +magic.</p> + +<p>Immediately Pratt reproduced her work on the +other side of the trail. At right angles with the +beaten path, they fled across the prairie, leaving +little fires in their wake that spread and spread, +rising higher and higher, and soon roaring into +quenchless conflagrations.</p> + +<p>These patches of fire soon joined and increased +to a wider and wider swath of flame. The fire +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span> +traveled slowly westward, but rushed eastward, +propelled by the wind.</p> + +<p>Wider and wider grew the sea of flame set by +the burning blankets. Like Frances, Pratt kept +his mount at a fast lope–the speediest pace of the +trained cow-pony–nor did he stop until the blanket +was consumed to the rawhide knot.</p> + +<p>Then he wheeled his mount to look back. He +could see nothing but flames and smoke at first. +He did not know how far Frances had succeeded +in traveling with her “flare”; but he was quite +sure that he had come more than a mile from the +wagon-trail.</p> + +<p>He could soon see a broadening patch of burned-over +prairie in the midst of the swirling flames +and smoke. His pony snorted, and backed away +from the approach-fire; but Pratt wheeled the grey +around to the westward, and where the flames +merely crept and sputtered through the greasewood +and against the wind, he spurred his mount +to leap over the line of fire.</p> + +<p>The earth was hot, and every time the pony set +a hoof down smoke or sparks flew upward; but +Pratt had to get back to the trail. With the quirt +he forced on the snorting grey, and finally reached +a place where the fire had completely passed and +the ground was cooler.</p> + +<p>Ashes flew in clouds about him; the smoke from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span> +the west drove in a thick mass between him and +the darkened sky. Only the glare of the roaring +fire revealed objects and landmarks.</p> + +<p>The backfire had burned for many yards westward, +to meet the threatening wave of flame flying +on the wings of the wind. To the east, the line of +flame Pratt and Frances had set was rising higher +and higher.</p> + +<p>He saw the wagon standing in the midst of the +smoke, Mack Hinkman holding the snorting, kicking +mules with difficulty, while a wild little figure +on a pony galloped back from the other side of the +trail.</p> + +<p>“All right, Pratt?” shrieked Frances. “Get +up, Mack; we’ve no time to lose!”</p> + +<p>The teamster let the mules go. Yet he dared +not let them take their own gait. The thought of +that cracked axle disturbed him.</p> + +<p>The wagon led, however, through the smoke +and dust; the two ponies fell in behind upon the +trail. Frances and Pratt looked at each other. +The young man was serious enough; but the girl +was smiling.</p> + +<p>Something she had said a little while before kept +returning to Pratt’s mind. He was thinking of +what would have happened had Sue Latrop, the +girl from Boston, been here instead of Frances.</p> + +<p>“Goodness!” Pratt told himself. “They are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span> +out of two different worlds; that’s sure! And I’m +an awful tenderfoot, just as Mrs. Bill Edwards +says.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think of it?” asked Frances, +raising her voice to make it heard above the roar +of the fire and the rumble of the wagon ahead of +them.</p> + +<p>“I’m scared–right down scared!” admitted +Pratt Sanderson.</p> + +<p>“Well, so was I,” she admitted. “But the +worst is over now. We’ll reach the river and ford +it, and so put the fire all behind us. The flames +won’t leap the river, that’s sure.”</p> + +<p>The heat from the prairie fire was most oppressive. +Over their heads the hot smoke swirled, +shutting out all sight of the stars. Now and then +a clump of brush beside the trail broke into flame +again, fanned by the wind, and the ponies snorted +and leaped aside.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Mack was heard yelling at the mules +and trying to pull them down to something milder +than a wild gallop. Frances and Pratt spurred +their ponies out upon the burned ground in order +to see ahead.</p> + +<p>Something loomed up on the trail–something +that smoked and flamed like a big bonfire.</p> + +<p>“What can it be?” gasped Pratt, riding knee +to knee with the range girl.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span>“Not a house. There isn’t one along here,” +she returned.</p> + +<p>“Some old-timer got caught!” yelled the teamster, +looking back at the two pony-riders. “Hope +he saved his skin.”</p> + +<p>“A wagoner!” cried Frances, startled.</p> + +<p>“He cut his stock loose, of course,” yelled Mack +Hinkman.</p> + +<p>But when they reached the burning wagon they +saw that this was not altogether true. One horse +lay, charred, in the harness. The wagon had been +empty. The driver of it had evidently cut his +other horse loose and ridden away on its back to +save himself.</p> + +<p>“And why didn’t he free this poor creature?” +demanded Pratt. “How cruel!”</p> + +<p>“He was scare’t,” said Mack, pulling his mules +out of the trail so as to drive around the burning +wagon. “Or mebbe the hawse fell. Like enough +that’s it.”</p> + +<p>Frances said nothing more. She was wondering +if this abandoned wagon was the one she had seen +turn into the trail from Cottonwood Bottom early +in the day? And who was its driver?</p> + +<p>They went on, puzzled by this incident. At +least, Frances and Pratt were puzzled by it.</p> + +<p>“We may see the fellow at the ford,” Frances +said. “Too bad he lost his outfit.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span>“He didn’t have anything in that wagon,” said +Pratt. “It was as empty as your own.”</p> + +<p>Frances looked at him curiously. She remembered +that the young man from Amarillo had +taken a peep into the Bar-T wagon when he joined +them on the trail. He must have seen the heavy +chest; and now he ignored it.</p> + +<p>On and on they rode. The smoke made the ride +very unpleasant, even if the flames were now at a +distance. Behind them the glare of the fire +decreased; but to north and south the wall of +flame, at a distance of several miles, rushed on +and passed the riders on the trail.</p> + +<p>The trees along the river’s brink came into view, +outlined in many places by red and yellow flames. +The fire would do a deal of damage along here, +for even the greenest trees would be badly +scorched.</p> + +<p>The mules had run themselves pretty much out +of breath and finally reduced their pace; but the +wagon still led the procession when it reached the +high bank.</p> + +<p>The water in the river was very low; the trail +descended the bank on a slant, and Mack put on +the brakes and allowed the sure-footed mules to +take their own course to the ford.</p> + +<p>With hanging heads and heaving flanks, the two +cow-ponies followed. Frances and Pratt were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span> +scorched, and smutted from head to foot; and +their throats were parched, too.</p> + +<p>“I hope I’ll never have to take such another +ride,” admitted the young man from Amarillo. +“Adventure is all right, Frances; but clerking in a +bank doesn’t prepare one for such a strenuous +life.”</p> + +<p>“I think you are game, Pratt,” she said, frankly. +“I can see that Mack, even, thinks you are pretty +good–for a tenderfoot.”</p> + +<p>The wagon went into the water at that moment. +Mack yelled to the mules to stop. The wagon +was hub deep in the stream and he loosened the +reins so that the animals might plunge their noses +into the flood. Molly and the grey quickly put +down their heads, too.</p> + +<p>Above the little group the flames crackled in a +dead-limbed tree, lighting the ford like a huge +torch. Above the flare of the thick canopy of the +smoke spread out, completely overcasting the +river.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Frances laid her hand upon Pratt’s +arm. She pointed with her quirt into a bushy +tree on the opposite bank.</p> + +<p>“Look over there!” she exclaimed, in a low +tone.</p> + +<p>Almost as she spoke there sounded the sharp +crack of a rifle, and a ball passed through the top +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span> +of the wagon, so near that it made the ponies +jump.</p> + +<p>“Put up your hands–all three of you folks +down there!” commanded an angry voice. “The +magazine of this rifle is plumb full and I can shoot +straight. D’ye get me? Hands up!”</p> + +<p>“My goodness!” gasped Pratt Sanderson.</p> + +<p>What Mack Hinkman said was muffled in his +own beard; but his hands shot upward as he sat on +the wagon-seat.</p> + +<p>Frances said nothing; her heart jumped–and +then pumped faster. She recognized the drawling +voice of the man in the tree, although she could +not see his face clearly in the firelight.</p> + +<p>It was Pete–Ratty M’Gill’s acquaintance–the +man who had been orderly at the Bylittle Soldiers’ +Home, and who had come all the way to the Panhandle +to try to secure the treasure in the old +Spanish chest.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Frances had half expected some such +incident as this to punctuate her journey to Amarillo. +Nevertheless, the reckless tone of the man, +and the way he used his rifle, troubled her.</p> + +<p>“Put your hands up!” she murmured to Pratt. +“Do just what he tells you. He may be wicked +and foolish enough to fire again.”</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span><a id='link_19'></a>CHAPTER XIX<br /><span class='h2fs'>MOST ASTONISHING!</span></h2> + +<p>“The man must be crazy!” murmured the +young bank clerk.</p> + +<p>“All the more reason why we should be careful +to obey him,” Frances said.</p> + +<p>Yet she was not unmindful of the peril Pratt +pointed out. Only, in Frances’ case, she had been +brought up among men who carried guns habitually, +and the sound of a rifle shot did not startle +her as it did the young man.</p> + +<p>“Look yere, Mr. Hold-up Man!” yelled Mack +Hinkman, when his amazement let him speak. +“Ain’t you headed in the wrong way? We ain’t +comin’ from town with a load. Why, man! we’re +only jest goin’ to town. Why didn’t you wait till +we was comin’ back before springin’ this mine on +us?”</p> + +<p>“Keep still there,” commanded Pete, from the +tree. “Drive on through the river, and up on this +bank, and then stop! You hear?”</p> + +<p>“I’d hear ye, I reckon, if I was plumb deef,” +complained Mack. “That rifle you handle so +permiscuous speaks mighty plain.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172'></a>172</span>“Let them on hossback mind it, too,” added the +man in the tree. “I got an eye on ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Easy, Mister,” urged Mack, as he picked up +the reins again. “One o’ them is a young lady. +You’re a gent, I take it, as wouldn’t frighten no +female.”</p> + +<p>“Stow that!” advised Pete, with vigor. +“Come out o’ there!”</p> + +<p>Mack started the mules, and they dragged the +wagon creakingly up the bank. Frances and Pratt +rode meekly in its wake. The man in the tree had +selected his station with good judgment. When +Mack halted his four mules, and Frances and Pratt +obeyed a commanding gesture to stop at the water’s +edge, all three were splendid targets for the +man behind the rifle.</p> + +<p>“Ride up to that wagon, young fellow,” commanded +Pete. “Rip open that canvas. That’s +right. Roll off your horse and climb inside; but +don’t you go out of sight. If you do I’ll make that +canvas cover a sieve in about one minute. Get +me?”</p> + +<p>Pratt nodded. He could not help himself. He +gave an appealing glance toward Frances. She +nodded.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be foolish, Pratt,” she whispered. “Do +what he tells you to do.”</p> + +<p>Thus encouraged, the young fellow obeyed the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173'></a>173</span> +mandate of the man who had stopped them on the +trail. He had read of highwaymen and hold-ups; +but he had believed that such things had gone out +of fashion with the coming of farmers into the +Panhandle, the building up of the frequent settlements, +and the extension of the railroad lines.</p> + +<p>Pratt’s heart was warmed by the girl’s evident +desire that he should not run into danger. The +outlaw in the tree was after the chest hidden in the +wagon; but Frances put his safety above the value +of the treasure chest.</p> + +<p>“Heave that chist out of the end of the wagon, +and be quick about it!” was the expected order +from the desperado. “And don’t try anything +funny, young fellow.”</p> + +<p>Pratt was in no mood to be “funny.” He hesitated +just a moment. But Frances exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Do as he says! Don’t wait!”</p> + +<p>So out rolled the chest. Mack was grumbling +to himself on the front seat; but if he was armed +he did not consider it wise to use any weapon. +The man with the rifle had everything his own +way.</p> + +<p>“Now, drive on!” commanded the latter individual. +“I’ve got no use for any of you folks +here, and you’ll be wise if you keep right on moving +till you get to that Peckham ranch. Git +now!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174'></a>174</span>“All right, old-timer,” grunted Mack. “Don’t +be so short-tempered about it.”</p> + +<p>He let the mules go and they scrambled up the +bank, drawing the wagon after them. The chest +lay on the river’s edge. Pratt Sanderson had +climbed upon his pony again.</p> + +<p>“You two git, also,” growled the man in the +tree. “I got all I want of ye.”</p> + +<p>Pratt groaned aloud as he urged the grey pony +after Molly.</p> + +<p>“What will your father say, Frances?” he muttered.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” returned the girl, honestly.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to ride ahead to the Peckham ranch +and rouse them. That fellow can’t get away with +that heavy chest on horseback.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go with you,” returned the ranchman’s +daughter. “That rascal should be apprehended +and punished. We have about chased such people +out of this section of the country.”</p> + +<p>“Goodness! you take it calmly, Frances,” +exclaimed Pratt. “Doesn’t <i>anything</i> ruffle you?”</p> + +<p>She laughed shortly, and made no further +remark. They rode on swiftly and within the hour +saw the lights of Peckham’s ranch-house.</p> + +<p>Their arrival brought the family to the door, +as well as half a dozen punchers up from the +bunk-house. The fire had excited everybody and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span> +kept them out of bed, although there was no +danger of the conflagration’s jumping the river.</p> + +<p>“Why, Miss Frances!” cried the ranchman’s +wife, who was a fleshy and notoriously good-natured +woman, the soul of Western hospitality. +“Why, Miss Frances! if you ain’t a cure for sore +eyes! Do ’light and come in–and yer friend, too.</p> + +<p>“My goodness me! ye don’t mean to say you’ve +been through that fire? That is awful! Come +right on in, do!”</p> + +<p>But what Frances and Pratt had to tell about +their adventure at the ford excited the Peckhams +and their hands much more than the fire.</p> + +<p>“John Peckham!” commanded the fleshy lady, +who was really the leading spirit at the ranch. +“You take a bunch of the boys and ride right after +that rascal. My mercy! are folks goin’ to be +held up on this trail and robbed just as though we +had no law and order? It’s disgraceful!”</p> + +<p>Then she turned her mind to another idea. +“Miss Frances!” she exclaimed. “What was in +that trunk? Must have been something valuable, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“I was taking it to the Amarillo bank, to put it +in the safe deposit vaults,” Frances answered, +dodging the direct question.</p> + +<p>“’Twarn’t full of money?” shrieked Mrs. Peckham.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span>“Why, no!” laughed Frances. “We’re not as +rich as all that, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” sighed the good, if curious, woman, “I +reckon there was ’nough sight more valuables in +the trunk than Captain Dan Rugley wants to lose. +Hurry up, there, John Peckham!” she shouted +after her husband. “Git after that fellow before +he has a chance to break open the trunk.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to get a fresh horse and ride back +with them,” Pratt Sanderson told Frances. “And +we’ll get that chest, don’t you fear.”</p> + +<p>“You’d better remain here and have your +night’s rest,” advised the girl, wonderfully calm, it +would seem. “Let Mr. Peckham and his men +catch that bad fellow.”</p> + +<p>“And me sit here idle?” cried Pratt. “Not +much!”</p> + +<p>She saw him start for the corral, and suddenly +showed emotion. “Oh, Pratt!” she cried, +weakly.</p> + +<p>The young man did not hear her. Should she +shout louder for him? She paled and then grew +rosy red. Should she run after him? Should she +tell him the truth about that chest?</p> + +<p>“Do come in the house, Miss Frances,” urged +Mrs. Peckham. And the girl from the Bar-T +obeyed her and allowed Pratt to go.</p> + +<p>“You must sure be done up,” said Mrs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span> +Peckham, bustling about. “I’ll make you a cup of +tea.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Frances. She listened for +the posse to start, and knew that, when they +dashed away, Pratt Sanderson was with them.</p> + +<p>Mack Hinkman arrived with the double mule +team soon after. He said the crowd had gone by +him “on the jump.”</p> + +<p>“I ’low they’ll ketch that feller that stole your +chist, Miss Frances, ’bout the time two Sundays +come together in the week,” he declared. “He’s +had plenty of time to make himself scarce.”</p> + +<p>“But the trunk?” cried Mrs. Peckham. “That +was some heavy, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Aw, he had a wagon handy. He wouldn’t +have tried to take the chist if he hadn’t. Don’t +you say so, Miss Frances?” said the teamster.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said the girl, and she spoke +wearily. Indeed, she had suddenly become tired of +hearing the robbery discussed.</p> + +<p>“Don’t trouble the poor girl,” urged Mrs. +Peckham. “She’s all done up. We’ll know all +about it when John Peckham gets back. You +wanter go to bed, honey?”</p> + +<p>Frances was glad to retire. Not alone was she +weary, but she wished to escape any further discussion +of the incident at the ford.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Peckham showed her to the room she was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span> +to occupy. Mack would remain up to repair properly +the cracked axle of the wagon.</p> + +<p>For, whether the chest was recovered or not, +Frances proposed to go right on in the morning to +Amarillo.</p> + +<p>She did not awaken when Mr. Peckham and his +men returned; but Frances was up at daybreak and +came into the kitchen for breakfast. Mrs. Peckham +was bustling about just as she had been the +night before when the girl from the Bar-T +retired.</p> + +<p>“Hard luck, Miss Frances!” the good lady +cried. “Them men ain’t worth more’n two bits a +dozen, when it comes to sending ’em out on a trail. +They never got your trunk for you at all!”</p> + +<p>“And they did not catch the man who stopped +us at the ford?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not. John Peckham never could +catch anything but a cold.”</p> + +<p>“But where could he have gone–that man, I +mean?” queried Frances.</p> + +<p>“Give it up! One party went up stream and +t’other down. Your friend, Mr. Sanderson, went +with the first party.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” Frances commented. “That would +be on his way to the Edwards ranch where he is +staying.”</p> + +<p>“Well, mebbe. They say he was mighty anxious +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span> +to find your trunk. He’s an awful nice young +man―”</p> + +<p>“Where’s Mack?” asked Frances, endeavoring +to stem the tide of the lady’s speech.</p> + +<p>“He’s a-getting the team ready, Frances. He’s +done had his breakfast. And I never did see a +man with such a holler to fill with flapjacks. He +eat seventeen.”</p> + +<p>“Mack’s appetite is notorious at the ranch,” +admitted Frances, glad Mrs. Peckham had finally +switched from the subject of the lost chest.</p> + +<p>“He was telling me about that burned wagon +you passed on the trail. Can’t for the life of me +think who it could belong to,” said Mrs. Peckham.</p> + +<p>“We thought once that Mr. Bob Ellis was +ahead of us on the trail,” said Frances.</p> + +<p>“He’d have come right on here,” declared the +ranchman’s wife. “No. ’Twarn’t Bob.”</p> + +<p>“Then I thought it might have belonged to that +man who stopped us,” suggested Frances.</p> + +<p>“If that’s so, I reckon he got square for his +loss, didn’t he?” cried the lady. “I reckon that +chest was filled with valuables, eh?”</p> + +<p>Fortunately, Frances had swallowed her coffee +and the mule team rattled to the door.</p> + +<p>“I must hurry!” the girl cried, jumping up. +“Many, many thanks, dear Mrs. Peckham!” and +she kissed the good woman and so got out of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span> +house without having to answer any further questions.</p> + +<p>She sprang into Molly’s saddle and Mack +cracked his whip over the mules.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe we’ll have good news for you when +you come back, Frances!” called the ranchwoman, +quite filling the door with her ample person as she +watched the Bar-T wagon, and the girl herself, +take the trail for Amarillo.</p> + +<p>Mack Hinkman was quite wrought up over the +adventure of the previous evening.</p> + +<p>“That young Pratt Sanderson is some smart +boy–believe me!” he said to Frances, who elected +to ride within earshot of the wagon-seat for the +first mile or two.</p> + +<p>“How is that?” she asked, curiously.</p> + +<p>“They tell me it was him found the place where +the chest had been put aboard that punt.”</p> + +<p>“What punt?”</p> + +<p>“The boat the feller escaped in with the chest,” +said Mack.</p> + +<p>“Then he wasn’t the man whose wagon and +one horse was burned?” queried Frances.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know. Mebbe. But that’s no difference. +This old punt has been hid down there +below the ford since last duck-shooting season. +Maybe he knowed ’twas there; maybe he didn’t. +Howsomever, he found the boat and brought it up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span> +to the ford. Into the boat he tumbled the chest. +There was the marks on the bank. John Peckham +told me himself.”</p> + +<p>“And Pratt found the trail?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what he did. Smart boy! The rest of +’em was up a stump when they didn’t find the chest +knocked to pieces. The hold-up gent didn’t even +stop to open it.”</p> + +<p>“He expected we’d set somebody on his trail,” +Frances said, reflectively.</p> + +<p>“In course. Two parties. One went up +stream and t’other down.”</p> + +<p>“So Mrs. Peckham just told me.”</p> + +<p>“Wal!” said Mack. “Mebbe one of ’em will +ketch the varmint!”</p> + +<p>But Frances made no further comment. She +rode on in silence, her mind vastly troubled. And +mostly her thought connected Pratt Sanderson +with the disappearance of the chest.</p> + +<p>Why had the young fellow been so sure that the +robber had gone up stream instead of down? It +did not seem reasonable that the man would have +tried to stem the current in the heavy punt–nor +was the chest a light weight.</p> + +<p>It puzzled Frances–indeed, it made her suspicious. +She was anxious to learn whether the +man who had stolen the chest had gone up, or +down, the river.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span><a id='link_20'></a>CHAPTER XX<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE BOSTON GIRL AGAIN</span></h2> + +<p>Frances warned Mack to say nothing about the +hold-up at the ford. That was certainly laying +no cross on the teamster’s shoulders, for he was +not generally garrulous.</p> + +<p>They put up at the hotel that night and Frances +did her errands in Amarillo the next day without +being disturbed by awkward questions regarding +their adventure.</p> + +<p>Certainly, she was not obliged to go to the bank +under the present circumstances, for there was no +chest now to put in the safe-keeping of that institution.</p> + +<p>Nor did Frances Rugley have many friends in +the breezy, Western city with whom she might +spend her time. Two years make many changes +in such a fast-growing community. She was not +sure that she would be able to find many of the +girls with whom she had gone to high school.</p> + +<p>And she was, too, in haste to return to the +Bar-T. Although she had left her father better, +she worried much about him. Naturally, too, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span> +wished to get back and report to him the adventures +which had marked her journey to Amarillo.</p> + +<p>She would have been glad to escape stopping at +the Peckham ranch over the third night; but she +could not get beyond that point–the wagon now +being heavily laden; nor did she wish to remain +out on the range at night without a shelter tent.</p> + +<p>The hold-up at the ford naturally made Frances +feel somewhat timid, too. Mack was not armed, +and she had only the revolver that she usually carried +in her saddle holster and wouldn’t have +thought of defending herself with it from any +human being.</p> + +<p>So she rode ahead when it became dark, and +reached the Peckham ranch at supper time, finding +both a warm welcome and much news awaiting her.</p> + +<p>“Glad to see ye back again, Frances,” declared +Mrs. Peckham. “We done been talking about +you and your hold-up most of the time since you +went to Amarillo. Beats all how little it does take +to set folks’ tongues wagging in the country. Ain’t +it so?</p> + +<p>“Well! that feller got clean away. And he +took chest and all. Them fellers that went down +stream found the old punt. But they never found +no place where he’d shifted the trunk ashore. And +it must have been heavy, Frances?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span>“Must have been a sight of valuables in it,” +repeated Mrs. Peckham.</p> + +<p>“What about those who went up stream?” +asked Frances, quickly.</p> + +<p>“There! your friend, Mr. Sanderson, didn’t +come back. He went on to Mr. Bill Edwards’ +place, so he said. He axed would you lead his +grey pony on behind your wagon to the Bar-T. +Said he’d come after it there.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; of course,” returned Frances. “But +didn’t he find any trace of the robber up stream?”</p> + +<p>“How could they, Miss Frances, if the boat +went down?” demanded Mrs. Peckham. “Of +course not.”</p> + +<p>It was true. Frances worried about this. Pratt +Sanderson had insisted upon leading a part of the +searchers in exactly the opposite direction to that +in which common sense should have told him the +robber had gone with the chest.</p> + +<p>“Of course he would never have tried to pole +against the current,” Frances told herself. “I am +afraid daddy will consider that significant.”</p> + +<p>She did not attempt to keep the story from +Captain Dan Rugley when she got back home on +the fourth evening.</p> + +<p>“Smart girl!” the old ranchman said, when she +told him of the make-believe treasure chest she had +carted halfway to Amarillo, burlapped, corded, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span> +and tagged as though for deposit in the city bank +for safe-keeping.</p> + +<p>“Smart girl!” he repeated. “Fooled ’em +good. But maybe you were reckless, Frances–just +a wee mite reckless.”</p> + +<p>“I had no intention of trying to defend the +chest, or of letting Mack,” she told him.</p> + +<p>“And how about that Pratt boy who you say +went along with you?” queried the Captain, his +brows suddenly coming together.</p> + +<p>“Well, Daddy! He insisted upon going with +me because Ratty bothered me,” said Frances, in +haste.</p> + +<p>“Humph! Mack could break that M’Gill in two +if the foolish fellow became really fresh with you. +Now! I don’t want to say anything to hurt your +feelings, Frances; but it does seem to me that this +Pratt Sanderson was too handy when that hold-up +man got the chest.”</p> + +<p>It was just as the girl feared. She bit her lip +and said nothing. She did not see what there was +to say in Pratt’s defense. Besides, in her secret +heart she, too, was troubled about the young fellow +from Amarillo.</p> + +<p>She wondered what the robber at the ford +thought about it when he got the old trunk open +and found in it nothing but some junk and rubbish +she had found in the attic of the ranch-house. At +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span> +least, she had managed to draw the attention of +the dishonest orderly from the Bylittle Soldiers’ +Home from the real Spanish treasure chest for +several days.</p> + +<p>Before he could make any further attempt +against the peace of mind of her father and herself, +Frances hoped Mr. Lonergan would have +arrived at the Bar-T and the responsibility for the +safety of the treasure would be lifted from their +shoulders.</p> + +<p>At any rate, the mysterious treasure would be +divided and disposed of. When Pete knew that +the Spanish treasure chest was opened and the +valuables divided, he might lose hope of gaining +possession of the wealth he coveted.</p> + +<p>A telegram had come while Frances was absent +from the chaplain of the Soldiers’ Home, stating +that Mr. Lonergan would start for the Panhandle +in a week, if all went well with him.</p> + +<p>Captain Rugley was as eager as a boy for his old +partner’s appearance.</p> + +<p>“And I’ve been wishing all these years,” he +said, “while you were growing up, Frances, to +dress you up in a lot of this fancy jewelry. It +would have been for your mother if she had lived.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t want me to look like a South +Sea Island princess, do you, Daddy?” Frances +said, laughing. “I can see that the belt and bracelet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span> +I wore the night Pratt stopped here rather +startled him. He’s used to seeing ladies dressed +up, in Amarillo, too.”</p> + +<p>“Pooh! In the cities women are ablaze with +jewels. Your mother and I went to Chicago once, +and we went to the opera. Say! that was a show!</p> + +<p>“Let me tell you, there are things in that chest +that will outshine anything in the line of ornaments +that that Pratt Sanderson–or any other Amarillo +person–ever saw.”</p> + +<p>The girl was quite sure that this desire on her +father’s part of arraying her in the gaudy jewels +from the old chest was bound to make her the +laughing-stock of the people who were coming out +from Amarillo to see the Pageant of the Panhandle.</p> + +<p>But what could she do about it? His wish was +fathered by his love for her. She must wear the +gems to please him, for Frances would never do +anything to hurt his feelings, for the world.</p> + +<p>A good many of their friends, of course–people +like good Mrs. Peckham–would never realize the +incongruity of a girl being bedecked like a barbarian +princess. But Frances wondered what the +girl from Boston would say to Pratt Sanderson +about it, if she chanced to see Frances so adorned?</p> + +<p>She had an opportunity of seeing something +more of the Boston girl shortly, for in a day or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span> +two Pratt Sanderson came over for the grey pony +he had left at the Peckham ranch, and Frances had +led back to the Bar-T for him.</p> + +<p>And with Pratt trailed along Mrs. Bill Edwards +and the visitors whom Frances had met twice +before.</p> + +<p>By this time Captain Dan Rugley was able to +hobble out upon the veranda, and was sitting there +in his old, straight-backed chair when the cavalcade +rode up. He hailed Mrs. Edwards, and +welcomed her and her young friends as heartily +as it was his nature so to do.</p> + +<p>“Come in, all of you!” he shouted. “Ming +will bring out a pitcher of something cool to drink +in a minute; and San Soo can throw together a +luncheon that’ll keep you from starving to death +before you get back to Bill’s place.”</p> + +<p>He would not listen to refusals. The Mexican +boys took the ponies away and a round dozen +of visitors settled themselves–like a covey of +prairie chickens–about the huge porch.</p> + +<p>Frances welcomed everybody quietly, but with +a smile. She instructed Ming to set tables in the +inner court of the <i>hacienda</i>, as it would be both +cool and shady there on this hot noontide.</p> + +<p>She noticed that Sue Latrop scarcely bowed to +her, and immediately set about chattering to two +or three of her companions. Frances did not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span> +mind for herself; but she saw that the girl from +Boston seemed amused by Captain Rugley’s talk, +and was not well-bred enough to conceal her +amusement.</p> + +<p>The old ranchman was not dull in any particular, +however; before long he found an opportunity +to say to his daughter:</p> + +<p>“Who’s the girl in the fancy fixin’s? That red +coat’s got style to it, I reckon?”</p> + +<p>“If you like the style,” laughed Frances, smiling +tenderly at him.</p> + +<p>“You don’t? And I see she doesn’t cotton +much to you, Frances. What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“She’s Eastern,” explained Frances, briefly. +“I imagine she thinks I am crude.”</p> + +<p>“‘Crude’? What’s ‘crude’?” demanded Captain +Dan Rugley. “That isn’t anything very bad, +is it, Frances?” and his eyes twinkled.</p> + +<p>“Can’t be anything much worse, Daddy,” she +whispered, “if you are all ‘fed up,’ as the boys +say, on ‘culchaw’!”</p> + +<p>He chuckled at that, and began to eye Sue +Latrop with more interest. When the shuffle-footed +Ming called them to luncheon, he kept close +to the girl from Boston, and sat with her and Mrs. +Bill Edwards at one of the small tables.</p> + +<p>“I reckon you’re not used to this sort of slapdash +eating, Miss?” suggested Captain Rugley, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span> +with perfect gravity, as he saw Sue casting doubtful +glances about the inner garden.</p> + +<p>The fountain was playing, the trees rustled +softly overhead, a little breeze played in some +mysterious way over the court, and from the distance +came the tinkle of some Mexican mandolins, +for Frances had hidden José and his brother in one +of the shadowy rooms.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s quite <i>al fresco</i>, don’t you know,” +drawled Sue. “Altogether novel and chawming–isn’t +it, Mrs. Edwards?”</p> + +<p>The neighboring rancher’s wife had originally +come from the East herself; but she had lived +long enough in the Panhandle to have quite rubbed +off the veneer of that “culchaw” of which Sue was +an exponent.</p> + +<p>“The Bar-T is the show place of the Panhandle,” +she said, promptly. “We are rather +proud of it–all of us ranchers.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed? I had no idea!” cooed the girl from +Boston. “And I thought all you ranch folk had +your wealth in cattle, and re’lly had no time for +much social exchange.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed the Captain, “when we have +folks come to see us we manage to treat ’em with +our best.”</p> + +<p>Sue was obliged to note that the service and the +napery were dainty, and what she had seen of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span> +furnishings of the darkened hall amazed her–as +it had Pratt on his first visit. The food was, of +course, good and well prepared, for San Soo was +“A Number One, topside” cook, as he would have +himself expressed it in pigeon English.</p> + +<p>Yet Sue could not satisfy herself that these “cattle +people” were really worthy of her attention. +Had she not been with Mrs. Edwards she would +have made open fun of the old Captain and his +daughter.</p> + +<p>Frances of the ranges looked a good deal like +a girl on a moving picture screen. She was in her +riding dress, short skirt, high gaiters, tight-fitting +jacket, and with her hair in plaits.</p> + +<p>The Captain looked as though he had never +worn anything but the loose alpaca coat he now +had on, with the carpet-slippers upon his blue-stockinged +feet.</p> + +<p>“Re’lly!” Sue whispered to Pratt, as they all +arose to return to the front of the house, “they +are quite too impossible, aren’t they?”</p> + +<p>“Who?” asked Pratt, with narrowing gaze.</p> + +<p>“Why–er–this cowgirl and her father.”</p> + +<p>“I only see that they are very hospitable,” the +young man said, pointedly, and he kept away from +the Boston girl for the remainder of their visit to +the Bar-T ranch-house.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span><a id='link_21'></a>CHAPTER XXI<br /><span class='h2fs'>IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY</span></h2> + +<p>Silent Sam had reported some jack-rabbits on +one of the southern ranges, and the Captain +thought it would interest the party from the Edwards +ranch to come over the next day and help +run them.</p> + +<p>Jack-rabbits have become such a nuisance in certain +parts of the West of late years that a price +has been set upon their heads, and the farmers and +ranchmen often organize big drives to clear the +ranges of the pests.</p> + +<p>This was only a small drive on the Bar-T; but +Captain Rugley had several good dogs, and the +occasion was an interesting one–for everybody +but the jacks.</p> + +<p>Of course, the old ranchman could not go; but +Frances and Sam were at Cottonwood Bottom +soon after sunrise, waiting for the party from Mr. +Bill Edwards’ ranch.</p> + +<p>José Reposa had the dogs in leash–two long-legged, +sharp-nosed, mouse-colored creatures, +more than half greyhound, but with enough mongrel +in their make-up to make them bite when they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span> +ran down the long-eared pests that they were +trained to drive.</p> + +<p>The branch of the river that ran through Cottonwood +Bottom was too shallow–at least, at this +season–to float even a punt. Frances gazed down +the wooded and winding hollow and asked Silent +Sam a question:</p> + +<p>“Do you know of any place along the river +where a man might hide out–that fellow who +stopped us at the ford the other evening, for +instance?”</p> + +<p>“There’s a right smart patch of small growth +down below Bill Edwards’ line,” said Sam. “The +boys from Peckham’s, with that Pratt Sanderson, +didn’t more’n skirt that rubbish, I reckon, by what +Mack said,” Sam observed. “Mebbe that hombre +might have laid up there for a while.”</p> + +<p>“Before or after he robbed us?” Frances +asked quietly.</p> + +<p>“Wal, now!” ejaculated Sam. “If he took +that chest aboard the punt, and the punt was found +below the ford―”</p> + +<p>“You know, Sam,” said the girl, thoughtfully, +“that he might have poled up stream a way, put +the chest ashore, and then let the punt drift +down.”</p> + +<p>“Reckon that’s so,” grunted the foreman.</p> + +<p>He said no more, and neither did Frances. But +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span> +the brief dialogue gave the girl food for thought, +and her mind was quite full of the idea when the +crowd from the Edwards ranch came into view.</p> + +<p>The boys were armed with light rifles or shotguns, +and even some of the girls were armed, as +well as Mrs. Edwards herself.</p> + +<p>But Sue Latrop had never fired a gun in her +life, and she professed to be not much interested +in this hunt.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ve fox-hunted several times. That is +real sport! But we don’t shoot foxes. The dogs +kill them–if there re’lly <i>is</i> a fox.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” asked one of the local boys, with +wonder, “what do the dogs follow, if there’s no +fox? What scent do they trail, I mean?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Sue, “a man rides ahead dragging +an aniseed bag. Some dogs are trained to follow +that scent and nothing else. It’s very exciting, +I assure you.”</p> + +<p>“Well! what do you know about that?” gasped +the questioner.</p> + +<p>“Say! was this around Boston?” asked Pratt, +his eyes twinkling.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. There is a fine pack of hounds at +Arlington,” drawled Sue.</p> + +<p>“Sho!” chuckled Pratt. “I should think +they’d teach the dogs around Boston to follow the +trail of a bean-bag. Wouldn’t it be easier?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span>“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Miss Latrop. +“Don’t you think you are witty? And look at +those dogs!”</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with them?” asked one of +the girls.</p> + +<p>“Why, they are all limbs! What perfectly +spidery-looking animals! Did you ever―”</p> + +<p>“You wait a bit,” laughed Mrs. Edwards. +“Those long-legged dogs are just what we need +hunting the jacks. And if we didn’t have guns, at +that, there would be few of the rabbits caught. +All ready, Sam Harding?”</p> + +<p>“Jest when Miss Frances says the word, +Ma’am,” returned the foreman, coolly.</p> + +<p>“Of course! Frances is mistress of the hunt,” +said the ranchman’s wife, good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>Sue Latrop had been coaxed to leave her +Eastern-bred horse behind on this occasion, and +was upon one of the ponies broken to side-saddle +work. The tall bay would scarcely know how to +keep his feet out of gopher-holes in such a chase +as was now inaugurated.</p> + +<p>“Be careful how you use your guns,” Frances +said, quietly, when Sam and the Mexican, with the +dogs, started off to round a certain greasewood-covered +mound and see if they could start some of +the long-eared animals.</p> + +<p>“Never fire across your pony’s neck unless you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span> +are positive that no other rider is ahead of you on +either hand. Better take your rabbit head on; +then the danger of shooting into some of the rest +of us will be eliminated.”</p> + +<p>Sue sniffed at this. She had no gun, of course, +but almost wished she had–and she said as much +to one of her friends. She’d show that range girl +that she couldn’t boss her!</p> + +<p>“Why! that’s good advice about using our +guns,” said this girl to whom Sue complained, surprised +at the objection.</p> + +<p>“Pooh! what does she know about it? She puts +herself forward too much,” replied the girl from +Boston.</p> + +<p>It is probable that Sue would have talked about +any other girl in the party who seemed to take +the lead. Sue was used to being the leader herself, +and if she couldn’t lead she didn’t wish to follow. +There are more than a few people in the world of +Sue’s temperament–and very unpleasant people +they are.</p> + +<p>But it was Frances who got the first jack. The +creature came leaping down the slope, having +broken cover at the brink and quite unseen by the +rest of the hunters.</p> + +<p>This was business to Frances, instead of sport. +If allowed to multiply the jack-rabbits were not +only a pest to the farmers, but to everybody else. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span> +Frances raised the light firearm she carried and +popped Mr. Longears over “on the fly.”</p> + +<p>“Glory! that’s a good one!” shouted Pratt, +enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>“A clean hit, Frances,” said Mrs. Edwards. +“You are a splendid shot, child.”</p> + +<p>Miss Boston sniffed!</p> + +<p>The dogs did not bay. But in a minute or two +a pair of the rabbits appeared over the rise, and +then the two long-legged canines followed in their +tracks.</p> + +<p>“Wait till the jacks see us and dodge,” called +out Frances, in a low tone. “Then you can fire +without getting the dogs in line.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Edwards was a good shot. She got one +of the rabbits. After several of the others +snapped at the second one, and missed him, +Frances brought him down just as he leaped +toward a clump of sagebrush. Behind it he would +have been lost to them.</p> + +<p>“My goodness!” murmured Pratt. “What a +shot you are, Frances!”</p> + +<p>“She’s quite got the best of us in shooting,” +complained one of the other girls. “She’ll bag +them all.”</p> + +<p>Frances laughed, and spurred Molly out of the +group, “I’ll put away my gun and use my rope +instead,” she remarked. “Perhaps I have a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span> +handicap over the rest of you with a rifle. Father +taught me, and he is considered the best rifle shot +in the Panhandle.”</p> + +<p>“My goodness, Frances,” said Pratt again. +“What isn’t there that you don’t do better than +most of ’em?”</p> + +<p>“Parlor tricks!” flashed back the girl of the +ranges, half laughing, but half in earnest, too. “I +know I should be just a silly with a lorgnette, or +trying to tango.”</p> + +<p>“Well!” gasped the young fellow, “who isn’t +silly under those circumstances, I would like to +know.”</p> + +<p>Mixing talk of lorgnettes and dancing with +shooting jack-rabbits did not suit very well, for the +next pair of the long-eared animals that the dogs +started got away entirely.</p> + +<p>They rode on down the edge of the hollow +through which the stream flowed. The dogs beat +the bushes and cottonwood clumps. Suddenly a +small, graceful, spotted animal leaped from concealment +and came up the slope of the long river-bank +ahead of both the dogs and almost under the +noses of some of the excited ponies.</p> + +<p>“Oh! an antelope!” shrieked two or three of +the young people, recognizing the graceful creature.</p> + +<p>“Don’t shoot it!” cried Mrs. Edwards. “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span> +am not sure that the law will let us touch antelopes +at this season.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t fear, Mrs. Edwards,” said the +girl from Boston, laughing. “Nobody is likely to +get near enough to shoot that creature. Wonderful! +see how it leaps. Why! those funny dogs +couldn’t even catch it.”</p> + +<p>Frances had had no idea of touching the antelope. +But suddenly she spurred Molly away at an +angle from the bank, and called to the dogs to +keep on the trail of the little deer.</p> + +<p>“Ye-hoo! Go for it! On, boys!” she shouted, +and already the rope was swinging about her head.</p> + +<p>Pratt spurred after her, and by chance Sue +Latrop’s pony got excited and followed the two +madly. Sue could not pull him in.</p> + +<p>The antelope did not seem to be half trying, he +bounded along so gracefully and easily. The long-limbed +dogs were doing their very best. The +ponies were coming down upon the quarry at an +acute angle.</p> + +<p>The antelope’s beautiful, spidery legs flashed +back and forth like piston-rods, or the spokes of a +fast-rolling wheel. They could scarcely be seen +clearly. In five minutes the antelope would have +drawn far enough away from the chase to be safe–and +he could have kept up his pace for half an +hour.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span>Frances was near, however. Molly, coming on +the jump, gave the girl of the ranges just the +chance that she desired. She arose suddenly in +her saddle, leaned forward, and let the loop fly.</p> + +<p>Like a snake it writhed in the air, and then +settled just before the leaping antelope. The creature +put its forelegs and head fairly into the whirring +circle!</p> + +<p>The moment before–figuring with a nicety that +made Pratt Sanderson gasp with wonder–Frances +had pulled back on Molly’s bit and jerked +back her own arm that controlled the lasso.</p> + +<p>Molly slid on her haunches, while the loop +tightened and held the antelope in an unbreakable +grip.</p> + +<p>“Quick, Pratt!” cried the girl of the ranges, +seeing the young man coming up. “Get down and +use your knife. He’ll kick free in a second.”</p> + +<p>As Pratt obeyed, leaping from his saddle before +the grey pony really halted, Sue Latrop raced up +on her mount and stopped. Frances was leaning +back in her saddle, holding the rope as taut as possible. +Pratt flung himself upon the struggling +antelope.</p> + +<p>And then rather a strange and unexpected thing +happened. Pratt had the panting, quivering, +frightened creature in his arms. A thrust of his +hunting knife would have put it out of all pain.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span>Sue was as eager as one of the hounds which +were now coming up with great leaps. Pratt +glanced around a moment, saw the dogs coming, +and suddenly loosened the noose and let the antelope +go free.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing?” shrieked the girl from +Boston. “You’ve let it go!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Pratt, quietly.</p> + +<p>“But what for?” demanded Sue, quite angrily. +“Why! you had it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Pratt again, as the two girls drew +near to him.</p> + +<p>“You–you–why! what for?” repeated Sue, +half-bewildered.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t bear to kill it, or let the dogs tear +it,” said Pratt, slowly. The antelope was now far +away and Frances had commanded the dogs to +return.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” asked Sue, grimly.</p> + +<p>“Because the poor little thing was crying–actually!” +gasped Pratt, very red in the face. “Great +tears were running out of its beautiful eyes. I +could have killed a helpless baby just as easily.”</p> + +<p>Frances coiled up her line and never said a +word. But Sue flashed out:</p> + +<p>“Oh, you gump! I’ve been in at the death of a +fox a number of times and seen the brush cut off +and the dogs worry the beast to death. That’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span> +what they are for. Well, you are a softy, Pratt +Sanderson.”</p> + +<p>“I guess I am,” admitted the young bank clerk. +“I wasn’t made for such work as this.”</p> + +<p>He turned away to catch his pony and did not +even look at Frances. If he had, he would have +seen her eyes illuminated with a radiant admiration +that would almost have stunned him.</p> + +<p>“If daddy had seen him do that,” whispered +Frances to herself, “I’m sure he would have a better +opinion of Pratt than he has. I am certain +that nobody with so tender a heart could be really +bad.”</p> + +<p>But the incident separated the range girl from +the young man from Amarillo for the time being. +Silent Sam and Frances had some trouble in getting +the dogs off the antelope trail.</p> + +<p>When they started the next bunch of jack-rabbits +from the brush, Frances was with the foreman +and the Mexican boy, and acted with them as +beaters. The visitors had great fun bagging the +animals.</p> + +<p>Frances, rather glad to escape from the crowd +for a time, spurred Molly down the far side of +the stream, having crossed it in a shallow place. +She was out of sight of the hunters, and soon out +of sound. They had turned back and were going +up stream again.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span>The ranchman’s daughter pulled in Molly at the +brink of a little hollow beside the stream. There +was a cleared space in the centre and–yes–there +was a fireplace and ashes. Thick brush surrounded +the camping place save on the side next to +the stream.</p> + +<p>“Wonder who could have been here? And +recently, too. There’s smoke rising from those +embers.”</p> + +<p>This was Frances’ unspoken thought. She let +Molly step nearer. Trees overhung the place. She +saw that it was as secret a spot as she had seen +along the river side, and her thought flashed to +Pete, the ex-orderly of the Bylittle Soldiers’ +Home.</p> + +<p>Then she turned in her saddle suddenly and saw +the very man standing near her, rifle in hand. His +leering smile frightened her.</p> + +<p>Although he said never a word, Frances’ hand +tightened on Molly’s rein. The next moment she +would have spurred the pinto up the hill; but a +drawling voice within a yard of her spoke.</p> + +<p>“How-do, Frances? ’Light, won’t yer?” and +there followed Ratty M’Gill’s well-known laugh. +“We didn’t expect ye; but ye’re welcome just the +same.”</p> + +<p>Ratty’s hand was on Molly’s bridle-rein. +Frances knew that she was a prisoner.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span><a id='link_22'></a>CHAPTER XXII<br /><span class='h2fs'>WHAT PRATT THOUGHT</span></h2> + +<p>The party of visitors to the Edwards ranch +tired of jack-shooting and jack-running before +noon. José Reposa had cached a huge hamper of +lunch which the Bar-T cook had put up, and he +softly suggested to Mrs. Edwards that the company +be called together and luncheon made ready, +with hot coffee for all.</p> + +<p>“But where’s Pratt?” cried somebody.</p> + +<p>“And Miss Rugley?” asked another.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I guess you’ll find them together somewhere,” +snapped Sue Latrop.</p> + +<p>She had felt neglected by her “hero” for the +last hour, and was in the sulks, accordingly.</p> + +<p>Pratt, however, came in alone. He had bagged +several jacks. Altogether Silent Sam and the +Mexican had destroyed more than a score of the +pests, and the dogs had torn to pieces two or three +beside. The canines were satiated with the meat, +and were glad to lie down, panting, and watch the +preparations for luncheon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span>“I have not seen Miss Frances since she caught +the antelope,” Pratt declared.</p> + +<p>Sue began to laugh–but it wasn’t a nice laugh +at all. “Guess she got mad and went home. You, +letting that animal go the way you did! I never +heard of such a foolish thing!”</p> + +<p>Pratt said nothing. He sat down on the other +side of the fire from the girl from Boston. He +took it for granted that Frances <i>had</i> gone home.</p> + +<p>For, remembering as he did, that Frances was +a range girl, and had lived out-of-doors and undoubtedly +among rough men, a good part of her +life, the young fellow thought that, very probably, +Frances had been utterly disgusted with him when +he showed so much tenderness for the innocent +little antelope.</p> + +<p>Since that moment of weakness he had been telling +himself:</p> + +<p>“She thinks me a softy. I am. What kind +of a hunter did I show myself to be? Pooh! she +must be disgusted with my weakness.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, he would have done the same +thing over again. It was his nature not to wish to +see dumb creatures in pain, or to inflict pain on +them himself.</p> + +<p>Killing the jack-rabbits was a necessity as well +as a sport. Even chasing a poor, unfortunate little +fox, as Sue had done in the East, might be made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span> +to seem a commendable act, for the foxes, when +numerous, are a nuisance around the poultry +runs.</p> + +<p>But by no possible reasoning could Pratt have +ever excused his killing of the pretty, innocent +antelope. They did not need it for food, and it +was one of the most harmless creatures in the +world.</p> + +<p>To tell the truth, Pratt was glad Frances was +not present at the luncheon. He cared a good +deal less about Sue’s saucy tongue than he did for +the range girl’s opinion of him.</p> + +<p>During these weeks that he had known Frances +Rugley, he had come to see that hers was a most +vigorous and interesting character. Pratt was a +thoughtful young man. There was nothing foolish +about his interest in Frances, but he <i>did</i> crave +her friendship and liking.</p> + +<p>Some of the other men rallied him on his sudden +silence, and this gave Sue Latrop an opportunity +to say more sarcastic things.</p> + +<p>“He misses that ‘cattle queen,’” she giggled, +but was careful that Mrs. Edwards did not hear +what she said. “Too bad; poor little boy! Why +didn’t you ride after her, Pratt?”</p> + +<p>“I might, had I known when she went home,” +replied Pratt, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“I beg the Señor’s pardon,” whispered José, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span> +who was gathering up the plates. “The <i>señorita</i> +did not go home.”</p> + +<p>Pratt looked at the boy, sharply. “Sure?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Quite so–<i>si, señor</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Where did she go?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Quien sabe?</i>” retorted José Reposa, with a +shrug of his shoulders. “She crossed the river +yonder and rode east.”</p> + +<p>So did the party from the Edwards ranch a +little later. Silent Sam Harding had already ridden +back to the Bar-T. José gathered up the +hamper and its contents and started home on mule-back.</p> + +<p>Pratt had curiosity enough, when the party went +over the river, to look for the prints of Molly’s +hoofs.</p> + +<p>There they were in the soft earth on the far +edge of the stream. Frances had ridden down +stream at a sharp pace. Where had she gone?</p> + +<p>“It was odd for her to leave us in that way,” +thought Pratt, turning the matter over in his mind, +“and not to return. In a way she was our hostess. +I did not think Frances would fail in any matter of +courtesy. How could she with Captain Dan Rugley +for a father?”</p> + +<p>The old ranchman was the soul of hospitality. +That Frances should seem to ignore her duty as a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span> +hostess stung Pratt keenly. He heard Sue Latrop +speaking about it.</p> + +<p>“Went off mad. What else could you expect +of a cowgirl?” said the girl from Boston, in her +very nastiest tone.</p> + +<p>The fact that Sue seemed so sure Frances was +derelict in her duty made Pratt more confident that +something untoward had occurred to the girl of +the ranges to keep her from returning promptly to +the party.</p> + +<p>Of course, the young man suspected nothing of +the actual situation in which Frances at that very +moment found herself. Pratt dreamed of a +broken cinch, or a misstep that might have lamed +Molly.</p> + +<p>Instead, Frances Rugley was sitting with her +back against a stump at the edge of the clearing +where she had come so suddenly upon the campfire, +with her ungloved hands lying in her lap +so that Ratty’s bright eyes could watch them continually.</p> + +<p>Pete had taken away her gun. Molly was +hobbled with the men’s horses on the other side of +the hollow. The two plotters had rekindled the +fire and were whispering together about her.</p> + +<p>Had Pete had his way he would have tied +Frances’ hands and feet. But the ex-cowpuncher +of the Bar-T ranch would not listen to that.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span>Although Pete was the leading spirit, Ratty +M’Gill turned ugly when his mate attempted to +touch the girl; so they had left her unbound. But +not unwatched–no, indeed! Ratty’s beadlike eyes +never left her.</p> + +<p>Not much of their conversation reached the ears +of Frances, although she kept very still and tried +to hear. She could read Ratty’s lips a little, for +he had no mustache; but the bearded Pete’s lips +were hidden.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to have a good piece of it myself, if +I’m going to take a chance like that!” was one +declaration of the ex-cowpuncher’s that she heard +clearly.</p> + +<p>Again Ratty said: “They’ll not only suspect me, +they’ll <i>know</i>. Won’t the girl tell them? I tell +you I want to see my getaway before I make a stir +in the matter–you can bet on that!”</p> + +<p>Finally, Frances saw the ex-orderly of the Bylittle +Soldiers’ Home produce a pad of paper, an +envelope, and pencil. He was plainly a ready +writer, for he went to work with the pencil at once, +while Ratty rolled a fresh cigarette and still +watched their captive.</p> + +<p>Pete finished his letter, sealed it in the envelope, +and addressed it in a bold hand.</p> + +<p>“That’ll just about fix the business, I reckon,” +said Pete, scowling across at Frances. “That +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span> +gal’s mighty smart–with her trunk full of junk +and all―”</p> + +<p>Ratty burst into irrepressible laughter. ‘You +sure got Pete’s goat when you played him that +trick, Frances. He fair killed himself puntin’ that +trunk up the river and hiding it, and then taking +the punt back and letting it drift so as to put Peckham’s +crew off the scent.</p> + +<p>“And when he busted it open―” Ratty burst +into laughter again, and held his sides. Pete +looked surly.</p> + +<p>“We’ll make the old man pay for her cuttin’ +up them didoes,” growled the bewhiskered rascal. +“And my horse and wagon, too. I b’lieve she +and that man with her set the fire that burned up +my outfit.”</p> + +<p>Frances herewith took part in the conversation.</p> + +<p>“Who set the grass-fire, in the first place?” she +demanded. “I believe you did that, Ratty M’Gill. +You were just reckless enough that day.”</p> + +<p>“Aw, shucks!” said the young man, sheepishly.</p> + +<p>“But you haven’t the same excuse to-day for +being reckless,” the girl said, earnestly. “You +have not been drinking. What do you suppose +Sam and the boys will do to you for treating me in +this manner?”</p> + +<p>“Now, that will do!” said Pete, hoarsely +“You hold your tongue, young woman!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span>But Ratty only laughed. He accepted the letter, +took off his sombrero, tucked it under the +sweatband, and put on the hat again. Then he +started lazily for the pony that he rode.</p> + +<p>“Now mind you!” he called back over his +shoulder to Pete, “I’m not going to risk my scalp +going to the ranch-house with this yere billy-do–not +much!”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” asked Pete, angrily. “We got +to move quick.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll move quick later; we’ll go sure and +steady now,” chuckled the cowboy. “I’ll send it in +by one of the Mexicans. Say it was give to me by a +stranger on the trail. I ain’t welcome at the +Bar-T, and I know it.”</p> + +<p>He leaped into his saddle and spurred his horse +away, quickly getting out of sight. Frances knew +that the letter he carried, and which Pete had written, +was to her father.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span><a id='link_23'></a>CHAPTER XXIII<br /><span class='h2fs'>A GAME OF PUSS IN THE CORNER</span></h2> + +<p>The reckless cowpuncher, Ratty M’Gill, riding +up the bank of the narrow stream through the cottonwoods, +and singing a careless song at the top +of his voice, was what gave Pratt Sanderson the +final suggestion that there was something down +stream that he ought to look into.</p> + +<p>Frances had gone that way; Ratty was riding +back. Had they met, or passed, on the river bank?</p> + +<p>Of the cavalcade cutting across the range for +Mr. Edwards’ place, Pratt was the only member +that noticed the discharged cowpuncher. And he +waited until the latter was well out of sight and +hearing before he turned his grey pony’s head +back toward the river.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going, Pratt?” demanded one +of his friends.</p> + +<p>“I’ve forgotten something,” the young man +from Amarillo replied.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear me!” cried Sue Latrop. “He’s forgotten +his cute, little cattle queen. Give her my +love, Pratt.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span>The young fellow did not reply. If the girl +from Boston had really been of sufficient importance, +Pratt would have hated her. Sue had made +herself so unpleasant that she could never recover +her place in his estimation–that was sure!</p> + +<p>He set spurs to his pony and raced away before +any other remarks could be made in his hearing. +He rode directly back to the ford they had +crossed; but reaching it, he turned sharply down +stream, in the direction from which Ratty M’Gill +had come.</p> + +<p>Here and there in the soft earth he saw the +marks of Molly’s hoofs. But when these marks +were no longer visible on the harder ground, Pratt +kept on.</p> + +<p>He soon pulled the grey down to a walk. They +made little noise, he and the pony. Two miles he +rode, and then suddenly the grey pony pointed his +ears forward.</p> + +<p>Pratt reached quickly and seized the grey’s +nostrils between thumb and finger. In the distance +a pony whinnied. Was it Molly?</p> + +<p>“You just keep still, you little nuisance!” whispered +Pratt to his mount. “Don’t want you +whinnying to any strange horse.”</p> + +<p>He got out of the saddle and led his pony for +some rods. The brush was thick and there was no +bridle-path. He feared to go farther without +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span> +knowing what and who was ahead, and he tied the +grey–taking pattern by Frances and tying his head +up-wind.</p> + +<p>The young fellow hesitated about taking the +shotgun he had used in the jack-rabbit hunt. There +was a sheath fastened to his saddle for the +weapon, and he finally left it therein.</p> + +<p>Pratt really thought that nothing of a serious +nature had happened to his girl friend. Seeing +Ratty M’Gill had reminded him that the cowpuncher +had once troubled Frances, and Pratt had +ridden down this way to offer his escort to the old +ranchman’s daughter.</p> + +<p>He had no thought of the man who had held +them up at the lower ford, toward Peckham’s, the +evening of the prairie fire; nor did he connect the +cowpuncher and that ruffian in his mind.</p> + +<p>“If I take that gun, the muzzle will make a +noise in the bushes, or the hammer will catch on +something,” thought Pratt.</p> + +<p>So he left the shotgun behind and went on unarmed +toward the place where Frances was even +then sitting under the keen eye of Pete.</p> + +<p>“You keep where ye are, Miss,” growled that +worthy when Ratty rode away. “I will sure tie +ye if ye make an attempt to get away. You have +fell right into my han’s, and I vow you’ll make me +some money. Your father’s got a plenty―”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span>“You mean to make him ransom me?” asked +Frances, quietly.</p> + +<p>“That’s the ticket,” said Pete, nodding, and +searching his ragged clothing for a pipe, which he +finally drew out and filled. “He’s got money. +I’ve spent what I brought up yere to the Panhandle +with me. And I b’lieve you made me lose my +wagon and that other horse.”</p> + +<p>Frances made no rejoinder to this last, but she +said:</p> + +<p>“Father may be willing to pay something for +my release. But you and Ratty will suffer in the +end.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll risk that,” said the man, puffing at his +pipe, and nodding thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“You’d better let me go now,” said the girl, +with no display of fear. “And you’d better give +up any further attempt to get at the old chest that +Mr. Lonergan talked about.”</p> + +<p>“Hey!” exclaimed the man, startled. “What +d’ye know about Lonergan?”</p> + +<p>“He will be at the ranch in a few days, and if +there is any more treasure than you found in that +old trunk you stole from me, he will get his share +and there will no longer be any treasure chest. +Make up your mind to that.”</p> + +<p>“You know who I am and what I come up yere +for?” demanded Pete, eying her malevolently.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span>“Yes. I know you are the man who tried to +steal in over the roof of our house, too. If you +make my father any angrier with you than he +is now, he will prosecute you all the more sharply +when you are arrested.”</p> + +<p>“You shut up!” growled Pete. “I ain’t going +to be arrested.”</p> + +<p>“Both you and Ratty will be punished in the +end,” said Frances, calmly. “Men like you +always are.”</p> + +<p>“Lots you know about it, Sissy. And don’t you +be too sassy, understand? I could squeeze yer +breath out!”</p> + +<p>He stretched forth a clawlike hand as he spoke, +and pinched the thumb and finger wickedly together. +That expression and gesture was the first +thing that really frightened the girl–it was so +wicked!</p> + +<p>She shuddered and fell back against the tree +trunk. Never in her life before had Frances Rugley +felt so nearly hysterical. The realization that +she was in this man’s power, and that he had reason +to hate her, shook her usually steady nerves.</p> + +<p>After all, Ratty M’Gill was little more than a +reckless boy; but this older man was vile and bad. +As he squatted over the fire, puffing at his pipe, +with his head craned forward, he looked like nothing +so much as a bald-headed buzzard, such as she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span> +had seen roosting on dead trees or old barn-roofs, +outside of Amarillo.</p> + +<p>Pete finally knocked the ashes out of his pipe on +his boot heel and then arose. Frances could +scarcely contain herself and suppress a scream +when he moved. She watched him with fearful +gaze–and perhaps the fellow knew it.</p> + +<p>It may have been his intention to work upon her +fears in just this way. Brave as the range girl +was, her helplessness was not to be ignored. She +knew that she was at his mercy.</p> + +<p>When he shot a sideways glance at her as he +stretched his powerful arms and stamped his feet +and yawned, he must have seen the color come and +go faintly in her cheeks.</p> + +<p>Rough as were the men Frances had been +brought up with–for from babyhood she had been +with her father in cow-camp and bunk-house and +corral–she had always been accorded a perfectly +chivalrous treatment which is natural to men of +the open.</p> + +<p>Where there are few women, and those utterly +dependent for safety upon the manliness of the +men, the latter will always rise to the very highest +instincts of the race.</p> + +<p>Frances had been utterly fearless while riding +herd, or camping with the cowboys, or even when +alone on the range. If she met strange men she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span> +expected and received from them the courtesy for +which the Western man is noted.</p> + +<p>But this leering fellow was different from any +person with whom Frances had ever come in contact +before. Each moment she became more fearful +of him.</p> + +<p>And he realized her attitude of fear and worked +upon her emotions until she was almost ready to +burst out into hysterical screams.</p> + +<p>Indeed, she might have done this very thing the +next time Pete came near her had not suddenly a +voice spoken her name.</p> + +<p>“Frances! what is the matter with you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” she gasped. “Pratt!”</p> + +<p>The young man stepped out of the bushes, not +seeing Pete at all. He had been watching the girl +only, and had not understood what made her look +so strange.</p> + +<p>“You haven’t been thrown, Frances, have +you?” asked Pratt, solicitously. “Are you +hurt?”</p> + +<p>Then the girl’s frightened gaze, or some rustle +of Pete’s movement, made Pratt Sanderson +turn. Pete had reached for his rifle and secured +it. And by so doing he completely mastered the +situation.</p> + +<p>“Put your hands over your head, young feller!” +he growled, swinging the muzzle of the heavy gun +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span> +toward Pratt. “And keep ’em there till I’ve seen +what you carry in your pockets.”</p> + +<p>He strode toward the surprised Pratt, who +obeyed the order with becoming promptness.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you make no move, neither, Miss,” +growled the man, darting a glance in Frances’ +direction.</p> + +<p>“Why–why― What do you mean?” demanded +Pratt, recovering his breath at last. “Do +you dare hold this young lady a prisoner?”</p> + +<p>“Yep. That’s what I dare,” sneered Pete. +“And it looks like I’d got you, too. What d’ye +think you’re going to do about it?”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t this the fellow who robbed us at the river +that time, Frances?” cried Pratt.</p> + +<p>The girl nodded. Just then she could not +speak.</p> + +<p>“And that fellow Ratty was with him this +time?”</p> + +<p>Again the girl nodded.</p> + +<p>“Then they shall both be arrested and punished,” +declared Pratt. “I never heard of such +effrontery. Do you know who this young lady +is, man?” he demanded of Pete.</p> + +<p>“Jest as well as you do. And her pa’s going +to put up big for to see her again–unharmed,” +snarled the man.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” gasped Pratt, his face +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span> +blazing and his fists clenched. “You dare harm +her―”</p> + +<p>Pete was slapping him about the pockets to +make sure he carried no weapon. Now he struck +Pratt a heavy blow across the mouth, cutting his +lips and making his ears ring.</p> + +<p>“Shut up, you young jackanapes!” commanded +the man. “I’ll hurt her and you, too, if I like.”</p> + +<p>“And Captain Dan Rugley won’t rest till he +sees you well punished if you harm her,” mumbled +Pratt.</p> + +<p>Pete struck at him again. Pratt dodged back. +And at that moment Frances disappeared!</p> + +<p>The man had only had his eyes off her for half +a minute. He gasped, his jaw dropped, and his +bloodshot eyes roved all about, trying to discover +Frances’ whereabouts.</p> + +<p>He had not realized that, despite her fear, the +girl of the ranges had had her limbs drawn up and +her muscles taut ready for a spring.</p> + +<p>His attention given for the moment to Pratt +Sanderson, Frances had risen and dodged behind +the bole of the tree against which she was leaning, +a carefully watched prisoner.</p> + +<p>She would never have escaped so easily had it +been Ratty in charge; for his mental processes +were quicker than those of Pete.</p> + +<p>Flitting from tree to tree, keeping one or more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span> +of the big trunks between her and Pete’s roving +eyes while still he was speechless, she was traveling +farther and farther from the camp.</p> + +<p>She might have set forth running almost at +once, and so escaped. But she could not leave +Pratt to the heavy hand of Pete. Nor could she +abandon Molly.</p> + +<p>Frances, therefore, began encircling the opening +where the fire burned; but she kept well out of +Pete’s sight.</p> + +<p>She heard him utter a bellow which would have +done credit to a mad steer. That came when he +saw Pratt was about to escape, too.</p> + +<p>The young fellow was creeping away, stooping +and on tiptoe. Pete uttered a frightful imprecation +and sprang after him with his rifle clubbed and +raised above his head.</p> + +<p>“Stand where you are!” he commanded, “or +I’ll bat your foolish head in!”</p> + +<p>And he looked enraged enough to do it. Pratt +dared not move farther; he crouched in terror, +expecting the blow.</p> + +<p>He had bravely assailed Pete with his tongue +when Frances seemed in danger; but the girl had +escaped now and Pratt hoped she was each minute +putting rods between this place and herself.</p> + +<p>Pete suddenly dropped his rifle and sprang at +the young man. Pratt’s throat was in the vicelike +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span> +grip of Pete on the instant. Both his wrists were +seized by the man’s other hand.</p> + +<p>Such feeble struggles as Pratt made were abortive. +His breath was shut off and he felt his +senses leaving him.</p> + +<p>But as his eyes rolled up there was a crash in the +brush and a pony dashed into the open. It was +Molly and her mistress was astride her.</p> + +<p>Frances had lost her hat; her hair had become +loosened and was tossed about her pale face. But +her eyes glowed with the light of determination +and she spurred the pony directly at the two struggling +figures in the middle of the hollow.</p> + +<p>“I’m coming, Pratt!” she cried. “Hold on!”</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span><a id='link_24'></a>CHAPTER XXIV<br /><span class='h2fs'>A GOOD DEAL OF EXCITEMENT</span></h2> + +<p>Pete twisted himself around to look over his +shoulder, but still kept his clutch on the breathless +young man. However, Pratt feebly dragged his +wrists out of the man’s grasp.</p> + +<p>Frances was riding the pinto directly at them. +Under her skillful guidance the pony’s off shoulder +must collide with Pete, unless the man dropped +Pratt entirely and sprang aside.</p> + +<p>The man did this, uttering a yell of anger. Pratt +staggered the other way and Frances brought +Molly to a standstill directly between the two.</p> + +<p>“You let him alone!” the girl commanded, gazing +indignantly at the rascally man. “Oh! you +shall be paid in full for all you have done this day. +When Captain Rugley hears of this.</p> + +<p>“Quick, Pratt!” she shrieked. “That rifle!”</p> + +<p>Pete was bent over reaching for the weapon. +Frances jerked Molly around, but she could not +drive the pony against the man in time to topple +him over before his wicked fingers closed on the +barrel of the gun.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span>It was Pratt who made the attack in this emergency. +He had played on the Amarillo High +football eleven and he knew how to “tackle.”</p> + +<p>Before Pete could rise up with the recovered +weapon in his grasp Pratt had him around the legs. +The man staggered forward, trying to kick away +the young fellow; but Pratt clung to him, and his +antagonist finally fell upon his knees.</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash Pratt sprang astride his bowed +back. He kicked Pete’s braced arms out from +under him and the man fell forward, screaming +and threatening the most awful punishment for +his young antagonist.</p> + +<p>Frances could not get into the melee with +Molly. The two rolled over and over on the +ground and suddenly Pete gave vent to a shriek of +pain. He had rolled on his back into the fire!</p> + +<p>“Quick, Pratt!” begged Frances. “Get away +from him! He will do you some dreadful harm!”</p> + +<p>She believed Pete would, too. As Pratt leaped +aside, the man bounded up from the bed of hot +coals, his shirt afire, and he unable to reach it with +his beating hands!</p> + +<p>Pratt ran to Frances’ side. She pulled Molly’s +head around and the pony trotted across the clearing, +with Pratt staggering along at the stirrup and +striving to get his breath.</p> + +<p>As they passed the spot where the battle had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span> +begun, Pratt stooped and secured the rifle. Pete, +in rage awful to see, was tearing the smouldering +shirt from his back. Then Pete dashed after the +escaping pair.</p> + +<p>The rifle encumbered the young man; but if he +dropped it he knew the man would hold them at +his mercy. So, swinging the weapon up by its barrel, +he smashed the stock against a tree trunk.</p> + +<p>Again and again he repeated the blow, until the +tough wood splintered and the mechanism of the +hammer and trigger was bent and twisted. Pete +almost caught him. Pratt dashed the remains of +the rifle in his face and ran on after Frances.</p> + +<p>“I’ll catch you yet!” yelled Pete. “And +when I do―”</p> + +<p>The threat was left incomplete; but the man +ran for his own horse.</p> + +<p>If Frances had only thought to drive Molly that +way and slip the hobbles of Pete’s nag, much of +what afterward occurred in this hollow by the +river bank would never have taken place. She and +Pratt would have been immediately free.</p> + +<p>It was hours afterward–indeed, almost sunset–that +old Captain Rugley, sitting on the broad +veranda of the Bar-T ranch-house and expecting +Frances to appear at any moment, raised his eyes +to see, instead, Victorino Reposa slouching up the +steps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span>“Hello, Vic!” said the Captain. “What do +you want?”</p> + +<p>“Letter, <i>Capitan</i>,” said the Mexican, impassively, +removing his big hat and drawing a soiled +envelope from within.</p> + +<p>“Seen anything of Miss Frances?” asked the +ranchman, reaching lazily for the missive.</p> + +<p>“No, <i>Capitan</i>,” responded the boy, and turned +away.</p> + +<p>The superscription on the envelope puzzled +Captain Dan Rugley. “Here, Vic!” he cried +after the departing youth. “Where’d you get +this? ’Tisn’t a mailed letter.”</p> + +<p>“It was give to me on the trail, <i>Capitan</i>,” said +Victorino, softly. “As I came back from the +horse pasture.”</p> + +<p>“Who gave it to you?” demanded the ranchman, +beginning to slit the flap of the envelope.</p> + +<p>“I am not informed,” said Victorino, still with +lowered gaze. “The Señor who presented it declare’ +it was give to heem by a strange hand at +Jackleg. He say he was ride this way―”</p> + +<p>The Captain was not listening. Victorino saw +that this was a fact and he allowed his words to +trail off into nothing, while he, himself, began +again to slip away.</p> + +<p>The old ranchman was staring at the unfolded +sheet with fixed attention. His brows came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span> +together in a portentous frown; and perhaps for +the first time in many years his bronzed countenance +was washed over by the sickly pallor of +fear.</p> + +<p>Victorino, stepping softly, had reached the compound +gate. Suddenly the forelegs of the ranchman’s +chair hit the floor of the veranda, and he +roared at the Mexican in a voice that made the +latter jump and drop the brown paper cigarette +he had just deftly rolled.</p> + +<p>“You boy! Come back here!” called Captain +Rugley. “I want to know what this means.”</p> + +<p>“Me, <i>Capitan</i>?” asked Victorino, softly, and +hesitated at the gate. With his employer in this +temper he was half-inclined to run in the opposite +direction.</p> + +<p>“Come here!” commanded the ranchman +again. “Who gave you this?” rapping the open +letter with a hairy forefinger.</p> + +<p>“I do not know, <i>Capitan</i>. A strange man–<i>si</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Never saw him before?”</p> + +<p>“No, <i>Capitan</i>. He was ver’ strange to me,” +whined Victorino, too frightened to tell the truth.</p> + +<p>“What did he look like?” shot back the Captain, +holding himself in splendid control now. +Only his eyes glittered and his lips under the big +mustache tightened perceptibly.</p> + +<p>“He was beeg man, <i>Capitan</i>; rode bay pony; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span> +much wheeskers on face,” declared Victorino, +glibly.</p> + +<p>The Captain was silent for half a minute. +Then he snapped: “Run find Silent Sam and tell +him I want him <i>pronto</i>. <i>Sabe?</i> Tell Joe to saddle +Cherry, and Sam’s horse, and you get a saddle +on your own, Vic. I’ll want you and about half a +dozen of the boys who are hanging around the +bunk-house. Tell ’em it’s important and tell them–yes!–tell +them to come armed. In fifteen minutes. +Understand?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Si, Capitan</i>,” whispered Victorino, glad to get +out from under the ranchman’s eye for the time +being.</p> + +<p>He was the oldest of the Mexican boys employed +at the Bar-T, and he had been very friendly +with Ratty M’Gill while that reckless individual +had belonged to the outfit.</p> + +<p>It was Victorino who had let Ratty drive the +buckboard to the railroad station one particular +day when the cowpuncher wished to meet his +friend, Pete, at Cottonwood Bottom.</p> + +<p>Now, unthinking and unknowing, he had been +drawn by Ratty into a serious trouble. Victorino +did not know what it was; but he trembled. He +had never seen “<i>El Capitan</i>” look so fierce and +strange before.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span><a id='link_25'></a>CHAPTER XXV<br /><span class='h2fs'>A PLOT THAT FAILED</span></h2> + +<p>Captain Dan Rugley seemed to forget his +rheumatism. Excitement is often a strong mental +corrective; and with his mind upon the dearest possession +of his old age, the ranchman forgot all +bodily ills.</p> + +<p>Victorino was scarcely out of the compound +when the Captain had summoned Ming from the +dining-room and San Soo from his pots and pans.</p> + +<p>“Put off dinner. Maybe we won’t have any +dinner to-night, San Soo,” said the owner of the +Bar-T. “We’re in trouble. You and Ming shut +the doors when I go out and bar them. Stand +watch. Don’t let a soul in unless I come back or +Miss Frances appears. Understand, boys?”</p> + +<p>“Can do,” declared the bigger Chinaman, with +impassive face.</p> + +<p>“Me understland Clapen velly well,” said Ming, +who wished always to show that he “spoke Melican.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” returned Captain Rugley. “Help +me with this coat, San. Ming! Bring me my +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span> +belt and gun. Yes, that’s it. It’s loaded. Plenty +of cartridges in that box? So. Now I’m off,” +concluded the Captain, and went to the door again +to meet Silent Sam Harding, the foreman.</p> + +<p>“Read this,” jerked out the ranchman, and +thrust the crumpled letter into Sam Harding’s +hand.</p> + +<p>Without a word the foreman spread open the +paper and studied it. In perfectly plain handwriting +he read the following astonishing epistle:</p> + +<div class='bquote'> +<p class='bqml'>“Captain Dan Rugley,<br /> +  “Bar-T Ranch.</p> +</div> + +<div class='bquote'> +<p>“We’ve got your girl. She will be held prisoner +exactly twenty-four hours from time you receive +this. Then, if you have not made arrangements +to pay our agent $5,000 (five thousand +dolls.), something will happen to your girl. We +are willing to put our necks in a noose for the five +thousand. Come across, and come across quick. +No check. Cash does it. You can get cash at +branch bank in Jackleg. We will know when you +get cash and then you’ll be told who to hand +money to and how to find your girl. Remember, +we mean business. You try to trail us, or rescue +your daughter without paying five thousand and +we’ll get square with you by fixing the girl. That’s +all at present.”</p> +</div> <!-- block quote --> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span>This threatening missive was unsigned. Silent +Sam read it twice. Then he handed it back to the +Captain.</p> + +<p>“Does it look like a joke to you–a poor sort +of a joke?” whispered the ranchman.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t say so,” muttered Sam.</p> + +<p>“I’m going after them,” said Captain Rugley, +with determination.</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“Somebody handed Vic this on the trail. He’ll +show us where. We’ll try to pick up the man’s +traces. Of course it was one of the scoundrels +handed the letter to Vic.”</p> + +<p>“Who do ye think they are?” asked Sam, +slowly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” said the worried ranchman. +“But whoever they are they shall suffer if they +harm a hair of her head!”</p> + +<p>“That’s what,” said Sam, quietly. “But ain’t +you an idee who they be?”</p> + +<p>“That fellow who took the old trunk away +from Frances?”</p> + +<p>“Might be. And he must have partners.”</p> + +<p>“So I’ve said right along,” declared the ranchman, +vigorously. “Where did you leave Frances, +Sam?”</p> + +<p>“After the jack hunt? Right thar with Miz’ +Edwards and her crowd.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span>“Was young Pratt Sanderson with them?”</p> + +<p>“Sure.”</p> + +<p>“That’s it!” growled Captain Dan Rugley, +smiting one palm with his other fist. “She’d ride +off with him. Thinks him all right―”</p> + +<p>“Ye don’t mean to say ye think he’s in this +mean mess?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. He’s turned up whenever we’ve +had trouble lately. If it wasn’t so far to Bill +Edwards’ I’d ride that way and find out if the +fellow is there, or what they know about him.”</p> + +<p>Silent Sam earned his nickname, if ever, during +the next hour. He did not say ten words; but +his efficient management got a posse of the most +trustworthy men together, and they rode away +from the ranch-house.</p> + +<p>There was no use advising the Captain not to +accompany the party. Nobody dared thwart him +after a glance into his grim face.</p> + +<p>The hard-bitted Cherry which he always rode +was held down to the pace of the other horses with +an iron hand. The Captain rode as securely in +his saddle as he had before rheumatism seized +upon his limbs.</p> + +<p>How long this false strength, inspired by his +fear and indignation, would remain with him the +others did not know. Sam and his mates watched +“the Old Cap” with wonder.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span>Victorino’s gaze was fixed upon the doughty +ranchman’s back with many different emotions in +his trouble-torn mind. He was wondering what +would happen to him if Captain Rugley ever +learned that he had told a falsehood about that +note.</p> + +<p>He was so scared that he dared not lead the +party to a false trail. He told them just where +he had met Ratty M’Gill; but he stuck to his +imaginary description of the person who had entrusted +the letter to him.</p> + +<p>“Going, west, you say?” said Captain Rugley. +“It might be to lead us off the trail. And then +again, he might be going right back to whatever +place they have Frances hidden.</p> + +<p>“I fear we’ll have a hard time following a trail +to-night, anyway. But Sam says he left the folks +after the jack hunt over there by Cottonwood Bottom. +I think we’d better search the length of that +stream first.”</p> + +<p>Sam spoke up suddenly: “Frances asked me if +there were any close thickets where a man might +hide out, along those banks.”</p> + +<p>“She did?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. It just come to me,” said the foreman. +“When we were beating up those jacks.”</p> + +<p>“Enough said!” ejaculated the ranchman. +“Come on, boys!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span>Through the dusk they rode straight away +toward the ford. And although the old Captain +could hardly hope it, every moment the horse was +bearing him nearer and nearer to his lost daughter.</p> + +<p>Dusk had long since fallen; but there was a faint +moon and a multitude of stars. On the open plain +the shadows of the horses and riders moved in grotesque +procession. In the hollow far down the +stream, where Pete had made his camp, the +shadows were deep and oppressive.</p> + +<p>The fellow kept alive but a spark of fire. Now +and then he threw on a stick for replenishing. +Outside the feeble light cast by the flickering +flames, one could scarcely see at all.</p> + +<p>But there were two faintly outlined forms near +the fire beside that of the burly Pete. Occasionally +a groan issued from the lips of Pratt Sanderson, +for he lay senseless, a great bruise upon his +head, his wrists and ankles tied with painful security.</p> + +<p>The other form was that of Frances herself. +She did not speak nor moan, although she was +quite wide awake. She, too, was tied up in such a +way that she could not possibly free herself.</p> + +<p>And she was frightened–desperately frightened!</p> + +<p>She had reason to be. The ex-orderly from +the Bylittle Soldiers’ Home had proved himself to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span> +be a perfect madman when he found that the girl +and Pratt were really escaping.</p> + +<p>Evidently he had seized upon the desperate attempt +to hold Frances for ransom as a last resort. +She had played into his hands by riding down into +this hollow.</p> + +<p>Pratt Sanderson’s interference had enraged the +fellow to the limit. And when the young man had +momentarily gotten the best of him, Pete was +fairly insane for the time being.</p> + +<p>With his rifle broken the man was unable to +shoot, for Frances’ revolver which he had obtained +at the beginning of the scuffle was empty. The +small gun she had used shooting jacks had been +sent back with Sam to the ranch.</p> + +<p>The girl was urging Molly through the brush +and Pratt was tearing after her, their direction +bringing them nearer and nearer to the young +man’s grey pony, when suddenly Frances heard +Pratt scream.</p> + +<p>She glanced back, pulling in the excited pinto with +a strong hand. Her friend was pitching forward +to the ground. He had been struck by her pistol, +which Pete had flung with all his might.</p> + +<p>The next moment with an exultant cry the man +sprang from his horse upon the prostrate Pratt.</p> + +<p>“Get off him! Go away!” cried Frances, +pulling Molly around.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span>But the brush was too thick, and the pinto got +tangled up in it. Fearful for Pratt’s safety, and +never thinking of her own, the girl sprang from +the saddle and ran back.</p> + +<p>This was what Pete was expecting. Pratt was +safe enough–senseless and moaning on the +ground.</p> + +<p>When the girl came near Pete leaped up, seized +her by the wrists, jerked her toward him, and held +her firmly with one hand while he produced a +soiled bandanna, with which he quickly knotted her +wrists together.</p> + +<p>No matter how hard she fought, he was so much +more powerful than she that the ranchman’s daughter +could not break his hold. In five minutes she +was tied and thrown to the ground, quite as helpless +as Pratt himself.</p> + +<p>Pete left her lying where she fell and picked +up Pratt first. Him the fellow carried back to the +campfire and tied both hand and foot before he +returned for Frances.</p> + +<p>All the time the man uttered the most fearful +imprecations, and showed so much callousness +toward the injured young man that the girl begged +him, with tears, to do something to ease Pratt.</p> + +<p>“Let him lie there and grunt,” growled Pete. +“Didn’t he chuck me into that fire? My back’s all +blistered.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span>He pulled on a coat, for his clothes had been +quite torn away above his waist at the back when +he was putting out the fire.</p> + +<p>Frances suffered keenly herself, for the man had +tied her wrists and ankles so tightly that the cords +cut into the flesh whenever she tried to move them. +Beside, she lay in a most uncomfortable position.</p> + +<p>But to hear Pratt groan was terrible. The blow +on the head had seriously hurt him–of that there +could be no doubt. When she called to him he did +not answer, and finally Pete commanded her to +keep silence.</p> + +<p>“Ye want to make a fuss so as to draw somebody +down here–I kin see what you are up to.”</p> + +<p>Frances had a wholesome fear of him by this +time. She had seen Pete at his worst–and had +felt his heavy hand, too. She was bruised and +suffering pain herself. But Pratt’s case was much +worse than her own just then and her whole heart +went out to the young man from Amarillo.</p> + +<p>Pete sat over his little fire and smoked. He +was evidently expecting Ratty M’Gill to return; +but for some reason Ratty was delayed.</p> + +<p>Doubtless the two plotters had proposed to +themselves that Captain Rugley would be too ill to +take the lead in any chase after the kidnappers. +Perhaps Pete even hoped that the old ranchman +would agree immediately to the terms of ransom +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span> +set forth in the note Ratty had taken to the Bar-T.</p> + +<p>The ex-cowpuncher was to linger around and see +what would be done about the message to the Captain; +then come here and report to Pete. And as +the hours dragged by, and it drew near midnight, +with no appearance of the messenger, the chief +plotter grew more anxious.</p> + +<p>He huddled over the fire, almost enclosing it +with his arms and legs for warmth. Frances, lying +beyond, and out of the puny radiance of its warmth, +felt the chill of the night air keenly. Pete did not +even offer her a blanket.</p> + +<p>But her attention was engaged by thoughts of +Pratt Sanderson’s sufferings. The young man +groaned faintly from time to time, but he gave no +other sign of life.</p> + +<p>As Frances lay shivering on the ground her keen +senses suddenly apprehended a new sound. She +raised her head a little and the sound was absent. +She dropped back upon the earth again and it +returned–a throbbing sound, distant, faint but +insistent.</p> + +<p>What could it be? Frances was first startled, +then puzzled by it. Each time that she raised her +head the noise drifted away; then it returned when +her ear was against the ground.</p> + +<p>“It’s a horse–it’s several horses,” she finally +whispered to herself. “Can it be―?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span>She sat up suddenly. Pete immediately commanded +her to lie down.</p> + +<p>“I’m cramped,” said the girl, speaking clearly. +“Can’t you change these cords? I won’t try to +run away.”</p> + +<p>“I’d hurt you if you did,” growled the fellow. +“And I ain’t going to change them cords.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do!” cried Frances, more loudly.</p> + +<p>“Shut up and lay down there!” ordered Pete, +raising his own voice.</p> + +<p>“No, I will not!” retorted the girl, deliberately +tempting Pete into one of his rages. If he became +angry and yelled at her all the better!</p> + +<p>“Do what I tell ye!” exclaimed the man. +“Ain’t ye l’arned that I mean what I say yet?”</p> + +<p>“I must move my limbs. They’re cramped and +co-o-old!” wailed Frances, and she put a deal of +energy into her cry.</p> + +<p>Pete began to get stiffly to his feet. “Do like I +tell ye, and lie down–or I’ll knock ye down!” he +threatened.</p> + +<p>At that the girl risked uttering a cry and shrank +back with a semblance of fear. Aye, there was +more than a semblance of fear in the attitude, for +she believed he would strike her. She had +shrieked, however, at the top of her voice.</p> + +<p>“Shut your mouth, ye crazy thing!” exclaimed +the man, and he leaped toward her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span>Frances threw herself back upon the ground. +She heard the clatter of hoofbeats approaching. +They could be mistaken for no other sound.</p> + +<p>“Daddy! Daddy! Help! Help!”</p> + +<p>Her voice was piercing. The cry for her father +was involuntary, for she believed him too ill to +leave the ranch-house.</p> + +<p>But the answering shout that came down the +wind was unmistakable.</p> + +<p>“Daddy! Daddy!” Frances cried again, +eagerly, loudly.</p> + +<p>Pete was about to strike her; but he darted +back and stood erect. The horses were plunging +madly down the hillside through the brush. The +party of rescue was already upon the camp.</p> + +<p>The scoundrelly Pete leaped away to reach his +own horse. He must have found the creature +quickly in the darkness; for before the men from +the Bar-T pulled in their horses before the smouldering +campfire, Frances heard the rush of Pete’s +old pony as it dashed away down the stream.</p> + +<p>“Daddy!” cried Frances for a third time. +“We’re here–Pratt and I. Look out for Pratt; +he’s hurt. I’m all right.”</p> + +<p>“Somebody throw some brush on that fire!” +commanded the old ranchman. “Let’s see what’s +been doing here.”</p> + +<p>“Sam, take a couple of the boys and go after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span> +that fellow. You can follow that horse by +sound.”</p> + +<p>He climbed stiffly out of his own saddle, and +when the firelight flashed up revealing the little +glade to better purpose, it was Captain Dan Rugley +who lifted Frances to her feet and cut her +bonds.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span><a id='link_26'></a>CHAPTER XXVI<br /><span class='h2fs'>FRANCES IN SOFTER MOOD</span></h2> + +<p>It was the next day but one and the <i>hacienda</i> +and compound lay bathed in the hot sun of noon-day. +Captain Dan Rugley was leaning back in his +usual hard chair and in his usual attitude on the +veranda, fairly soaking up the rays of the orb of +day.</p> + +<p>“Beats all the medicine for rheumatism in the +doctor’s shop!” he was wont to declare.</p> + +<p>Since his night ride to rescue his daughter he +had become more like his old self than he had been +for weeks. The excitement seemed to have chased +away the last twinges of pain for the time being, +and he was without fever.</p> + +<p>Now he was watching a swift pony-rider coming +his way along the trail and listening to the patter of +light footsteps coming down the broad stairway +behind him.</p> + +<p>“Here comes Sam, Frances,” the ranchman +said, in a low voice. “I reckon he’ll have some +news.”</p> + +<p>The girl came to the door. She had discarded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span> +her riding habit and was dressed in a soft, clinging +house gown, cut low at the throat and giving her +arms freedom to the elbow. She wore pretty +stockings and pretty slippers on her feet. Instead +of a quirt she carried a fan in her hand and there +was a handkerchief tucked into her belt.</p> + +<p>The chrysalis of the cowgirl had burst and this +butterfly had emerged. Of late it was not often +that Frances had “dolled up,” as the old Captain +called it. Now he said, enthusiastically:</p> + +<p>“My! you do look sweet! What’s all the dolling +up for? Me? The Chinks? Or maybe that +boy upstairs, eh?”</p> + +<p>“For myself,” said Frances, quietly. “Pratt +is too sick to notice much what I wear, I guess. +But I find that I have been paying too little attention +to dress.”</p> + +<p>“Huh!” snorted the old ranchman.</p> + +<p>“It is a woman’s duty to make herself as beautiful +and attractive as possible,” said Frances, with +a bright smile. “You know, I read that in a +woman’s paper.”</p> + +<p>“You surely did!” agreed the ranchman, and +then turned to meet Silent Sam as that individual +drew up to the step.</p> + +<p>“What’s the good word, Sam?” inquired the +Captain.</p> + +<p>“Got that Ratty. He’s in the jail at Jackleg. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span> +Like you said, I never told nobody but the sheriff +what ’twas for you wanted him.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” said the Captain, gravely. “If +the boys understood he was mixed up with this +kidnapping business, I don’t know what they +would do.”</p> + +<p>“Right, Captain,” said the foreman. “So the +sheriff took him for being all lit up. Ratty won’t +sleep it off before to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“And if they could catch that Pete What’s-his-name +by then―”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t found hide nor hair of him,” answered +Silent Sam.</p> + +<p>“Where do you reckon he went to, Sam?”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t go with his horse, Captain. He +fooled us.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“That’s so. Horse was found yisterday evenin’ +down beyand Peckham’s–scurcely breathed. +He’d run fur, but he didn’t have nobody on his +back.”</p> + +<p>“I see!” ejaculated the ranchman, smiting one +doubled fist upon the other palm. “That Pete +has fooled us from the start.”</p> + +<p>“Sure did,” admitted Sam.</p> + +<p>“He never mounted his horse at all?” cried +Frances, deeply interested.</p> + +<p>“That’s it,” said her father. “We ought to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span> +have known that at the time. No horse could +have gone smashing through the brush the way +that one did without knocking his rider’s head off.”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” agreed Sam again.</p> + +<p>“And he was right there near the place he held +Pratt and me captive all the time we were making +a stretcher for poor Pratt,” said Frances.</p> + +<p>“Or hiking up stream,” said the foreman, preparing +to ride down to the corral.</p> + +<p>“Lucky the boy broke the fellow’s gun as he +did,” said Captain Rugley, thoughtfully, turning +to his daughter. “Otherwise some of us might +have been popped off from the bushes.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Daddy!”</p> + +<p>“When a man’s as mean as that scalawag,” said +her father, philosophically, “there’s no knowing +to what lengths he will go. I shan’t feel that you +are safe on the ranges until he’s found and jailed.”</p> + +<p>“And I shan’t feel that we’re out of trouble +until your friend Mr. Lonergan comes here and +you divide and get rid of that silly old treasure,” +declared Frances, and she pouted a little.</p> + +<p>“What’s that, Frances?” gasped the old Captain. +“All those jewels and stuff? Why, don’t +you care anything for them?”</p> + +<p>“I care more for my peace of mind,” she said, +decidedly. “And see what it’s brought poor Pratt +to.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span>“Well,” said her father, subsiding. “The boy +did git the dirty end of the stick, for a fact. I’m +sorry he was hurt―”</p> + +<p>“And you are sorry you thought so ill of +him, too, Daddy–you know you are,” whispered +Frances, one arm stealing over the Captain’s +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Well―”</p> + +<p>“Now, ‘’fessup!’” she laughed, softly. “He’s +a good boy to risk himself for me.”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t have thought much of him if he +hadn’t,” said the old ranchman, stubbornly.</p> + +<p>“What could you really expect when you consider +that he has lived all his life in a city―”</p> + +<p>“And works in a bank,” finished the Captain, +with a sly grin. “But I reckon I have got to take +off my hat to him. He’s a hero.”</p> + +<p>“He is a good boy,” Frances said, cheerfully. +“And I hope that he will recover all right, as the +doctor says he will.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how fast he’ll mend,” chuckled +the Captain. “If I were he, and getting the attention +he is―”</p> + +<p>“From whom?” demanded Frances, turning on +him sharply.</p> + +<p>“From Ming, of course,” responded her father, +soberly, but with his eyes a-twinkle.</p> + +<p>And then Frances fled upstairs again, her cheeks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span> +burning as she heard the old ranchman’s mellow +laughter.</p> + +<p>Pratt lay on his bed with his head swathed in +bandages and his shoulder in a brace. He had +suffered a dislocation as well as the bruises and +the cut in his head. From the time he had been +struck from behind by the man, Pete, the young +fellow had known nothing at all until he awoke to +find himself stretched upon this bed in the Bar-T +ranch-house.</p> + +<p>The old Captain, with Ming’s help, had disrobed +Pratt and put him to bed; but when the +doctor came early in the morning, he put the patient +in Frances’ hands.</p> + +<p>“What he needs is good nursing. Don’t leave +him to the men,” said the doctor. “Your father +says he’s cured himself by getting out on horseback. +If it didn’t kill him, I admit it’s aiding in +his cure for him to be more active again.</p> + +<p>“But I depend upon you, my dear, to keep this +patient as quiet as possible. I hate having my +patients get away from me,” added the physician +with twinkling eye. “And this lad is mine for some +time. He has sure been badly shaken up.”</p> + +<p>He was afraid at first that there was concussion +of the brain; but after a few hours the young bank +clerk became lucid in his speech and the fever +began to decrease.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span>The doctor had not left the ranch until the +evening before this day when Frances stole up the +stair again to peer into the room to see how her +patient was.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m awake!” cried Pratt, cheerfully. +“You don’t expect me to sleep all the time, do +you, Frances?”</p> + +<p>“Sleep is good for you,” declared the girl of +the ranges, with a sober smile. “The doctor says +you are to keep very quiet.”</p> + +<p>“Goodness! I might as well be buried and so +save my board,” grumbled Pratt. “When is he +going to let me get up out of this?”</p> + +<p>“Not for a long, long time yet,” said Frances, +seriously.</p> + +<p>“What? Why, I could get up now―”</p> + +<p>“With those shingles plastered to your shoulder?” +asked the girl, smiling again, but somewhat +roguishly.</p> + +<p>“Oh–well–have those boards actually got to +stay on?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“How long?”</p> + +<p>“Till the doctor removes them, Pratt. Now, +be a good boy.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll never be able to get out of bed,” grumbled +the patient, “if he keeps me here much longer, +I’ll be bedridden.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span>“Nonsense,” said Frances, with a very superior +air. “You haven’t been here two days yet.”</p> + +<p>“And when is the doctor coming again?” went +on Pratt.</p> + +<p>“He said he’d come within the week,” replied +the girl, demurely.</p> + +<p>“Good-night, nurse!” groaned Pratt. “A +whole week? Why, I’ll die in that time–positively.”</p> + +<p>“You only think so,” said Frances, coolly.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know how hard it is to lie here with +nothing to do.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t appreciate your good fortune, I am +afraid,” returned the girl, more gravely. “You +might have been much more seriously hurt―”</p> + +<p>“You don’t suppose I care about being hurt, do +you?” he cried, with some excitement. “I’d go +through it a dozen times to the same end, +Frances―”</p> + +<p>“Now, stop!” she said, commandingly, and +raising an admonitory finger. “If you show any +excitement I will go out of the room and leave +Ming―”</p> + +<p>“Don’t!” groaned Pratt.</p> + +<p>“I shall certainly leave him in charge of you. +You won’t talk to him.”</p> + +<p>“No. If he doesn’t sit silent like a yellow +graven image, he scatters ‘l’s’ all about the room +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span> +until I want to get out of bed and sweep ’em up,” +declared Pratt.</p> + +<p>The ranchman’s daughter smiled at him, but +shook her head. “Now! no more talking. I’ll sit +here and promise not to scatter any of the alphabet +broadcast; but you must keep still.”</p> + +<p>“That’s mighty hard,” muttered the patient. +“Sit over by the window. There! right in the sun. +I like to see your hair when the sun burnishes it.”</p> + +<p>Frances promptly removed her seat to the shady +side of the room.</p> + +<p>“Oh, please!” begged Pratt. “I’m sick, you +know. You really ought to humor me.”</p> + +<p>“And you really ought not to jolly me!” +laughed the range girl. “I think you are a tease, +Pratt.”</p> + +<p>“Honest! I mean it.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him with a roguish smile. “What +did you say to Miss Latrop about her hair? Isn’t +it a lovely blond?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I never looked at it twice. Molasses +color,” declared Pratt. “I don’t like such light +hair.”</p> + +<p>“Now, be still. Mrs. Edwards sent over word +they are coming to see you to-morrow. If you are +feverish I shan’t let them in.”</p> + +<p>“My goodness!” gasped Pratt. “Not all of +them coming, I hope?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span>“Mrs. Edwards and Miss Latrop, anyway,” +said Frances, seriously. “Now keep still.”</p> + +<p>Pratt digested this for a while; then he held up +one arm and waved it.</p> + +<p>“Well? What is it?” asked the stern nurse.</p> + +<p>“Please, teacher!”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“May I say one thing?”</p> + +<p>“Just one. Then silence for an hour.”</p> + +<p>“If that girl from Boston comes I’m going to +have a fever–understand? I don’t want her up +here. Now, that’s all there is about it.”</p> + +<p>“Hush, small boy! You don’t know what is +good for you. You must leave it to the doctor and +me,” said Frances, but she kept her head turned +from the bed so that Pratt would not see her eyes.</p> + +<p>By and by Pratt waved his hand again like a +pupil in school and even snapped his fingers to +attract her attention.</p> + +<p>“Please, teacher!” he begged when she looked +up from the pad on her knee over which her pencil +had been traveling so rapidly.</p> + +<p>“I’m nurse, not teacher,” Frances said, firmly.</p> + +<p>“Nurse, then. Is that the plan for the pageant +you are writing?”</p> + +<p>“A part of it,” she admitted. “Some ideas +that came to me the time I went to Amarillo.”</p> + +<p>“With the make-believe treasure chest?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Read it to me, will you, Miss Nurse?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“If you will keep still. I never did see such a +chatterbox!” exclaimed Frances, in vexation.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be just as still as still!” he promised. +“Maybe it will put me to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Mercy! I hope it isn’t as dull as all that,” she +said, and began to read the pages she had written.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span><a id='link_27'></a>CHAPTER XXVII<br /><span class='h2fs'>A DINNER DANCE IN PROSPECT</span></h2> + +<p>The girl from Boston did not come over to see +Pratt that very next day; but soon she, as well as +the remainder of the young people who had been +the guests of Mr. Bill Edwards and his hospitable +wife, were stopping at the Bar-T daily and inquiring +for Pratt; and as soon as he could be helped +downstairs and out upon the veranda, he held a +general reception all day long.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon when the Edwards crowd was +over, the old <i>hacienda</i> took on a liveliness of +aspect that it had never known before. The veranda +was gay with bright frocks and the air resounded +with laughter.</p> + +<p>The boys gathered around Pratt and plans for +future hunts and other junkets were made–for the +young bank clerk was rapidly recovering. The +girls meanwhile made much of the old Captain–all +but Sue Latrop. But she did not count for as +much as she had at the beginning of her visit at +the Edwards ranch. The other young folk had +begun to find her out.</p> + +<p>The punchers who were off duty were attracted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span> +to this gay party on the porch, as naturally as flies +gravitate to molasses. The Amarillo girls–and, +of course, Mrs. Bill Edwards–saw nothing +out of the way in Captain Rugley’s hands lounging +up to the <i>hacienda</i> to talk. Most of them were +young fellows of neighboring families, and quite as +well known as were the visitors themselves. Sue +Latrop’s amazement at this familiarity only made +the other girls laugh.</p> + +<p>Unless she would be left alone on the veranda +with Pratt (which she considered very bad form) +she was obliged one afternoon to go down to the +corral with the crowd to see a bunch of ponies +fresh from the range.</p> + +<p>Some of the half-wild ponies rolled their eyes, +snorted, and galloped to the far side of the corral +the instant the visitors appeared.</p> + +<p>“Get your reserved seats, gals!” cried Fred +Purchase, preparing to open the gate. “Roost all +along the rail up there and watch the fun. I bet +Fatty Obendorf falls off and breaks a suspender-button–fust +throw out of the box!”</p> + +<p>“Oh my! you don’t mean for us to climb up +<i>there</i>?” gasped Sue, as one or two of her friends +tucked up their skirts and started to mount the +fence.</p> + +<p>“Sure. Reserved seats at the top,” laughed +Mrs. Edwards, likewise mounting the barrier.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span>“Why! I am afraid I could never do it,” murmured +the Boston girl.</p> + +<p>“You’ll miss a lot of fun, then,” declared one of +the Amarillo girls, callously. They were all getting +a little tired of Sue Latrop and her pose.</p> + +<p>Finding herself the only one on the ground, +Sue scrambled up very clumsily and just in time +to see Fatty rope the first pony out of the bunch +that was now racing around and around the corral.</p> + +<p>This was a black and white rascal with a high +head and rolling eye, that looked as though he had +never been bridled in his life. But it was only +that he had been some months on the range, and +freedom had gone to his head.</p> + +<p>Fatty lay back on the lariat and dug his high +heels into the sod. When the pony felt the noose +he leaped into it, it tightened around his neck, and +the creature came to the ground, kicking and +squealing.</p> + +<p>“By hicketty!” yelled Purchase. “Ain’t lil’ +old Fatty good for suthin’? Yuh could suah use +him tuh tie a steamboat tuh–what!”</p> + +<p>For all the fun the other punchers made of +Fatty Obendorf, he had his selection out of the +herd blindfolded, bridled, and saddled, before any +other pony was noosed.</p> + +<p>“Good for you, Fatty!” cried Frances, who +was perched on the corral fence with the other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span> +girls. “And that’s a good horse, too; only you +want to ’ware heels. I remember that he’s a +kicker.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Fatty don’t keer if his fust name’s Kickapoo,” +jeered Fred.</p> + +<p>The black and white pony gave Obendorf all the +work he wanted for some minutes, however, and +afforded the spectators much excitement. He +wasn’t a bucking bronco, but he showed plainly his +dislike for human management. Spur and bit and +quirt, however, was a combination that the pony +was quickly forced to give in to.</p> + +<p>Fred himself straddled a speckled, ugly-looking +animal, and put it through its paces in short order. +It was a spectacular exhibition; but some of the +other punchers laughed uproariously.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with you fellers, anyway?” +demanded Fred, complainingly. “Ain’t you +a-gwine to accord me no praise? Don’t I look +as purty on hawseback as that fat chunk does?” +he added, referring to Obendorf.</p> + +<p>“You know very well,” called Frances, from the +seat of judgment, “that I drove that speckled pony +to my little jumpcart two years ago. That’s +Chippy–and he’s almost as big a bluff, Fred, as +you are! He looks savage enough to eat you up, +and is really as tame as tame can be.”</p> + +<p>“Hi, Teddie! she’s got yuh throwed, tied, an’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span> +branded, all right!” shouted one of the other +punchers.</p> + +<p>The girls on the fence welcomed each feat of +horsemanship with great applause. Some of the +ponies “acted up,” as Tom Gallup called it, “to +the queen’s taste.”</p> + +<p>“Whatever that may mean, Tom,” Mrs. Edwards +said, dryly. “Why don’t you try your +’prentice hand on that buckskin? He’s dodged +the lariat a dozen times.”</p> + +<p>“Why, that Bucky is a regular rocking-horse, +I bet,” declared Tom, who, for a city boy, was a +pretty good rider.</p> + +<p>“Get down and ride him, Tommy,” urged Sue. +“Can’t you ride as well as these country boys?”</p> + +<p>“I never said I could,” retorted Tom, doubtfully. +“You girls are guying the punchers, too. +Why don’t one o’ you get down and show ’em what +you can do?”</p> + +<p>“Frances can beat all you boys riding, Tommy,” +Mrs. Edwards cried.</p> + +<p>“Bet she couldn’t even get aboard of that +Bucky,” young Gallup instantly responded.</p> + +<p>“You’re not going to take a dare like that, are +you, Frances?” demanded Mrs. Edwards.</p> + +<p>Sue became disdainful the moment Frances came +into the argument. She had nothing further to +say.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span>“I believe the boys are all holding back on +that little buckskin,” said Frances, laughing.</p> + +<p>“Step right this way, Ma’am, step right this +way,” urged Fred Purchase, bowing low and offering +his lariat. “Here’s my rope and I’ll lend +ye anything else ye may need if ye wanter try that +Bucky. He’s some bronco, believe me!”</p> + +<p>Frances got down off the fence.</p> + +<p>“Oh! don’t you try it, Frances!” cried one +nervous girl. “That pony looks wicked!”</p> + +<p>“Let her break her neck, if she wants to make +a fool of herself!” snapped Sue, <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> + +<p>Nobody heard her. All were watching too +closely the range girl approach the buckskin pony. +She had accepted Fred’s lariat and the coil of it +began to whirl about her head.</p> + +<p>“There it goes!” cried Tom Gallup.</p> + +<p>The buckskin started on a long, swinging lope; +but it could not get out from under the coil of +the lariat. The noose fell and the plunging pony +went head and forefeet into it. Frances leaped +with both feet upon the rope, just as it snapped +taut. Bucky went on his head, kicking all four +feet in the air.</p> + +<p>“Got him! got him!” shrieked the excited +Tom, and the girls cheered likewise.</p> + +<p>And then the lariat snapped in two!</p> + +<p>Muddied and scratched, the buckskin scrambled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259'></a>259</span> +to his feet, his eyes blazing, nostrils distended, and +as wild a horse as ever came off the range.</p> + +<p>“Look out, Miss Frances!” yelled Mack +Hinkman, who had just come upon the scene. +“That thar buckskin hawse is a bad actor.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! the dear girl! Whatever did possess me +to urge her on?” cried Mrs. Edwards. “Boys! +Save her!”</p> + +<p>But it was all over before any of the punchers, +or the visitors on the fence, could go to Frances’ +rescue.</p> + +<p>The buckskin rose on his hind legs and struck at +the girl desperately. She had gathered in the +slack of the broken lariat and she swung it sharply +across the pony’s face, leaping sideways to avoid +him.</p> + +<p>The pony whirled and struck again, whistling +shrilly, the foam flying from his jaws. Once +more Frances avoided him.</p> + +<p>Tom Gallup was yelling like a wild boy on the +fence. Sue could scarcely catch her breath for +fear. She would not have admitted it for the +world; but the courage of the range girl amazed +her. Her own rescue from the charge of the +little black bullock by Frances had not impressed +Sue Latrop as did this battle with the pony in the +arena of the horse corral.</p> + +<p>Fred Purchase ran with another lariat. Frances +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260'></a>260</span> +seized it, flung the noose over the upraised head of +the pony, took a swift turn around a shed post, +and brought the “bad actor” up short.</p> + +<p>She insisted, too, on cinching on the saddle and +putting the bit in the pony’s mouth. Then she +mounted him and as he tore around the corral, the +girl sitting as though she were a part of the creature, +the boys and girls joined the punchers in +cheering her.</p> + +<p>It was not in this way, however, that the girl +visitors to the ranges learned the true worth of +Frances Rugley. They were, after all, only +“porch acquaintances.” Once only had the party +been invited into the inner court for luncheon, and +their brief calls to the ranch-house offered little +opportunity for the girls to really see Frances’ +home.</p> + +<p>They had met her so much in riding costume +that, like Pratt Sanderson, they were amazed +when she appeared in a pretty house dress. And +they were really a bit awed by her, for although +the range girl was of a naturally cheerful disposition, +she possessed, too, more than her share of +dignity.</p> + +<p>“You don’t flit about like these other girls, +Frances,” said the old ranchman, who was very +observant. “You grow to look and seem more +like your mother every day. But the goodness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261'></a>261</span> +knows I don’t want you to grow into a woman +ahead of your time.”</p> + +<p>“I reckon I won’t do that, Dad,” she said, +laughing at him fondly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I reckon you’ve had too much +responsibility on those shoulders of yours. You +left school too young, too. That’s what these +other girls say. Why, that Boston girl is going +to school now!</p> + +<p>“But, shucks! she wouldn’t know enough to +hurt her if she attended school from now till the +end of time!”</p> + +<p>Frances laughed again. “That is pretty harsh, +father. Now, I think I have had quite schooling +enough to get along. I don’t need the higher +branches of education to help you run this ranch. +Do I?”</p> + +<p>“By mighty!” exploded the Captain. “I don’t +know whether I have been doing right by you or +not. I’ve been talking to Mrs. Bill Edwards +about it. I loved you so, Frances, that I hated to +have you out of my sight. But―”</p> + +<p>“Now, now!” cried the girl. “Let’s have no +more of that. You and I have only each other, +and I couldn’t bear to be away from you long +enough to go to a boarding school.”</p> + +<p>“Yes–I know,” went on Captain Rugley. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262'></a>262</span> +“But there are ways of getting around <i>that</i>. We’ll +see.”</p> + +<p>One thing he was determined on was Captain +Dan Rugley. He proposed to have “some doings” +at the ranch-house before Pratt was well +enough to be discharged from “St. Frances’ Hospital,” +as he called the <i>hacienda</i>.</p> + +<p>The old ranchman worked up the idea with +Mrs. Edwards before Frances knew anything +about it.</p> + +<p>“They call it a ‘dinner dance,’” he confided to +Frances at length, when the main plan was already +made. “At least that’s what Mrs. Edwards +says.”</p> + +<p>“A ‘dinner dance’?” repeated his daughter, +not sure for the moment that she wished to have +so much confusion in the house when there was +so much to do.</p> + +<p>“Yes! Now, it isn’t one of those dances you +read about out East, where folks drink a cup of +tea, and then get up and dance around, and then +take a sandwich and the orchestra strikes up another +tune,” chuckled Captain Rugley.</p> + +<p>“No, it isn’t like that. I couldn’t stand any +such doings. I’d never know when I’d had +enough to eat; every dance would shake down the +courses so that my stomach would be packed as +hard as a cement sidewalk.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263'></a>263</span>“Oh, Daddy!” said Frances, half laughing at +him.</p> + +<p>“No. This dinner dance idea is all right,” +declared the ranchman. “We give a dinner to +the whole crowd–all the girls and boys that have +been coming over here for the past two or three +weeks.”</p> + +<p>“It will make fifteen at table,” said the practical +Frances, thinking hard of the resources of the +household.</p> + +<p>“That’s all right. I’ll get in the Reposa boys +to help San Soo and Ming.”</p> + +<p>“Victorino, too?” asked his daughter, curiously.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” declared the Captain, stoutly. “He’s +sorry he mixed up with Ratty M’Gill. Vic isn’t a +bad boy. Well, that’s help enough, and San Soo +can outdo himself on his dinner.”</p> + +<p>“That part of it will be all right–and the service, +too, for José and Victorino are handy boys,” +admitted Frances.</p> + +<p>“We’ll have out the best tableware we own. +That silver stuff that came from Don Morales will +knock their eyes out―”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Daddy!” cried Frances, going off into a +gale of laughter. “You picked up that expression +from Tom Gallup.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the slangy boy–yes,” admitted the old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264'></a>264</span> +ranchman, with a broad smile. “But some of his +slang just hits things off right. Some of those girls +think you’re ‘country,’ I know. We’ll show +them!”</p> + +<p>Frances sighed. She knew it meant that she +must dress the part of a barbarian princess to +please her father. But she made no objection. If +she tried to show him that the jewels and ornaments +were not fit for her to wear, he would be +hurt.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” exclaimed Captain Rugley, evidently +much pleased with the idea of a social time that he +had evolved with Mrs. Edwards’ help, “we’ll have +as nice a dinner as San Soo can make. After dinner +we’ll have dancing, I’ll get the string band from +Jackleg. Jackleg’s getting to be quite a social +centre, Mrs. Edwards says.”</p> + +<p>Frances laughed again. “I expect,” she said, +“that Mrs. Edwards is eager to have a dance, and +the Jackleg string band <i>is</i> a whole lot better than +Bob Jones’ accordion and Perry’s old fiddle.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well! Of course, an accordion and fiddle +are all right for a cowboy dance, but this is going +to be the real thing!” declared her father.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you going to invite the boys as usual?” +asked Frances, quickly.</p> + +<p>“Not to the dinner!” gasped her father. “But +that’s all right. To the dance, afterward. Some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265'></a>265</span> +of them are mighty good dancers, and there aren’t +boys enough in Mrs. Edwards’ crowd to go round. +It’s quite the thing at a dinner dance, she says, to +invite extra people to come in after the dinner is +over.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Frances, suppressing another +sigh.</p> + +<p>“And I’m going to send off for half a carload +of potted palms, and other plants. We’ll decorate +like the Town Hall. You’ll see!” exclaimed the +old ranchman, as eager as a boy about it all.</p> + +<p>Frances hadn’t the heart to make any objection, +but she was afraid that the affair would be a disappointment +to him. She did not think the boys +from the ranges, and Sue Latrop and her girl +friends, would mix well.</p> + +<p>But the Captain went ahead with his preparations +with his usual energy. He had Mrs. Edwards +as chief adviser. But Frances overlooked +the plans in the household in her usually capable +way.</p> + +<p>The big drawing-room was thoroughly cleaned +and the floor waxed. The scratches made by +Ratty M’Gill’s spurs were eliminated. When the +potted plants came–a four-mule wagon-load–Frances +arranged them about the dancing floor +and dining-room.</p> + +<p>She found her father practising his steps in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266'></a>266</span> +hall one morning before breakfast. “Goodness, +Daddy,” she cried. “Do be careful of your weak +leg.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you worry about me,” he chuckled. +“I’m going to give old Mr. Rheumatism a black +eye this time. I’m going to ‘shake a leg’ at this +dance if it’s the last act of my life.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be too reckless,” she told him, with a +worried little frown on her brow. “I want you +to be able to ride to Jackleg to see the pageant. +And that comes the very day but one after our +dance.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be all right,” he assured her. “I have a +dance promised from Mrs. Edwards and each of +the girls but that Boston one, right now. And I +wouldn’t miss your show in Jackleg, Frances, for a +penny!</p> + +<p>“I only wish Lon were here to enjoy it. I got +a letter from that minister saying that Lon and he +will reach here next week. If they’d come early in +the week they’d get here in time for the pageant, +anyway.”</p> + +<p>With so much bustle and preparation about the +Bar-T ranch-house, there was not much likelihood +of anybody being reckless enough to attempt stealing +the old Spanish chest, or its contents.</p> + +<p>These days the Captain kept the room in which +the chest of treasure lay double-locked, and at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267'></a>267</span> +night slept in the room himself. From sunset to +sunrise a relay of cowboys rode around the huge +house and compound, and although Pete Marin, +as Ratty M’Gill’s friend from Mississippi was +called, was still at large, there was no fear that he, +or anybody else, would get into the <i>hacienda</i> at +night.</p> + +<p>Frances, with all her duties, had less time to +devote to Pratt’s entertainment now. In truth, as +soon as he was able to get downstairs by himself +he complained that he lost his nurse.</p> + +<p>When the crowd came over from the Edwards +ranch, and sat around on the porch, Frances was +not always with them. One afternoon–the very +day before the dinner and dance, in fact–she came +through one of the long, open windows upon the +veranda, right behind a group of three of the girls. +It was by chance she heard one of them say:</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t care, Sue, I think she is real nice. +You are awfully critical.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t bear dowdy people,” drawled Sue +Latrop. “I know she’ll be a sight at that dinner +to-morrow night. My goodness! if for nothing +else I’d come to see how she looks in her ‘best bib +and tucker’ and how that queer old man acts when +he is what he calls ‘all dolled up.’”</p> + +<p>“Sh!” warned the third girl. “Somebody +will hear you.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268'></a>268</span>“Pooh! If they do?” returned Sue Latrop, +carelessly.</p> + +<p>“If I were you,” said the other girl, with +warmth, “I wouldn’t accept an invitation to dine +with people whom I expected to make fun of.”</p> + +<p>“Silly!” laughed the girl from Boston. “I’ve +got to find enjoyment somewhere–and there’s little +enough of it in this Panhandle. I’ll be glad +when father writes saying that I can come home +once again.”</p> + +<p>“How about your going to this dance, Sue?” +chuckled one of the girls, suddenly. “I thought +your doctor had forbidden dancing for this summer?”</p> + +<p>“I think I see myself dancing with these cowboys +that they are going to invite,” scoffed Sue. +“And Pratt can’t dance yet. There isn’t anybody +worth dancing with in our crowd now.”</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t the Captain asked you for a dance?” +queried her friend, roguishly.</p> + +<p>“I should say not!” gasped Sue. “Fancy!”</p> + +<p>“You must not act as though his invitation insulted +you, Sue Latrop,” said one of the other +girls, rather tartly. “You might as well understand, +first as last, that we are all fond of Captain +Rugley. Besides, he’s a very influential man and +one of the wealthiest in this part of the Panhandle.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269'></a>269</span>“<i>Nouveau-riche</i>,” sniffed Miss Sue, with a toss +of her head.</p> + +<p>“If that means newly rich, why, he’s not!” exclaimed +the other girl, with continued warmth. +“It’s true, he didn’t make his money baking beans, +or bean-pots; nor by drying and selling pollock +and calling it ‘codfish.’ I believe one has to make +his money in some such way to break into Boston +society?”</p> + +<p>“Something like that,” responded Sue, calmly.</p> + +<p>“Well, the old Captain is very, very wealthy,” +went on his champion. “If you’d ever been much +inside this big house, you’d see it is so. And they +say he has a treasure chest containing jewels of +fabulous value.”</p> + +<p>“A treasure chest!” ejaculated the Boston girl.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Ma’am!”</p> + +<p>“Now you are trying to fool me,” declared +Sue Latrop.</p> + +<p>“You wait! I expect Frances will wear at the +dinner some of those wonderful old jewels the +Captain digs out of his chest once in a while. I’ve +heard they are really amazing―</p> + +<p>“Jewels to deck out the Cattle Queen!” interrupted +Sue, tauntingly. “Nose ring and anklets +included, I s’pose?”</p> + +<p>“Now, Sue! how can you be so mean?” cried +one of the other girls.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270'></a>270</span>“Pshaw! I suppose she’ll be a wondrous sight +in her ‘best bib and tucker.’ Loaded down with +silver ornaments, like a Mexican belle at a fair, or +an Indian squaw at a poodle-dog feast. She will +undoubtedly throw all us girls in the shade,” and +Sue burst into a gale of laughter.</p> + +<p>“I declare! you’re cruel, Sue!” cried one of +the girls from Amarillo.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to know how you make that out, +Miss?” demanded the girl from Boston.</p> + +<p>“Frances has never done you a bit of harm. +Why! you are accepting her hospitality this +very moment. And yet, you haven’t a good word +to say for her.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see that I am called upon to give her +a good word,” sneered Miss Latrop. “She is a +rough, rude, quite impossible person. I fail to +see wherein she deserves any consideration at my +hands. I declare! to hear you girls, one would +think this cowgirl was of some importance.”</p> + +<p>Frances came quietly away from the window, +postponing her dusting in that quarter until later. +But she was tempted–very sorely tempted indeed.</p> + +<p>Sue expected her to look like a cross between an +Indian squaw and a Mexican belle at dinner–and +Frances was sorely tempted to fulfil the Boston +girl’s idea of what a “cattle queen” should look +like at a society function!</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271'></a>271</span><a id='link_28'></a>CHAPTER XXVIII<br /><span class='h2fs'>THE BURSTING OF THE CHRYSALIS</span></h2> + +<p>Frances Durham Rugley was growing up. +At least, she felt a great many years older now +than she did that day so short a time before when, +riding along the trail, she had heard Pratt and the +mountain lion fighting in Brother’s Coulie.</p> + +<p>She looked at her reflection in the long dressing-mirror +in her own room, and could not see that she +had added to her stature in this time “one jot or +tittle.” But inside she felt worlds older.</p> + +<p>It was the afternoon of the dinner-party day. +She had come upstairs to make ready to receive her +guests. The dinner was for seven and Frances had +given herself plenty of time to dress.</p> + +<p>Pratt was off on his pony, “getting the stiffness +out of himself,” he declared. The old Captain +was just as busy as a bee, and just as fussy as a +clucking hen, about the last preparations for the +party.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile Frances was undecided. She +almost wished she might run away from the ordeal +before her. To face all these people whom, after +all, she knew so slightly, and play hostess at her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272'></a>272</span> +father’s table, and be criticised by them all, was an +ordeal hard for the range girl to face.</p> + +<p>She was not particularly shy; but she shrank +from unkind remarks, and she was sure of having +at least one critic-extraordinary at the table–Sue +Latrop.</p> + +<p>This was really Frances’ “coming out party” +but she didn’t want to “come out” at all!</p> + +<p>“Oh! I wish they had never come here. I wish +daddy had not asked them to this dinner. Dear +me!” groaned the girl of the ranges, “I almost +wish I had never met Pratt at all.”</p> + +<p>For, looking into the future, she saw a long +vista of range work and quiet living, with merely +the minor incidents of ranch life to break the +monotony. This “dip” into society would not +even leave a pleasant remembrance, she was +afraid.</p> + +<p>And it might be years before she would be +called upon to play hostess in such a way as this +again. She sighed and unbraided her hair. At +that moment there sounded a knock upon her +door.</p> + +<p>She ran to open it to her father.</p> + +<p>“Here you are, Frances,” said the old ranchman, +jovially. “Never mind if Lon hasn’t got +here yet; I’ve gone deeper into the treasure chest. +I want you to be all dolled up to-night.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273'></a>273</span>His hands were fairly ablaze–or looked to be. +He had his great palms cupped, and that cup was +full of gems in all sorts of ancient settings–shooting +sparks of all colors in the dimly lighted room.</p> + +<p>“There’s a handful of stuff to make you pretty,” +he said, proudly.</p> + +<p>The ancient belt dangled over his arm. He +placed all the things on her dressing-table, and +stood off to admire their brilliancy. Frances swallowed +a lump in her throat. How could she disappoint +him! How could she try to tell him how +unsuitable these gems were for a young girl in her +teens! He would be heart-broken if she did not +wear them.</p> + +<p>“You are a dear, Daddy!” she murmured, and +kissed him. “Now run away and let me dress.”</p> + +<p>He tiptoed out, all a-smile. His wife’s dressing-room +had been a “holy of holies” to this +simple-minded old man, and Frances reminded +him every day, more and more strongly, of the +woman whom he had worshiped for a few happy +years.</p> + +<p>Frances did not hasten with her preparations, +however. She sat down and spread the gewgaws +out before her on the dresser. The belt, Spanish +earrings of fabulous value and length, rings that +almost blinded her when she held the stones in the +sunlight, a great oval brooch, bracelets, and a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274'></a>274</span> +necklace of matched stones that made her heart beat +almost to suffocation when she tried it on her +brown throat.</p> + +<p>She had it in her power to “knock their eyes +out,” as daddy (and Tom Gallup) had expressed +it. She could bedeck herself like a queen. She +knew that Sue Latrop worshiped the tangible +signs of wealth, as she understood them.</p> + +<p>Cattle, and range lands, and horses, and a great, +rambling house like this at the Bar-T, impressed +the girl from Boston very little. But jewels would +appeal to her empty head as nothing else could.</p> + +<p>Frances knew this very well. She knew that +she could overawe the Boston girl with a display +of these gems. And she would please her father, +too, in loading her fingers and ears and neck and +arms with the brilliants.</p> + +<p>And then, before she got any farther in her +dressing, or had decided in her troubled mind what +really to do, there came another, and lighter, tapping +on her door.</p> + +<p>“Who’s there?” asked Frances.</p> + +<p>“It’s only me, Frances,” said Pratt.</p> + +<p>“What do you want?” she asked, calmly, rising +and approaching the door.</p> + +<p>“Got something for you–if you want them,” +the young man said, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” she queried.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275'></a>275</span>“Open the door and see,” and he laughed a +little nervously.</p> + +<p>Frances drew her gown closer about her throat, +and turned the knob. Instantly a great bunch of +fragrant little blossoms–the wild-flowers so hard +to find on the plains and in the foothills–were +thrust into her hands.</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>Pratt!</i>” shrieked the girl in delight.</p> + +<p>She clasped the blossoms to her bosom; she +buried her face in them. Pratt watched her with +smiling lips, and wonderingly.</p> + +<p>How pretty and girlish she was! The grown-up +air that responsibilities had lent her fell away like +a cloak. She was just a simple, enthusiastic, delighted +girl, after all!</p> + +<p>“Like them?” asked the young man, laconically.</p> + +<p>“I <i>love</i> them!” Frances declared.</p> + +<p>Pratt was thinking how wonderful it was that a +girl could seize a big bunch of posies like that, and +hug them, and press them to her face, and still not +crush the fragile things.</p> + +<p>“Why,” he thought, “I’ve had to handle them +like eggs all the way here, to keep from spoiling +them beyond repair. Aren’t girls wonders?”</p> + +<p>You see, Pratt Sanderson was beginning to be +interested in the mysteries of the opposite sex.</p> + +<p>“Run away now, like a good boy,” she said to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276'></a>276</span> +him, as she had to her father, and closed the door +once more.</p> + +<p>She ran to her bathroom and filled two vases +with water and put the flower stems in, that they +might drink and keep the blossoms fresh.</p> + +<p>Then, with a lighter air and tread, she went +about her dressing for the party.</p> + +<p>She put up her hair, deftly copying the fashion +that Sue Latrop–that mirror of Eastern fashion–affected. +And the new mode became Frances +vastly.</p> + +<p>Her new dress–the one she had had made for +the pageant–had already come home from the +city dressmaker who had her measurements. She +spread it upon the bed and got her skirts and other +linen.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later she was out of her bath and +ready for the dress itself. It went on and fitted +perfectly.</p> + +<p>“I am sure anybody must admire this,” she told +herself. She was sure that none of the girls at the +dinner and dance would be more fitly dressed than +herself–if she stopped right here!</p> + +<p>But now she returned to the dresser and looked +at the blazing gems from the old Spanish chest. +If only daddy did not want her to wear them!</p> + +<p>A ring, one bracelet, possibly the brooch. She +might wear those without shocking good taste. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277'></a>277</span> +All were beautiful; but the heavy settings, the +great belt of gold and emeralds, the necklace of +sparkling brilliants–all, all were too rich and too +startling for a girl of her age, and well Frances +knew it.</p> + +<p>With sinking heart and trembling fingers she +adorned herself with the heaviest weight of trouble +she had ever borne.</p> + +<p>A little later she descended the stairs, slowly, +regally, bearing her head erect, and looking like +a little tragedy queen as she appeared in the soft +evening glow at the foot of the stairs.</p> + +<p>Pratt’s gasp of wonder and amazement made +the old Captain turn to look.</p> + +<p>Above her brow was a crescent of sparkling +stones. The long, graceful earrings lay lovingly +upon the bared, velvet shoulders of the girl.</p> + +<p>The bracelets clasped the firm flesh of her arms +warmly. The collar of gems sparkled at her +throat. The brooch blazed upon her bosom. +And around her slender waist was the great belt +of gold.</p> + +<p>She was a wonderful sight! Pratt was dazzled–amazed. +The old ranchman poked him in the +ribs.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of <i>that</i>?” he demanded. +“Went right down to the bottom of the chest to +get all that stuff. Isn’t she the whole show?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278'></a>278</span>And Frances had hard work to keep back the +tears. She knew that was exactly what she was–a +show.</p> + +<p>She could see the change slowly grow in Pratt’s +features. His wonder shifted to disapproval. +After the first shock he realized that the exhibition +of the gems on such an occasion as this was in bad +taste.</p> + +<p>Why! she was like a jeweler’s window! The +gems were wonderfully beautiful, it was true. But +they would better be on velvet cushions and behind +glass to be properly appreciated.</p> + +<p>“Do you like me, Daddy?” she asked, softly.</p> + +<p>“My mercy, Frances! I scarcely know you,” +he admitted. “You certainly make a great +show.”</p> + +<p>“Are you satisfied?” she asked again.</p> + +<p>“I–I’d ought to be,” he breathed, solemnly. +“You–you’re a beauty! Isn’t she, Pratt?”</p> + +<p>“Save my blushes,” Frances begged, but not +lightly. “If I suit you exactly, Daddy, I shall +appear at dinner this way.”</p> + +<p>“Sure! Show them to our guests. There’s not +another woman in the Panhandle can make such a +show.”</p> + +<p>Frances, with a sharp pain at her heart, thought +this was probably true.</p> + +<p>“Wait, Daddy,” she said. “Let me run back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279'></a>279</span> +and make one little change. You wait there in the +cool reception-room, and see how I look next +time.”</p> + +<p>She could no longer bear the expression of +Pratt’s eyes. Turning, she gathered up her skirts +and scuttled back to her room. Her cheeks were +afire. Her lips trembled. She had to fight back +the tears.</p> + +<p>One by one she removed the gaudy ornaments. +She left the crescent in her wavy brown hair and +the old-fashioned brooch at her breast. Everything +else she stripped off and flung into a drawer, +and locked it.</p> + +<p>These two pieces of jewelry might be heirlooms +that any young girl could wear with taste at her +“coming out” party.</p> + +<p>She ran to the vases and took a great bunch +of Pratt’s flowers which she carried in her gloved +hand when she went down for the second time to +show herself to her father.</p> + +<p>This time she tripped lightly. Her cheeks were +becomingly flushed. Her bare throat, brown and +firm, rose from the soft laces of her dress in its +unadorned beauty. The very dress she wore +seemed more simple and girlish–but a thousand +times more fitting for her wearing.</p> + +<p>“Daddy!”</p> + +<p>She burst into the dimly lighted room. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280'></a>280</span> +wheeled in his chair, removed the pipe from his +mouth, and stared at her again.</p> + +<p>This time there was a new light in his eyes, as +there was in hers. He stood up and something +caught him by the throat–or seemed to–and he +swallowed hard.</p> + +<p>“How do you like me now?” she whispered, +stretching her arms out to him.</p> + +<p>“My–my little girl!” murmured the old Captain, +and his voice broke. “Then–then you are +not grown up, after all?”</p> + +<p>“Nor do I want to be, for ever and ever so +long yet, Daddy!” she cried, and ran to enfold +him in her warm embrace.</p> + +<p>“Humph!” said the old Captain, confidentially. +“I was half afraid of that young person +who was just down here, Frances. I can kiss you +now without mussing you all up, eh?”</p> + +<p>Pratt had stolen out of the room through one +of the windows to the veranda.</p> + +<p>His heart was swelling and salt tears stung his +eyes.</p> + +<p>Like the old Captain, the youth had felt some +awe of the richly-bedecked young girl who had +displayed to such advantage the stunning and wonderful +old jewelry that had once adorned Spanish +señoras or Aztec princesses. Despite the fact that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281'></a>281</span> +he disapproved of such a barbarous display, Pratt +had been impressed.</p> + +<p>He had an inkling, too, as to Sue Latrop’s attitude +toward the range girl and believed that +some unkind expression of the Boston girl’s feelings +had tempted Frances to show herself in barbaric +guise at the dinner. Pratt could not have +blamed the Western girl if she had “knocked +their eyes out,” to use Tom Gallup’s expression, +with an exhibition of the gorgeous jewels Captain +Rugley had got out of the treasure chest.</p> + +<p>Without much doubt the old ranchman would +have been very proud of his daughter’s beauty, set +off by the glitter of the wonderful old gems. It +was his nature to boast of his possessions, although +his pride in them was innocent enough. His +wealth would never in this wide world make +Captain Dan Rugley either purse-proud or +arrogant!</p> + +<p>The old man’s sweetness of temper, kindliness +of manner, and open-handedness had been inherited +by Frances. She was a true daughter of +her father. But she was her mother’s child, too. +The well-bred, quiet, tactful lady whom the old +Border fighter had married had left her mark +upon the range girl. Frances possessed natural +refinement and good taste. It was that which +had caused her to go to her chamber after the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282'></a>282</span> +display of the jewels, and return for a second +“review.”</p> + +<p>The appearance of the simply-dressed girl who +had come downstairs the second time had so +impressed Pratt Sanderson that he wished to get +off here on the porch by himself for a minute or +two.</p> + +<p>The first load of visitors was just driving up +to the gate of the compound.</p> + +<p>He watched the girls from Amarillo, and Sue, +and all the others descend, shake out their ruffles, +and run up the steps.</p> + +<p>“My!” sighed Pratt Sanderson in his soul. +“Frances has got them all beat in every little way. +That’s as sure as sure!”</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283'></a>283</span><a id='link_29'></a>CHAPTER XXIX<br /><span class='h2fs'>“THE PANHANDLE–PAST AND PRESENT”</span></h2> + +<p>Jackleg was in holiday attire. It was a raw +Western settlement, it was true; but there was +more business ambition and public spirit in the +place than in half a dozen Eastern towns of its +population.</p> + +<p>The schoolhouse was a long, low structure, seating +as many people as the ordinary town hall. It +was situated upon a flat bit of prairie on the outskirts +of the town. Rather, the town had grown +from the schoolhouse to the railroad station, on +either side of a long, dusty street. Railroads in +the West do not go out of their way to touch immature +settlements. The settlements have to +stretch tentacles out to the place where the railroad +company determines to build a station.</p> + +<p>This was so at Jackleg, but it gave a long vista +of Main Street from the heart of the town to its +outlying suburbs. This street was now gay with +flags and bunting, while there were many arches of +colored electric lights to burn at night.</p> + +<p>Almost before the plans for the pageant had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284'></a>284</span> +been formed, the business men of Jackleg had subscribed +a liberal sum to defray expenses. As the +plans for the entertainment progressed, and it was +whispered about what a really fine thing it was to +be, more subscriptions rolled in.</p> + +<p>But Captain Dan Rugley had deposited a guarantee +with the Committee that he would pay any +debts over the subscriptions received, therefore +Frances and her helpers had gone ahead along +rather lavish lines.</p> + +<p>The end wall of the school building had been +actually removed. The framework of the wall +was rearranged by the carpenters like the proscenium +arch of a stage, and a drop of canvas +faced the spectators where the teacher’s desk and +platform had been.</p> + +<p>Behind the schoolhouse was a vacant lot. This +had been surrounded with a high board fence. +The enclosure made the great stage for the spectacle +which the Jackleg people, the ranchers and +farmers from around about, and the visitors from +Amarillo and other towns, had come to see.</p> + +<p>At the back of this enclosure, or stage, was a +big sheet, or screen, on which moving pictures +could be thrown. On a platform built outside, +and over the open end of the building, were two +moving picture machines with operators who had +come on from California where some of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285'></a>285</span> +pictures had been made by a very famous film company.</p> + +<p>Some of the pictures had been made in Oklahoma, +too, where one public-spirited American citizen +has saved a herd of the almost extinct bison +that once roamed our Western plains in such numbers.</p> + +<p>At either side of the fenced yard behind the +schoolhouse stood the actors in the spectacle–both +human and dumb–with all the paraphernalia. A +director had come on from the film company to +stage the show; but the story as developed was +strictly in accordance with Frances Rugley’s +“plans and specifications.”</p> + +<p>“She’s a wonder, that little girl,” declared the +professional. “She’d make her mark as a scenario +writer–no doubt of that. I’d like to get her +for our company; but they say her father is one of +the richest men in the Panhandle.”</p> + +<p>Pratt Sanderson, to whom he happened to say +this, nodded. “And one of the best,” he assured +the Californian. “Captain Dan Rugley is a noble +old man, a gentleman of the old school, and one +who has seen the West grow up and develop from +the times of its swaddling clothes until now.”</p> + +<p>“Wonderful country,” sighed the director. +“Look at its beginnings almost within the memory +of the present generation, and now–why! there’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286'></a>286</span> +half a hundred automobiles parked right outside +this show to-night!”</p> + +<p>Captain Dan Rugley secured a front seat. He +was as excited as a boy over the event. He admitted +to Mrs. Bill Edwards that he hadn’t been +to a “regular show” a dozen times in his life.</p> + +<p>“And I expect this is going to knock the spots +out of anything I ever saw–even the Grand Opera +at Chicago, when my wife and I went on our +honeymoon.”</p> + +<p>The young folks from the Edwards ranch were +scattered about the old Captain. Sue Latrop had +assumed her most critical attitude. But Sue had +been wonderfully silent about Frances and her +father since the dinner dance.</p> + +<p>That occasion had turned out to be something +entirely different from what the girl from Boston +expected. In the first place, her young hostess +was better and more tastefully–though simply–dressed +than any of her guests.</p> + +<p>Her adornments had been only a crescent in her +hair and a brooch; but Sue had been forced to +admire the beauty and value of these. Beside +Frances, the other girls seemed overdressed. The +range girl had dignity enough to carry off her part +perfectly.</p> + +<p>Under the soft glow of the candles in the wonderful +old candelabra, to which the Captain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287'></a>287</span> +referred as “a part of the loot of Señor Morales’ +<i>hacienda</i>,” Frances of the ranges sat as hostess, +calmly beautiful, and governing the course of the +dinner without the least hesitancy or confusion.</p> + +<p>She looked out for every guest’s needs and directed +the two Mexican boys and Ming in their +service with all the calmness and judgment of a +hostess who was long used to dinner parties. Indeed, +Sue Latrop was forced to admit in her secret +soul that she had never seen any hostess manage +better at an entertainment of this kind.</p> + +<p>At the upper end of the table, the old Captain +fairly beamed his hospitality and delight. He +kept the boys in a gale of laughter, and the girls +seemed all to enjoy themselves, too. Critical +Miss Latrop could throw no wet blanket upon the +proceedings; to tell the truth, her sour face was +quite overlooked by the other guests, and about +all the attention she attracted was when Mrs. Bill +Edwards asked her if she had the toothache.</p> + +<p>“No, I have no toothache!” snapped Sue. “I +don’t see why you should ask.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear,” said the lady, soothingly, +“something must surely be the matter. I never +saw a person at dinner with so miserable a countenance. +Does something pinch you?”</p> + +<p>Yes! it was Sue’s vanity pinching her, if the +truth were known. Her diatribes about Frances +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288'></a>288</span> +and the old Captain were not to be easily forgotten +by the girl from Boston. Not so much was +she smitten because of her unkindness; but she felt +that she had played the fool!</p> + +<p>Her friends from Amarillo must be quietly +laughing in secret over what Sue had said regarding +the uncouthness of the Captain and the lack +of breeding of the “Cattle Queen.” Sue felt that +she had laid herself open to ridicule, and it did +hurt Sue Latrop to think that her young friends +were laughing at her.</p> + +<p>As for the dinner, that was a revelation to the +girl from Boston. The service, if a bit odd, was +very good. And the silver, cut glass, napery, and +all were as rich as Sue had ever seen.</p> + +<p>After the dinner, and the other guests began to +arrive, and the band struck up behind the palms in +the inner court of the <i>hacienda</i>, Sue continued to +be surprised, though she failed to admit it to her +friends.</p> + +<p>It was true the boys came up from the bunk-house +without evening dress. But their black +clothes were clean and well brushed, and those who +wore the usual kerchief about their necks sported +silk ones and carried their bullion-loaded sombreros +in their hands.</p> + +<p>And they could all dance. Sue refused the first +few dances and tried to sit and look on in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289'></a>289</span> +superior way; but she presently failed to make good at +this.</p> + +<p>When the kindly old ranchman considered her a +wall-flower and came and begged her to “give him +a whirl,” Sue had to break through her “icy +reserve.”</p> + +<p>Although they did not dance the more modern +dances, she found that Captain Rugley knew his +steps and was as light on his feet as a man half his +age.</p> + +<p>“I have given Mr. Rheumatism the time of his +life to-night!” declared the owner of the Bar-T +brand. “That’s what I told Frances I would do.”</p> + +<p>And Captain Rugley suffered no ill effects from +the dance, as was shown by his appearance here at +the Jackleg schoolhouse to-night, when the canvas +curtain slowly rolled up to reveal first the painted +curtain behind it, on which was a picture of the +meeting of Cortez and the Aztec princes soon +after the Conqueror’s arrival in Mexico.</p> + +<p>The school teacher read the prologue, and the +spectators settled down to listen and to see. His +explanation of what was to follow was both concise +and well written, and the whisper went around:</p> + +<p>“And she’s only a girl! Yes, Miss Rugley +wrote it all.”</p> + +<p>Sue sniffed. The teacher stepped back into the +shadow and the painted curtain rolled up.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290'></a>290</span>There was a gasp of amazement when the audience +saw what was revealed behind the painted +sheet. One of the moving picture machines was +already running, and on the great screen was +thrown a representation of the staked plains of +the Panhandle as they were in the days before the +white man ever saw them.</p> + +<p>Far, far away appeared a band of painted and +feather-bedecked Indians, riding their mustangs, +and sweeping down toward the immediate foreground +of the picture with a vividness that was +almost startling.</p> + +<p>Into that foreground was drifting a herd of buffaloes. +They started, the bulls giving the signal +as the enemy approached, and the end of that section +was the scampering of the great, hairy beasts, +with the Indians in full chase, brandishing their +spears.</p> + +<p>Immediately the scene changed and a train of a +different kind broke into view in the dim perspective. +The moving figures grew clearer as the moments +passed. Over a similar part of the staked +plain came the exploring Spaniards, with their cattle +and caparisoned horses, their enslaved Aztecs, +their priests bearing the Cross before.</p> + +<p>The moving procession came closer and closer +until suddenly the whirring of the picture machine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291'></a>291</span> +stopped, a great searchlight was turned upon the +dusky yard between the screen and the open end +of the school building, and with a gasp of amazement +the audience saw there the double of the procession +which had just been pictured on the moving +picture screen.</p> + +<p>The actors in this part of the pageant crowded +across the desert, were stopped by a stampede of +Indian ponies, and later made friends of the wondering +savages.</p> + +<p>From this point on the history of the Panhandle +developed rapidly. The spectators saw the crossing +of the plains by the early pioneers, both in picture +and by actual people, a train of prairie +schooners drawn by oxen, and a sham battle +between the pioneers and the Indians.</p> + +<p>The buffaloes disappeared from the picture and +the wide-horned cattle took their place. A picture +of a famous round-up was shown, and then a real +herd of cattle was driven into the enclosure (they +wore the Bar-T brand) and several cowboys displayed +their skill in roping and tying.</p> + +<p>The curtain was dropped, there was a swift +change, and it arose again on a hastily-built frontier +town–a town of one-story shacks with two-story +false fronts, dance and gambling halls, +saloons, a pitiful hotel, and all the crude and ugly +building expressions of a raw civilization.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292'></a>292</span>“My mighty!” gasped Captain Dan Rugley. +“That’s Amarillo–Amarillo as I first saw it, +twenty-five years ago.”</p> + +<p>People appeared in the street, and rough +enough they were. A band of cowpunchers rode +in, with yells and pistol shots. The rough life of +that early day was displayed in some detail.</p> + +<p>And then, after a short intermission, pictures +were displayed again of great droves of cattle on +the trail, bound for the shipping points; following +which came pictures of the new wheat fields–that +march of the agricultural régime that is to make the +Panhandle one of the wealthiest sections of our +great country.</p> + +<p>A great reaper was shown at work; likewise +a traction gang-plow and a motor threshing machine. +The progress in agriculture in the Panhandle +during the last half dozen years really +excited some of the older residents.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see the beat of that?” demanded +Captain Rugley. “I’m blest if I wouldn’t like to +own one of them. See those little dinguses turn up +the ribbons of sod! I don’t know but that Frances +can encourage me to be that kind of a farmer, +after all! There’s something big about riding a +reaper like that one. And that threshing machine, +too! Did you see the straw blowing out of the +pipes as though a cyclone was whirling it away?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293'></a>293</span>“By mighty! I wish Lon could have been here +to see this, I certainly do!”</p> + +<p>For the last time the curtain was lowered and +then rose again. On the screen was pictured Amarillo +as it is to-day.</p> + +<p>First a panorama of the town and its outskirts. +Then “stills” of its principal buildings, and its +principal citizens.</p> + +<p>Then the main streets, full of business life, autos +chugging, electric cars clanging back and forth, all +of the bustle of a modern town that is growing rich +and growing rapidly.</p> + +<p>The contrast between what the spectators had +seen early in the spectacle and this final scene +made them thoughtful. There had been plenty of +applause all through the show; but when “Good-night” +was shown upon the screen, nobody +moved, and Pratt raised the shout for:</p> + +<p>“Miss Rugley!”</p> + +<p>She would not appear before the curtain save +with the other members of the committee. But the +cheering was for her and she had to run away to +hide her blushes and her tears of happiness.</p> + +<p>“Wake up, Sue, it’s over!” exclaimed one of +the other girls, shaking the young lady from +Boston.</p> + +<p>Sue Latrop came to herself slowly. She had +never realized the Spirit of the West before, nor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294'></a>294</span> +appreciated what it meant to have battled for and +grown up with a frontier community.</p> + +<p>“Is–is that all true?” she whispered to Pratt.</p> + +<p>“Is what all true?” he asked, rather blankly.</p> + +<p>“That there have been such improvements and +changes here in so few years?”</p> + +<p>“You bet!” exclaimed Pratt, with emphasis.</p> + +<p>“Well–re’lly–it’s quite wonderful,” admitted +Sue, slowly. “I had no idea it was like that!”</p> + +<p>“So you think better of our ‘crude civilization,’ +do you?” laughed one of her girl friends.</p> + +<p>“Why–why, it is quite surprising,” said Sue, +again, and still quite breathless.</p> + +<p>“And what do you think of our Frances?” demanded +Mrs. Bill Edwards, proudly. “There’s +nobody in Boston’s Back Bay, even, who could do +better than she?”</p> + +<p>And Sue Latrop was–for the time being, at +least–completely silenced.</p> + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295'></a>295</span><a id='link_30'></a>CHAPTER XXX<br /><span class='h2fs'>A REUNION</span></h2> + +<p>There had been a delay on the railroad caused +by a washout; therefore Jonas Lonergan and Mr. +Decimus Tooley, the chaplain of the Bylittle Soldiers’ +Home, did not arrive at Jackleg in time for +the night of the spectacle of the Pageant of the +Panhandle.</p> + +<p>But the party from the Bar-T Ranch, after the +show was over and Frances and the Captain had +both been congratulated, rode down to the station +to meet the belated train to which was attached +the special car Captain Rugley had engaged for the +service of his old partner and the minister.</p> + +<p>With the Bar-T party was Pratt, although he +proposed going back to the Edwards ranch that +night. He wanted to get away from the crowd of +enthusiastic and excited young people who had accompanied +Mr. and Mrs. Bill Edwards into town +to the show.</p> + +<p>This train that was stopping to cast loose the +special car at Jackleg was the last to stop at that +station at night. Some few of the spectators of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296'></a>296</span> +pageant would board it for stations farther west; +so there was a small group on the station platform.</p> + +<p>The young folk, Pratt and Frances, sighted +the headlight up the track. They were walking +up and down the platform, arm in arm and talking +over the successful completion of the play, +when they spied it.</p> + +<p>“It’s coming, Daddy!” cried Frances, running +into the station to warn the old Captain.</p> + +<p>To tell the truth, he had been leaning back +against the wall–in a hard and straight-backed +chair, of course–taking a “cat-nap.” But he +awoke instantly and with all his senses alert.</p> + +<p>“All right, Frances–all right, my girl,” he said. +“I’m with you. Hurrah! My old partner will be +as glad to see me as I am to see him.”</p> + +<p>But when the train rolled in there was some +delay. The special car had to be shunted onto +the siding before Captain Rugley could go aboard.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Frances,” urged her father, as eager +as a boy. He ran across the tracks and Frances +dutifully followed him. Pratt remained on the +platform and looked rather wistfully after her. +Their conversation had been broken off abruptly. +He had not had an opportunity to say all that +he wanted to say and he was to go back to Amarillo +the next day.</p> + +<p>He saw the Captain and his daughter climb the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297'></a>297</span> +steps, helped by the negro porter. They disappeared +within the lighted car. Pratt still lingered. +His pony was hitched up the street a block or so. +There really was nothing further for him to wait +for.</p> + +<p>Suddenly shadows appeared on a curtain of one +section of the car. The shade flew up and the window +was raised.</p> + +<p>The young man from Amarillo stood right +where the lamplight fell upon his features. He +found himself staring into the face of a grey-visaged, +sharp-eyed old man, who had a great +shock of grey hair on the top of his head like +a cockatoo’s tuft.</p> + +<p>The stranger stared at Pratt earnestly, and then +beckoned him with both hands, shouting:</p> + +<p>“Hey, you boy! You there, with the plaid cap. +Come here!”</p> + +<p>Rather startled, and not a little amused, Pratt +started slowly in the direction of the car.</p> + +<p>“Hey! Lift your feet there,” called out the old +man. “You act like you had the hookworm. Git +a move on!”</p> + +<p>“What do you want?” demanded Pratt, coming +under the window. He could see into the +lighted car now, and he observed Frances and her +father standing back of the stranger, the Captain +broadly agrin.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298'></a>298</span>The man reached down suddenly and grabbed +Pratt by the lobe of his right ear–pinching it between +thumb and finger.</p> + +<p>“Say! what are you about?” demanded Pratt. +But for a very good reason he did not seek to pull +away.</p> + +<p>“Let me look at you again,” commanded the +man who had taken this liberty. “Turn your face +up this way–you hear me? My soul! I knew I +couldn’t be mistaken. What did you say this boy’s +name was, Dan?” he shot at the Captain over his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“That’s Pratt Sanderson,” chuckled Captain +Rugley. “Something of a tenderfoot, but a good +lad, Lon, a good lad.”</p> + +<p>“You bet he is!” declared Jonas P. Lonergan, +vigorously. “I knew his name when you spoke it, +and now I know his face. He’s the image of his +mother–that’s what he is.”</p> + +<p>Then he turned to Pratt again and roared: “Do +you know who I am, boy?”</p> + +<p>“I fancy you are the–the old partner of Captain +Rugley whom he has expected so long,” Pratt +said, puzzled but smiling. He had never chanced +to hear the expected guest called by any other +name than “Lon.”</p> + +<p>“I’m Jonas P. Lonergan!” exclaimed the old +man. “<i>Now</i> do you know me. I’m your mother’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299'></a>299</span> +half-brother. I knew you folks lived out this way +somewhere, but I’ve not seen you since you were +a little shaver.</p> + +<p>“But I’ll never forget how my little half-sister +used to look, and you are just like her when she +was young,” declared Mr. Lonergan. “Come in +here, you young rascal, and let me get a closer +look at you.”</p> + +<p>“My Uncle Jonas?” gasped Pratt, in amazement.</p> + +<p>“That’s what I am!” declared Mr. Lonergan. +“Your old uncle who never did much of anything +for you–or the rest of the fam’ly–all his life. +But he’s goin’ to be able to do something now.</p> + +<p>“Listen here: Captain Dan Rugley says the +treasure chest old Señor Morales gave us so long +ago is all right. It’s chock-full of jewels and gold +and money― Shucks! I’m as crazy as a child +about it,” laughed the old man.</p> + +<p>“After bein’ through what I have, and livin’ +poor so many years, it’s enough to scatter the +brains of an old man like me to come into a fortune. +Yes, sir! And what’s mine is yours, Pratt. +They tell me you are a mighty good boy. Captain +Dan speaks well of you―”</p> + +<p>“And I ought to,” growled the old ranchman +from the background. “I owe something to him, +too, for what he did for Frances.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300'></a>300</span>“Heh?” exclaimed Lonergan. He turned +short around and stared at the blushing Frances. +“She’s a mighty fine girl, I reckon?”</p> + +<p>“The best in the Panhandle,” declared the old +ranchman, nodding understandingly.</p> + +<p>“And this boy of my sister’s is a pretty good +fellow, Dan?” asked Lonergan.</p> + +<p>“Mighty fine–mighty fine,” admitted Captain +Dan Rugley.</p> + +<p>“I tell you what,” whispered Jonas, in the Captain’s +ear, “this dividin’ up the contents of that old +treasure chest will only be temporary after all–just +temporary, eh?”</p> + +<p>“We’ll see–we’ll see, Lon,” said Captain Dan, +carefully. “They’re young yet, they’re over-young. +But ’twould certain sure be a romantic +outcome of all our adventures together years ago, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“Right you are, Captain, right you are!” +agreed Lonergan.</p> + +<p>Frances and Pratt heard none of this. Pratt +had entered the car and the two young people were +talking to the Reverend Mr. Tooley, who was a +demure little man in clerical black, who seemed +quite happy over the reunion of the two old +friends, Captain Dan Rugley and Jonas P. Lonergan.</p> + +<p>Lonergan was a lean old man who walked with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301'></a>301</span> +a crutch. Although he had a very vigorous voice, +he showed his age and his state of ill health when +he began to move about.</p> + +<p>“But we’ll fix all that, Lon,” the Captain assured +him. “Once we get you out to the Bar-T +we’ll build you up in a jiffy. We’ll get you out of +doors. Humph! soldiers’ home, indeed! Why, +you’ve got a long stretch of life ahead of you yet. +I’ve beat out old Mr. Rheumatism myself these +last few weeks.</p> + +<p>“We’ll fight our bodily ills and old age together, +Lon–just as we used to fight other enemies. +Back to back and never give up or ask for +quarter, eh?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the talk, Dan!” cried the other old +fellow.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Lonergan was glad to ride out to the +Bar-T in the comfortably-cushioned carriage that +Mack Hinkman had driven to town. The party +arrived at the ranch-house–Mr. Tooley and all–after +daybreak. The Captain had insisted upon +Pratt’s going, too.</p> + +<p>“What?” Lonergan demanded. “<i>You</i> a bank +clerk, looking out through the wires of a cage like +a monkey in the Zoo we saw years ago at Kansas +City?”</p> + +<p>“That <i>is</i> a nice job for your nephew, hey +Lon?” put in the Captain.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302'></a>302</span>“Drop it, boy, drop it. You’re the heir of a +rich man now–isn’t that so, Captain?”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” agreed Captain Dan Rugley. +“He’d better write in to his bank and tell ’em to +excuse him indefinitely; and write to his mother to +come out here and visit a spell with her brother. +The Bar-T’s big enough, I should hope–hey, +Frances? What do you say?”</p> + +<p>“I am sure it would be nice to have Pratt’s +mother with us. I’d be delighted to have somebody’s +mother in the house, Daddy,” said Frances, +smiling. “You know, you’re the best father that +ever lived; but you can’t be mother, too.”</p> + +<p>“It’s what you’ve missed since you were a tiny +little girl, Frances,” agreed Captain Rugley, +gravely. “But just the same–I want ’em to +show me a girl in all this blessed Panhandle that’s +a better or finer girl than my Frances. Am I right, +Pratt?”</p> + +<p>“You most certainly are, Captain,” the young +man agreed. “Or anywhere outside the Panhandle.”</p> + +<p>Frances smiled at him roguishly. “Even from +Boston, Pratt?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>But Pratt forgave her for that.</p> + +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Another picture of the Bar-T ranch-house on a +late afternoon. The slanting rays of a westering +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303'></a>303</span> +sun lie across the floor of the main veranda. The +family party idling there need no introduction save +in a single particular.</p> + +<p>A tall, well-built lady in black, and with grey +hair, and who looks so much like Pratt Sanderson +that the relationship between them could be seen +at a glance, has the chair of honor. Mrs. Sanderson +is making her first of many visits to the Bar-T.</p> + +<p>Old Jonas P. Lonergan, his crutch beside him, is +lying comfortably in another lounging chair. But +he already looks much more vigorous.</p> + +<p>Captain Dan Rugley, as ever, is tipped back +against the wall in his favorite position. Frances +is with her sewing at a low table, while Pratt is +lying on the rug at his mother’s feet.</p> + +<p>“What’s that Mr. Tooley said in his letter, +Frances?” asked Pratt. “Is he sure the man +who was killed on the railroad when he went home +from here was a man named Pete Marin, who +once was orderly at the soldiers’ home?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Frances, gravely. “He was walking +the track, they thought. Either he was intoxicated +or he did not hear the train. Poor fellow!”</p> + +<p>“Blamed rascal!” ejaculated Jonas P. Lonergan.</p> + +<p>“He made us some trouble–but it’s over,” said +Pratt.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304'></a>304</span>“You showed what sort of stuff you were made +of, young man,” said the Captain, thoughtfully, +“at that very time. Maybe you’ve got something +to thank that Pete for.”</p> + +<p>“And Ratty M’Gill?” asked Pratt, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Poor Ratty!” said Frances again.</p> + +<p>“He’s gone down to the Pecos country,” said +the Captain, briskly. “Best place for him. +Maybe he will know enough not to get in with such +fellows as that Pete again.”</p> + +<p>“I should have been much afraid had I known +what Pratt was getting into out here,” Mrs. Sanderson +ventured.</p> + +<p>“Now, now, Sister! Don’t try to make a mollycoddle +out o’ the boy,” said Jonas P. Lonergan. +“I tell you we’re going to make a man out o’ +Pratt here. I’ve bought an interest in the Bar-T +for him. He’s going to take some of the work off +the Captain’s shoulders when we get him broke in, +hey, Dan?”</p> + +<p>“Right you are, Lon!” agreed the other old +man.</p> + +<p>Frances smiled quietly to hear them plan. She +put her needle in and out of the work she was +doing slowly. By and by her fingers stopped altogether +and she looked away across the ranges.</p> + +<p>She, too, was planning. She was seeing herself +living in a college town the next winter, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305'></a>305</span> +daddy for company, while Mr. Lonergan and +Pratt and his mother remained on at the Bar-T.</p> + +<p>She saw herself graduating after a few years +from some advanced school, quite the equal of +Pratt in education. Meanwhile he would be +learning to change the vast Bar-T ranges into +wheat and milo fields, and taking up the new farming +that is revolutionizing the Panhandle.</p> + +<p>And after that–and after that―?</p> + +<p>“How about Ming bringing us a pitcher of nice +cool lemonade, eh, Frances?” said the Captain, +breaking in upon her day-dream.</p> + +<p>“All right, Daddy. I’ll tell him,” said Frances +of the Ranges.</p> + +<p class='c mt20'>THE END</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Frances of the Ranges, by Amy Bell Marlowe + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANCES OF THE RANGES *** + +***** This file should be named 31870-h.htm or 31870-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/8/7/31870/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.fadedpage.com + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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