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.

"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."

"But, Daddy!" Frances cried, "he was only asking out of good feeling."

"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!"

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 _hacienda_.

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 drinks; and then the Amarillo young man rode away.

"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."

"Good-bye, Pratt," said Frances, without comment.

"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?"

"Plenty of time for that," she returned, but without smiling. "I hope father will be well before the date set for the show."

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!

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.

Frances had to devise a plan without either her father's advice or that of anybody else. She prepared for the adventure by begging the Captain to have burlap wrapped about the chest and securely roped on.

"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.

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.

To Silent Sam she said; "I want a four-mule wagon to go to Amarillo for supplies. When can I have it?"

"Can't you have the goods come by rail to Jackleg?" asked the foreman, somewhat surprised by the request.

Now, Jackleg was not on the same railroad as Amarillo. Frances shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Sam. There's something particular I must get at Amarillo."

"You going with the wagon, Miss Frances?"

"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."

"Whatever ye say," said Sam. "When do ye want to go?"

"Day after to-morrow," responded Frances, briskly. "It will be all right then?"

"Sure," agreed Silent Sam. "I'll fix ye up."

Frances had several important things to do before the time stated. And, too, before that time, something quite unexpected happened.

CHAPTER XII

MOLLY

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.

Instead of seeing only Jose 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.

"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.

"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?"

"Ratty warn't here then," said the first speaker. "He don't know that leetle Molly hawse and what capers she done cut up----"

"Molly!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Frances, under her breath, and ran forward.

At that instant there was a sudden hullabaloo in the corral. Some of the men cheered; others laughed; and one fell off the fence.

"Go it!"

"Hold tight, boy!"

"Tie a knot in your laigs underneath her, Ratty! She's a-gwine to try to throw ye clean ter Texarkana!"

_"What's he doing with my pony?"_

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.

Molly was her pet, her own especial property. n.o.body 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.

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 Frances had ever bridled her or cinched the saddle on Molly.

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."

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.

"You cruel fellow!" shrieked Frances. "Get off my pony at once!"

"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."

"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: