"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."

"He expected we'd set somebody on his trail," Frances said, reflectively.

"In course. Two parties. One went up stream and t'other down."

"So Mrs. Peckham just told me."

"Wal!" said Mack. "Mebbe one of 'em will ketch the varmint!"

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.

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.

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.

CHAPTER XX

THE BOSTON GIRL AGAIN

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.

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.

Certainly, she was not obliged to go to the bank under the present circ.u.mstances, for there was no chest now to put in the safe-keeping of that inst.i.tution.

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.

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 wished to get back and report to him the adventures which had marked her journey to Amarillo.

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.

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.

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.

"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?

"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 ash.o.r.e. And it must have been heavy, Frances?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Must have been a sight of valuables in it," repeated Mrs. Peckham.

"What about those who went up stream?" asked Frances, quickly.

"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."

"Yes; of course," returned Frances. "But didn't he find any trace of the robber up stream?"

"How could they, Miss Frances, if the boat went down?" demanded Mrs.

Peckham. "Of course not."

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.

"Of course he would never have tried to pole against the current,"

Frances told herself. "I am afraid daddy will consider that significant."

She did not attempt to keep the story from Captain Dan Rugley when she got back home on the fourth evening.

"Smart girl!" the old ranchman said, when she told him of the make-believe treasure chest she had carted halfway to Amarillo, burlapped, corded, and tagged as though for deposit in the city bank for safe-keeping.

"Smart girl!" he repeated. "Fooled 'em good. But maybe you were reckless, Frances--just a wee mite reckless."

"I had no intention of trying to defend the chest, or of letting Mack,"

she told him.

"And how about that Pratt boy who you say went along with you?" queried the Captain, his brows suddenly coming together.

"Well, Daddy! He insisted upon going with me because Ratty bothered me,"

said Frances, in haste.

"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."

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

Captain Rugley was as eager as a boy for his old partner's appearance.

"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."

"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 I wore the night Pratt stopped here rather startled him. He's used to seeing ladies dressed up, in Amarillo, too."

"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!