"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."

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.

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.

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?

She had an opportunity of seeing something more of the Boston girl shortly, for in a day or 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.

And with Pratt trailed along Mrs. Bill Edwards and the visitors whom Frances had met twice before.

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.

"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."

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.

Frances welcomed everybody quietly, but with a smile. She instructed Ming to set tables in the inner court of the _hacienda_, as it would be both cool and shady there on this hot noontide.

She noticed that Sue Latrop scarcely bowed to her, and immediately set about chattering to two or three of her companions. Frances did not 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 amus.e.m.e.nt.

The old ranchman was not dull in any particular, however; before long he found an opportunity to say to his daughter:

"Who's the girl in the fancy fixin's? That red coat's got style to it, I reckon?"

"If you like the style," laughed Frances, smiling tenderly at him.

"You don't? And I see she doesn't cotton much to you, Frances. What's the matter?"

"She's Eastern," explained Frances, briefly. "I imagine she thinks I am crude."

"'Crude'? What's 'crude'?" demanded Captain Dan Rugley. "That isn't anything very bad, is it, Frances?" and his eyes twinkled.

"Can't be anything much worse, Daddy," she whispered, "if you are all 'fed up,' as the boys say, on 'culchaw'!"

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.

"I reckon you're not used to this sort of slapdash eating, Miss?"

suggested Captain Rugley, with perfect gravity, as he saw Sue casting doubtful glances about the inner garden.

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 Jose and his brother in one of the shadowy rooms.

"Oh, it's quite _al fresco_, don't you know," drawled Sue.

"Altogether novel and chawming--isn't it, Mrs. Edwards?"

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.

"The Bar-T is the show place of the Panhandle," she said, promptly. "We are rather proud of it--all of us ranchers."

"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."

"Oh!" exclaimed the Captain, "when we have folks come to see us we manage to treat 'em with our best."

Sue was obliged to note that the service and the napery were dainty, and what she had seen of the 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.

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.

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.

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.

"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?"

"Who?" asked Pratt, with narrowing gaze.

"Why--er--this cowgirl and her father."

"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.

CHAPTER XXI

IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY

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.

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.

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.

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.

Jose 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 ran down the long-eared pests that they were trained to drive.

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:

"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?"

"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."

"Before or after he robbed us?" Frances asked quietly.