Pratt spurred after her, and by chance Sue Latrop's pony got excited and followed the two madly. Sue could not pull him in.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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 la.s.so.

Molly slid on her haunches, while the loop tightened and held the antelope in an unbreakable grip.

"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."

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.

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.

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.

"What are you doing?" shrieked the girl from Boston. "You've let it go!"

"Yes," said Pratt, quietly.

"But what for?" demanded Sue, quite angrily. "Why! you had it."

"Yes," said Pratt again, as the two girls drew near to him.

"You--you--why! what for?" repeated Sue, half-bewildered.

"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.

"Why not?" asked Sue, grimly.

"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."

Frances coiled up her line and never said a word. But Sue flashed out:

"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 what they are for. Well, you are a softy, Pratt Sanderson."

"I guess I am," admitted the young bank clerk. "I wasn't made for such work as this."

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.

"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 n.o.body with so tender a heart could be really bad."

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.

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.

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.

The ranchman's daughter pulled in Molly at the brink of a little hollow beside the stream. There was a cleared s.p.a.ce 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.

"Wonder who could have been here? And recently, too. There's smoke rising from those embers."

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.

Then she turned in her saddle suddenly and saw the very man standing near her, rifle in hand. His leering smile frightened her.

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.

"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."

Ratty's hand was on Molly's bridle-rein. Frances knew that she was a prisoner.

CHAPTER XXII

WHAT PRATT THOUGHT

The party of visitors to the Edwards ranch tired of jack-shooting and jack-running before noon. Jose 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.

"But where's Pratt?" cried somebody.

"And Miss Rugley?" asked another.

"Oh, I guess you'll find them together somewhere," snapped Sue Latrop.

She had felt neglected by her "hero" for the last hour, and was in the sulks, accordingly.

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.

"I have not seen Miss Frances since she caught the antelope," Pratt declared.

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!"

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 _had_ gone home.

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.

Since that moment of weakness he had been telling himself: