Frances of the Ranges Part 7

"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----"

"Why, Dad!" exclaimed Frances, in wonder.

"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."

"Why, Dad! how you talk!" she exclaimed.

"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.

"Dear Dad! you don't mean that you think Pratt Sanderson would do such a thing?" said Frances, in a horrified tone.

"We don't know him."

"But his coming here to the Bar-T was unexpected. I urged him to come.

That lion really scratched him----"

"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.

There was a difference of opinion between Frances and Captain Rugley.

CHAPTER VII

THE STAMPEDE

The remainder of the night pa.s.sed 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.

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.

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.

"The attentions of that old mountain lion bothered me so that I did not sleep much the fore part of the night," Pratt explained.

"How about that bird you heard on the roof?" the Captain asked, calmly.

"I don't know what it was. It sounded like big wings flapping," the young fellow explained. "But I really didn't see anything."

Captain Rugley grunted, and said no more. He grunted a good deal this morning, in fact, for every movement gave him pain.

"The rheumatism has got its fangs set in me right, this time," he told Frances.

"That's for being out of your warm bed and chasing all over the house without a coat on in the night," she said, admonis.h.i.+ngly.

"Goodness!" said her father. "Must I be _that_ particular? If so, I _am_ getting old, I reckon."

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.

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.

For instance, when he hinted about Captain Rugley's adventures on the Border:

"Your father is a very interesting talker. He has seen and done so much."

"Yes," said Frances.

"And how adventurous his life must have been! I'd love to get him in a story-telling mood some day."

"He doesn't talk much about old times."

"But, of course, you know all about his adventures as a Ranger, and his trips into Mexico?"

"No," said Frances.

"Why! he spoke last night as though he often talked about it. About the looting of---- Who was the old Spanish grandee he mentioned?"

"I know very little about it, Pratt," fluttered Frances. "That's just dad's talk."

"But that gorgeous girdle and bracelet you wore!"

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.

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 mysterious treasure chest but his other wealth was gained by questionable means.

Fortunately, a herd of steers, crossing from one of the extreme southern ranges of the Bar-T to the north where juicier gra.s.s grew, attracted the attention of the guest from Amarillo.

"Are those all yours, Frances?" he asked, when he saw the ma.s.s of dark bodies and tossing horns that appeared through rifts in the dust cloud that accompanies a driven herd even over sod-land.

"My father's," she corrected, smiling. "And only a small herd. Not more than two thousand head in that bunch."

"I'd call two thousand cows a whole lot," Pratt sighed.

"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."

"But you seem to know all about it," said Pratt, with enthusiasm. "Don't you really do all the overseeing for him?"

"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."

But Pratt knew better than that. He saw now that she was watching the oncoming ma.s.s of steers with a frown of annoyance. Something was going wrong and Frances was troubled.

"What's the matter?" he asked, curiously.

"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."

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.