e chest.

Frances begged him to desist, but he did not know her. He babbled of the
long journey with the mule team into the mouth of Dry Bone Canyon, and
the caching of the treasure. For an hour he talked steadily and then,
growing weaker, gradually sank back on his pillows and became silent.

But the effort was very weakening. Frances telephoned from the nearest
station for the doctor. Something _had_ to be done, for the
exertion and excitement of the night had left Captain Rugley in a state
that troubled the girl much.

She had no friend of her own sex. Mrs. Bill Edwards was a city woman
whom, after all, she scarcely knew, for the lady had not been married to
Mr. Edwards more than a year.

There were other good women scattered over the ranges--some "nesters,"
some small cattle-raisers' wives, and some of the new order of Panhandle
farmers; but Frances had never been in close touch with them.

The social gatherings at the church and schoolhouse at Jackleg had been
attended by Frances and Captain Rugley; but the Bar-T folk really had no
near neighbors.

The girl's interest in the forthcoming pageant had called the attention
of other people to her more than ever before; but to tell the truth the
young folk were rather awe-stricken by Frances' abilities as displayed
in the preparation for the entertainment, while the older people did not
know just how to treat the wealthy ranchman's daughter--whether as a
person of mature years, or as a child.

Riding back from the railroad station, where one of the boys with the
buckboard three hours later would meet the physician, she thought of
these facts. Somehow, she had never felt so lonely--so cut off from
other people as she did right now.

The railroad crossed one corner of the Bar-T's vast fenced ranges; but
there were twenty long miles between the house and the station. She had
ridden Molly hard coming over to speak to the doctor on the telephone;
but she took it easy going back.

Somewhere along the trail she would meet the buckboard and ponies going
over to meet the doctor. And as she walked her pony down the slope of
the trail into Cottonwood Bottom, she thought she heard the rattle of
the buckboard wheels ahead.

A clump of trees hid the trail for a bit; when she rounded it the way
was empty. Whoever she had heard had turned off the trail into the
cottonwoods.

"Maybe he didn't water the ponies before he started," thought Frances,
"and has gone down to the fo