looking for, Frances?" Pratt asked her, once.

"Oh, nobody," replied the girl.

"Do you expect that fellow is still trailing us?" he went on, curiously.

"No-o. I think not."

"But he's on your mind, eh?" suggested Pratt, earnestly. "Just as well I
came along with you," and he laughed.

"So Mack says," returned Frances, with an answering smile.

Was she expecting an attack? Would Ratty come back? Was the man, Pete,
lurking in some hollow or buffalo wallow? She scanned the horizon from
time to time and wondered.

The sun sank to sleep in a bed of gold and crimson. Pink and lavender
tints flecked the cloud-coverlets he tucked about him.

It was full sunset and still the party was delayed. The mules stamped
and rattled their harness. They were impatient to get on to their
suppers and the freedom of the corral.

"We'll sure be too late for supper at Miz' Peckham's," grumbled Mack.

"Oh, you're only troubled about your eats," joked Pratt.

At that moment Frances uttered a little cry. Both Pratt and the teamster
looked up at her inquiringly.

"What's the matter, Frances?" asked the young fellow.

"I--I thought I saw a light, away over there where the sun is going
down."

"Plenty of light there, I should say," laughed Pratt. "The sun has left
a field of glory behind him. Come on, now, Mr. Mack! Ready for this
other wire?"

"Glory to Jehoshaphat!" grunted the teamster. "The world was made in a
shorter time than it takes to bungle this mean, ornery job! I got a
holler in me like the Cave of Winds."

"Hadn't we better take a bite here?" Frances demanded. "It will be
bedtime when we reach the Peckhams."

"Wal, if you say so, Miss," said the teamster. "I kin eat as soon as
you kin cook the stuff, sure! But I did hone for a mess of Miz'
Peckham's flapjacks."

Frances, well used to campwork, became immediately very busy. She ran
for greasewood and such other fuel as could be found in the immediate
vicinity, and started her fire.

It smoked and she got the strong smell of it in her nostrils, and it
made her weep. Pratt, tugging and perspiring under the wagon-body,
coughed over the smoke, too.

"Seems to me, Frances," he called, "you're filling the entire
circumambient air with smoke--ker-_chow_!"

"Why! the wind isn't your way," said Frances, and she stood up to look
curiously about again.

There seemed to be a lot of smoke. It was rolling in from the westward
across the almost level plain. There was a dee