hear what she said. "Too bad; poor little boy! Why
didn't you ride after her, Pratt?"

"I might, had I known when she went home," replied Pratt, cheerfully.

"I beg the Senor's pardon," whispered Jose, who was gathering up the
plates. "The _senorita_ did not go home."

Pratt looked at the boy, sharply. "Sure?" he asked.

"Quite so--_si, senor_."

"Where did she go?"

"_Quien sabe?_" retorted Jose Reposa, with a shrug of his
shoulders. "She crossed the river yonder and rode east."

So did the party from the Edwards ranch a little later. Silent Sam
Harding had already ridden back to the Bar-T. Jose gathered up the
hamper and its contents and started home on mule-back.

Pratt had curiosity enough, when the party went over the river, to look
for the prints of Molly's hoofs.

There they were in the soft earth on the far edge of the stream. Frances
had ridden down stream at a sharp pace. Where had she gone?

"It was odd for her to leave us in that way," thought Pratt, turning the
matter over in his mind, "and not to return. In a way she was our
hostess. I did not think Frances would fail in any matter of courtesy.
How could she with Captain Dan Rugley for a father?"

The old ranchman was the soul of hospitality. That Frances should seem
to ignore her duty as a hostess stung Pratt keenly. He heard Sue Latrop
speaking about it.

"Went off mad. What else could you expect of a cowgirl?" said the girl
from Boston, in her very nastiest tone.

The fact that Sue seemed so sure Frances was derelict in her duty made
Pratt more confident that something untoward had occurred to the girl of
the ranges to keep her from returning promptly to the party.

Of course, the young man suspected nothing of the actual situation in
which Frances at that very moment found herself. Pratt dreamed of a
broken cinch, or a misstep that might have lamed Molly.

Instead, Frances Rugley was sitting with her back against a stump at the
edge of the clearing where she had come so suddenly upon the campfire,
with her ungloved hands lying in her lap so that Ratty's bright eyes
could watch them continually.

Pete had taken away her gun. Molly was hobbled with the men's horses on
the other side of the hollow. The two plotters had rekindled the fire
and were whispering together about her.

Had Pete had his way he would have tied Frances' hands and feet. But the
ex-cowpuncher of the Bar-T ranch would not listen to that.

Although Pete was the le