close
thickets where a man might hide out, along those banks."

"She did?"

"Yes. It just come to me," said the foreman. "When we were beating up
those jacks."

"Enough said!" ejaculated the ranchman. "Come on, boys!"

Through the dusk they rode straight away toward the ford. And although
the old Captain could hardly hope it, every moment the horse was bearing
him nearer and nearer to his lost daughter.

Dusk had long since fallen; but there was a faint moon and a multitude
of stars. On the open plain the shadows of the horses and riders moved
in grotesque procession. In the hollow far down the stream, where Pete
had made his camp, the shadows were deep and oppressive.

The fellow kept alive but a spark of fire. Now and then he threw on a
stick for replenishing. Outside the feeble light cast by the flickering
flames, one could scarcely see at all.

But there were two faintly outlined forms near the fire beside that of
the burly Pete. Occasionally a groan issued from the lips of Pratt
Sanderson, for he lay senseless, a great bruise upon his head, his
wrists and ankles tied with painful security.

The other form was that of Frances herself. She did not speak nor moan,
although she was quite wide awake. She, too, was tied up in such a way
that she could not possibly free herself.

And she was frightened--desperately frightened!

She had reason to be. The ex-orderly from the Bylittle Soldiers' Home
had proved himself to be a perfect madman when he found that the girl
and Pratt were really escaping.

Evidently he had seized upon the desperate attempt to hold Frances for
ransom as a last resort. She had played into his hands by riding down
into this hollow.

Pratt Sanderson's interference had enraged the fellow to the limit. And
when the young man had momentarily gotten the best of him, Pete was
fairly insane for the time being.

With his rifle broken the man was unable to shoot, for Frances' revolver
which he had obtained at the beginning of the scuffle was empty. The
small gun she had used shooting jacks had been sent back with Sam to the
ranch.

The girl was urging Molly through the brush and Pratt was tearing after
her, their direction bringing them nearer and nearer to the young man's
grey pony, when suddenly Frances heard Pratt scream.

She glanced back, pulling in the excited pinto with a strong hand. Her
friend was pitching forward to the ground. He had been struck by her
pistol, which Pete had fl