e guest could not consider him vulgar.

The dining-room was long, massively furnished, well lit, and the
sideboard exposed some rare pieces of old-fashioned silver. Two heavy
candelabra--the loot of some old cathedral, and of Spanish
manufacture--were set upon either end of the great serving table.

All these treasures, found in the ranch-house of a cowman of the
Panhandle, astounded the youth from Amarillo. Nothing Mrs. Bill Edwards
had said of Frances of the ranges and her father had prepared him for
this display.

Captain Rugley saw his eyes wandering from one thing to the other as
Ming served a perfect soup.

"Just pick-ups over the Border," the old man explained, with a
comprehensive wave of his hand toward the candelabra and other articles
of value. "I and a partner of mine, when we were in the Rangers years
and years ago, raided over into Mexico and brought back the bulk of
these things.

"We cached them down in Arizona till after I was married and built this
ranch-house. Poor Lon! Never have heard what became of him. I've got his
share of the treasure out of old Don Milo Morales' _hacienda_ right
here. When he comes for it we'll divide. But I haven't heard from Lon
since long before Frances, here, was born."

This was just explanation enough to whet the curiosity of Pratt. Talk of
the Texas Rangers, and raiding over the Border, and looting a Mexican
_hacienda_, was bound to set the young man's imagination to work.

But the dinner, as it was served in courses, took up Pratt's present
attention almost entirely. Never--not even when he took dinner at the
home of the president of the bank in Amarillo--had he eaten so
well-cooked and well-served a meal.

Despite his commonplace speech, Captain Rugley displayed a familiarity
with the niceties of table etiquette that surprised the guest. Frances'
mother had come from the East and from a family that had been used to
the best for generations. And the old ranchman, in middle age, had set
himself the task of learning the niceties of table manners to please
her.

He had never fallen back into the old, careless ways after Frances'
mother died. He ate to-night in black clothes and a soft, white shirt in
the bosom of which was a big diamond. Although he had sat on the veranda
without a coat--contrary to his doctor's orders--he had slipped one on
when he came to the table and, with his neatly combed hair, freshly
shaven face, and well-brushed mustache, looked well gr