at a moment's notice. Of some of the practices of his life on
the plains, with the dome of heaven for a roof-tree, he could not be
broken.

She fumbled for the chair, and found it empty. She reached for the belt
and holster which he usually hung on a hook at the head of the bed.
They, too, were gone, and Frances felt relieved.

She did not withdraw from the room through either of the long windows.
Instead, she crept through her father's office and out of the door of
that room into the great, main hall.

Along this a little way was the door of the room to which Pratt
Sanderson had been assigned, and that of the treasure room as well.

Frances scarcely gave Pratt a thought. She presumed him far in the land
of dreams. She did not take into consideration the fact that about now
the scratches of the mountain lion would become painful, and Pratt
correspondingly restless. Frances was mainly troubled by her father's
absence from his room. Had he, too, seen the mysterious shadow in the
court? Was he on the watch for a possible marauder?

By feeling rather than eyesight she knew the door to the treasure room
was closed. Was her father there?

She doubled her fist and raised it to knock upon the panel. Then she
hesitated. The slightest sound would ring through the silent house like
an alarm of fire.

Inclining her ear to the door, she listened. But the oak planking was
thick and there was no crevice, now the portal was closed, through which
any slight sound could penetrate. She could not have even distinguished
the heavy breathing of a sleeping man behind the door.

Uncertain, wondering, yet quite mistress of herself again, Frances went
on along the corridor. Here was an open door before her into the court.
Had that shadow she had seen come this way? she wondered.

The hiss of a voice, almost in her ear, _did_ startle her:

"My goodness! is it you, Miss Frances?"

A clammy hand clutched her wrist. She knew that Pratt Sanderson must
have been horribly wrought up and nervous, for he was trembling.

"What is the matter? Why are you out of your bed, Pratt?" she asked,
quite calmly.

"I couldn't sleep. Fever in those scratches, I s'pose," said the young
man. "I got up and went outside to get a drink at the fountain--and to
bathe my face and wrists. Isn't it hot?"

"You _are_ feverish," whispered Frances, cautiously. "Have you seen
daddy?"

"The Captain?" returned Pratt, wonderingly. "Oh, no. He isn't up, is
he?"