"He's not in his room----"

"And you're not in yours," said Pratt, with a nervous laugh. "We all
seem to be out of our beds at the hour when graveyards yawn, eh?"

Frances had a reassuring laugh ready.

"I think you would better go to bed again, Pratt," she said. "You--you
saw nothing in the court?"

"No. But I thought I heard a big bird overhead when I was splashing the
water about out there. Imagination, of course," he added. "There are no
big night-flying birds out here on the plains?"

"Not that I know of," returned she.

"I made some noise. I didn't know what it was I scared up. Seemed to be
on the roof of the house."

Frances thought of the mysterious man and his rope ladder. But she did
not mention them to Pratt.

"Put some more of father's salve on those scratches," she advised. "It's
an Indian salve and very healing. He was taught by an old Indian
medicine man to make it."

"All right. Good-night, Miss Frances," said Pratt, and withdrew into his
room, from which he had appeared so suddenly to accost her.

Pratt's mention of "the bird on the roof" disturbed Frances a good deal.
She turned to run back upstairs and learn if the ladder was still
hanging from the eaves. But as she started to do so she realized that
the door of the treasure room had been silently opened.

"Frances!"

"Oh, Dad!"

"What are you running about the house for at this time o' night?" he
demanded.

She laughed rather hysterically. "Why are you out of your bed, sir--with
your rheumatism?" she retorted.

"Good reason. Thought I heard something," growled the Captain.

"Good reason. Thought I _saw_ something," mocked Frances, seizing
his arm.

She stepped inside the room with him. He flashed an electric torch for a
moment about the place. She saw he had a cot arranged at one side, and
had evidently gone to bed here, beside the treasure chest.

"Why is this, sir?" she demanded, with pretty seriousness.

"Reckon the old man's getting nervous," said Captain Rugley. "Can't
sleep in my reg'lar bed when there are strangers in the house."

Frances started. "What do you mean?" she cried.

"Well, there's that young man."

"Why, Pratt is all right," declared Frances, confidently.

"I don't know anything _for_ him--and do know one thing
_against_ him," growled the old ranchman. "He's been up and about
all night, so far. Weren't you just talking to him?"

"Oh, yes, Dad! But Pratt is all right."

"That's as may be. What was h