cattle had swept their mounts away. Even Molly, the pinto,
was out of call.

The half dozen punchers who followed the maddened steers had no time for
Frances and her companion. A great cloud of dust hung over the departing
herd and that was the last the castaways on the prairie would see of
either cattle or punchers that day.

"We've got to walk, I reckon," Frances said, slowly.

"How about this steer?" asked the young man, curiously.

"I think he's tamed enough for the time," said the girl, with a smile.
"Anyway I want my rope. It's a good one."

She began to untangle the bald-faced steer. He struggled and grunted and
tossed his wide, wicked horns free. To tell the truth Pratt was more
than a little afraid of him. But he saw that Frances had reloaded the
revolver she carried, and he merely stepped aside and waited. The girl
knew so much better what to do that he could be of no assistance.

"Now, Pratt," she said, at last, "stand from under! Hoop-la!"

She swung the looped lariat and brought it down smartly upon the beast's
back as it struggled to its shaking legs. The steer bellowed, shook
himself like a dog coming out of the water, or a mule out of the
harness, and trotted away briskly.

"He'll follow the herd, I reckon," Frances said, smiling again. "If he
doesn't they'll pick him out at the next round-up. His brand is too
plain to miss."

"And now we're afoot," said Pratt. "It's a long walk for you back to the
house, Frances."

"And longer for you to the Edwards ranch," she laughed. "But perhaps you
will fall in with some of Mr. Bill's herders. They'll have an extra
mount or two. I'll maybe catch Molly. She's a good pinto."

"But oughtn't I to go back with you?" questioned Pratt, doubtfully. "You
see--you're alone--and afoot----"

"Why! it isn't the first time, Pratt," laughed the girl. "Don't fret
about me. This range to me is just like your backyard to you."

"I suppose it sounds silly," admitted Pratt. "But I haven't been used to
seeing girls quite as independent as you are, Frances Rugley."

"No? The girls you know don't live the sort of life I do," said the
range girl, rather wistfully.

"I don't know that they have anything on you," put in Pratt, stoutly. "I
think you're just wonderful!"

"Because I am doing something different from what you are used to seeing
girls do," she said, with gravity. "That is no compliment, Pratt."

"Well! I meant it as such," he said, earnestly. He offered his