from which she could
behold the home corrals of the _hacienda_ itself, still a long
distance ahead, and glowing like jewels in the morning sunshine.

Such a beautiful place! After all, Frances Rugley loved it. It was home,
and every tender tie of her life bound her to it and to the old man who
she knew was sitting somewhere on the veranda, with his pipe and his
memories.

There never was such another beautiful place as the old Bar-T! Frances
was sure of that. She longed for Amarillo and what the old Captain
called "the frills of society"; but could she give up the ranch for
them?

"I reckon I want to keep my cake and eat it, too," she sighed. "And
that, daddy would say, 'is plumb impossible!'"

CHAPTER IX

SURPRISING NEWS

Frances arrived at home about noon. The last few miles she bestrode
Molly, for that intelligent creature had allowed herself to be caught.
It was too late to go on the errand to Cottonwood Bottom before
luncheon.

Silent Sam Harding met her at the corral gate. He was a lanky, saturnine
man, with never a laugh in his whole make-up. But he was liked by the
men, and Frances knew him to be faithful to the Bar-T interests.

"What happened to Ratty's bunch?" he asked, in his sober way.

"Did you see them?" cried Frances, leaping down from the saddle.

"Saw their dust," said Sam.

"They stampeded," Frances said, warmly. "And Mr. Sanderson and I lost
our ponies--pretty nearly had a bad accident, Sam," and she went on to
give the foreman of the ranch the particulars. "I thought something was
wrong. I got that little grey hawse of Bill Edwards'. He just come in,"
said Sam.

"Ratty M'Gill was running those steers," Frances told him. "I must
report him to daddy. He's been warned before. I think Ratty's got some
whiskey."

"I shouldn't wonder. There was a bootlegger through here yesterday."

"The man who tried to get over our roof!" exclaimed Frances.

"Mebbe."

"Do you suppose he's known to Ratty?" questioned the girl, anxiously.

"Dunno. But Ratty's about worn out his welcome on the Bar-T. If the Cap
says the word, I'll can him."

"Well," said Frances, "he shouldn't have driven that herd so hard. I'll
have to speak to daddy about it, Sam, though I hate to bother him just
now. He's all worked up over that business of last night."

"Don't understand it," said the foreman, shaking his head.

"Could it have been the bootlegger?" queried Frances, referring to the
illicit whiskey se