Frances of the Ranges; Or, The Old Ranchman's Treasure

by Amy Bell Marlowe

  CHAPTER III

  THE OLD SPANISH CHEST

  Pratt saw a tall, lean man--a man of massive frame, indeed, with a heavymustache that had once been yellow but had now turned grey, teetering onthe rear legs of a hard-bottomed chair, with his shoulders against thewall of the house.

  There were plenty of inviting-looking chairs scattered about theveranda. There were rugs, and potted plants, and a lounge-swing, with abig lamp suspended from the ceiling, giving light enough over all.

  But the master of the Bar-T had selected a straight-backed,hard-bottomed chair, of a kind that he had been used to for half acentury and more. He brought the front legs down with a bang as the girland youth approached.

  "What's kept you, Frances?" he asked, mellowly. "Evening, sir! I take ityour health's well?"

  He put out a hairy hand into which Pratt confided his own and, the nextmoment, vowed secretly he would never risk it there again! His left handtingled badly enough since the attentions of the mountain lion. Now hisright felt as though it had been in an ore-crusher.

  "This is Pratt Sanderson, from Amarillo," the daughter of the ranchmansaid first of all. "He's a friend of Mrs. Bill Edwards. He was havingtrouble with a lion over in Brother's Coulie, when I came along. We gotthe lion; but Pratt got some scratches. Can't Ming find him a flannelshirt, Dad?"

  "Of course," agreed Captain Rugley, his eyes twinkling just as Frances'had a little while before. "You tell him as you go in. Come on, PrattSanderson. I'll take a look at your scratches myself."

  A shuffle-footed Chinaman brought the shirt to the room Pratt Sandersonhad been ushered to by the cordial old ranchman. The Chinaman assistedthe youth to get into the garment, too, for Captain Rugley had alreadyswathed the scratches on Pratt's chest and arm with linen, aftertreating the wounds with a pungent-smelling but soothing salve.

  "San Soo, him alle same have dlinner ready sloon," said Ming, sprinkling'l's' indiscriminately in his information. "Clapen an' Misse Flank waiton pleaza."

  The young fellow, when he was presentable, started back for the"pleaza."

  Everything he saw--every appointment of the house--showed wealth, andgood taste in the use of it. The old ranchman furnished the former, ofcourse; but nobody but Frances, Pratt thought, could have arranged thefurnishings and adornments of the house.

  The room he was to occupy as a guest was large, square, grey-walled, washung with bright pictures, a few handsome Navajo blankets, and had heavysoft rugs on the floor. There was a gay drapery in one corner, behindwhich was a canvas curtain masking a shower bath with nickel fittings.

  The water ran off from the shallow marble basin through an open drainunder the wall. The bed was of brass and looked comfortable. There was abig steamer chair drawn invitingly near the window which opened into thecourt, or garden, around which the house was built.

  The style of the building was Spanish, or Mexican. A fountain played inthe court and there were trees growing there, among the branches ofwhich a few lanterns were lit, like huge fireflies.

  In passing back to the front porch of the ranch-house (farther south itwould have been called _hacienda_) Pratt noted Spanish and Aztecarmor hanging on the walls; high-backed, carven chairs of black oak,mahogany, and other heavy woods; weapons of both modern and ancientIndian manufacture, and those of the style used by Cortez and hiscohorts when they marched on the capital city of the great Montezuma.

  In a glass-fronted case, too, hung a brilliant cloak of parakeetfeathers such as were worn by the Aztec nobles. Lights had been lit inthe hall since he had arrived and the treasures were now revealed forthe first time to the startled eye of the visitor.

  The sight of these things partially prepared him for the change inFrances' appearance. Her smooth brown skin and her veiled eyes were thesame. She still wore her hair in girlish plaits. She was quite thesimple, unaffected girl of sixteen. But her dress was white, of somesoft and filmy material which looked to the young fellow like spider'sweb in the moonlight. It was cut a little low at the throat; her armswere bared to the elbow. She wore a heavy, glittering belt of alternatered-gold links and green stones, and on one arm a massive, wrought-goldbracelet--a serpent with turquoise eyes.

  "Frances is out in her warpaint," chuckled Captain Rugley's mellow voicefrom the shadow, where he was tipped back in his chair again.

  "You gave me these things out of your treasure chest, Daddy, to wearwhen we had company," said the girl, quite calmly.

  She wore the barbarous ornaments with an air of dignity. They seemed tosuit her, young as she was. And Pratt knew that the girdle and braceletmust be enormously valuable as well as enormously old.

  The expression "treasure chest" was so odd that it stuck in the youngman's mind. He was very curious as to what it meant, and determined,when he knew Frances better, to ask about it.

  A little silence had fallen after the girl's speech. Then Captain Rugleystarted forward suddenly and the forelegs of his chair came sharply tothe planks.

  "Hello!" he said, into the darkness outside the radiance of the porchlight. "Who's there?"

  Frances fluttered out of her chair. Pratt noted that she slipped intothe shadow. Neither she nor the Captain had been sitting in the fullradiance of the lamp.

  The visitor had heard nothing; but he knew that the old ranchman wasleaning forward listening intently.

  "Who's there?" the captain demanded again.

  "Don't shoot, neighbor!" said a hoarse voice out of the darkness. "I'mjest a-paddin' of it Amarillo way. Can I get a flop-down and a bitehere?"

  "Only a tramp, Dad," breathed Frances, with a sigh.

  "How did you get into this compound?" demanded Captain Rugley, none theless suspiciously and sternly.

  "I come through an open gate. It's so 'tarnal dark, neighbor----"

  "You see those lights down yonder?" snapped the Captain. "They are atthe bunk-house. Cook'll give you some chuck and a chance to spread yourblanket. But don't you let me catch you around here too long afterbreakfast to-morrow morning. We don't encourage hobos, and we alreadyhave all the men hired for the season we want."

  "All right, neighbor," said the voice in the darkness, cheerfully--toocheerfully, in fact, Pratt Sanderson thought. An ordinary man--even onewith the best intentions in the world--would have been offended by theCaptain's brusk words.

  A stumbling foot went down the yard. Captain Rugley grunted, and mighthave said something explanatory, but just then Ming came softly to thedoor, whining:

  "Dlinner, Misse."

  "Guess Pratt's hungry, too," grunted the Captain, rising. "Let's go inand see what the neighbors have flung over the back fence."

  But sad as the joke was, all that Captain Rugley said seemed soopen-hearted and kindly--save only when he was talking to the unknowntramp--that the guest could not consider him vulgar.

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

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

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

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

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

  This was just explanation enough to whet the curios
ity of Pratt. Talk ofthe 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 presentattention almost entirely. Never--not even when he took dinner at thehome of the president of the bank in Amarillo--had he eaten sowell-cooked and well-served a meal.

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

  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 inthe bosom of which was a big diamond. Although he had sat on the verandawithout a coat--contrary to his doctor's orders--he had slipped one onwhen he came to the table and, with his neatly combed hair, freshlyshaven face, and well-brushed mustache, looked well groomed indeed.

  He would have been a bizarre figure at a city table; nevertheless, hepresided at his own board with dignity, and was a splendid foil for thecharming figure of Frances opposite.

  In the midst of the repast the Captain said, suddenly, to thesoft-footed Chinaman:

  "Ming! telephone down to Sam at the bunk-house and see if a hobo hasjust struck there, on his way to Amarillo. I told him he could get chuckand a sleep. Savvy?"

  "Jes so, Clapen," said Ming, softly, and shuffled out.

  It was evident that the tramp was on the Captain's mind. Pratt believedthere must be some special reason for the old ranchman's worrying overmarauders about the Bar-T.

  There was nothing to mar the friendliness of the dinner, however; noteven when Ming slipped back and said in a low voice to the Captain:

  "Him Slilent Slam say no hobo come to blunk-house."

  They finished the meal leisurely; but on rising from the table CaptainRugley removed a heavy belt and holster from its hook behind thesideboard and slung it about his hips.

  Withdrawing the revolver, he spun the cylinder, made sure that it wasfilled, and slipped it back in the holster. All this was done quite as amatter of course. Frances made no comment, nor did she seem surprised.

  The three went back to the porch for a little while, although the nightair was growing chill. Frances insisted that her father wear his coat,and they both sat out of the brighter radiance of the hanging lamp.

  She and her guest were talking about the forthcoming pageant at theJackleg schoolhouse. Pratt had begun to feel enthusiastic over it as helearned more of the particulars.

  "People scarcely realize," said Frances, "that this Panhandle of ourshas a history as ancient as St. Augustine, Florida. And _that_, youknow, is called the oldest white settlement in these United States.

  "Long, long ago the Spanish explorers, with Indian guides whom they hadenslaved, made a path through the swarming buffaloes up this way andcalled the country _Llano Estacada_, the staked plain. Ourgeographers misapplied the name 'Desert' to this vast country; butNebraska, Kansas, and Oklahoma threw off that designation because it wasproven that the rains fell more often than was reported."

  "What has built up those states," said Pratt, with a smile, "is farming,not cattle."

  The Captain grunted, for he had been listening to the conversation.

  "You ought to have seen those first hayseeds that tried to turn theranges into posy beds and wheat fields," he chuckled. "They got all thatwas coming to them--believe me!"

  Frances laughed. "Daddy is still unconverted. He does not believe thatthe Panhandle is fit for anything but cattle. But he's going to let mehave two hundred acres to plow and sow to wheat--he's promised."

  The Captain grunted again.

  "And last year we grew a hundred acres of milo maize and feterita.Helped on the winter feed--didn't it, Daddy?" and she laughed.

  "Got me there, Frances--got me there," admitted the old ranchman. "But Idon't hope to live long enough to see the Bar-T raising more wheat thansteers."

  "No. It's stock-raising we want to follow, I believe," said the girl,calmly. "We must raise feed for our steers, fatten them in fencedpastures, and ship them more quickly."

  "My goodness!" exclaimed Pratt, admiringly, "you talk as though youunderstood all about it, Miss Frances."

  "I think I _do_ know something about the new conditions that faceus ranchers of the Panhandle," the girl said, quietly. "And whyshouldn't I? I have been hearing it talked about, and thinking of itmyself, ever since I can remember."

  Secretly Pratt thought she must have given her attention to somethingbeside the ranch work and cattle-raising. Of this he was assured whenthey went inside later, and Frances sat down to the piano. Theinstrument was in a big room with a bare, polished floor. It wasevidently used for dancing. There was a talking machine as well as apiano. The girl played the latter very nicely indeed. There were a fewscratches on the floor of the room, and she saw Pratt looking at them.

  "I told Ratty M'Gill he shouldn't come in here with the rest of the boysto dance if he didn't take his spurs off," she said. "We have anold-time hoe-down for the boys pretty nearly every week, when we're nottoo rushed on the ranch. It keeps 'em better contented and away from thetowns on pay-days."

  "Are the cowpunchers just the same as they used to be?" asked Pratt. "Dothey go to town and blow it wide open on pay-nights?"

  "Not much. We have a good sheriff. But it wasn't so long ago that yourfancy little city of Amarillo was nothing but a cattleman's town. I'mgoing to have a representation of old Amarillo in our pageant--you'llsee. It will be true to life, too, for some of the very people who takepart in our play lived in Amarillo at the time when the sight of a highhat would draw a fusillade of bullets from the door of every saloon anddance-hall."

  "Don't!" gasped Pratt. "Was Amarillo ever like _that_?"

  "And not twenty years ago," laughed Frances. "It had a few hundredinhabitants--and most of them ruffians. Now it claims ten thousand, hasbricked streets that used to be cow trails, electric lights, astreet-car service, and all the comforts and culture of an 'effeteEast.'"

  Pratt laughed, too. "It's a mighty comfortable place to live in--besideBill Edwards' ranch, for instance. But I notice here at the Bar-T youhave a great many of the despised Eastern luxuries."

  "'Do-funnies' daddy calls them," said Frances, smiling. "Ah! here heis."

  The old ranchman came in, the holstered pistol still slung at his hip.

  "All secure for the night, Daddy?" she asked, looking at him tenderly.

  "Locked, barred, and bolted," returned her father. "I tell you, Pratt,we're something of a fort here when we go to bed. The court's free toyou; but don't try to get out till Ming opens up in the morning. Yousee, we're some distance from the bunk-house, and nobody but the twoChinks are here with us now."

  "I see, sir," said Pratt.

  But he did not see; he wondered. And he wondered more when, afterseparating from Frances for the night, he found his way through the hallto the door of the room that had been assigned to him for his use.

  On the other side of the hall was another door, open more than a crack,with a light shining behind it. Pratt's curiosity got the better of himand he peeped.

  Captain Dan Rugley was standing in the middle of the almost bare room,before an old dark, Spanish chest. He had a bunch of keys in one handand in the other dangled the ancient girdle and the bracelet Frances hadworn.

  "That must be the 'treasure chest' she spoke of," thought the youth."And it looks it! Old, old, wrought-iron work trimmings of Spanishdesign. What a huge old lock! My! it would take a stick of dynamite toblow that thing open if one hadn't the key."

  The Captain moved quickly, turning toward the door. Pratt dodgedback--then crept silently away, down the hall. He did not know that theeye of the old ranchman watched him keenly through the crack of thedoor.