CHAPTER XXII
WHAT PRATT THOUGHT
The party of visitors to the Edwards ranch tired of jack-shooting andjack-running before noon. Jose Reposa had cached a huge hamper of lunchwhich the Bar-T cook had put up, and he softly suggested to Mrs. Edwardsthat the company be called together and luncheon made ready, with hotcoffee for all.
"But where's Pratt?" cried somebody.
"And Miss Rugley?" asked another.
"Oh, I guess you'll find them together somewhere," snapped Sue Latrop.
She had felt neglected by her "hero" for the last hour, and was in thesulks, accordingly.
Pratt, however, came in alone. He had bagged several jacks. AltogetherSilent Sam and the Mexican had destroyed more than a score of the pests,and the dogs had torn to pieces two or three beside. The canines weresatiated with the meat, and were glad to lie down, panting, and watchthe preparations for luncheon.
"I have not seen Miss Frances since she caught the antelope," Prattdeclared.
Sue began to laugh--but it wasn't a nice laugh at all. "Guess she gotmad and went home. You, letting that animal go the way you did! I neverheard of such a foolish thing!"
Pratt said nothing. He sat down on the other side of the fire from thegirl from Boston. He took it for granted that Frances _had_ gonehome.
For, remembering as he did, that Frances was a range girl, and had livedout-of-doors and undoubtedly among rough men, a good part of her life,the young fellow thought that, very probably, Frances had been utterlydisgusted with him when he showed so much tenderness for the innocentlittle antelope.
Since that moment of weakness he had been telling himself:
"She thinks me a softy. I am. What kind of a hunter did I show myself tobe? Pooh! she must be disgusted with my weakness."
Nevertheless, he would have done the same thing over again. It was hisnature not to wish to see dumb creatures in pain, or to inflict pain onthem himself.
Killing the jack-rabbits was a necessity as well as a sport. Evenchasing a poor, unfortunate little fox, as Sue had done in the East,might be made to seem a commendable act, for the foxes, when numerous,are a nuisance around the poultry runs.
But by no possible reasoning could Pratt have ever excused his killingof the pretty, innocent antelope. They did not need it for food, and itwas one of the most harmless creatures in the world.
To tell the truth, Pratt was glad Frances was not present at theluncheon. He cared a good deal less about Sue's saucy tongue than he didfor the range girl's opinion of him.
During these weeks that he had known Frances Rugley, he had come to seethat hers was a most vigorous and interesting character. Pratt was athoughtful young man. There was nothing foolish about his interest inFrances, but he _did_ crave her friendship and liking.
Some of the other men rallied him on his sudden silence, and this gaveSue Latrop an opportunity to say more sarcastic things.
"He misses that 'cattle queen,'" she giggled, but was careful that Mrs.Edwards did not hear what she said. "Too bad; poor little boy! Whydidn't you ride after her, Pratt?"
"I might, had I known when she went home," replied Pratt, cheerfully.
"I beg the Senor's pardon," whispered Jose, who was gathering up theplates. "The _senorita_ did not go home."
Pratt looked at the boy, sharply. "Sure?" he asked.
"Quite so--_si, senor_."
"Where did she go?"
"_Quien sabe?_" retorted Jose Reposa, with a shrug of hisshoulders. "She crossed the river yonder and rode east."
So did the party from the Edwards ranch a little later. Silent SamHarding had already ridden back to the Bar-T. Jose gathered up thehamper and its contents and started home on mule-back.
Pratt had curiosity enough, when the party went over the river, to lookfor the prints of Molly's hoofs.
There they were in the soft earth on the far edge of the stream. Franceshad ridden down stream at a sharp pace. Where had she gone?
"It was odd for her to leave us in that way," thought Pratt, turning thematter over in his mind, "and not to return. In a way she was ourhostess. I did not think Frances would fail in any matter of courtesy.How could she with Captain Dan Rugley for a father?"
The old ranchman was the soul of hospitality. That Frances should seemto ignore her duty as a hostess stung Pratt keenly. He heard Sue Latropspeaking about it.
"Went off mad. What else could you expect of a cowgirl?" said the girlfrom Boston, in her very nastiest tone.
The fact that Sue seemed so sure Frances was derelict in her duty madePratt more confident that something untoward had occurred to the girl ofthe ranges to keep her from returning promptly to the party.
Of course, the young man suspected nothing of the actual situation inwhich Frances at that very moment found herself. Pratt dreamed of abroken cinch, or a misstep that might have lamed Molly.
Instead, Frances Rugley was sitting with her back against a stump at theedge of the clearing where she had come so suddenly upon the campfire,with her ungloved hands lying in her lap so that Ratty's bright eyescould watch them continually.
Pete had taken away her gun. Molly was hobbled with the men's horses onthe other side of the hollow. The two plotters had rekindled the fireand were whispering together about her.
Had Pete had his way he would have tied Frances' hands and feet. But theex-cowpuncher of the Bar-T ranch would not listen to that.
Although Pete was the leading spirit, Ratty M'Gill turned ugly when hismate attempted to touch the girl; so they had left her unbound. But notunwatched--no, indeed! Ratty's beadlike eyes never left her.
Not much of their conversation reached the ears of Frances, although shekept very still and tried to hear. She could read Ratty's lips a little,for he had no mustache; but the bearded Pete's lips were hidden.
"I've got to have a good piece of it myself, if I'm going to take achance like that!" was one declaration of the ex-cowpuncher's that sheheard clearly.
Again Ratty said: "They'll not only suspect me, they'll _know_.Won't the girl tell them? I tell you I want to see my getaway before Imake a stir in the matter--you can bet on that!"
Finally, Frances saw the ex-orderly of the Bylittle Soldiers' Homeproduce a pad of paper, an envelope, and pencil. He was plainly a readywriter, for he went to work with the pencil at once, while Ratty rolleda fresh cigarette and still watched their captive.
Pete finished his letter, sealed it in the envelope, and addressed it ina bold hand.
"That'll just about fix the business, I reckon," said Pete, scowlingacross at Frances. "That gal's mighty smart--with her trunk full of junkand all----"
Ratty burst into irrepressible laughter. 'You sure got Pete's goat whenyou played him that trick, Frances. He fair killed himself puntin' thattrunk up the river and hiding it, and then taking the punt back andletting it drift so as to put Peckham's crew off the scent.
"And when he busted it open----" Ratty burst into laughter again, andheld his sides. Pete looked surly.
"We'll make the old man pay for her cuttin' up them didoes," growled thebewhiskered rascal. "And my horse and wagon, too. I b'lieve she and thatman with her set the fire that burned up my outfit."
Frances herewith took part in the conversation.
"Who set the grass-fire, in the first place?" she demanded. "I believeyou did that, Ratty M'Gill. You were just reckless enough that day."
"Aw, shucks!" said the young man, sheepishly.
"But you haven't the same excuse to-day for being reckless," the girlsaid, earnestly. "You have not been drinking. What do you suppose Samand the boys will do to you for treating me in this manner?"
"Now, that will do!" said Pete, hoarsely "You hold your tongue, youngwoman!"
But Ratty only laughed. He accepted the letter, took off his sombrero,tucked it under the sweatband, and put on the hat again. Then he startedlazily for the pony that he rode.
"Now mind you!" he called back over his shoulder to Pete, "I'm not goingto risk my scalp going to t
he ranch-house with this yere billy-do--notmuch!"
"Why not?" asked Pete, angrily. "We got to move quick."
"We'll move quick later; we'll go sure and steady now," chuckled thecowboy. "I'll send it in by one of the Mexicans. Say it was give to meby a stranger on the trail. I ain't welcome at the Bar-T, and I knowit."
He leaped into his saddle and spurred his horse away, quickly gettingout of sight. Frances knew that the letter he carried, and which Petehad written, was to her father.
Frances of the Ranges; Or, The Old Ranchman's Treasure Page 22