IN PERIL AND OUT
Pratt Sanderson had begun to realize the situation. As Frances' pony
fell and squealed, he scrambled to his knees.
"Save yourself, Frances!" he cried. "I am all right."
She left him; but not because she believed his statement. The girl saw
the bald-faced steer staggering to its feet, and she knew their
salvation depended upon the holding of the bad-tempered brute.
The stampeded herd was fast coming down upon them; afoot, she nor Pratt
could scarcely escape the hoofs and horns of the cattle.
She saw Ratty M'Gill on the black pony flying ahead of the steers; but
what could one man do to turn two thousand head of wild cattle? Frances
of the ranges had appreciated the peril which threatened to the full and
at first glance.
The prostrate carcase of the huge steer would serve to break the wave of
cattle due to pass over this spot within a very few moments. If Baldface
got up, shook off the entangling rope and ran, Frances and Pratt would
be utterly helpless.
Once under the hoofs of the herd, they would be pounded into the prairie
like powder, before the tail of the stampede had passed.
Frances, seeing the attempts of the big steer to climb to its feet, ran
forward and seized the rope that had slipped through the ring of her
saddle. She drew in the slack at once; but her strength was not
sufficient to drag the steer back to earth.
Snorting and bellowing, the huge beast was all but on his feet when
Pratt Sanderson reached the girl's side.
Pratt was staggering, for the shock of his fall had been severe. He
understood her, however, when she cried:
"Jump on it, Pratt! Jump on it!"
The young man leaped, landing with both feet on the taut rope. Frances,
at the same instant, threw herself backward, digging her heels into the
sod.
The shock of the tightening of the rope, therefore, fell upon the steer.
Down he went bellowing angrily, for he had not cast off the noose that
entangled him.
"Don't let him get loose, Pratt! Stand on the rope!" commanded Frances.
With the slack of the lariat she ran forward, caught a kicking hind
foot, then entangled one of the beast's forefeet, and drew both together
with all her strength. The bellowing steer was now doubly entangled; but
he was not secure, and well did Frances know it.
She ran in closer, although Pratt cried out in warning, and looped the
rope over the brute's other horn. Slipping the end of her rope through
the loop that held his feet together, Frances got a purchase by which
she could pull the great head of the beast aside and downward, thus
holding him helpless. It was impossible for him to get up after he was
thus secured.
"Got him! Quick, Pratt, this way!" Frances panted.
She beckoned to the Amarillo young man, and the latter instantly joined
her. She had conquered the steer in a few seconds; the herd was now
thundering down upon them. M'Gill, on the black pony, dashed by.
"Bully for you, Miss Frances," he yelled.
"You wait, Ratty!" Frances said; but, of course, only Pratt heard.
"Father and Sam will jack you up for this, and no mistake!"
Then she whipped out her revolver and fired it into the air--emptying
all the chambers as the herd came on.
The steers broke and passed on either side of their fallen brother. The
tossing horns, fiery eyes and red, expanded nostrils made them look--to
Pratt's mind--fully as savage as had the mountain lion the evening
before.
Then he looked again at his comrade. She was only breathing quickly now;
she gave no sign of fear. It was all in the day's work. Such adventures
as this had been occasional occurrences with Frances of the ranges since
childhood.
Pratt could scarcely connect this alert, vigorous young girl with her
who had sat at the piano in the ranch-house the previous evening!
"You're a wonder!" murmured Pratt Sanderson, to himself. And then
suddenly he broke out laughing.
"What's tickling you, Pratt?" asked Frances, in her most matter-of-fact
tone.
"I was just wondering," the Amarillo young man replied, "what Sue Latrop
will think of you when she comes out here."
"Who's she?" asked Frances, a little puzzled frown marring her smooth
forehead. She was trying to remember any girl of that name with whom she
had gone to school at the Amarillo High.
"Sue Latrop's a distant cousin of Mrs. Bill Edwards, and she's from
Boston. She's Eastern to the tips of her fingers--and talk about
'culchaw'! She has it to burn," chuckled Pratt. "Bill Edwards says she
is just 'putting on dog' to show us natives how awfully crude we are.
But I guess she doesn't know any better."
The steers had swept by, and Pratt was just a little hysterical. He
laughed too easily and his hand shook as he wiped the perspiration and
dust from his face.
"I shouldn't think she would be a nice girl at all," Frances said,
bluntly.
"Oh, she's not at all bad. Rather pretty and--my word--some dresser! No
end of clothes she's brought with her. She's coming out to the Edwards
ranch before long, and you'll probably see her."
Frances bit her lip and said nothing for a moment. The big steer
struggled again and groaned. The girl and Pratt were afoot and the
stampede of 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 hand,
knowing better than to urge his company upon her. "And I hope you know
how much obliged to you I am. I feel as though you had saved my life
twice. I would not have known what to do in the face of that stampede."
"Every man to his trade," quoted Frances, carelessly. "Good-bye, Pratt.
Come over again to see us," and she gave his hand a quick clasp and
turned away briskly.
He stood and watched her for some moments; then, fearing she might look
back and see him, he faced around himself and set forth on his long
tramp to the Edwards ranch.
It was true Frances did not turn around; but she knew well enough Pratt
gazed after her. He would have been amazed had he known her reason for
showing no further interest in him--for not even turning to wave her
hand at him in good-bye. There were tears on her cheeks, and she was
afraid he would see them.
"I am foolish--wicked!" she told herself. "Of course he knows other--and
nicer--girls than _me_. And it isn't just that, either," she added,
rather enigmatically. "But to remember all those girls I knew in
Amarillo! How different their lives are from mine!
"How different they must look and behave. Why, I'm a perfect
_tomboy_. Pratt said I was wonderful--just as though I were a trick
pony, or an educated goose!
"I do things he never saw a girl do before, and he thinks it strange and
odd. But if that Sue Latrop should see me and say that I was not nice,
he'd begin to see, too, that it is a fact.
"Riding with the boys here on the ranch, and officiating at the
branding-pen, riding herd, cutting out beeves and playing the cowboy
generally, has not added to my 'culchaw,' that is sure. I don't know
that I'd be able to 'act up' in decent society again.
"Pratt looked at me big-eyed last evening when I dressed for dinner. But
he was only astonished and amused, I suppose. He didn't expect me to
look like that after seeing me in this old riding dress.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Frances of the ranges. "I wouldn't leave daddy, or do
anything to displease him, poor dear! But I wish he could be content to
live nearer to civilization.
"We've got enough money. _I_ don't want any more, I'm sure. We
could sell the cattle and turn our ranges into wheat and milo fields.
Then we could live in town part of the year--in Amarillo, perhaps!"
The thought was a daring one. Indeed, she was not wholly confident that
it was not a wicked thought.
Just then she reached the summit of a slight ridge 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!'"