A FRIEND INSISTENT
It was a long way to the Peckham ranch-house, at which Frances meant to
make her first night stop. The greater part of the journey would then be
over.
The second night she proposed to stay at the hotel in Calas, a suburb of
Amarillo. Her errands in the big town would occupy but a few hours, and
she expected to be back at Peckham's on the third evening, and at home
again by the end of the fourth day.
She was troubled by the thought of being so long away from her father's
side; but he was on the mend again and the doctor had promised to see
him at least once while she was away from the ranch.
Her reason she gave for going to Amarillo was business connected with
the forthcoming pageant, "The Panhandle: Past and Present." This
explanation satisfied her father, too--and it was true to a degree.
She heard from the chaplain of the Bylittle Soldiers' Home the day
before she was to start on her brief journey, and she sent Jose Reposa
with a long prepaid telegraph message to the station, arranging for a
private car in which Jonas P. Lonergan was to travel from Mississippi to
the Panhandle. She hoped the chaplain would come with him. About the
ex-orderly of the home the letter said nothing. Perhaps Mr. Tooley had
overlooked that part of her message.
Captain Rugley was delighted that his old partner was coming West; the
announcement seemed to have quieted his mind. But he lay on his bed,
watching the corded chest, with his gun hanging close at hand.
That is, he watched one of the corded and burlapped chests. The secret
of the second chest was known only to Frances herself and the two
Chinamen. Anybody who entered the great hall of the _hacienda_ saw
that one, as Ratty had, standing ready for removal. The one in Captain
Rugley's room was covered by the blanket and looked like an ordinary
divan.
Frances believed San Soo and Ming were to be trusted. But to Silent Sam
she left the guarding of the ranch-house during her absence.
Day was just beginning to announce itself by faint streaks of pink and
salmon color along the eastern horizon, when the four-mule wagon and
Frances' pony arrived at the gate of the compound. The two Chinamen, Sam
himself, and Mack Hinkman, the driver, had all they could do to carry
the chest out to the wagon.
Frances came out, pulling on her gantlets. She had kissed her father
good-bye the evening before, and he was sleeping peacefully at this
hour.
"Have a good journey, Miss Frances," said Sam, yawning. "Look out for
that off mule, Mack. _Adios._"
The Chinamen had scuttled back to the house. Frances was mounted on
Molly, and the heavy wagon lurched forward, the mules straining in the
collars under the admonition of Mack's voice and the snap of his
bullwhip.
The wagon had a top, and the flap at the back was laced down. No casual
passer-by could see what was in the vehicle.
Frances rode ahead, for Molly was fresh and was anxious to gallop. She
allowed the pinto to have her head for the first few miles, as she rode
straight away into the path of the sun that rose, red and
jovial-looking, above the edge of the plain.
A lone coyote, hungry after a fruitless night of wandering, sat upon its
haunches not far from the trail, and yelped at her as she passed. The
morning air was as invigorating as new wine, and her cares and troubles
seemed to be lightened already.
She rode some distance ahead of the wagon; but at the line of the Bar-T
she picketed Molly and built a little fire. She carried at her saddle
the means and material for breakfast. When the slower moving mule team
came up with her there was an appetizing odor of coffee and bacon in the
air.
"That sure does smell good, Ma'am!" declared Mack. "And it's
on-expected. I only got a cold bite yere."
"We'll have that at noon," said Frances, brightly. "But the morning air
is bound to make one hungry for a hot drink and a rasher of bacon."
In twenty minutes they were on the trail again. Frances now kept close
to the wagon. Once off the Bar-T ranges she felt less like being out of
sight of Mack, who was one of the most trustworthy men in her father's
employ.
He was not much of a talker, it was true, so Frances had little company
but her own thoughts; but _they_ were company enough at present.
As she rode along she thought much about the pageant that was to be held
at Jackleg; many of the brightest points in that entertainment were
evolved by Frances of the ranges on this long ride to the Peckham ranch.
There were several breaks in the monotony of the journey. One was when
another covered wagon came into view, taking the trail far ahead of
them. It came from the direction of Cottonwood Bottom, and was drawn by
two very good horses. It was so far ahead, however, that neither Frances
nor Mack could distinguish the outfit or recognize the driver.
"Dunno who that kin be," said Mack, "'nless it's Bob Ellis makin' for
Peckham's, too. I learned he was going to town this week."
Bob Ellis was a small rancher farther south. Frances was doubtful.
"Would Ellis come by that trail?" she queried. "And why doesn't he stop
to pass the time of day with us?"
"That's so!" agreed Mack. "It couldn't be Bob, for he'd know these
mules, and he ain't been to the Bar-T for quite a spell. I dunno who
that kin be, then, Miss Frances."
Frances had had her light fowling-piece put in the wagon, and before
noon she sighted a flock of the scarce prairie chickens. Away she
scampered on Molly after the wary birds, and succeeded, in half an hour,
in getting a brace of them.
Mack picked and cleaned the chickens on the wagon-seat. "They'll help
out with supper to-night, if Miz' Peckham ain't expectin' company," he
remarked.
But they were not destined to arrive at the Peckham ranch without an
incident of more importance than these.
It was past mid-afternoon. They had had their cold bite, rested the
mules and Molly, and the latter was plodding along in the shade of the
wagon-top all but asleep, and her rider was in a like somnolent
condition. Mack was frankly snoring on the wagon-seat, for the mules had
naught to do but keep to the trail.
Suddenly Molly lifted her head and pricked her ears. Frances came to
herself with a slight shock, too. She listened. The pinto nickered
faintly.
Frances immediately distinguished the patter of hoofs. A single pony was
coming.
The girl jerked Molly's head around and they dropped back behind the
wagon which kept on lumberingly, with Mack still asleep on the seat.
From the south--from the direction of the distant river--a rider came
galloping up the trail.
"Why!" murmured Frances. "It's Ratty M'Gill!"
The ex-cowboy of the Bar-T swung around upon the trail, as though headed
east, and grinned at the ranchman's daughter. His face was very red and
his eyes were blurred, and Frances feared he had been drinking.
"Hi, lady!" he drawled. "Are ye mad with me?"
"I don't like you, M'Gill," the girl said, frankly. "You don't expect me
to, do you?"
"Aw, why be fussy?" asked the cowboy, gaily. "It's too pretty a world to
hold grudges. Let's be friends, Frances."
Frances grew restive under his leering smile and forced gaiety. She
searched M'Gill sharply with her look.
"You didn't gallop out of your way to tell me this," she said. "What do
you want of me?"
"Oh, just to say how-de-do!" declared the fellow, still with his leering
smile. "And to wish you a good journey."
"What do you know about my journey?" asked Frances, quickly.
But Ratty M'Gill was not so much intoxicated that he could be easily
coaxed to divulge any secret. He shook his head, still grinning.
"Heard 'em say you were going to Amarillo, before I went to Jackleg," he
drawled. "Mighty lonesome journey for a gal to take."
"Mack is with me," said Frances, shortly. "I am not lonely."
"Whew! I bet that hurt me," chuckled Ratty M'Gill. "My room's better
than my comp'ny, eh?"
"It certainly is," said the girl, frankly.
"Now, you wouldn't say that if you knowed something that I know,"
declared the fellow, grinning slily.
"I don't know that anything you may say would interest me," the girl
replied, sharply, and turned Molly's head.
"Aw, hold on!" cried Ratty. "Don't be so abrupt. What I gotter say to
you may help a lot."
But Frances did not look back. She pushed Molly for the now distant
wagon. In a moment she knew that Ratty was thundering after her. What
did he mean by such conduct? To tell the truth, the ranchman's daughter
was troubled.
Surely, the reckless fellow did not propose to attack Mack and herself
on the open trail and in broad daylight? She opened her lips to shout
for the sleeping wagon-driver, when a cloud of dust ahead of the mules
came into her view.
She heard the clatter of many hoofs. Quite a cavalcade was coming along
the trail from the east. Out of the dust appeared a figure that Frances
had learned to know well; and to tell the truth she was not sorry in her
heart to see the smiling countenance of Pratt Sanderson.
"Hold on, Frances! Ye better listen to me a minute!" shouted the
ex-cowboy behind her.
She gave him no attention. Molly sprang ahead and she met Pratt not far
from the wagon. He stopped abruptly, as did the girl of the ranges.
Ratty M'Gill brought his own mount to a sudden halt within a few yards.
"Hello!" exclaimed Pratt. "What's the matter, Frances?"
"Why, Pratt! How came you and your friends to be riding this way?"
returned the range girl.
She saw the red coat of the girl from Boston in the party passing the
slowly moving wagon, and she was not at all sure that she was glad to
see Pratt, after all!
But the young man had seen something suspicious in the manner in which
Ratty M'Gill had been following Frances. The fellow now sat easily in
his saddle at a little distance and rolled a cigarette, leering in the
meantime at the ranch girl and her friend.
"What does that fellow want?" demanded Pratt again.
"Oh, don't mind him," said Frances, hurriedly. "He has been discharged
from the Bar-T----"
"That's the fellow you said made the steers stampede?" Pratt
interrupted.
"Yes."
"Don't like his looks," the Amarillo young man said, frankly. "Glad we
came up as we did."
"But you must go on with your friends, Pratt," said Frances, faintly.
"Goodness! there are enough of them, and the other fellows can get 'em
all back to Mr. Bill Edwards' in time for supper," laughed Pratt. "I
believe I'll go on with you. Where are you bound?"
"To Peckham's ranch," said Frances, faintly. "We shall stop there
to-night."
The rest of the party passed, and Frances bowed to them. Sue Latrop
looked at the ranch girl, curiously, but scarcely inclined her head.
Frances felt that if she allowed Pratt to escort her she would make the
Boston girl more of an enemy than she already felt her to be.
"We--we don't really need you, Pratt," said Frances. "Mack is all
right----"
"That fellow asleep on the wagon-seat? Lots of good _he_ is as an
escort," laughed Pratt.
"But I don't really need you," said the girl, weakly.
"Oh! don't be so offish!" cried the young man, more seriously. "Don't
you suppose I'd be glad of the chance to ride with you for a way?"
"But your friends----"
"You're a friend of mine," said Pratt, seriously. "I don't like the look
of that Ratty M'Gill. I'm going to Peckham's with you."
What could Frances say? Ratty leered at her from his saddle. She knew he
must be partly intoxicated, for he was very careless with his matches.
He allowed a flaming splinter to fall to the trail, after he lit his
cigarette, and, drunk or sober, a cattleman is seldom careless with fire
on the plains.
It was mid-pasturage season and the ranges were already dry. A spark
might at any time start a serious fire.
"We-ell," gasped Frances, at last. "I can't stop you from coming!"
"Of course not!" laughed Pratt, and quickly turned his grey pony to ride
beside the pinto.
The wagon was now a long way ahead. They set off on a gallop to overtake
it. But when Frances looked over her shoulder after a minute, Ratty
M'Gill still remained on the trail, as though undecided whether to
follow or not.