ther ponies were running
about in great excitement.

"Molly, come here!" She whistled for the pinto and Molly's head came up
and her eyes rolled in the direction of her mistress. She knew she was
being abused; and she remembered that Frances was always kind to her.

Whether Ratty agreed or not, the pinto galloped across the corral.

"Get down off that pony, you brute!" exclaimed Frances, her eyes
flashing at the half-serious, half-grinning cowboy.

"She's some little pinto when she gits in a tantrum," remarked the
unabashed Ratty.

Frances had brought her bridle. Although Molly stood shaking and
quivering, the girl slipped the bit between her jaws and buckled the
straps in a moment. She held the pony, but did not attempt to lead her
toward the saddling shed.

"M'Gill," Frances said, sharply, "you go to Silent Sam and get your time
and come to the house this noon for your pay. You'll never bestride
another pony on this ranch. Do you hear me?"

"What's that?" demanded the cowpuncher, his face flaming instantly, and
his black eyes sparkling.

She had reproved him before his mates, and the young man was angry on
the instant. But Frances was angry first. And, moreover, she had good
reason for distrusting Ratty. The incident was one lent by Fortune as an
excuse for his discharge.

"You are not fit to handle stock," said Frances, bitingly. "Look what
you did to that bunch of cattle the other day! And I've watched you more
than once misusing your mount. Get your pay, and get off the Bar-T.
We've no use for the like of you."

"Say!" drawled the puncher, with an ugly leer. "Who's bossing things
here now, I'd like to know?"

"I am!" exclaimed the girl, advancing a step and clutching the quirt,
which swung from her wrist, with an intensity that turned her knuckles
white. "You see Sam as I told you, and be at the house for your pay when
I come back."

The other punchers had slipped away, going about their work or to the
bunk-house. Ratty M'Gill stood with flaming face and glittering eyes,
watching the girl depart, leading the trembling Molly toward the exit of
the corral.

"You're a sure short-tempered gal this A. M.," he growled to himself.
"And ye sure have got it in for me. I wonder why? I wonder why?"

Frances did not vouchsafe him another look. She stood in the shadow of
the shed and petted Molly, fed her a couple of lumps of sugar from her
pocket, and finally made her forget Ratty's abuse. But Molly's flanks