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 lumbe