to
show in her countenance. They rode along pleasantly together, and
nothing marred the journey for a time.

Ratty had not followed them--as she was quite sure he would have done
had not Pratt elected to become her escort. And as for the strange
teamster who had turned into the trail ahead of them, his outfit had
long since disappeared.

Once when Frances rode to the front of the covered wagon to speak to
Mack, she saw that Pratt Sanderson lifted a corner of the canvas at the
back and took a swift glance at what was within.

Why this curiosity? There was nothing to be seen in the wagon but the
corded chest.

Frances sighed. She could credit Pratt with natural curiosity; but if
her father had seen that act he would have been quite convinced that the
young man from Amarillo was concerned in the attempt to get the
treasure.

It was shortly thereafter that the trail grew rough. Some heavy
wagon-train must have gone this way lately. The wheels had cut deep ruts
and left holes in places into which the wheels of the Bar-T wagon
slumped, rocking and wrenching the vehicle like a light boat caught in a
cross-sea.

The wagon being nearly empty, however, Mack drove his mules at a
reckless pace. He was desirous of reaching the Peckham ranch in good
season for supper, and, to tell the truth, Frances, herself, was growing
very anxious to get the day's ride over.

This haste was a mistake. Down went one forward wheel into a hole and
crack went the axle. It was far too tough a stick of oak to break short
off; but the crack yawned, finger-wide, and with a serious visage Mack
climbed down, after quieting his mules.

The teamster's remarks were vividly picturesque, to say the least.
Frances, too, was troubled by the delay. The sun was now low behind
them--disappearing below distant line of low, rolling hills.

Pratt got off his horse immediately and offered to help. And Mack needed
his assistance.

"Lucky you was riding along with us, Mister," grumbled the teamster. "We
got to jack up the old contraption, and splice the axle together. I got
wire and pliers in the tool box and here's the wagon-jack."

He flung the implements out upon the ground. They set to work, Pratt
removing his coat and doing his full share.

Meanwhile Frances sat on her pony quietly, occasionally riding around
the stalled wagon so as to get a clear view of the plain all about. For
a long time not a moving object crossed her line of vision.

"Who you