uzzled by this incident. At least, Frances and Pratt were
puzzled by it.

"We may see the fellow at the ford," Frances said. "Too bad he lost his
outfit."

"He didn't have anything in that wagon," said Pratt. "It was as empty as
your own."

Frances looked at him curiously. She remembered that the young man from
Amarillo had taken a peep into the Bar-T wagon when he joined them on
the trail. He must have seen the heavy chest; and now he ignored it.

On and on they rode. The smoke made the ride very unpleasant, even if
the flames were now at a distance. Behind them the glare of the fire
decreased; but to north and south the wall of flame, at a distance of
several miles, rushed on and passed the riders on the trail.

The trees along the river's brink came into view, outlined in many
places by red and yellow flames. The fire would do a deal of damage
along here, for even the greenest trees would be badly scorched.

The mules had run themselves pretty much out of breath and finally
reduced their pace; but the wagon still led the procession when it
reached the high bank.

The water in the river was very low; the trail descended the bank on a
slant, and Mack put on the brakes and allowed the sure-footed mules to
take their own course to the ford.

With hanging heads and heaving flanks, the two cow-ponies followed.
Frances and Pratt were scorched, and smutted from head to foot; and
their throats were parched, too.

"I hope I'll never have to take such another ride," admitted the young
man from Amarillo. "Adventure is all right, Frances; but clerking in a
bank doesn't prepare one for such a strenuous life."

"I think you are game, Pratt," she said, frankly. "I can see that Mack,
even, thinks you are pretty good--for a tenderfoot."

The wagon went into the water at that moment. Mack yelled to the mules
to stop. The wagon was hub deep in the stream and he loosened the reins
so that the animals might plunge their noses into the flood. Molly and
the grey quickly put down their heads, too.

Above the little group the flames crackled in a dead-limbed tree,
lighting the ford like a huge torch. Above the flare of the thick canopy
of the smoke spread out, completely overcasting the river.

Suddenly Frances laid her hand upon Pratt's arm. She pointed with her
quirt into a bushy tree on the opposite bank.

"Look over there!" she exclaimed, in a low tone.

Almost as she spoke there sounded the sharp crack of a rifle, and a