d t'other down. Your friend, Mr.
Sanderson, went with the first party."

"Oh, yes," Frances commented. "That would be on his way to the Edwards
ranch where he is staying."

"Well, mebbe. They say he was mighty anxious to find your trunk. He's an
awful nice young man----"

"Where's Mack?" asked Frances, endeavoring to stem the tide of the
lady's speech.

"He's a-getting the team ready, Frances. He's done had his breakfast.
And I never did see a man with such a holler to fill with flapjacks. He
eat seventeen."

"Mack's appetite is notorious at the ranch," admitted Frances, glad Mrs.
Peckham had finally switched from the subject of the lost chest.

"He was telling me about that burned wagon you passed on the trail.
Can't for the life of me think who it could belong to," said Mrs.
Peckham.

"We thought once that Mr. Bob Ellis was ahead of us on the trail," said
Frances.

"He'd have come right on here," declared the ranchman's wife. "No.
'Twarn't Bob."

"Then I thought it might have belonged to that man who stopped us,"
suggested Frances.

"If that's so, I reckon he got square for his loss, didn't he?" cried
the lady. "I reckon that chest was filled with valuables, eh?"

Fortunately, Frances had swallowed her coffee and the mule team rattled
to the door.

"I must hurry!" the girl cried, jumping up. "Many, many thanks, dear
Mrs. Peckham!" and she kissed the good woman and so got out of the house
without having to answer any further questions.

She sprang into Molly's saddle and Mack cracked his whip over the mules.

"Mebbe we'll have good news for you when you come back, Frances!" called
the ranchwoman, quite filling the door with her ample person as she
watched the Bar-T wagon, and the girl herself, take the trail for
Amarillo.

Mack Hinkman was quite wrought up over the adventure of the previous
evening.

"That young Pratt Sanderson is some smart boy--believe me!" he said to
Frances, who elected to ride within earshot of the wagon-seat for the
first mile or two.

"How is that?" she asked, curiously.

"They tell me it was him found the place where the chest had been put
aboard that punt."

"What punt?"

"The boat the feller escaped in with the chest," said Mack.

"Then he wasn't the man whose wagon and one horse was burned?" queried
Frances.

"Don't know. Mebbe. But that's no difference. This old punt has been hid
down there below the ford since last duck-shooting season. Maybe he
knowed 'twa