171
XX. THE BOSTON GIRL AGAIN 182
XXI. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 192
XXII. WHAT PRATT THOUGHT 204
XXIII. A GAME OF PUSS IN THE CORNER 212
XXIV. A GOOD DEAL OF EXCITEMENT 223
XXV. A PLOT THAT FAILED 229
XXVI. FRANCES IN SOFTER MOOD 242
XXVII. A DINNER DANCE IN PROSPECT 253
XXVIII. THE BURSTING OF THE CHRYSALIS 271
XXIX. "THE PANHANDLE--PAST AND PRESENT" 283
XXX. A REUNION 295

FRANCES OF THE RANGES

CHAPTER I

THE ADVENTURE IN THE COULIE

The report of a bird gun made the single rider in sight upon the
short-grassed plain pull in her pinto and gaze westerly toward the
setting sun, now going down in a field of golden glory.

The pinto stood like a statue, and its rider seemed a part of the steed,
so well did she sit in her saddle. She gazed steadily under her
hand--gazed and listened.

Finally, she murmured: "That's the snarl of a lion--sure. Get up,
Molly!"

The pinto sprang forward. There was a deep coulie ahead, with a low
range of grass-covered hills beyond. Through those hills the lions often
came down onto the grazing plains. It was behind these hills that the
sun was going down, for the hour was early.

As she rode, the girl loosened the gun she carried in the holster slung
at her hip. On her saddle horn was coiled a hair rope.

She was dressed in olive green--her blouse, open at the throat, divided
skirts, leggings, and broad-brimmed hat of one hue. Two thick plaits of
sunburned brown hair hung over her shoulders, and to her waist. Her grey
eyes were keen and rather solemn. Although the girl on the pinto could
not have been far from sixteen, her face seemed to express a serious
mind.

The scream of that bane of the cattlemen--the mountain lion--rang out
from the coulie again. The girl clapped her tiny spurs against the
pinto's flanks, and that little animal doubled her pace. In a minute
they were at the head of the slope and the girl could see down into the
coulie, where low mesquite shrubs masked the bottom and the little
spring that bubbled there.

Something was going on down in the coulie. The b