her voice.

"Shut your mouth, ye crazy thing!" exclaimed the man, and he leaped
toward her.

Frances threw herself back upon the ground. She heard the clatter of
hoofbeats approaching. They could be mistaken for no other sound.

"Daddy! Daddy! Help! Help!"

Her voice was piercing. The cry for her father was involuntary, for she
believed him too ill to leave the ranch-house.

But the answering shout that came down the wind was unmistakable.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Frances cried again, eagerly, loudly.

Pete was about to strike her; but he darted back and stood erect. The
horses were plunging madly down the hillside through the brush. The
party of rescue was already upon the camp.

The scoundrelly Pete leaped away to reach his own horse. He must have
found the creature quickly in the darkness; for before the men from the
Bar-T pulled in their horses before the smouldering campfire, Frances
heard the rush of Pete's old pony as it dashed away down the stream.

"Daddy!" cried Frances for a third time. "We're here--Pratt and I. Look
out for Pratt; he's hurt. I'm all right."

"Somebody throw some brush on that fire!" commanded the old ranchman.
"Let's see what's been doing here."

"Sam, take a couple of the boys and go after that fellow. You can follow
that horse by sound."

He climbed stiffly out of his own saddle, and when the firelight flashed
up revealing the little glade to better purpose, it was Captain Dan
Rugley who lifted Frances to her feet and cut her bonds.

CHAPTER XXVI

FRANCES IN SOFTER MOOD

It was the next day but one and the _hacienda_ and compound lay
bathed in the hot sun of noon-day. Captain Dan Rugley was leaning back
in his usual hard chair and in his usual attitude on the veranda, fairly
soaking up the rays of the orb of day.

"Beats all the medicine for rheumatism in the doctor's shop!" he was
wont to declare.

Since his night ride to rescue his daughter he had become more like his
old self than he had been for weeks. The excitement seemed to have
chased away the last twinges of pain for the time being, and he was
without fever.

Now he was watching a swift pony-rider coming his way along the trail
and listening to the patter of light footsteps coming down the broad
stairway behind him.

"Here comes Sam, Frances," the ranchman said, in a low voice. "I reckon
he'll have some news."

The girl came to the door. She had discarded her riding habit and was
dressed in a soft, cling