s film company.

Some of the pictures had been made in Oklahoma, too, where one
public-spirited American citizen has saved a herd of the almost extinct
bison that once roamed our Western plains in such numbers.

At either side of the fenced yard behind the schoolhouse stood the
actors in the spectacle--both human and dumb--with all the
paraphernalia. A director had come on from the film company to stage the
show; but the story as developed was strictly in accordance with Frances
Rugley's "plans and specifications."

"She's a wonder, that little girl," declared the professional. "She'd
make her mark as a scenario writer--no doubt of that. I'd like to get
her for our company; but they say her father is one of the richest men
in the Panhandle."

Pratt Sanderson, to whom he happened to say this, nodded. "And one of
the best," he assured the Californian. "Captain Dan Rugley is a noble
old man, a gentleman of the old school, and one who has seen the West
grow up and develop from the times of its swaddling clothes until now."

"Wonderful country," sighed the director. "Look at its beginnings almost
within the memory of the present generation, and now--why! there's half
a hundred automobiles parked right outside this show to-night!"

Captain Dan Rugley secured a front seat. He was as excited as a boy over
the event. He admitted to Mrs. Bill Edwards that he hadn't been to a
"regular show" a dozen times in his life.

"And I expect this is going to knock the spots out of anything I ever
saw--even the Grand Opera at Chicago, when my wife and I went on our
honeymoon."

The young folks from the Edwards ranch were scattered about the old
Captain. Sue Latrop had assumed her most critical attitude. But Sue had
been wonderfully silent about Frances and her father since the dinner
dance.

That occasion had turned out to be something entirely different from
what the girl from Boston expected. In the first place, her young
hostess was better and more tastefully--though simply--dressed than any
of her guests.

Her adornments had been only a crescent in her hair and a brooch; but
Sue had been forced to admire the beauty and value of these. Beside
Frances, the other girls seemed overdressed. The range girl had dignity
enough to carry off her part perfectly.

Under the soft glow of the candles in the wonderful old candelabra, to
which the Captain referred as "a part of the loot of Senor Morales'
_hacienda_," Frances of the ranges