CHAPTER XII
MOLLY
Frances' secret plans did not interfere with her usual tasks. Shestarted in the morning to make her rounds. Molly had been resting andwould now be in fine fettle, and the girl expected to call her to thegate when she came down to the corral in which the spare riding stockwas usually kept.
Instead of seeing only Jose Reposa or one of the other Mexicans hangingabout, here was a row of punchers roosting along the top rail of thecorral fence, and evidently so much interested in what was going on inthe enclosure that they did not notice the approach of Captain Rugley'sdaughter.
"Better keep off'n the leetle hawse, Ratty!" one fellow was advising theunseen individual who was partly, at least, furnishing the entertainmentfor the loiterers.
"She looks meek," put in another, "but believe me! when she was broke,it was the best day's work Joe Magowan ever done on this here ranch.Ain't that so, boys?"
"Ratty warn't here then," said the first speaker. "He don't know thatleetle Molly hawse and what capers she done cut up----"
"Molly!" ejaculated Frances, under her breath, and ran forward.
At that instant there was a sudden hullabaloo in the corral. Some of themen cheered; others laughed; and one fell off the fence.
"Go it!"
"Hold tight, boy!"
"Tie a knot in your laigs underneath her, Ratty! She's a-gwine to try tothrow ye clean ter Texarkana!"
_"What's he doing with my pony?"_
The cry startled the string of punchers. They turned--most of themlooking sheepish enough--and gaped, wordlessly, at Frances, who camerunning to the fence.
Molly was her pet, her own especial property. Nobody else had ridden thepinto since she was broken by the head wrangler, Joe Magowan. Nor wasMolly really broken, in the ordinary acceptation of the term.
Frances could ride her--could do almost anything with her. She was thebest cutting-out pony on the ranch. She was gentle with Frances, but shehad never shown fondness for anybody else, and would look wall-eyed onthe near approach of anybody but the girl herself. None but Joe andFrances had ever bridled her or cinched the saddle on Molly.
Ratty M'Gill was the culprit, of course; nor did he hear Frances' cry asshe arrived at the corral. He had bestridden the nervous pinto and Mollywas "acting up."
Ratty had his rope around her neck and a loop around her lower jaw, asIndians guide their half-wild steeds. At every bound the puncher jerkedthe pony's jaw downward and raked her flanks with his cruel spurs. Theselatter were leaving welts and gashes along the pinto's heaving sides.
"You cruel fellow!" shrieked Frances. "Get off my pony at once!"
"Say! she's trying to buck, Miss Frances," one of the men warned her."She'll be sp'il't if he lets her beat him now. You won't never be ableto ride her, once let her git the upper hand."
"Mind you own concerns, Jim Bender!" exclaimed the girl, both wrathfuland hurt. "I can manage that pony if she's let alone." Then she raisedher voice again and cried to Ratty:
"M'Gill! you get off that horse! At once, I tell you!"
"The Missus is sure some peeved," muttered Bender to one of his mates.
"And why shouldn't she be? We'd never ought to let Ratty try to ridethat critter."
"Molly!" shouted Frances, climbing the fence herself as quickly as anyboy.
She dropped over into the corral where the other ponies were runningabout in great excitement.
"Molly, come here!" She whistled for the pinto and Molly's head came upand her eyes rolled in the direction of her mistress. She knew she wasbeing abused; and she remembered that Frances was always kind to her.
Whether Ratty agreed or not, the pinto galloped across the corral.
"Get down off that pony, you brute!" exclaimed Frances, her eyesflashing at the half-serious, half-grinning cowboy.
"She's some little pinto when she gits in a tantrum," remarked theunabashed Ratty.
Frances had brought her bridle. Although Molly stood shaking andquivering, the girl slipped the bit between her jaws and buckled thestraps in a moment. She held the pony, but did not attempt to lead hertoward the saddling shed.
"M'Gill," Frances said, sharply, "you go to Silent Sam and get your timeand come to the house this noon for your pay. You'll never bestrideanother pony on this ranch. Do you hear me?"
"What's that?" demanded the cowpuncher, his face flaming instantly, andhis black eyes sparkling.
She had reproved him before his mates, and the young man was angry onthe instant. But Frances was angry first. And, moreover, she had goodreason for distrusting Ratty. The incident was one lent by Fortune as anexcuse for his discharge.
"You are not fit to handle stock," said Frances, bitingly. "Look whatyou did to that bunch of cattle the other day! And I've watched you morethan once misusing your mount. Get your pay, and get off the Bar-T.We've no use for the like of you."
"Say!" drawled the puncher, with an ugly leer. "Who's bossing thingshere now, I'd like to know?"
"I am!" exclaimed the girl, advancing a step and clutching the quirt,which swung from her wrist, with an intensity that turned her knuckleswhite. "You see Sam as I told you, and be at the house for your pay whenI come back."
The other punchers had slipped away, going about their work or to thebunk-house. Ratty M'Gill stood with flaming face and glittering eyes,watching the girl depart, leading the trembling Molly toward the exit ofthe corral.
"You're a sure short-tempered gal this A. M.," he growled to himself."And ye sure have got it in for me. I wonder why? I wonder why?"
Frances did not vouchsafe him another look. She stood in the shadow ofthe shed and petted Molly, fed her a couple of lumps of sugar from herpocket, and finally made her forget Ratty's abuse. But Molly's flankswould be tender for some time and her temper had not improved by thetreatment she had received.
"Perfectly scandalous!" exclaimed Frances, to herself, almost cryingnow. "Just to show off before the other boys. Oh! he was mean to you,Molly dear! A fellow like Ratty M'Gill will stand watching, sureenough."
Finally, she got the saddle cinched upon the nervous pinto and rode herout of the corral and away to the ranges for her usual round of thevarious camps. She had not been as far as the West Run for several days.
Frances of the Ranges; Or, The Old Ranchman's Treasure Page 12
