CHAPTER XXIII
A GAME OF PUSS IN THE CORNER
The reckless cowpuncher, Ratty M'Gill, riding up the bank of the narrowstream through the cottonwoods, and singing a careless song at the topof his voice, was what gave Pratt Sanderson the final suggestion thatthere was something down stream that he ought to look into.
Frances had gone that way; Ratty was riding back. Had they met, orpassed, on the river bank?
Of the cavalcade cutting across the range for Mr. Edwards' place, Prattwas the only member that noticed the discharged cowpuncher. And hewaited until the latter was well out of sight and hearing before heturned his grey pony's head back toward the river.
"Where are you going, Pratt?" demanded one of his friends.
"I've forgotten something," the young man from Amarillo replied.
"Oh, dear me!" cried Sue Latrop. "He's forgotten his cute, little cattlequeen. Give her my love, Pratt."
The young fellow did not reply. If the girl from Boston had really beenof sufficient importance, Pratt would have hated her. Sue had madeherself so unpleasant that she could never recover her place in hisestimation--that was sure!
He set spurs to his pony and raced away before any other remarks couldbe made in his hearing. He rode directly back to the ford they hadcrossed; but reaching it, he turned sharply down stream, in thedirection from which Ratty M'Gill had come.
Here and there in the soft earth he saw the marks of Molly's hoofs. Butwhen these marks were no longer visible on the harder ground, Pratt kepton.
He soon pulled the grey down to a walk. They made little noise, he andthe pony. Two miles he rode, and then suddenly the grey pony pointed hisears forward.
Pratt reached quickly and seized the grey's nostrils between thumb andfinger. In the distance a pony whinnied. Was it Molly?
"You just keep still, you little nuisance!" whispered Pratt to hismount. "Don't want you whinnying to any strange horse."
He got out of the saddle and led his pony for some rods. The brush wasthick and there was no bridle-path. He feared to go farther withoutknowing what and who was ahead, and he tied the grey--taking pattern byFrances and tying his head up-wind.
The young fellow hesitated about taking the shotgun he had used in thejack-rabbit hunt. There was a sheath fastened to his saddle for theweapon, and he finally left it therein.
Pratt really thought that nothing of a serious nature had happened tohis girl friend. Seeing Ratty M'Gill had reminded him that thecowpuncher had once troubled Frances, and Pratt had ridden down this wayto offer his escort to the old ranchman's daughter.
He had no thought of the man who had held them up at the lower ford,toward Peckham's, the evening of the prairie fire; nor did he connectthe cowpuncher and that ruffian in his mind.
"If I take that gun, the muzzle will make a noise in the bushes, or thehammer will catch on something," thought Pratt.
So he left the shotgun behind and went on unarmed toward the place whereFrances was even then sitting under the keen eye of Pete.
"You keep where ye are, Miss," growled that worthy when Ratty rode away."I will sure tie ye if ye make an attempt to get away. You have fellright into my han's, and I vow you'll make me some money. Your father'sgot a plenty----"
"You mean to make him ransom me?" asked Frances, quietly.
"That's the ticket," said Pete, nodding, and searching his raggedclothing for a pipe, which he finally drew out and filled. "He's gotmoney. I've spent what I brought up yere to the Panhandle with me. And Ib'lieve you made me lose my wagon and that other horse."
Frances made no rejoinder to this last, but she said:
"Father may be willing to pay something for my release. But you andRatty will suffer in the end."
"We'll risk that," said the man, puffing at his pipe, and noddingthoughtfully.
"You'd better let me go now," said the girl, with no display of fear."And you'd better give up any further attempt to get at the old chestthat Mr. Lonergan talked about."
"Hey!" exclaimed the man, startled. "What d'ye know about Lonergan?"
"He will be at the ranch in a few days, and if there is any moretreasure than you found in that old trunk you stole from me, he will gethis share and there will no longer be any treasure chest. Make up yourmind to that."
"You know who I am and what I come up yere for?" demanded Pete, eyingher malevolently.
"Yes. I know you are the man who tried to steal in over the roof of ourhouse, too. If you make my father any angrier with you than he is now,he will prosecute you all the more sharply when you are arrested."
"You shut up!" growled Pete. "I ain't going to be arrested."
"Both you and Ratty will be punished in the end," said Frances, calmly."Men like you always are."
"Lots you know about it, Sissy. And don't you be too sassy, understand?I could squeeze yer breath out!"
He stretched forth a clawlike hand as he spoke, and pinched the thumband finger wickedly together. That expression and gesture was the firstthing that really frightened the girl--it was so wicked!
She shuddered and fell back against the tree trunk. Never in her lifebefore had Frances Rugley felt so nearly hysterical. The realizationthat she was in this man's power, and that he had reason to hate her,shook her usually steady nerves.
After all, Ratty M'Gill was little more than a reckless boy; but thisolder man was vile and bad. As he squatted over the fire, puffing at hispipe, with his head craned forward, he looked like nothing so much as abald-headed buzzard, such as she had seen roosting on dead trees or oldbarn-roofs, outside of Amarillo.
Pete finally knocked the ashes out of his pipe on his boot heel and thenarose. Frances could scarcely contain herself and suppress a scream whenhe moved. She watched him with fearful gaze--and perhaps the fellow knewit.
It may have been his intention to work upon her fears in just this way.Brave as the range girl was, her helplessness was not to be ignored. Sheknew that she was at his mercy.
When he shot a sideways glance at her as he stretched his powerful armsand stamped his feet and yawned, he must have seen the color come and gofaintly in her cheeks.
Rough as were the men Frances had been brought up with--for frombabyhood she had been with her father in cow-camp and bunk-house andcorral--she had always been accorded a perfectly chivalrous treatmentwhich is natural to men of the open.
Where there are few women, and those utterly dependent for safety uponthe manliness of the men, the latter will always rise to the veryhighest instincts of the race.
Frances had been utterly fearless while riding herd, or camping with thecowboys, or even when alone on the range. If she met strange men sheexpected and received from them the courtesy for which the Western manis noted.
But this leering fellow was different from any person with whom Franceshad ever come in contact before. Each moment she became more fearful ofhim.
And he realized her attitude of fear and worked upon her emotions untilshe was almost ready to burst out into hysterical screams.
Indeed, she might have done this very thing the next time Pete came nearher had not suddenly a voice spoken her name.
"Frances! what is the matter with you?"
"Oh!" she gasped. "Pratt!"
The young man stepped out of the bushes, not seeing Pete at all. He hadbeen watching the girl only, and had not understood what made her lookso strange.
"You haven't been thrown, Frances, have you?" asked Pratt, solicitously."Are you hurt?"
Then the girl's frightened gaze, or some rustle of Pete's movement, madePratt Sanderson turn. Pete had reached for his rifle and secured it. Andby so doing he completely mastered the situation.
"Put your hands over your head, young feller!" he growled, swinging themuzzle of the heavy gun toward Pratt. "And keep 'em there till I've seenwhat you carry in your pockets."
He strode toward the surprised Pratt, who obeyed the order with becomingpromptness.
"Don't you make no move, neither, Miss," growled the man, d
arting aglance in Frances' direction.
"Why--why---- What do you mean?" demanded Pratt, recovering his breathat last. "Do you dare hold this young lady a prisoner?"
"Yep. That's what I dare," sneered Pete. "And it looks like I'd got you,too. What d'ye think you're going to do about it?"
"Isn't this the fellow who robbed us at the river that time, Frances?"cried Pratt.
The girl nodded. Just then she could not speak.
"And that fellow Ratty was with him this time?"
Again the girl nodded.
"Then they shall both be arrested and punished," declared Pratt. "Inever heard of such effrontery. Do you know who this young lady is,man?" he demanded of Pete.
"Jest as well as you do. And her pa's going to put up big for to see heragain--unharmed," snarled the man.
"What do you mean?" gasped Pratt, his face blazing and his fistsclenched. "You dare harm her----"
Pete was slapping him about the pockets to make sure he carried noweapon. Now he struck Pratt a heavy blow across the mouth, cutting hislips and making his ears ring.
"Shut up, you young jackanapes!" commanded the man. "I'll hurt her andyou, too, if I like."
"And Captain Dan Rugley won't rest till he sees you well punished if youharm her," mumbled Pratt.
Pete struck at him again. Pratt dodged back. And at that moment Francesdisappeared!
The man had only had his eyes off her for half a minute. He gasped, hisjaw dropped, and his bloodshot eyes roved all about, trying to discoverFrances' whereabouts.
He had not realized that, despite her fear, the girl of the ranges hadhad her limbs drawn up and her muscles taut ready for a spring.
His attention given for the moment to Pratt Sanderson, Frances had risenand dodged behind the bole of the tree against which she was leaning, acarefully watched prisoner.
She would never have escaped so easily had it been Ratty in charge; forhis mental processes were quicker than those of Pete.
Flitting from tree to tree, keeping one or more of the big trunksbetween her and Pete's roving eyes while still he was speechless, shewas traveling farther and farther from the camp.
She might have set forth running almost at once, and so escaped. But shecould not leave Pratt to the heavy hand of Pete. Nor could she abandonMolly.
Frances, therefore, began encircling the opening where the fire burned;but she kept well out of Pete's sight.
She heard him utter a bellow which would have done credit to a madsteer. That came when he saw Pratt was about to escape, too.
The young fellow was creeping away, stooping and on tiptoe. Pete uttereda frightful imprecation and sprang after him with his rifle clubbed andraised above his head.
"Stand where you are!" he commanded, "or I'll bat your foolish head in!"
And he looked enraged enough to do it. Pratt dared not move farther; hecrouched in terror, expecting the blow.
He had bravely assailed Pete with his tongue when Frances seemed indanger; but the girl had escaped now and Pratt hoped she was each minuteputting rods between this place and herself.
Pete suddenly dropped his rifle and sprang at the young man. Pratt'sthroat was in the vicelike grip of Pete on the instant. Both his wristswere seized by the man's other hand.
Such feeble struggles as Pratt made were abortive. His breath was shutoff and he felt his senses leaving him.
But as his eyes rolled up there was a crash in the brush and a ponydashed into the open. It was Molly and her mistress was astride her.
Frances had lost her hat; her hair had become loosened and was tossedabout her pale face. But her eyes glowed with the light of determinationand she spurred the pony directly at the two struggling figures in themiddle of the hollow.
"I'm coming, Pratt!" she cried. "Hold on!"
Frances of the Ranges; Or, The Old Ranchman's Treasure Page 23
