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Updated: May 26, 2025
The Captain grunted again. "And last year we grew a hundred acres of milo maize and feterita. Helped on the winter feed didn't it, Daddy?" and she laughed. "Got me there, Frances got me there," admitted the old ranchman. "But I don't hope to live long enough to see the Bar-T raising more wheat than steers." "No. It's stock-raising we want to follow, I believe," said the girl, calmly.
He belongs to the old cattle régime. He wouldn't hear until lately of putting wheat into any of the Bar-T acres." "Ah, well, by all accounts he is one of the few men who still know how to make money out of cows," laughed Pratt Sanderson. "Thank you, Miss Rugley. I can't let you do anything more for me " "You are a long way from the Edwards' place," she said.
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."
Jack-rabbits have become such a nuisance in certain parts of the West of late years that a price has been set upon their heads, and the farmers and ranchmen often organize big drives to clear the ranges of the pests. This was only a small drive on the Bar-T; but Captain Rugley had several good dogs, and the occasion was an interesting one for everybody but the jacks.
It was the same drawling voice that had come out of the darkness asking for food and a bed the evening Pratt Sanderson stopped at the Bar-T Ranch. The voice had been cheerful then; it was snarling now; but the tones were identical. Then, going a step farther, Frances realized, from the talk she had just heard, that this Pete was the man who had tried to get over the roof of the ranch-house.
But the party from the Bar-T Ranch, after the show was over and Frances and the Captain had both been congratulated, rode down to the station to meet the belated train to which was attached the special car Captain Rugley had engaged for the service of his old partner and the minister. With the Bar-T party was Pratt, although he proposed going back to the Edwards ranch that night.
The morning air was as invigorating as new wine, and her cares and troubles seemed to be lightened already. She rode some distance ahead of the wagon; but at the line of the Bar-T she picketed Molly and built a little fire. She carried at her saddle the means and material for breakfast. When the slower moving mule team came up with her there was an appetizing odor of coffee and bacon in the air.
He had always intimated that if a thief ever tried to break into the Bar-T ranch-house, he would first of all try to get at the treasure chest. There were plenty of valuable things scattered about the house, but they were bulky hard for a thief to remove.
"She crossed the river yonder and rode east." So did the party from the Edwards ranch a little later. Silent Sam Harding had already ridden back to the Bar-T. José gathered up the hamper and its contents and started home on mule-back. Pratt had curiosity enough, when the party went over the river, to look for the prints of Molly's hoofs.
Fortunately, a herd of steers, crossing from one of the extreme southern ranges of the Bar-T to the north where juicier grass grew, attracted the attention of the guest from Amarillo. "Are those all yours, Frances?" he asked, when he saw the mass of dark bodies and tossing horns that appeared through rifts in the dust cloud that accompanies a driven herd even over sod-land.
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