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Updated: August 17, 2024
"Hope he saved his skin." "A wagoner!" cried Frances, startled. "He cut his stock loose, of course," yelled Mack Hinkman. But when they reached the burning wagon they saw that this was not altogether true. One horse lay, charred, in the harness. The wagon had been empty. The driver of it had evidently cut his other horse loose and ridden away on its back to save himself.
"Can't you have the goods come by rail to Jackleg?" asked the foreman, somewhat surprised by the request. Now, Jackleg was not on the same railroad as Amarillo. Frances shook her head. "I'm sorry, Sam. There's something particular I must get at Amarillo." "You going with the wagon, Miss Frances?" "Yes. I want a good man to drive Bender, or Mack Hinkman. None of the Mexicans will do.
Only, in Frances' case, she had been brought up among men who carried guns habitually, and the sound of a rifle shot did not startle her as it did the young man. "Look yere, Mr. Hold-up Man!" yelled Mack Hinkman, when his amazement let him speak. "Ain't you headed in the wrong way? We ain't comin' from town with a load. Why, man! we're only jest goin' to town.
He saw the wagon standing in the midst of the smoke, Mack Hinkman holding the snorting, kicking mules with difficulty, while a wild little figure on a pony galloped back from the other side of the trail. "All right, Pratt?" shrieked Frances. "Get up, Mack; we've no time to lose!" The teamster let the mules go. Yet he dared not let them take their own gait.
"You must sure be done up," said Mrs. Peckham, bustling about. "I'll make you a cup of tea." "Thank you," said Frances. She listened for the posse to start, and knew that, when they dashed away, Pratt Sanderson was with them. Mack Hinkman arrived with the double mule team soon after. He said the crowd had gone by him "on the jump."
A long dead, thoroughly seasoned tree, standing at the forks of the trail, had caught fire and the flame flared forth from its top like a banner. The prairie was afire! "Glory to Jehoshaphat!" groaned Mack Hinkman, again. "Who done that?" "Goodness!" gasped Pratt, quite horror-stricken. Frances gathered up the cooking implements and flung them into the wagon.
"How do you know?" snapped Pete. "Seed it. Standing all corded up and with a tag on it, right in the hall. Knowed Sam was going to get ready a four-mule team for Amarillo to-morrow morning. The gal's going with it, and Mack Hinkman to drive. Good-night! if there's treasure in that chest, you'll have to break into the Merchants' and Drovers' Bank of Amarillo to get at it take that from me!"
And then the lariat snapped in two! Muddied and scratched, the buckskin scrambled to his feet, his eyes blazing, nostrils distended, and as wild a horse as ever came off the range. "Look out, Miss Frances!" yelled Mack Hinkman, who had just come upon the scene. "That thar buckskin hawse is a bad actor." "Oh! the dear girl! Whatever did possess me to urge her on?" cried Mrs. Edwards. "Boys!
What Mack Hinkman said was muffled in his own beard; but his hands shot upward as he sat on the wagon-seat. Frances said nothing; her heart jumped and then pumped faster. She recognized the drawling voice of the man in the tree, although she could not see his face clearly in the firelight.
"Mebbe we'll have good news for you when you come back, Frances!" called the ranchwoman, quite filling the door with her ample person as she watched the Bar-T wagon, and the girl herself, take the trail for Amarillo. Mack Hinkman was quite wrought up over the adventure of the previous evening.
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