The sight of these things partially prepared him for the change in Frances' appearance. Her smooth brown skin and her veiled eyes were the same. She still wore her hair in girlish plaits. She was quite the simple, unaffected girl of sixteen. But her dress was white, of some soft and filmy material which looked to the young fellow like spider's web in the moonlight. It was cut a little low at the throat; her arms were bared to the elbow. She wore a heavy, glittering belt of alternate red-gold links and green stones, and on one arm a massive, wrought-gold bracelet--a serpent with turquoise eyes. "Frances is out in her warpaint," chuckled Captain Rugley's mellow voice from the shadow, where he was tipped back in his chair again. "You gave me these things out of your treasure chest, Daddy, to wear when we had company," said the girl, quite calmly. She wore the barbarous ornaments with an air of dignity. They seemed to suit her, young as she was. And Pratt knew that the girdle and bracelet must be enormously valuable as well as enormously old. The expression "treasure chest" was so odd that it stuck in the young man's mind. He was very curious as to what it meant, and determined, when he knew Frances better, to ask about it. A little silence had fallen after the girl's speech. Then Captain Rugley started forward suddenly and the forelegs of his chair came sharply to the planks. "Hello!" he said, into the darkness outside the radiance of the porch light. "Who's there?" Frances fluttered out of her chair. Pratt noted that she slipped into the shadow. Neither she nor the Captain had been sitting in the full radiance of the lamp. The visitor had heard nothing; but he knew that the old ranchman was leaning forward listening intently. "Who's there?" the captain demanded again. "Don't shoot, neighbor!" said a hoarse voice out of the darkness. "I'm jest a-paddin' of it Amarillo way. Can I get a flop-down and a bite here?" "Only a tramp, Dad," breathed Frances, with a sigh. "How did you get into this compound?" demanded Captain Rugley, none the less suspiciously and sternly. "I come through an open gate. It's so 'tarnal dark, neighbor----" "You see those lights down yonder?" snapped the Captain. "They are at the bunk-house. Cook'll give you some chuck and a chance to spread your blanket. But don't you let me catch you around here too long after breakfast to-morrow morning. We don't encourage hobos, and we already have all the men hired for the season we want." "All right, neighbor," said the voice in the darkness, cheerfully--too cheerfully, in fact, Pratt Sanderson thought. An ordinary man--even one with the best intentions in the world--would have been offended by the Captain's brusk words. A stumbling foot went down the yard. Captain Rugley grunted, and might have said something explanatory, but just then Ming came softly to the door, whining: "Dlinner, Misse."