Silent Sam Harding met her at the corral gate. He was a lanky, saturnine man, with never a laugh in his whole make-up. But he was liked by the men, and Frances knew him to be faithful to the Bar-T interests. "What happened to Ratty's bunch?" he asked, in his sober way. "Did you see them?" cried Frances, leaping down from the saddle. "Saw their dust," said Sam. "They stampeded," Frances said, warmly. "And Mr. Sanderson and I lost our ponies--pretty nearly had a bad accident, Sam," and she went on to give the foreman of the ranch the particulars. "I thought something was wrong. I got that little grey hawse of Bill Edwards'. He just come in," said Sam. "Ratty M'Gill was running those steers," Frances told him. "I must report him to daddy. He's been warned before. I think Ratty's got some whiskey." "I shouldn't wonder. There was a bootlegger through here yesterday." "The man who tried to get over our roof!" exclaimed Frances. "Mebbe." "Do you suppose he's known to Ratty?" questioned the girl, anxiously. "Dunno. But Ratty's about worn out his welcome on the Bar-T. If the Cap says the word, I'll can him." "Well," said Frances, "he shouldn't have driven that herd so hard. I'll have to speak to daddy about it, Sam, though I hate to bother him just now. He's all worked up over that business of last night." "Don't understand it," said the foreman, shaking his head. "Could it have been the bootlegger?" queried Frances, referring to the illicit whiskey seller of whom she suspected the irresponsible Ratty M'Gill had purchased liquor. The "bootleggers" were supposed to carry pint flasks of bad whiskey in the legs of their topboots, to sell at a fancy price to thirsty punchers on the ranges. "Dunno how that slate come broken on the roof," grumbled Sam. "The feller knowed just where to go to hitch his rope ladder. Goin' to have one of the boys ride herd on the _hacienda_ at night for a while." This was a long speech for Silent Sam. Frances thanked him and went up to the house. She did not find an opportunity of speaking to Captain Rugley about Ratty M'Gill at once, however, for she found him in a state of great excitement. "Listen to this, Frances!" he ejaculated, when she appeared, waving a sheet of paper in his hand, and trying to get up from the hard chair in which he was sitting. A spasm of pain balked him; his bronzed face wrinkled as the rheumatic twinge gripped him; but his hawklike eyes gleamed. "My! my!" he grunted. "This pain is something fierce." Frances fluttered to his side. "Do take an easier chair, Daddy," she begged. "It will be so much more comfortable." "Hold on! this does very well. Your old dad's never been used to cushions and do-funnies. But see here! I want you to read this." He waved the paper again. "What is it, Daddy?" Frances asked, without much curiosity.