This horseman was a stranger to Frances. He wore a broad-brimmed black hat, no chaps, no cartridge belt or gun in sight, and a white shirt and a vest under his coat, while shoes instead of boots were on his feet. He was neither puncher nor farmer in appearance. And his face was bad. There could be no doubt of that latter fact. He wore a stubble of beard that did not disguise the sneering mouth, or the wickedly leering expression of his eyes. "Well, I done my part, old fellow," drawled the man in the seat of the buckboard, just as Frances came within earshot. "'Tain't my fault you bungled it." Frances stopped instead of going on. It was Ratty M'Gill! She could not understand why he was not on the range, or why Sam had sent the ne'er-do-well to meet the doctor. It puzzled her before the puncher's continued speech began to arouse her curiosity. "You'll sure find yourself in a skillet of hot water, old fellow," pursued Ratty, inhaling his cigarette smoke and letting it forth through his nostrils in little puffs as he talked. "The old Cap's built his house like a fort, anyway. And he's some man with a gun--believe me!" "You say he's sick," said the other man, and he, too, drawled. Frances found herself wondering where she had heard that voice before. "He ain't so sick that he can't guard that chest you was talkin' about. He's had his bed made up right in the room with it. That's whatever," said Ratty. "Once let me get in there," said the other, slowly. "Sam's set some of the boys to ride herd on the house," chuckled Ratty. "That's the way, then!" exclaimed the other, raising his clenched fist and shaking it. "You get put on that detail, Ratty." "I'll see you blessed first," declared the puncher, laughing. "I don't see nothing in it but trouble for me." "No trouble for you at all. They didn't get you before." "No," said the puncher. "More by good luck than good management. I don't like going things blind, Pete. And you're always so blamed secretive." "I have to be," growled the other. "You're as leaky as a sieve yourself, Ratty. I never could trust you." "Nor nobody else," laughed the reckless puncher. "Sam's about got my number now. If he ain't the gal has----" "You mean that daughter of the old man's?" "Yep. She's an able-minded gal--believe me! And she's just about boss of the ranch, specially now the old Cap is laid by the heels for a while." The other was silent for some moments. Ratty gathered up the reins from the backs of the tired ponies. "I gotter step along, Pete," he said. "Gal's gone to telephone for the medical sharp, who'll show up on Number 20 when she goes through Jackleg. I'm to meet him. Or," and he began to chuckle again, "José Reposa was, and I took his place so's to meet you here as I promised." "And lots of good your meeting me seems to do me," growled the man called Pete. "Well, old fellow! is that my fault?" demanded the puncher. "I don't know. I gotter git inside that _hacienda_."