At a distance they disclosed to Frances' vision--unused to such sights--a most remarkable jumble of colors and fashions. In the West khaki, brown, or olive grey is much worn for riding togs by the women, while the men, if not in overalls, or chaps, clothe themselves in plain colors. But here was actually more than one red coat! A red coat with never a fox nearer than half a thousand miles! "Is it a circus parade?" thought Frances, setting spurs to her pinto. And no wonder she asked. There were three girls, or young women, riding abreast, each in a natty red coat with tails to it, hard hats on their heads, and skirts. They rode side-saddle. Luckily the horses they rode were city bred. There were two or three other girls who were dressed more like Frances herself, and bestrode their ponies in sensible style. The males of the party were in the Western mode; Frances recognized one of them instantly; it was Pratt Sanderson. He was not a bad rider. She saw that he accompanied one of the girls who wore a red coat, riding close upon her far side. The cavalcade was ambling along toward the branding pen, which was in the bottom of a coulie. As Frances rode up behind the party, Molly's little feet making so little sound that her presence was unnoticed, the Western girl heard a rather shrill voice ask: "And what are they doing it for, Pratt? I re'lly don't just understand, you know. Why burn the mark upon the hides of those--er--embryo cows?" "I'm telling you," Pratt's voice replied, and Frances saw that it was the girl next to him who had asked the question. "I'm telling you that all the calves and young stock have to be branded." "Branded?" "Yes. They belong to the Bar-T, you see; therefore, the Bar-T mark has to be burned on them." "Just fancy!" exclaimed the girl in the red coat. "Who would think that these rude cattle people would have so much sentiment. This Frances Rugley you tell about owns all these cows? And does she have her monogram burned on all of them?" Frances drew in her mount. She wanted to laugh (she heard some of the party chuckling among themselves), and then she wondered if Pratt Sanderson was not, after all, making as much fun of her as he was of the girl in the red coat? Pratt suddenly turned and saw the ranchman's daughter riding behind them. He flushed, but smiled, too; and his eyes were dancing. "Oh, Sue!" he exclaimed. "Here is Frances now." So this was Sue Latrop--the girl from Boston. Frances looked at her keenly as she turned to look at the Western girl. "My dear! Fancy! So glad to know you," she said, handling her horse remarkably well with one hand and putting out her right to Frances. The latter urged Molly nearer. But the pinto was not on her good behavior this morning. She had been too badly treated at the corral. Molly shook her head, danced sideways, wheeled, and finally collided with Pratt's grey pony. The latter squealed and kicked. Instantly, Molly's little heels beat a tattoo on the grey's ribs.