That seemed, on its face, the more sensible if the less romantic thing to do. Yet the very publicity attending such a move was against it. The suspicion that Captain Rugley had a treasure hidden away in the old Spanish chest was not a general one. It might have been lazily discussed now and then over some outfit's fire when other subjects of gossip had "petered out," to use the punchers' own expression. But it was doubtful if even Ratty M'Gill believed the story. Frances had heard him scoff at the man, Pete, for holding such a belief. If she attempted to capture this tramp by the fire, making the affair one of importance, the story of the Spanish treasure chest would spread over half the Panhandle. "What the boys didn't know wouldn't hurt them!" Frances told herself, and she would not ask for help. She had already laid her plans and she would stick to them. And while she hesitated, discussing these things in her mind, a figure afoot came down the slope toward the ford and the campfire. It was Ratty M'Gill, walking as though already footsore, and with his saddle and accoutrements on his shoulder. The high-heeled boots worn by cowpunchers are not easy footwear to walk in. And a real cattleman's saddle weighs a good bit! Ratty flung down the leather with a grunt, and dropped on the ground beside the fire. "What's the matter with you?" growled the man, Pete. "Been pulling leather?" "There ain't no hawse bawn can make me git off if I don't want," returned Ratty M'Gill, sharply. "I got canned." "Fired?" "Yep. And by that snip of a gal," and he said it viciously. "Ain't you man enough to have a pony of your own?" "Sam wouldn't sell me one--the hound! Nor I didn't have no money to spare for a mount, anyway. I'd rustle one out of the herd if the wranglers hadn't drove 'em all up the other way las' night. And I said I'd come over here to see you again." "What else?" demanded Pete, suspiciously. He seemed to know that Ratty had not come here to the ford for love of him. "Wal, old man! I tried to go to headquarters. Went in to see the Cap. Nothing doing. If the gal had canned me, that was enough. So he said, and so Sam Harding said. I'm through at the Bar-T." "That's a nice thing," snarled Pete. "And just as I got up a scheme to use you there!" "Mebbe you can use me now," grunted Ratty. "I--don't--know." "Oh, I seen something that you'd like to know about." "What is that?" asked Pete, quickly. "The old Cap has taken a tumble to himself. Guess he was put wise by what happened the other night--you know. He's going to send the chest to the Amarillo bank." "_What?_" "That's so," said Ratty, with his slow drawl, and evidently enjoying the other's discomfiture. "How do you know?" snapped Pete.