But fortunately Captain Rugley was not at hand with his suspicions. Frances wished to believe the young man from Amarillo truly her friend; and on this ride toward Peckham's they became better acquainted than before. That is, the girl of the ranges learned to know Pratt better. The young fellow talked more freely of himself, his mother, his circumstances. "Just because I'm in a bank--the Merchants' and Drovers'--in Amarillo doesn't mean that I'm wealthy," laughed Pratt Sanderson. "They don't give me any great salary, and I couldn't afford this vacation if it wasn't for the extra work I did through the cattle-shipping season and the kindness of our president. "Mother and I are all alone; and we haven't much money," pursued the young man, frankly. "Mother has a relative somewhere whom she suspects may be rich. He was a gold miner once. But I tell her there's no use thinking about rich relatives. They never seem to remember their poor kin. And I'm sure one can't blame them much. "We have no reason to expect her half-brother to do anything for me. Guess I'll live and die a poor bank clerk. For, you know, if you haven't money to invest in bank stock yourself, or influential friends in the bank, one doesn't get very high in the clerical department of such an institution." Frances listened to him with deeper interest than she was willing to show in her countenance. They rode along pleasantly together, and nothing marred the journey for a time. Ratty had not followed them--as she was quite sure he would have done had not Pratt elected to become her escort. And as for the strange teamster who had turned into the trail ahead of them, his outfit had long since disappeared. Once when Frances rode to the front of the covered wagon to speak to Mack, she saw that Pratt Sanderson lifted a corner of the canvas at the back and took a swift glance at what was within. Why this curiosity? There was nothing to be seen in the wagon but the corded chest. Frances sighed. She could credit Pratt with natural curiosity; but if her father had seen that act he would have been quite convinced that the young man from Amarillo was concerned in the attempt to get the treasure. It was shortly thereafter that the trail grew rough. Some heavy wagon-train must have gone this way lately. The wheels had cut deep ruts and left holes in places into which the wheels of the Bar-T wagon slumped, rocking and wrenching the vehicle like a light boat caught in a cross-sea. The wagon being nearly empty, however, Mack drove his mules at a reckless pace. He was desirous of reaching the Peckham ranch in good season for supper, and, to tell the truth, Frances, herself, was growing very anxious to get the day's ride over. This haste was a mistake. Down went one forward wheel into a hole and crack went the axle. It was far too tough a stick of oak to break short off; but the crack yawned, finger-wide, and with a serious visage Mack climbed down, after quieting his mules.