The teamster's remarks were vividly picturesque, to say the least. Frances, too, was troubled by the delay. The sun was now low behind them--disappearing below distant line of low, rolling hills. Pratt got off his horse immediately and offered to help. And Mack needed his assistance. "Lucky you was riding along with us, Mister," grumbled the teamster. "We got to jack up the old contraption, and splice the axle together. I got wire and pliers in the tool box and here's the wagon-jack." He flung the implements out upon the ground. They set to work, Pratt removing his coat and doing his full share. Meanwhile Frances sat on her pony quietly, occasionally riding around the stalled wagon so as to get a clear view of the plain all about. For a long time not a moving object crossed her line of vision. "Who you looking for, Frances?" Pratt asked her, once. "Oh, nobody," replied the girl. "Do you expect that fellow is still trailing us?" he went on, curiously. "No-o. I think not." "But he's on your mind, eh?" suggested Pratt, earnestly. "Just as well I came along with you," and he laughed. "So Mack says," returned Frances, with an answering smile. Was she expecting an attack? Would Ratty come back? Was the man, Pete, lurking in some hollow or buffalo wallow? She scanned the horizon from time to time and wondered. The sun sank to sleep in a bed of gold and crimson. Pink and lavender tints flecked the cloud-coverlets he tucked about him. It was full sunset and still the party was delayed. The mules stamped and rattled their harness. They were impatient to get on to their suppers and the freedom of the corral. "We'll sure be too late for supper at Miz' Peckham's," grumbled Mack. "Oh, you're only troubled about your eats," joked Pratt. At that moment Frances uttered a little cry. Both Pratt and the teamster looked up at her inquiringly. "What's the matter, Frances?" asked the young fellow. "I--I thought I saw a light, away over there where the sun is going down." "Plenty of light there, I should say," laughed Pratt. "The sun has left a field of glory behind him. Come on, now, Mr. Mack! Ready for this other wire?" "Glory to Jehoshaphat!" grunted the teamster. "The world was made in a shorter time than it takes to bungle this mean, ornery job! I got a holler in me like the Cave of Winds." "Hadn't we better take a bite here?" Frances demanded. "It will be bedtime when we reach the Peckhams." "Wal, if you say so, Miss," said the teamster. "I kin eat as soon as you kin cook the stuff, sure! But I did hone for a mess of Miz' Peckham's flapjacks." Frances, well used to campwork, became immediately very busy. She ran for greasewood and such other fuel as could be found in the immediate vicinity, and started her fire. It smoked and she got the strong smell of it in her nostrils, and it made her weep. Pratt, tugging and perspiring under the wagon-body, coughed over the smoke, too.