Their arrival brought the family to the door, as well as half a dozen punchers up from the bunk-house. The fire had excited everybody and kept them out of bed, although there was no danger of the conflagration's jumping the river. "Why, Miss Frances!" cried the ranchman's wife, who was a fleshy and notoriously good-natured woman, the soul of Western hospitality. "Why, Miss Frances! if you ain't a cure for sore eyes! Do 'light and come in--and yer friend, too. "My goodness me! ye don't mean to say you've been through that fire? That is awful! Come right on in, do!" But what Frances and Pratt had to tell about their adventure at the ford excited the Peckhams and their hands much more than the fire. "John Peckham!" commanded the fleshy lady, who was really the leading spirit at the ranch. "You take a bunch of the boys and ride right after that rascal. My mercy! are folks goin' to be held up on this trail and robbed just as though we had no law and order? It's disgraceful!" Then she turned her mind to another idea. "Miss Frances!" she exclaimed. "What was in that trunk? Must have been something valuable, eh?" "I was taking it to the Amarillo bank, to put it in the safe deposit vaults," Frances answered, dodging the direct question. "'Twarn't full of money?" shrieked Mrs. Peckham. "Why, no!" laughed Frances. "We're not as rich as all that, you know." "Well," sighed the good, if curious, woman, "I reckon there was 'nough sight more valuables in the trunk than Captain Dan Rugley wants to lose. Hurry up, there, John Peckham!" she shouted after her husband. "Git after that fellow before he has a chance to break open the trunk." "I'm going to get a fresh horse and ride back with them," Pratt Sanderson told Frances. "And we'll get that chest, don't you fear." "You'd better remain here and have your night's rest," advised the girl, wonderfully calm, it would seem. "Let Mr. Peckham and his men catch that bad fellow." "And me sit here idle?" cried Pratt. "Not much!" She saw him start for the corral, and suddenly showed emotion. "Oh, Pratt!" she cried, weakly. The young man did not hear her. Should she shout louder for him? She paled and then grew rosy red. Should she run after him? Should she tell him the truth about that chest? "Do come in the house, Miss Frances," urged Mrs. Peckham. And the girl from the Bar-T obeyed her and allowed Pratt to go. "You must sure be done up," said Mrs. Peckham, bustling about. "I'll make you a cup of tea." "Thank you," said Frances. She listened for the posse to start, and knew that, when they dashed away, Pratt Sanderson was with them. Mack Hinkman arrived with the double mule team soon after. He said the crowd had gone by him "on the jump." "I 'low they'll ketch that feller that stole your chist, Miss Frances, 'bout the time two Sundays come together in the week," he declared. "He's had plenty of time to make himself scarce." "But the trunk?" cried Mrs. Peckham. "That was some heavy, wasn't it?"