Since that moment of weakness he had been telling himself: "She thinks me a softy. I am. What kind of a hunter did I show myself to be? Pooh! she must be disgusted with my weakness." Nevertheless, he would have done the same thing over again. It was his nature not to wish to see dumb creatures in pain, or to inflict pain on them himself. Killing the jack-rabbits was a necessity as well as a sport. Even chasing a poor, unfortunate little fox, as Sue had done in the East, might be made to seem a commendable act, for the foxes, when numerous, are a nuisance around the poultry runs. But by no possible reasoning could Pratt have ever excused his killing of the pretty, innocent antelope. They did not need it for food, and it was one of the most harmless creatures in the world. To tell the truth, Pratt was glad Frances was not present at the luncheon. He cared a good deal less about Sue's saucy tongue than he did for the range girl's opinion of him. During these weeks that he had known Frances Rugley, he had come to see that hers was a most vigorous and interesting character. Pratt was a thoughtful young man. There was nothing foolish about his interest in Frances, but he _did_ crave her friendship and liking. Some of the other men rallied him on his sudden silence, and this gave Sue Latrop an opportunity to say more sarcastic things. "He misses that 'cattle queen,'" she giggled, but was careful that Mrs. Edwards did not hear what she said. "Too bad; poor little boy! Why didn't you ride after her, Pratt?" "I might, had I known when she went home," replied Pratt, cheerfully. "I beg the Señor's pardon," whispered José, who was gathering up the plates. "The _señorita_ did not go home." Pratt looked at the boy, sharply. "Sure?" he asked. "Quite so--_si, señor_." "Where did she go?" "_Quien sabe?_" retorted José Reposa, with a shrug of his shoulders. "She crossed the river yonder and rode east." So did the party from the Edwards ranch a little later. Silent Sam Harding had already ridden back to the Bar-T. José gathered up the hamper and its contents and started home on mule-back. Pratt had curiosity enough, when the party went over the river, to look for the prints of Molly's hoofs. There they were in the soft earth on the far edge of the stream. Frances had ridden down stream at a sharp pace. Where had she gone? "It was odd for her to leave us in that way," thought Pratt, turning the matter over in his mind, "and not to return. In a way she was our hostess. I did not think Frances would fail in any matter of courtesy. How could she with Captain Dan Rugley for a father?" The old ranchman was the soul of hospitality. That Frances should seem to ignore her duty as a hostess stung Pratt keenly. He heard Sue Latrop speaking about it. "Went off mad. What else could you expect of a cowgirl?" said the girl from Boston, in her very nastiest tone.