Evidently he had seized upon the desperate attempt to hold Frances for ransom as a last resort. She had played into his hands by riding down into this hollow. Pratt Sanderson's interference had enraged the fellow to the limit. And when the young man had momentarily gotten the best of him, Pete was fairly insane for the time being. With his rifle broken the man was unable to shoot, for Frances' revolver which he had obtained at the beginning of the scuffle was empty. The small gun she had used shooting jacks had been sent back with Sam to the ranch. The girl was urging Molly through the brush and Pratt was tearing after her, their direction bringing them nearer and nearer to the young man's grey pony, when suddenly Frances heard Pratt scream. She glanced back, pulling in the excited pinto with a strong hand. Her friend was pitching forward to the ground. He had been struck by her pistol, which Pete had flung with all his might. The next moment with an exultant cry the man sprang from his horse upon the prostrate Pratt. "Get off him! Go away!" cried Frances, pulling Molly around. But the brush was too thick, and the pinto got tangled up in it. Fearful for Pratt's safety, and never thinking of her own, the girl sprang from the saddle and ran back. This was what Pete was expecting. Pratt was safe enough--senseless and moaning on the ground. When the girl came near Pete leaped up, seized her by the wrists, jerked her toward him, and held her firmly with one hand while he produced a soiled bandanna, with which he quickly knotted her wrists together. No matter how hard she fought, he was so much more powerful than she that the ranchman's daughter could not break his hold. In five minutes she was tied and thrown to the ground, quite as helpless as Pratt himself. Pete left her lying where she fell and picked up Pratt first. Him the fellow carried back to the campfire and tied both hand and foot before he returned for Frances. All the time the man uttered the most fearful imprecations, and showed so much callousness toward the injured young man that the girl begged him, with tears, to do something to ease Pratt. "Let him lie there and grunt," growled Pete. "Didn't he chuck me into that fire? My back's all blistered." He pulled on a coat, for his clothes had been quite torn away above his waist at the back when he was putting out the fire. Frances suffered keenly herself, for the man had tied her wrists and ankles so tightly that the cords cut into the flesh whenever she tried to move them. Beside, she lay in a most uncomfortable position. But to hear Pratt groan was terrible. The blow on the head had seriously hurt him--of that there could be no doubt. When she called to him he did not answer, and finally Pete commanded her to keep silence. "Ye want to make a fuss so as to draw somebody down here--I kin see what you are up to."