“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?”
“Aw, he had a wagon handy. He wouldn’t have tried to take the chist if he hadn’t. Don’t you say so, Miss Frances?” said the teamster.
“I don’t know,” said the girl, and she spoke wearily. Indeed, she had suddenly become tired of hearing the robbery discussed.
“Don’t trouble the poor girl,” urged Mrs. Peckham. “She’s all done up. We’ll know all about it when John Peckham gets back. You wanter go to bed, honey?”
Frances was glad to retire. Not alone was she weary, but she wished to escape any further discussion of the incident at the ford.
Mrs. Peckham showed her to the room she was to occupy. Mack would remain up to repair properly the cracked axle of the wagon.