“He’s a-getting the team ready, Frances. He’s done had his breakfast. And I never did see a man with such a holler to fill with flapjacks. He eat seventeen.”
“Mack’s appetite is notorious at the ranch,” admitted Frances, glad Mrs. Peckham had finally switched from the subject of the lost chest.
“He was telling me about that burned wagon you passed on the trail. Can’t for the life of me think who it could belong to,” said Mrs. Peckham.
“We thought once that Mr. Bob Ellis was ahead of us on the trail,” said Frances.
“He’d have come right on here,” declared the ranchman’s wife. “No. ’Twarn’t Bob.”
“Then I thought it might have belonged to that man who stopped us,” suggested Frances.
“If that’s so, I reckon he got square for his loss, didn’t he?” cried the lady. “I reckon that chest was filled with valuables, eh?”
Fortunately, Frances had swallowed her coffee and the mule team rattled to the door.
“I must hurry!” the girl cried, jumping up. “Many, many thanks, dear Mrs. Peckham!” and she kissed the good woman and so got out of the house without having to answer any further questions.
She sprang into Molly’s saddle and Mack cracked his whip over the mules.