“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?