“You gave me these things out of your treasure chest, Daddy, to wear when we had company,” said the girl, quite calmly.
She wore the barbarous ornaments with an air of dignity. They seemed to suit her, young as she was. And Pratt knew that the girdle and bracelet must be enormously valuable as well as enormously old.
The expression “treasure chest” was so odd that it stuck in the young man’s mind. He was very curious as to what it meant, and determined, when he knew Frances better, to ask about it.
A little silence had fallen after the girl’s speech. Then Captain Rugley started forward suddenly and the forelegs of his chair came sharply to the planks.
“Hello!” he said, into the darkness outside the radiance of the porch light. “Who’s there?”
Frances fluttered out of her chair. Pratt noted that she slipped into the shadow. Neither she nor the Captain had been sitting in the full radiance of the lamp.
The visitor had heard nothing; but he knew that the old ranchman was leaning forward listening intently.
“Who’s there?” the captain demanded again.
“Don’t shoot, neighbor!” said a hoarse voice out of the darkness. “I’m jest a-paddin’ of it Amarillo way. Can I get a flop-down and a bite here?”
“Only a tramp, Dad,” breathed Frances, with a sigh.