“Not that I know of,” returned she.
“I made some noise. I didn’t know what it was I scared up. Seemed to be on the roof of the house.”
Frances thought of the mysterious man and his rope ladder. But she did not mention them to Pratt.
“Put some more of father’s salve on those scratches,” she advised. “It’s an Indian salve and very healing. He was taught by an old Indian medicine man to make it.”
“All right. Good-night, Miss Frances,” said Pratt, and withdrew into his room, from which he had appeared so suddenly to accost her.
Pratt’s mention of “the bird on the roof” disturbed Frances a good deal. She turned to run back upstairs and learn if the ladder was still hanging from the eaves. But as she started to do so she realized that the door of the treasure room had been silently opened.
“Frances!”
“Oh, Dad!”
“What are you running about the house for at this time o’ night?” he demanded.
She laughed rather hysterically. “Why are you out of your bed, sir–with your rheumatism?” she retorted.