Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Frances of the Ranges: Or the Old Ranchman's Treasure
The report of a bird gun made the single rider in sight upon the short-grassed plain pull in her pinto and gaze westerly toward the setting sun, now going down in a field of golden glory.
The pinto Stood like a statue, and its rider seemed a part of the steed, so well did she sit in her saddle. She gazed steadily under her hand gazed and listened.
Finally, she murmured: That's the snarl of a lion - sure. Get up, Molly!
The pinto sprang forward. There was a deep coulie ahead, with a low range of grass-covered hills beyond. Through those hills the lions often came down onto the grazing plains. It was behind these hills that the sun was going down, for the hour was early.
As she rode, the girl loosened the gun she car ried in the holster slung at her hip. On her saddle horn was coiled a hair rope.
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