THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS

by Zane Grey

Contents

 I. A Gentleman of the Range II. A Secret Kept III. Sister and Brother IV. A Ride From Sunrise to Sunset V. The Round-up VI. A Gift and a Purchase VII. Her Majesty's Rancho VIII. El Capitan IX. The New Foreman X. Don Carlo's Vaqueros XI. A Band of Guerrillas XII. Friends from the East XIII. Cowboy Golf XIV. Bandits XV. The Mountain Trail XVI. The Crags XVII. The Lost Mine of the Padres XVIII. Bonita XIX. Don Carlos XX. The Sheriff of El Cajon XXI. Unbridled XXII. The Secret Told XXIII. The Light of Western Stars XXIV. The Ride XXV. At the End of the Road

THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS

I. A Gentleman of the Range

When Madeline Hammond stepped from the train at El Cajon, New Mexico, itwas nearly midnight, and her first impression was of a huge dark spaceof cool, windy emptiness, strange and silent, stretching away undergreat blinking white stars. 

"Miss, there's no one to meet you, " said the conductor, ratheranxiously. 

"I wired my brother, " she replied. "The train being so late--perhaps hegrew tired of waiting. He will be here presently. But, if he should notcome--surely I can find a hotel?"

"There's lodgings to be had. Get the station agent to show you. Ifyou'll excuse me--this is no place for a lady like you to be alone atnight. It's a rough little town--mostly Mexicans, miners, cowboys. And they carouse a lot. Besides, the revolution across the border hasstirred up some excitement along the line. Miss, I guess it's safeenough, if you--"

"Thank you. I am not in the least afraid. "

As the train started to glide away Miss Hammond walked towards the dimlylighted station. As she was about to enter she encountered a Mexicanwith sombrero hiding his features and a blanket mantling his shoulders. 

"Is there any one here to meet Miss Hammond?" she asked. 

"No sabe, Senora, " he replied from under the muffling blanket, and heshuffled away into the shadow. 

She entered the empty waiting-room. An oil-lamp gave out a thick yellowlight. The ticket window was open, and through it she saw there wasneither agent nor operator in the little compartment. A telegraphinstrument clicked faintly. 

Madeline Hammond stood tapping a shapely foot on the floor, and withsome amusement contrasted her reception in El Cajon with what it waswhen she left a train at the Grand Central. The only time she couldremember ever having been alone like this was once when she had missedher maid and her train at a place outside of Versailles--an adventurethat had been a novel and delightful break in the prescribed routine ofher much-chaperoned life. She crossed the waiting-room to a window and, holding aside her veil, looked out. At first she could descry only a fewdim lights, and these blurred in her sight. As her eyes grew accustomedto the darkness she saw a superbly built horse standing near the window. Beyond was a bare square. Or, if it was a street, it was the widest oneMadeline had ever seen. The dim lights shone from low, flat buildings. She made out the dark shapes of many horses, all standing motionlesswith drooping heads. Through a hole in the window-glass came a coolbreeze, and on it breathed a sound that struck coarsely upon her ear--adiscordant mingling of laughter and shout, and the tramp of boots to thehard music of a phonograph. 

"Western revelry, " mused Miss Hammond, as she left the window. "Now, what to do? I'll wait here. Perhaps the station agent will return soon, or Alfred will come for me. "

As she sat down to wait she reviewed the causes which accounted for theremarkable situation in which she found herself. That Madeline Hammondshould be alone, at a late hour, in a dingy little Western railroadstation, was indeed extraordinary. 

The close of her debutante year had been marred by the only unhappyexperience of her life--the disgrace of her brother and his leavinghome. She dated the beginning of a certain thoughtful habit of mind fromthat time, and a dissatisfaction with the brilliant life society offeredher. The change had been so gradual that it was permanent beforeshe realized it. For a while an active outdoor life--golf, tennis, yachting--kept this realization from becoming morbid introspection. There came a time when even these lost charm for her, and then shebelieved she was indeed ill in mind. Travel did not help her. 

There had been months of unrest, of curiously painful wondermentthat her position, her wealth, her popularity no longer sufficed. Shebelieved she had lived through the dreams and fancies of a girl tobecome a woman of the world. And she had gone on as before, a part ofthe glittering show, but no longer blind to the truth--that there wasnothing in her luxurious life to make it significant. 

Sometimes from the depths of her there flashed up at odd momentsintimations of a future revolt. She remembered one evening at the operawhen the curtain had risen upon a particularly well-done piece of stagescenery--a broad space of deep desolateness, reaching away under aninfinitude of night sky, illumined by stars. The suggestion it broughtof vast wastes of lonely, rugged earth, of a great, blue-arched vault ofstarry sky, pervaded her soul with a strange, sweet peace. 

When the scene was changed she lost this vague new sense of peace, andshe turned away from the stage in irritation. She looked at the long, curved tier of glittering boxes that represented her world. It was adistinguished and splendid world--the wealth, fashion, culture, beauty, and blood of a nation. She, Madeline Hammond, was a part of it. Shesmiled, she listened, she talked to the men who from time to timestrolled into the Hammond box, and she felt that there was not a momentwhen she was natural, true to herself. She wondered why these peoplecould not somehow, some way be different; but she could not tell whatshe wanted them to be. If they had been different they would not havefitted the place; indeed, they would not have been there at all. Yet shethought wistfully that they lacked something for her. 

And suddenly realizing she would marry one of these men if she did notrevolt, she had been assailed by a great weariness, an icy-sickeningsense that life had palled upon her. She was tired of fashionablesociety. She was tired of polished, imperturbable men who sought only toplease her. She was tired of being feted, admired, loved, followed, and importuned; tired of people; tired of houses, noise, ostentation, luxury. She was so tired of herself!

In the lonely distances and the passionless stars of boldly paintedstage scenery she had caught a glimpse of something that stirred hersoul. The feeling did not last. She could not call it back. She imaginedthat the very boldness of the scene had appealed to her; she divinedthat the man who painted it had found inspiration, joy, strength, serenity in rugged nature. And at last she knew what she needed--to bealone, to brood for long hours, to gaze out on lonely, silent, darkeningstretches, to watch the stars, to face her soul, to find her real self. 

Then it was she had first thought of visiting the brother who had goneWest to cast his fortune with the cattlemen. As it happened, she hadfriends who were on the eve of starting for California, and she madea quick decision to travel with them. When she calmly announced herintention of going out West her mother had exclaimed in consternation;and her father, surprised into pathetic memory of the black sheep of thefamily, had stared at her with glistening eyes. "Why, Madeline! You wantto see that wild boy!" Then he had reverted to the anger he still feltfor his wayward son, and he had forbidden Madeline to go. Her motherforgot her haughty poise and dignity. Madeline, however, had exhibiteda will she had never before been known to possess. She stood her groundeven to reminding them that she was twenty-four and her own mistress. Inthe end she had prevailed, and that without betraying the real state ofher mind. 

Her decision to visit her brother had been too hurriedly made and actedupon for her to write him about it, and so she had telegraphed himfrom New York, and also, a day later, from Chicago, where her travelingfriends had been delayed by illness. Nothing could have turned her backthen. Madeline had planned to arrive in El Cajon on October 3d, herbrother's birthday, and she had succeeded, though her arrival occurredat the twenty-fourth hour. Her train had been several hours late. Whether or not the message had reached Alfred's hands she had no meansof telling, and the thing which concerned her now was the fact that shehad arrived and he was not there to meet her. 

It did not take long for thought of the past to give way wholly to thereality of the present. 

"I hope nothing has happened to Alfred, " she said to herself. "He waswell, doing splendidly, the last time he wrote. To be sure, that was agood while ago; but, then, he never wrote often. He's all right. Prettysoon he'll come, and how glad I'll be! I wonder if he has changed. "

As Madeline sat waiting in the yellow gloom she heard the faint, intermittent click of the telegraph instrument, the low hum of wires, the occasional stamp of an iron-shod hoof, and a distant vacant laughrising above the sounds of the dance. These commonplace things werenew to her. She became conscious of a slight quickening of her pulse. Madeline had only a limited knowledge of the West. Like all of herclass, she had traveled Europe and had neglected America. A few lettersfrom her brother had confused her already vague ideas of plains andmountains, as well as of cowboys and cattle. She had been astoundedat the interminable distance she had traveled, and if there had beenanything attractive to look at in all that journey she had passed it inthe night. And here she sat in a dingy little station, with telegraphwires moaning a lonely song in the wind. 

A faint sound like the rattling of thin chains diverted Madeline'sattention. At first she imagined it was made by the telegraph wires. Then she heard a step. The door swung wide; a tall man entered, and withhim came the clinking rattle. She realized then that the sound came fromhis spurs. The man was a cowboy, and his entrance recalled vividly toher that of Dustin Farnum in the first act of "The Virginian. "

"Will you please direct me to a hotel?" asked Madeline, rising. 

The cowboy removed his sombrero, and the sweep he made with it and theaccompanying bow, despite their exaggeration, had a kind of rude grace. He took two long strides toward her. 

"Lady, are you married?"

In the past Miss Hammond's sense of humor had often helped her tooverlook critical exactions natural to her breeding. She kept silence, and she imagined it was just as well that her veil hid her face at themoment. She had been prepared to find cowboys rather striking, and shehad been warned not to laugh at them. 

This gentleman of the range deliberately reached down and took up herleft hand. Before she recovered from her start of amaze he had strippedoff her glove. 

"Fine spark, but no wedding-ring, " he drawled. "Lady, I'm glad to seeyou're not married. "

He released her hand and returned the glove. 

"You see, the only ho-tel in this here town is against boarding marriedwomen. "

"Indeed?" said Madeline, trying to adjust her wits to the situation. 

"It sure is, " he went on. "Bad business for ho-tels to have marriedwomen. Keeps the boys away. You see, this isn't Reno. "

Then he laughed rather boyishly, and from that, and the way heslouched on his sombrero, Madeline realized he was half drunk. Asshe instinctively recoiled she not only gave him a keener glance, butstepped into a position where a better light shone on his face. Itwas like red bronze, bold, raw, sharp. He laughed again, as ifgood-naturedly amused with himself, and the laugh scarcely changed thehard set of his features. Like that of all women whose beauty and charmhad brought them much before the world, Miss Hammond's intuition hadbeen developed until she had a delicate and exquisitely sensitiveperception of the nature of men and of her effect upon them. This crudecowboy, under the influence of drink, had affronted her; nevertheless, whatever was in his mind, he meant no insult. 

"I shall be greatly obliged if you will show me to the hotel, " she said. 

"Lady, you wait here, " he replied, slowly, as if his thought did notcome swiftly. "I'll go fetch the porter. "

She thanked him, and as he went out, closing the door, she sat down inconsiderable relief. It occurred to her that she should have mentionedher brother's name. Then she fell to wondering what living with suchuncouth cowboys had done to Alfred. He had been wild enough in college, and she doubted that any cowboy could have taught him much. She alone ofher family had ever believed in any latent good in Alfred Hammond, andher faith had scarcely survived the two years of silence. 

Waiting there, she again found herself listening to the moan of the windthrough the wires. The horse outside began to pound with heavy hoofs, and once he whinnied. Then Madeline heard a rapid pattering, lowat first and growing louder, which presently she recognized as thegalloping of horses. She went to the window, thinking, hoping herbrother had arrived. But as the clatter increased to a roar, shadowssped by--lean horses, flying manes and tails, sombreroed riders, allstrange and wild in her sight. Recalling what the conductor had said, she was at some pains to quell her uneasiness. Dust-clouds shrouded thedim lights in the windows. Then out of the gloom two figures appeared, one tall, the other slight. The cowboy was returning with a porter. 

Heavy footsteps sounded without, and lighter ones dragging along, andthen suddenly the door rasped open, jarring the whole room. The cowboyentered, pulling a disheveled figure--that of a priest, a padre, whosemantle had manifestly been disarranged by the rude grasp of his captor. Plain it was that the padre was extremely terrified. 

Madeline Hammond gazed in bewilderment at the little man, so pale andshaken, and a protest trembled upon her lips; but it was never uttered, for this half-drunken cowboy now appeared to be a cool, grim-smilingdevil; and stretching out a long arm, he grasped her and swung her backto the bench. 

"You stay there!" he ordered. 

His voice, though neither brutal nor harsh nor cruel, had theunaccountable effect of making her feel powerless to move. No man hadever before addressed her in such a tone. It was the woman in her thatobeyed--not the personality of proud Madeline Hammond. 

The padre lifted his clasped hands as if supplicating for his life, andbegan to speak hurriedly in Spanish. Madeline did not understand thelanguage. The cowboy pulled out a huge gun and brandished it in thepriest's face. Then he lowered it, apparently to point it at thepriest's feet. There was a red flash, and then a thundering report thatstunned Madeline. The room filled with smoke and the smell of powder. Madeline did not faint or even shut her eyes, but she felt as if shewere fast in a cold vise. When she could see distinctly through thesmoke she experienced a sensation of immeasurable relief that thecowboy had not shot the padre. But he was still waving the gun, and nowappeared to be dragging his victim toward her. What possibly could bethe drunken fool's intention? This must be, this surely was a cowboytrick. She had a vague, swiftly flashing recollection of Alfred's firstletters descriptive of the extravagant fun of cowboys. Then she vividlyremembered a moving picture she had seen--cowboys playing a monstrousjoke on a lone school-teacher. Madeline no sooner thought of it thanshe made certain her brother was introducing her to a little wild Westamusement. She could scarcely believe it, yet it must be true. Alfred'sold love of teasing her might have extended even to this outrage. Probably he stood just outside the door or window laughing at herembarrassment. 

Anger checked her panic. She straightened up with what composure thissurprise had left her and started for the door. But the cowboy barredher passage--grasped her arms. Then Madeline divined that her brothercould not have any knowledge of this indignity. It was no trick. It wassomething that was happening, that was real, that threatened she knewnot what. She tried to wrench free, feeling hot all over at beinghandled by this drunken brute. Poise, dignity, culture--all theacquired habits of character--fled before the instinct to fight. She wasathletic. She fought. She struggled desperately. But he forced her backwith hands of iron. She had never known a man could be so strong. Andthen it was the man's coolly smiling face, the paralyzing strangenessof his manner, more than his strength, that weakened Madeline until shesank trembling against the bench. 

"What--do you--mean?" she panted. 

"Dearie, ease up a little on the bridle, " he replied, gaily. 

Madeline thought she must be dreaming. She could not think clearly. Ithad all been too swift, too terrible for her to grasp. Yet she notonly saw this man, but also felt his powerful presence. And the shakingpriest, the haze of blue smoke, the smell of powder--these were notunreal. 

Then close before her eyes burst another blinding red flash, and closeat her ears bellowed another report. Unable to stand, Madeline slippeddown onto the bench. Her drifting faculties refused clearly to recordwhat transpired during the next few moments; presently, however, as hermind steadied somewhat, she heard, though as in a dream, the voice ofthe padre hurrying over strange words. It ceased, and then the cowboy'svoice stirred her. 

"Lady, say Si--Si. Say it--quick! Say it--Si!"

From sheer suggestion, a force irresistible at this moment when her willwas clamped by panic, she spoke the word. 

"And now, lady--so we can finish this properly--what's your name?"

Still obeying mechanically, she told him. 

He stared for a while, as if the name had awakened associations in amind somewhat befogged. He leaned back unsteadily. Madeline heard theexpulsion of his breath, a kind of hard puff, not unusual in drunkenmen. 

"What name?" he demanded. 

"Madeline Hammond. I am Alfred Hammond's sister. "

He put his hand up and brushed at an imaginary something before hiseyes. Then he loomed over her, and that hand, now shaking a little, reached out for her veil. Before he could touch it, however, she sweptit back, revealing her face. 

"You're--not--Majesty Hammond?"

How strange--stranger than anything that had ever happened to herbefore--was it to hear that name on the lips of this cowboy! It was aname by which she was familiarly known, though only those nearest anddearest to her had the privilege of using it. And now it revived herdulled faculties, and by an effort she regained control of herself. 

"You are Majesty Hammond, " he replied; and this time he affirmedwonderingly rather than questioned. 

Madeline rose and faced him. 

"Yes, I am. "

He slammed his gun back into its holster. 

"Well, I reckon we won't go on with it, then. "

"With what, sir? And why did you force me to say Si to this priest?"

"I reckon that was a way I took to show him you'd be willing to getmarried. "

"Oh!. .. You--you!. .. " Words failed her. 

This appeared to galvanize the cowboy into action. He grasped the padreand led him toward the door, cursing and threatening, no doubt enjoiningsecrecy. Then he pushed him across the threshold and stood therebreathing hard and wrestling with himself. 

"Here--wait--wait a minute, Miss--Miss Hammond, " he said, huskily. "Youcould fall into worse company than mine--though I reckon you surethink not. I'm pretty drunk, but I'm--all right otherwise. Just wait--aminute. "

She stood quivering and blazing with wrath, and watched this savagefight his drunkenness. He acted like a man who had been suddenly shockedinto a rational state of mind, and he was now battling with himself tohold on to it. Madeline saw the dark, damp hair lift from his brows ashe held it up to the cool wind. Above him she saw the white stars in thedeep-blue sky, and they seemed as unreal to her as any other thingin this strange night. They were cold, brilliant, aloof, distant; andlooking at them, she felt her wrath lessen and die and leave her calm. 

The cowboy turned and began to talk. 

"You see--I was pretty drunk, " he labored. "There was a fiesta--and awedding. I do fool things when I'm drunk. I made a fool bet I'd marrythe first girl who came to town. .. . If you hadn't worn that veil--thefellows were joshing me--and Ed Linton was getting married--andeverybody always wants to gamble. .. . I must have been pretty drunk. "

After the one look at her when she had first put aside her veil he hadnot raised his eyes to her face. The cool audacity had vanished in whatwas either excessive emotion or the maudlin condition peculiar to somemen when drunk. He could not stand still; perspiration collected inbeads upon his forehead; he kept wiping his face with his scarf, and hebreathed like a man after violent exertions. 

"You see--I was pretty--" he began. 

"Explanations are not necessary, " she interrupted. "I am verytired--distressed. The hour is late. Have you the slightest idea what itmeans to be a gentleman?"

His bronzed face burned to a flaming crimson. 

"Is my brother here--in town to-night?" Madeline went on. 

"No. He's at his ranch. "

"But I wired him. "

"Like as not the message is over in his box at the P. O. He'll be in townto-morrow. He's shipping cattle for Stillwell. "

"Meanwhile I must go to a hotel. Will you please--"

If he heard her last words he showed no evidence of it. A noise outsidehad attracted his attention. Madeline listened. Low voices of men, thesofter liquid tones of a woman, drifted in through the open door. Theyspoke in Spanish, and the voices grew louder. Evidently the speakerswere approaching the station. Footsteps crunching on gravel attested tothis, and quicker steps, coming with deep tones of men in anger, toldof a quarrel. Then the woman's voice, hurried and broken, rising higher, was eloquent of vain appeal. 

The cowboy's demeanor startled Madeline into anticipation of somethingdreadful. She was not deceived. From outside came the sound of ascuffle--a muffled shot, a groan, the thud of a falling body, a woman'slow cry, and footsteps padding away in rapid retreat. 

Madeline Hammond leaned weakly back in her seat, cold and sick, and fora moment her ears throbbed to the tramp of the dancers across the wayand the rhythm of the cheap music. Then into the open door-place flasheda girl's tragic face, lighted by dark eyes and framed by dusky hair. Thegirl reached a slim brown hand round the side of the door and held on asif to support herself. A long black scarf accentuated her gaudy attire. 

"Senor--Gene!" she exclaimed; and breathless glad recognition made asudden break in her terror. 

"Bonita!" The cowboy leaped to her. "Girl! Are you hurt?"

"No, Senor. "

He took hold of her. "I heard--somebody got shot. Was it Danny?"

"No, Senor. "

"Did Danny do the shooting? Tell me, girl. "

"No, Senor. "

"I'm sure glad. I thought Danny was mixed up in that. He had Stillwell'smoney for the boys--I was afraid. .. . Say, Bonita, but you'll get introuble. Who was with you? What did you do?"

"Senor Gene--they Don Carlos vaqueros--they quarrel over me. I onlydance a leetle, smile a leetle, and they quarrel. I beg they begood--watch out for Sheriff Hawe. .. And now Sheriff Hawe put me in jail. I so frighten; he try make leetle love to Bonita once, and now he hateme like he hate Senor Gene. "

"Pat Hawe won't put you in jail. Take my horse and hit the Peloncillotrail. Bonita, promise to stay away from El Cajon. "

"Si, Senor. "

He led her outside. Madeline heard the horse snort and champ his bit. The cowboy spoke low; only a few words were intelligible--"stirrups. .. Wait. .. Out of town. .. Mountain. .. Trail . .. Now ride!"

A moment's silence ensued, and was broken by a pounding of hoofs, apattering of gravel. Then Madeline saw a big, dark horse run into thewide space. She caught a glimpse of wind-swept scarf and hair, a littleform low down in the saddle. The horse was outlined in black against theline of dim lights. There was something wild and splendid in his flight. 

Directly the cowboy appeared again in the doorway. 

"Miss Hammond, I reckon we want to rustle out of here. Been badgoings-on. And there's a train due. "

She hurried into the open air, not daring to look back or to eitherside. Her guide strode swiftly. She had almost to run to keep up withhim. Many conflicting emotions confused her. She had a strange sense ofthis stalking giant beside her, silent except for his jangling spurs. She had a strange feeling of the cool, sweet wind and the white stars. Was it only her disordered fancy, or did these wonderful stars open andshut? She had a queer, disembodied thought that somewhere in ages back, in another life, she had seen these stars. The night seemed dark, yet there was a pale, luminous light--a light from the stars--and shefancied it would always haunt her. 

Suddenly aware that she had been led beyond the line of houses, shespoke:

"Where are you taking me?"

"To Florence Kingsley, " he replied. 

"Who is she?"

"I reckon she's your brother's best friend out here. " Madeline kept pacewith the cowboy for a few moments longer, and then she stopped. It wasas much from necessity to catch her breath as it was from recurringfear. All at once she realized what little use her training had been forsuch an experience as this. The cowboy, missing her, came back the fewintervening steps. Then he waited, still silent, looming beside her. 

"It's so dark, so lonely, " she faltered. "How do I know. .. What warrantcan you give me that you--that no harm will befall me if I go farther?"

"None, Miss Hammond, except that I've seen your face. "

II. A Secret Kept

Because of that singular reply Madeline found faith to go farther withthe cowboy. But at the moment she really did not think about what hehad said. Any answer to her would have served if it had been kind. Hissilence had augmented her nervousness, compelling her to voice her fear. Still, even if he had not replied at all she would have gone on withhim. She shuddered at the idea of returning to the station, where shebelieved there had been murder; she could hardly have forced herself togo back to those dim lights in the street; she did not want to wanderaround alone in the dark. 

And as she walked on into the windy darkness, much relieved that he hadanswered as he had, reflecting that he had yet to prove his words true, she began to grasp the deeper significance of them. There was a revivalof pride that made her feel that she ought to scorn to think at allabout such a man. But Madeline Hammond discovered that thought wasinvoluntary, that there were feelings in her never dreamed of beforethis night. 

Presently Madeline's guide turned off the walk and rapped at a door of alow-roofed house. 

"Hullo--who's there?" a deep voice answered. 

"Gene Stewart, " said the cowboy. "Call Florence--quick!"

Thump of footsteps followed, a tap on a door, and voices. Madeline hearda woman exclaim: "Gene! here when there's a dance in town! Somethingwrong out on the range. " A light flared up and shone bright through awindow. In another moment there came a patter of soft steps, and thedoor opened to disclose a woman holding a lamp. 

"Gene! Al's not--"

"Al is all right, " interrupted the cowboy. 

Madeline had two sensations then--one of wonder at the note of alarmand love in the woman's voice, and the other of unutterable relief to besafe with a friend of her brother's. 

"It's Al's sister--came on to-night's train, " the cowboy was saying. "Ihappened to be at the station, and I've fetched her up to you. "

Madeline came forward out of the shadow. 

"Not--not really Majesty Hammond!" exclaimed Florence Kingsley. Shenearly dropped the lamp, and she looked and looked, astounded beyondbelief. 

"Yes, I am really she, " replied Madeline. "My train was late, and forsome reason Alfred did not meet me. Mr. --Mr. Stewart saw fit to bring meto you instead of taking me to a hotel. "

"Oh, I'm so glad to meet you, " replied Florence, warmly. "Do come in. I'm so surprised, I forget my manners. Why, Al never mentioned yourcoming. "

"He surely could not have received my messages, " said Madeline, as sheentered. 

The cowboy, who came in with her satchel, had to stoop to enter thedoor, and, once in, he seemed to fill the room. Florence set the lampdown upon the table. Madeline saw a young woman with a smiling, friendlyface, and a profusion of fair hair hanging down over her dressing-gown. 

"Oh, but Al will be glad!" cried Florence. "Why, you are white as asheet. You must be tired. What a long wait you had at the station! Iheard the train come in hours ago as I was going to bed. That stationis lonely at night. If I had known you were coming! Indeed, you are verypale. Are you ill?"

"No. Only I am very tired. Traveling so far by rail is harder than Iimagined. I did have rather a long wait after arriving at the station, but I can't say that it was lonely. "

Florence Kingsley searched Madeline's face with keen eyes, and thentook a long, significant look at the silent Stewart. With that shedeliberately and quietly closed a door leading into another room. 

"Miss Hammond, what has happened?" She had lowered her voice. 

"I do not wish to recall all that has happened, " replied Madeline. "I shall tell Alfred, however, that I would rather have met a hostileApache than a cowboy. "

"Please don't tell Al that!" cried Florence. Then she grasped Stewartand pulled him close to the light. "Gene, you're drunk!"

"I was pretty drunk, " he replied, hanging his head. 

"Oh, what have you done?"

"Now, see here, Flo, I only--"

"I don't want to know. I'd tell it. Gene, aren't you ever going to learndecency? Aren't you ever going to stop drinking? You'll lose all yourfriends. Stillwell has stuck to you. Al's been your best friend. Mollyand I have pleaded with you, and now you've gone and done--God knowswhat!"

"What do women want to wear veils for?" he growled. "I'd have known herbut for that veil. "

"And you wouldn't have insulted her. But you would the next girl whocame along. Gene, you are hopeless. Now, you get out of here and don'tever come back. "

"Flo!" he entreated. 

"I mean it. "

"I reckon then I'll come back to-morrow and take my medicine, " hereplied. 

"Don't you dare!" she cried. 

Stewart went out and closed the door. 

"Miss Hammond, you--you don't know how this hurts me, " said Florence. "What you must think of us! It's so unlucky that you should have hadthis happen right at first. Now, maybe you won't have the heart tostay. Oh, I've known more than one Eastern girl to go home without everlearning what we really are cut here. Miss Hammond, Gene Stewart is afiend when he's drunk. All the same I know, whatever he did, he meant noshame to you. Come now, don't think about it again to-night. " She tookup the lamp and led Madeline into a little room. "This is out West, "she went on, smiling, as she indicated the few furnishings; "but you canrest. You're perfectly safe. Won't you let me help you undress--can't Ido anything for you?"

"You are very kind, thank you, but I can manage, " replied Madeline. 

"Well, then, good night. The sooner I go the sooner you'll rest. Justforget what happened and think how fine a surprise you're to give yourbrother to-morrow. "

With that she slipped out and softly shut the door. 

As Madeline laid her watch on the bureau she noticed that the time waspast two o'clock. It seemed long since she had gotten off the train. When she had turned out the lamp and crept wearily into bed she knewwhat it was to be utterly spent. She was too tired to move a finger. Buther brain whirled. 

She had at first no control over it, and a thousand thronging sensationscame and went and recurred with little logical relation. There werethe roar of the train; the feeling of being lost; the sound of poundinghoofs; a picture of her brother's face as she had last seen it fiveyears before; a long, dim line of lights; the jingle of silver spurs;night, wind, darkness, stars. Then the gloomy station, the shadowyblanketed Mexican, the empty room, the dim lights across the square, thetramp of the dancers and vacant laughs and discordant music, the doorflung wide and the entrance of the cowboy. She did not recall how hehad looked or what he had done. And the next instant she saw him cool, smiling, devilish--saw him in violence; the next his bigness, hisapparel, his physical being were vague as outlines in a dream. The whiteface of the padre flashed along in the train of thought, and it broughtthe same dull, half-blind, indefinable state of mind subsequent to thatlast nerve-breaking pistol-shot. That passed, and then clear and vividrose memories of the rest that had happened--strange voices betrayingfury of men, a deadened report, a moan of mortal pain, a woman'spoignant cry. And Madeline saw the girl's great tragic eyes and thewild flight of the big horse into the blackness, and the dark, stalkingfigure of the silent cowboy, and the white stars that seemed to lookdown remorselessly. 

This tide of memory rolled over Madeline again and again, and graduallylost its power and faded. All distress left her, and she felt herselfdrifting. How black the room was--as black with her eyes open as it waswhen they were shut! And the silence--it was like a cloak. There wasabsolutely no sound. She was in another world from that which she knew. She thought of this fair-haired Florence and of Alfred; and, wonderingabout them, she dropped to sleep. 

When she awakened the room was bright with sunlight. A cool wind blowingacross the bed caused her to put her hands under the blanket. She waslazily and dreamily contemplating the mud walls of this little room whenshe remembered where she was and how she had come there. 

How great a shock she had been subjected to was manifest in a sensationof disgust that overwhelmed her. She even shut her eyes to try and blotout the recollection. She felt that she had been contaminated. 

Presently Madeline Hammond again awoke to the fact she had learned thepreceding night--that there were emotions to which she had heretoforebeen a stranger. She did not try to analyze them, but she exercised herself-control to such good purpose that by the time she had dressed shewas outwardly her usual self. She scarcely remembered when she had foundit necessary to control her emotions. There had been no trouble, noexcitement, no unpleasantness in her life. It had been ordered forher--tranquil, luxurious, brilliant, varied, yet always the same. 

She was not surprised to find the hour late, and was going to makeinquiry about her brother when a voice arrested her. She recognized MissKingsley's voice addressing some one outside, and it had a sharpness shehad not noted before. 

"So you came back, did you? Well, you don't look very proud of yourselfthis mawnin'. Gene Stewart, you look like a coyote. "

"Say, Flo if I am a coyote I'm not going to sneak, " he said. 

"What 'd you come for?" she demanded. 

"I said I was coming round to take my medicine. "

"Meaning you'll not run from Al Hammond? Gene, your skull is as thickas an old cow's. Al will never know anything about what you did to hissister unless you tell him. And if you do that he'll shoot you. Shewon't give you away. She's a thoroughbred. Why, she was so white lastnight I thought she'd drop at my feet, but she never blinked an eyelash. I'm a woman, Gene Stewart and if I couldn't feel like Miss Hammond Iknow how awful an ordeal she must have had. Why, she's one of the mostbeautiful, the most sought after, the most exclusive women in New YorkCity. There's a crowd of millionaires and lords and dukes after her. How terrible it'd be for a woman like her to be kissed by a drunkencowpuncher! I say it--"

"Flo, I never insulted her that way, " broke out Stewart. 

"It was worse, then?" she queried, sharply. 

"I made a bet that I'd marry the first girl who came to town. I was onthe watch and pretty drunk. When she came--well, I got Padre Marcos andtried to bully her into marrying me. "

"Oh, Lord!" Florence gasped. "It's worse than I feared. .. . Gene, Al willkill you. "

"That'll be a good thing, " replied the cowboy, dejectedly. 

"Gene Stewart, it certainly would, unless you turn over a new leaf, "retorted Florence. "But don't be a fool. " And here she becameearnest and appealing. "Go away, Gene. Go join the rebels across theborder--you're always threatening that. Anyhow, don't stay here and runany chance of stirring Al up. He'd kill you just the same as you wouldkill another man for insulting your sister. Don't make trouble for Al. That'd only make sorrow for her, Gene. "

The subtle import was not lost upon Madeline. She was distressed becauseshe could not avoid hearing what was not meant for her ears. She made aneffort not to listen, and it was futile. 

"Flo, you can't see this a man's way, " he replied, quietly. "I'll stayand take my medicine. "

"Gene, I could sure swear at you or any other pig-head of a cowboy. Listen. My brother-in-law, Jack, heard something of what I said to youlast night. He doesn't like you. I'm afraid he'll tell Al. For Heaven'ssake, man, go down-town and shut him up and yourself, too. "

Then Madeline heard her come into the house and presently rap on thedoor and call softly:

"Miss Hammond. Are you awake?"

"Awake and dressed, Miss Kingsley. Come in. "

"Oh! You've rested. You look so--so different. I'm sure glad. Come outnow. We'll have breakfast, and then you may expect to meet your brotherany moment. "

"Wait, please. I heard you speaking to Mr. Stewart. It was unavoidable. But I am glad. I must see him. Will you please ask him to come into theparlor a moment?"

"Yes, " replied Florence, quickly; and as she turned at the door sheflashed at Madeline a woman's meaning glance. "Make him keep his mouthshut!"

Presently there were slow, reluctant steps outside the front door, thena pause, and the door opened. Stewart stood bareheaded in thesunlight. Madeline remembered with a kind of shudder the tall form, theembroidered buckskin vest, the red scarf, the bright leather wristbands, the wide silver-buckled belt and chaps. Her glance seemed to runover him swift as lightning. But as she saw his face now she did notrecognize it. The man's presence roused in her a revolt. Yet somethingin her, the incomprehensible side of her nature, thrilled in the look ofthis splendid dark-faced barbarian. 

"Mr. Stewart, will you please come in?" she asked, after that longpause. 

"I reckon not, " he said. The hopelessness of his tone meant that he knewhe was not fit to enter a room with her, and did not care or cared toomuch. 

Madeline went to the door. The man's face was hard, yet it was sad, too. And it touched her. 

"I shall not tell my brother of your--your rudeness to me, " she began. It was impossible for her to keep the chill out of her voice, to speakwith other than the pride and aloofness of her class. Nevertheless, despite her loathing, when she had spoken so far it seemed that kindnessand pity followed involuntarily. "I choose to overlook what you didbecause you were not wholly accountable, and because there must be notrouble between Alfred and you. May I rely on you to keep silence andto seal the lips of that priest? And you know there was a man killed orinjured there last night. I want to forget that dreadful thing. I don'twant it known that I heard--"

"The Greaser didn't die, " interrupted Stewart. 

"Ah! then that's not so bad, after all. I am glad for the sake of yourfriend--the little Mexican girl. "

A slow scarlet wave overspread his face, and his shame was painful tosee. That fixed in Madeline's mind a conviction that if he was a heathenhe was not wholly bad. And it made so much difference that she smileddown at him. 

"You will spare me further distress, will you not, please?" His hoarsereply was incoherent, but she needed only to see his working face toknow his remorse and gratitude. 

Madeline went back to her room; and presently Florence came for her, anddirectly they were sitting at breakfast. Madeline Hammond's impressionof her brother's friend had to be reconstructed in the morning light. She felt a wholesome, frank, sweet nature. She liked the slow Southerndrawl. And she was puzzled to know whether Florence Kingsley was prettyor striking or unusual. She had a youthful glow and flush, the cleartan of outdoors, a face that lacked the soft curves and lines of Easternwomen, and her eyes were light gray, like crystal, steady, almostpiercing, and her hair was a beautiful bright, waving mass. 

Florence's sister was the elder of the two, a stout woman with a strongface and quiet eyes. It was a simple fare and service they gave to theirguest; but they made no apologies for that. Indeed, Madeline felttheir simplicity to be restful. She was sated with respect, sick ofadmiration, tired of adulation; and it was good to see that theseWestern women treated her as very likely they would have treated anyother visitor. They were sweet, kind; and what Madeline had at firstthought was a lack of expression or vitality she soon discovered tobe the natural reserve of women who did not live superficial lives. Florence was breezy and frank, her sister quaint and not given much tospeech. Madeline thought she would like to have these women near herif she were ill or in trouble. And she reproached herself for afastidiousness, a hypercritical sense of refinement that could not helpdistinguishing what these women lacked. 

"Can you ride?" Florence was asking. "That's what a Westerner alwaysasks any one from the East. Can you ride like a man--astride, I mean?Oh, that's fine. You look strong enough to hold a horse. We have somefine horses out here. I reckon when Al comes we'll go out to BillStillwell's ranch. We'll have to go, whether we want to or not, for whenBill learns you are here he'll just pack us all off. You'll love oldBill. His ranch is run down, but the range and the rides up in themountains--they are beautiful. We'll hunt and climb, and most of allwe'll ride. I love a horse--I love the wind in my face, and a widestretch with the mountains beckoning. You must have the best horseon the ranges. And that means a scrap between Al and Bill and allthe cowboys. We don't all agree about horses, except in case of GeneStewart's iron-gray. "

"Does Mr. Stewart own the best horse in the country?" asked Madeline. Again she had an inexplicable thrill as she remembered the wild flightof Stewart's big dark steed and rider. 

"Yes, and that's all he does own, " replied Florence. "Gene can't keepeven a quirt. But he sure loves that horse and calls him--"

At this juncture a sharp knock on the parlor door interrupted theconversation. Florence's sister went to open it. She returned presentlyand said:

"It's Gene. He's been dawdlin' out there on the front porch, and heknocked to let us know Miss Hammond's brother is comin'. "

Florence hurried into the parlor, followed by Madeline. The door stoodopen, and disclosed Stewart sitting on the porch steps. From downthe road came a clatter of hoofs. Madeline looked out over Florence'sshoulder and saw a cloud of dust approaching, and in it shedistinguished outlines of horses and riders. A warmth spread over her, alittle tingle of gladness, and the feeling recalled her girlish love forher brother. What would he be like after long years?

"Gene, has Jack kept his mouth shut?" queried Florence; and againMadeline was aware of a sharp ring in the girl's voice. 

"No, " replied Stewart. 

"Gene! You won't let it come to a fight? Al can be managed. But Jackhates you and he'll have his friends with him. "

"There won't be any fight. "

"Use your brains now, " added Florence; and then she turned to pushMadeline gently back into the parlor. 

Madeline's glow of warmth changed to a blank dismay. Was she to seeher brother act with the violence she now associated with cowboys? Theclatter of hoofs stopped before the door. Looking out, Madeline saw abunch of dusty, wiry horses pawing the gravel and tossing lean heads. Her swift glance ran over the lithe horsemen, trying to pick out the onewho was her brother. But she could not. Her glance, however, caught thesame rough dress and hard aspect that characterized the cowboy Stewart. Then one rider threw his bridle, leaped from the saddle, and camebounding up the porch steps. Florence met him at the door. 

"Hello, Flo. Where is she?" he called, eagerly. With that he looked overher shoulder to espy Madeline. He actually jumped at her. She hardlyknew the tall form and the bronzed face, but the warm flash of blue eyeswas familiar. As for him, he had no doubt of his sister, it appeared, for with broken welcome he threw his arms around her, then held her offand looked searchingly at her. 

"Well, sister, " he began, when Florence turned hurriedly from the doorand interrupted him. 

"Al, I think you'd better stop the wrangling out there. " He stared ather, appeared suddenly to hear the loud voices from the street, andthen, releasing Madeline, he said:

"By George! I forgot, Flo. There is a little business to see to. Keep mysister in here, please, and don't be fussed up now. "

He went out on the porch and called to his men:

"Shut off your wind, Jack! And you, too, Blaze! I didn't want youfellows to come here. But as you would come, you've got to shut up. Thisis my business. "

Whereupon he turned to Stewart, who was sitting on the fence. 

"Hello, Stewart!" he said. 

It was a greeting; but there was that in the voice which alarmedMadeline. 

Stewart leisurely got up and leisurely advanced to the porch. 

"Hello, Hammond!" he drawled. 

"Drunk again last night?"

"Well, if you want to know, and if it's any of your mix, yes, Iwas-pretty drunk, " replied Stewart. 

It was a kind of cool speech that showed the cowboy in control ofhimself and master of the situation--not an easy speech to follow upwith undue inquisitiveness. There was a short silence. 

"Damn it, Stewart, " said the speaker, presently, "here's the situation:It's all over town that you met my sister last night at the stationand--and insulted her. Jack's got it in for you, so have these otherboys. But it's my affair. Understand, I didn't fetch them here. They cansee you square yourself, or else--Gene, you've been on the wrong trailfor some time, drinking and all that. You're going to the bad. But Billthinks, and I think, you're still a man. We never knew you to lie. Nowwhat have you to say for yourself?"

"Nobody is insinuating that I am a liar?" drawled Stewart. 

"No. "

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. You see, Al, I was pretty drunk lastnight, but not drunk enough to forget the least thing I did. I told PatHawe so this morning when he was curious. And that's polite for me tobe to Pat. Well, I found Miss Hammond waiting alone at the station. Shewore a veil, but I knew she was a lady, of course. I imagine, now thatI think of it, that Miss Hammond found my gallantry rather startling, and--"

At this point Madeline, answering to unconsidered impulse, eludedFlorence and walked out upon the porch. 

Sombreros flashed down and the lean horses jumped. 

"Gentlemen, " said Madeline, rather breathlessly; and it did not addto her calmness to feel a hot flush in her cheeks, "I am very new toWestern ways, but I think you are laboring under a mistake, which, injustice to Mr. Stewart, I want to correct. Indeed, he was rather--ratherabrupt and strange when he came up to me last night; but as I understandhim now, I can attribute that to his gallantry. He was somewhat wildand sudden and--sentimental in his demand to protect me--and it was notclear whether he meant his protection for last night or forever; but Iam happy to say be offered me no word that was not honorable. And he sawme safely here to Miss Kingsley's home. "

III. Sister and Brother

Then Madeline returned to the little parlor with the brother whom shehad hardly recognized. 

"Majesty!" he exclaimed. "To think of your being here!"

The warmth stole back along her veins. She remembered how that pet namehad sounded from the lips of this brother who had given it to her. 

"Alfred!"

Then his words of gladness at sight of her, his chagrin at not beingat the train to welcome her, were not so memorable of him as the way heclasped her, for he had held her that way the day he left home, and shehad not forgotten. But now he was so much taller and bigger, so dustyand strange and different and forceful, that she could scarcely thinkhim the same man. She even had a humorous thought that here was anothercowboy bullying her, and this time it was her brother. 

"Dear old girl, " he said, more calmly, as he let her go, "you haven'tchanged at all, except to grow lovelier. Only you're a woman now, andyou've fulfilled the name I gave you. God! how sight of you brings backhome! It seems a hundred years since I left. I missed you more than allthe rest. "

Madeline seemed to feel with his every word that she was rememberinghim. She was so amazed at the change in him that she could not believeher eyes. She saw a bronzed, strong-jawed, eagle-eyed man, stalwart, superb of height, and, like the cowboys, belted, booted, spurred. Andthere was something hard as iron in his face that quivered with hiswords. It seemed that only in those moments when the hard lines brokeand softened could she see resemblance to the face she remembered. Itwas his manner, the tone of his voice, and the tricks of speechthat proved to her he was really Alfred. She had bidden good-by to adisgraced, disinherited, dissolute boy. Well she remembered the handsomepale face with its weakness and shadows and careless smile, with theever-present cigarette hanging between the lips. The years had passed, and now she saw him a man--the West had made him a man. And MadelineHammond felt a strong, passionate gladness and gratefulness, and adirect check to her suddenly inspired hatred of the West. 

"Majesty, it was good of you to come. I'm all broken up. How did youever do it? But never mind that now. Tell me about that brother ofmine. "

And Madeline told him, and then about their sister Helen. Question afterquestion he fired at her; and she told him of her mother; of AuntGrace, who had died a year ago; of his old friends, married, scattered, vanished. But she did not tell him of his father, for he did not ask. 

Quite suddenly the rapid-fire questioning ceased; he choked, was silenta moment, and then burst into tears. It seemed to her that a long, stored-up bitterness was flooding away. It hurt her to see him--hurt hermore to hear him. And in the succeeding few moments she grew closer tohim than she had ever been in the past. Had her father and mother doneright by him? Her pulse stirred with unwonted quickness. She did notspeak, but she kissed him, which, for her, was an indication of unusualfeeling. And when he recovered command over his emotions he made noreference to his breakdown, nor did she. But that scene struck deepinto Madeline Hammond's heart. Through it she saw what he had lost andgained. 

"Alfred, why did you not answer my last letters?" asked Madeline. "I hadnot heard from you for two years. "

"So long? How time flies! Well, things went bad with me about the lasttime I heard from you. I always intended to write some day, but I neverdid. "

"Things went wrong? Tell me. "

"Majesty, you mustn't worry yourself with my troubles. I want you toenjoy your stay and not be bothered with my difficulties. "

"Please tell me. I suspected something had gone wrong. That is partlywhy I decided to come out. "

"All right; if you must know, " he began; and it seemed to Madeline thatthere was a gladness in his decision to unburden himself. "You rememberall about my little ranch, and that for a while I did well raisingstock? I wrote you all that. Majesty, a man makes enemies anywhere. Perhaps an Eastern man in the West can make, if not so many, certainlymore bitter ones. At any rate, I made several. There was a cattleman, Ward by name--he's gone now--and he and I had trouble over cattle. Thatgave me a back-set. Pat Hawe, the sheriff here, has been instrumental inhurting my business. He's not so much of a rancher, but he has influenceat Santa Fe and El Paso and Douglas. I made an enemy of him. I never didanything to him. He hates Gene Stewart, and upon one occasion I spoileda little plot of his to get Gene in his clutches. The real reason forhis animosity toward me is that he loves Florence, and Florence is goingto marry me. "

"Alfred!"

"What's the matter, Majesty? Didn't Florence impress you favorably?" heasked, with a keen glance. 

"Why--yes, indeed. I like her. But I did not think of her in relationto you--that way. I am greatly surprised. Alfred, is she well born? Whatconnections?"

"Florence is just a girl of ordinary people. She was born in Kentucky, was brought up in Texas. My aristocratic and wealthy family wouldscorn--"

"Alfred, you are still a Hammond, " said Madeline, with uplifted head. 

Alfred laughed. "We won't quarrel, Majesty. I remember you, and in spiteof your pride you've got a heart. If you stay here a month you'll loveFlorence Kingsley. I want you to know she's had a great deal to dowith straightening me up. .. . Well, to go on with my story. There's DonCarlos, a Mexican rancher, and he's my worst enemy. For that matter, he's as bad an enemy of Bill Stillwell and other ranchers. Stillwell, bythe way, is my friend and one of the finest men on earth. I got in debtto Don Carlos before I knew he was so mean. In the first place I lostmoney at faro--I gambled some when I came West--and then I made unwisecattle deals. Don Carlos is a wily Greaser, he knows the ranges, hehas the water, and he is dishonest. So he outfigured me. And now I ampractically ruined. He has not gotten possession of my ranch, but that'sonly a matter of time, pending lawsuits at Santa Fe. At present I have afew hundred cattle running on Stillwell's range, and I am his foreman. "

"Foreman?" queried Madeline. 

"I am simply boss of Stillwell's cowboys, and right glad of my job. "

Madeline was conscious of an inward burning. It required an effort forher to retain her outward tranquillity. Annoying consciousness she hadalso of the returning sense of new disturbing emotions. She began to seejust how walled in from unusual thought-provoking incident and sensationhad been her exclusive life. 

"Cannot your property be reclaimed?" she asked. "How much do you owe?"

"Ten thousand dollars would clear me and give me another start. But, Majesty, in this country that's a good deal of money, and I haven't beenable to raise it. Stillwell's in worse shape than I am. "

Madeline went over to Alfred and put her hands on his shoulders. 

"We must not be in debt. "

He stared at her as if her words had recalled something long forgotten. Then he smiled. 

"How imperious you are! I'd forgotten just who my beautiful sisterreally is. Majesty, you're not going to ask me to take money from you?"

"I am. "

"Well, I'll not do it. I never did, even when I was in college, and thenthere wasn't much beyond me. "

"Listen, Alfred, " she went on, earnestly, "this is entirely different. I had only an allowance then. You had no way to know that since I lastwrote you I had come into my inheritance from Aunt Grace. It was--well, that doesn't matter. Only, I haven't been able to spend half the income. It's mine. It's not father's money. You will make me very happy ifyou'll consent. Alfred, I'm so--so amazed at the change in you. I'mso happy. You must never take a backward step from now on. What is tenthousand dollars to me? Sometimes I spend that in a month. I throw moneyaway. If you let me help you it will be doing me good as well as you. Please, Alfred. "

He kissed her, evidently surprised at her earnestness. And indeedMadeline was surprised herself. Once started, her speech had flowed. 

"You always were the best of fellows, Majesty. And if you reallycare--if you really want to help me I'll be only too glad to accept. Itwill be fine. Florence will go wild. And that Greaser won't harass meany more. Majesty, pretty soon some titled fellow will be spending yourmoney; I may as well take a little before he gets it all, " he finished, jokingly. 

"What do you know about me?" she asked, lightly. 

"More than you think. Even if we are lost out here in the woolly Westwe get news. Everybody knows about Anglesbury. And that Dago duke whochased you all over Europe, that Lord Castleton has the running now andseems about to win. How about it, Majesty?"

Madeline detected a hint that suggested scorn in his gay speech. Anddeep in his searching glance she saw a flame. She became thoughtful. Shehad forgotten Castleton, New York, society. 

"Alfred, " she began, seriously, "I don't believe any titled gentlemanwill ever spend my money, as you elegantly express it. "

"I don't care for that. It's you!" he cried, passionately, and hegrasped her with a violence that startled her. He was white; his eyeswere now like fire. "You are so splendid--so wonderful. People calledyou the American Beauty, but you're more than that. You're the AmericanGirl! Majesty, marry no man unless you love him, and love an American. Stay away from Europe long enough to learn to know the men--the real menof your own country. "

"Alfred, I'm afraid there are not always real men and real love forAmerican girls in international marriages. But Helen knows this. It'llbe her choice. She'll be miserable if she marries Anglesbury. "

"It'll serve her just right, " declared her brother. "Helen was alwayscrazy for glitter, adulation, fame. I'll gamble she never saw more ofAnglesbury than the gold and ribbons on his breast. "

"I am sorry. Anglesbury is a gentleman; but it is the money he wanted, Ithink. Alfred, tell me how you came to know about me, 'way out here? Youmay be assured I was astonished to find that Miss Kingsley knew me asMajesty Hammond. "

"I imagine it was a surprise, " he replied, with a laugh, "I toldFlorence about you--gave her a picture of you. And, of course, being awoman, she showed the picture and talked. She's in love with you. Then, my dear sister, we do get New York papers out here occasionally, and wecan see and read. You may not be aware that you and your society friendsare objects of intense interest in the U. S. In general, and the West inparticular. The papers are full of you, and perhaps a lot of things younever did. "

"That Mr. Stewart knew, too. He said, 'You're not Majesty Hammond?'"

"Never mind his impudence!" exclaimed Alfred; and then again he laughed. "Gene is all right, only you've got to know him. I'll tell you what hedid. He got hold of one of those newspaper pictures of you--the onein the Times; he took it away from here, and in spite of Florence hewouldn't fetch it back. It was a picture of you in riding-habit withyour blue-ribbon horse, White Stockings--remember? It was taken atNewport. Well, Stewart tacked the picture up in his bunk-house and namedhis beautiful horse Majesty. All the cowboys knew it. They would seethe picture and tease him unmercifully. But he didn't care. One day Ihappened to drop in on him and found him just recovering from a carouse. I saw the picture, too, and I said to him, 'Gene, if my sister knew youwere a drunkard she'd not be proud of having her picture stuck up inyour room. ' Majesty, he did not touch a drop for a month, and when hedid drink again he took the picture down, and he has never put it back. "

Madeline smiled at her brother's amusement, but she did not reply. Shesimply could not adjust herself to these queer free Western' ways. Herbrother had eloquently pleaded for her to keep herself above a sordidand brilliant marriage, yet he not only allowed a cowboy to keep herpicture in his room, but actually spoke of her and used her name in atemperance lecture. Madeline just escaped feeling disgust. She was savedfrom this, however, by nothing less than her brother's naive gladnessthat through subtle suggestion Stewart had been persuaded to be good fora month. Something made up of Stewart's effrontery to her; of FlorenceKingsley meeting her, frankly as it were, as an equal; of the eldersister's slow, quiet, easy acceptance of this visitor who had beenhonored at the courts of royalty; of that faint hint of scorn inAlfred's voice, and his amused statement in regard to her pictureand the name Majesty--something made up of all these stung MadelineHammond's pride, alienated her for an instant, and then stimulated herintelligence, excited her interest, and made her resolve to learn alittle about this incomprehensible West. 

"Majesty, I must run down to the siding, " he said, consulting his watch. "We're loading a shipment of cattle. I'll be back by supper-time andbring Stillwell with me. You'll like him. Give me the check for yourtrunk. "

She went into the little bedroom and, taking up her bag, she got out anumber of checks. 

"Six! Six trunks!" he exclaimed. "Well, I'm very glad you intend to stayawhile. Say, Majesty, it will take me as long to realize who you reallyare as it'll take to break you of being a tenderfoot. I hope you packeda riding-suit. If not you'll have to wear trousers! You'll have to dothat, anyway, when we go up in the mountains. "

"No!"

"You sure will, as Florence says. "

"We shall see about that. I don't know what's in the trunks. I neverpack anything. My dear brother, what do I have maids for?"

"How did it come that you didn't travel with a maid?"

"I wanted to be alone. But don't you worry. I shall be able to lookafter myself. I dare say it will be good for me. "

She went to the gate with him. 

"What a shaggy, dusty horse! He's wild, too. Do you let him stand thatway without being haltered? I should think he would run off. "

"Tenderfoot! You'll be great fun, Majesty, especially for the cowboys. "

"Oh, will I?" she asked, constrainedly. 

"Yes, and in three days they will be fighting one another over you. That's going to worry me. Cowboys fall in love with a plain woman, an ugly woman, any woman, so long as she's young. And you! Good Lord!They'll go out of their heads. "

"You are pleased to be facetious, Alfred. I think I have had quiteenough of cowboys, and I haven't been here twenty-four hours. "

"Don't think too much of first impressions. That was my mistake when Iarrived here. Good-by. I'll go now. Better rest awhile. You look tired. "

The horse started as Alfred put his foot in the stirrup and was runningwhen the rider slipped his leg over the saddle. Madeline watched him inadmiration. He seemed to be loosely fitted to the saddle, moving withthe horse. 

"I suppose that's a cowboy's style. It pleases me, " she said. "Howdifferent from the seat of Eastern riders!"

Then Madeline sat upon the porch and fell to interested observation ofher surrounding. Near at hand it was decidedly not prepossessing. Thestreet was deep in dust, and the cool wind whipped up little puffs. Thehouses along this street were all low, square, flat-roofed structuresmade of some kind of red cement. It occurred to her suddenly that thisbuilding-material must be the adobe she had read about. There was noperson in sight. The long street appeared to have no end, though theline of houses did not extend far. Once she heard a horse trotting atsome distance, and several times the ringing of a locomotive bell. Wherewere the mountains, wondered Madeline. Soon low over the house-roofs shesaw a dim, dark-blue, rugged outline. It seemed to charm her eyes andfix her gaze. She knew the Adirondacks, she had seen the Alps from thesummit of Mont Blanc, and had stood under the great black, white-tippedshadow of the Himalayas. But they had not drawn her as these remoteRockies. This dim horizon line boldly cutting the blue sky fascinatedher. Florence Kingsley's expression "beckoning mountains" returned toMadeline. She could not see or feel so much as that. Her impression wasrather that these mountains were aloof, unattainable, that if approachedthey would recede or vanish like the desert mirage. 

Madeline went to her room, intending to rest awhile, and she fellasleep. She was aroused by Florence's knock and call. 

"Miss Hammond, your brother has come back with Stillwell. "

"Why, how I have slept!" exclaimed Madeline. "It's nearly six o'clock. "

"I'm sure glad. You were tired. And the air here makes strangers sleepy. Come, we want you to meet old Bill. He calls himself the last of thecattlemen. He has lived in Texas and here all his life. "

Madeline accompanied Florence to the porch. Her brother, who was sittingnear the door, jumped up and said:

"Hello, Majesty!" And as he put his arm around her he turned toward amassive man whose broad, craggy face began to ripple and wrinkle. "Iwant to introduce my friend Stillwell to you. Bill, this is my sister, the sister I've so often told you about--Majesty. "

"Wal, wal, Al, this's the proudest meetin' of my life, " repliedStillwell, in a booming voice. He extended a huge hand. "Miss--MissMajesty, sight of you is as welcome as the rain an' the flowers to anold desert cattleman. "

Madeline greeted him, and it was all she could do to repress a cryat the way he crunched her hand in a grasp of iron. He was old, white-haired, weather-beaten, with long furrows down his checks and withgray eyes almost hidden in wrinkles. If he was smiling she fancied it amost extraordinary smile. The next instant she realized that it had beena smile, for his face appeared to stop rippling, the light died, andsuddenly it was like rudely chiseled stone. The quality of hardness shehad seen in Stewart was immeasurably intensified in this old man's face. 

"Miss Majesty, it's plumb humiliatin' to all of us thet we wasn't onhand to meet you, " Stillwell said. "Me an' Al stepped into the P. O. An' said a few mild an' cheerful things. Them messages ought to hev beensent out to the ranch. I'm sure afraid it was a bit unpleasant fer youlast night at the station. "

"I was rather anxious at first and perhaps frightened, " repliedMadeline. 

"Wal, I'm some glad to tell you thet there's no man in these partsexcept your brother thet I'd as lief hev met you as Gene Stewart. "

"Indeed?"

"Yes, an' thet's takin' into consideration Gene's weakness, too. I'mallus fond of sayin' of myself thet I'm the last of the old cattlemen. Wal, Stewart's not a native Westerner, but he's my pick of the last ofthe cowboys. Sure, he's young, but he's the last of the old style--thepicturesque--an' chivalrous, too, I make bold to say, Miss Majesty, aswell as the old hard-ridin' kind. Folks are down on Stewart. An' I'monly sayin' a good word for him because he is down, an' mebbe last nighthe might hev scared you, you bein' fresh from the East. "

Madeline liked the old fellow for his loyalty to the cowboy he evidentlycared for; but as there did not seem anything for her to say, sheremained silent. 

"Miss Majesty, the day of the cattleman is about over. An' the day ofthe cowboy, such as Gene Stewart, is over. There's no place for Gene. Ifthese weren't modern days he'd come near bein' a gun-man, same as wehad in Texas, when I ranched there in the 'seventies. But he can't fitnowhere now; he can't hold a job, an' he's goin' down. "

"I am sorry to hear it, " murmured Madeline. "But, Mr. Stillwell, aren'tthese modern days out here just a little wild--yet? The conductor onmy train told me of rebels, bandits, raiders. Then I have had otherimpressions of--well, that were wild enough for me. "

"Wal, it's some more pleasant an' excitin' these days than for manyyears, " replied Stillwell. "The boys hev took to packin' guns again. Butthet's owin' to the revolution in Mexico. There's goin' to be troublealong the border. I reckon people in the East don't know there is arevolution. Wal, Madero will oust Diaz, an' then some other rebel willoust Madero. It means trouble on the border an' across the border, too. I wouldn't wonder if Uncle Sam hed to get a hand in the game. There'salready been holdups on the railroads an' raids along the Rio GrandeValley. An' these little towns are full of Greasers, all disturbed bythe fightin' down in Mexico. We've been hevin' shootin'-scrapes an'knifin'-scrapes, an' some cattle-raidin'. I hev been losin' a few cattleright along. Reminds me of old times; an' pretty soon if it doesn'tstop, I'll take the old-time way to stop it. "

"Yes, indeed, Majesty, " put in Alfred, "you have hit upon an interestingtime to visit us. "

"Wal, thet sure 'pears to be so, " rejoined Stillwell. "Stewart got introuble down heah to-day, an' I'm more than sorry to hev to tell youthet your name figgered in it. But I couldn't blame him, fer I surewould hev done the same myself. "

"That so?" queried Alfred, laughing. "Well, tell us about it. "

Madeline simply gazed at her brother, and, though he seemed amused ather consternation, there was mortification in his face. 

It required no great perspicuity, Madeline thought, to see thatStillwell loved to talk, and the way he squared himself and spread hishuge hands over his knees suggested that he meant to do this opportunityjustice. 

"Miss Majesty, I reckon, bein' as you're in the West now, thet you musttake things as they come, an' mind each thing a little less than the onebefore. If we old fellers hedn't been thet way we'd never hev lasted. 

"Last night wasn't particular bad, ratin' with some other nights lately. There wasn't much doin'. But, I had a hard knock. Yesterday when westarted in with a bunch of cattle I sent one of my cowboys, Danny Mains, along ahead, carryin' money I hed to pay off hands an' my bills, an' Iwanted thet money to get in town before dark. Wal, Danny was held up. I don't distrust the lad. There's been strange Greasers in town lately, an' mebbe they knew about the money comin'. 

"Wal, when I arrived with the cattle I was some put to it to make endsmeet. An' to-day I wasn't in no angelic humor. When I hed my businessall done I went around pokin' my nose beak an' there, tryin' to getscent of thet money. An' I happened in at a hall we hev thet does dutyfer' jail an' hospital an' election-post an' what not. Wal, just thenit was doin' duty as a hospital. Last night was fiesta night--theseGreasers hev a fiesta every week or so--an' one Greaser who hed been badhurt was layin' in the hall, where he hed been fetched from the station. Somebody hed sent off to Douglas fer a doctor, but be hedn't come yet. I've hed some experience with gunshot wounds, an' I looked thisfeller over. He wasn't shot up much, but I thought there was danger ofblood-poison-in'. Anyway, I did all I could. 

"The hall was full of cowboys, ranchers, Greasers, miners, an' townfolks, along with some strangers. I was about to get started up this waywhen Pat Hawe come in. 

"Pat he's the sheriff. I reckon, Miss Majesty, thet sheriffs are new toyou, an' fer sake of the West I'll explain to you thet we don't hev manyof the real thing any more. Garrett, who killed Billy the Kid an' waskilled himself near a year or so ago--he was the kind of sheriff thethelps to make a self-respectin' country. But this Pat Hawe--wal, Ireckon there's no good in me sayin' what I think of him. He come intothe hall, an' he was roarin' about things. He was goin' to arrest DannyMains on sight. Wal, I jest polite-like told Pat thet the money was minean' he needn't get riled about it. An' if I wanted to trail the thiefI reckon I could do it as well as anybody. Pat howled thet law was law, an' he was goin' to lay down the law. Sure it 'peared to me thet Pat wasdaid set to arrest the first man he could find excuse to. 

"Then he cooled down a bit an' was askin' questions about the woundedGreaser when Gene Stewart come in. Whenever Pat an' Gene come togetherit reminds me of the early days back in the 'seventies. Jest naturallyeverybody shut up. Fer Pat hates Gene, an' I reckon Gene ain't verysweet on Pat. They're jest natural foes in the first place, an' then thecourse of events here in El Cajon has been aggravatin'. 

"'Hello, Stewart! You're the feller I'm lookin' fer, ' said Pat. 

"Stewart eyed him an' said, mighty cool an' sarcastic, 'Hawe, you look agood deal fer me when I'm hittin' up the dust the other way. '

"Pat went red at thet, but he held in. 'Say, Stewart, you-all think alot of thet roan horse of yourn, with the aristocratic name?'

"'I reckon I do, ' replied Gene, shortly. 

"'Wal, where is he?'

"'Thet's none of your business, Hawe. '

"'Oho! it ain't, hey? Wal, I guess I can make it my business. Stewart, there was some queer goings-on last night thet you know somethin' about. Danny Mains robbed--Stillwell's money gone--your roan horse gone--thetlittle hussy Bonita gone--an' this Greaser near gone, too. Now, seein'thet you was up late an' prowlin' round the station where this Greaserwas found, it ain't onreasonable to think you might know how he gotplugged--is it?'

"Stewart laughed kind of cold, an' he rolled a cigarette, all the timeeyin' Pat, an' then he said if he'd plugged the Greaser it 'd never hevbeen sich a bunglin' job. 

"'I can arrest you on suspicion, Stewart, but before I go thet farI want some evidence. I want to round up Danny Mains an' thet littleGreaser girl. I want to find out what's become of your hoss. You'venever lent him since you hed him, an' there ain't enough raiders acrossthe border to steal him from you. It's got a queer look--thet hoss bein'gone. '

"'You sure are a swell detective, Hawe, an' I wish you a heap of luck, 'replied Stewart. 

"Thet 'peared to nettle Pat beyond bounds, an' he stamped around an'swore. Then he had an idea. It jest stuck out all over him, an' he shookhis finger in Stewart's face. 

"'You was drunk last night?'

"Stewart never batted an eye. 

"'You met some woman on Number Eight, didn't you?' shouted Hawe. 

"'I met a lady, ' replied Stewart, quiet an' menacin' like. 

"'You met Al Hammond's sister, an' you took her up to Kingsley's. An'cinch this, my cowboy cavalier, I'm goin' up there an' ask this granddame some questions, an' if she's as close-mouthed as you are I'llarrest her!'

"Gene Stewart turned white. I fer one expected to see him jump likelightnin', as he does when he's riled sudden. But he was calm an' he wasthinkin' hard. Presently he said:

"'Pat, thet's a fool idee, an' if you do the trick it'll hurt you allthe rest of your life. There's absolutely no reason to frighten MissHammond. An' tryin' to arrest her would be such a damned outrage aswon't be stood fer in El Cajon. If you're sore on me send me to jail. I'll go. If you want to hurt Al Hammond, go an' do it some man kind ofway. Don't take your spite out on us by insultin' a lady who has comehyar to hev a little visit. We're bad enough without bein' low-down asGreasers. '

"It was a long talk for Gene, an' I was as surprised as the rest of thefellers. Think of Gene Stewart talkin' soft an' sweet to thet red-eyedcoyote of a sheriff! An' Pat, he looked so devilishly gleeful thetif somethin' about Gene hedn't held me tight I'd hev got in the gamemy-self. It was plain to me an' others who spoke of it afterwards thetPat Hawe hed forgotten the law an' the officer in the man an' his hate. 

"'I'm a-goin', an' I'm a-goin' right now!' he shouted. "An' after thetany one could hev heerd a clock tick a mile off. Stewart seemed kindof chokin', an' he seemed to hev been bewildered by the idee of Hawe'sconfrontin' you. 

"An' finally he burst out: 'But, man, think who it is! It's MissHammond! If you seen her, even if you was locoed or drunk, you--youcouldn't do it. '

"'Couldn't I? Wal, I'll show you damn quick. What do I care who she is?Them swell Eastern women--I've heerd of them. They're not so much. ThisHammond woman--'

"Suddenly Hawe shut up, an' with his red mug turnin' green he went forhis gun. "

Stillwell paused in his narrative to get breath, and he wiped his moistbrow. And now his face began to lose its cragginess. It changed, itsoftened, it rippled and wrinkled, and all that strange mobility focusedand shone in a wonderful smile. 

"An' then, Miss Majesty, then there was somethin' happened. Stewart tookPat's gun away from him and throwed it on the floor. An' what followedwas beautiful. Sure it was the beautifulest sight I ever seen. Only itwas over so soon! A little while after, when the doctor came, he hedanother patient besides the wounded Greaser, an' he said thet this newone would require about four months to be up an' around cheerful-likeagain. An' Gene Stewart hed hit the trail for the border. "

IV. A Ride From Sunrise To Sunset

Next morning, when Madeline was aroused by her brother, it was not yetdaybreak; the air chilled her, and in the gray gloom she had to feelaround for matches and lamp. Her usual languid manner vanished at atouch of the cold water. Presently, when Alfred knocked on her door andsaid he was leaving a pitcher of hot water outside, she replied, withchattering teeth, "Th-thank y-you, b-but I d-don't ne-need any now. " Shefound it necessary, however, to warm her numb fingers before she couldfasten hooks and buttons. And when she was dressed she marked in the dimmirror that there were tinges of red in her cheeks. 

"Well, if I haven't some color!" she exclaimed. 

Breakfast waited for her in the dining-room. The sisters ate with her. Madeline quickly caught the feeling of brisk action that seemed to bein the air. From the back of the house sounded the tramp of boots andvoices of men, and from outside came a dull thump of hoofs, the rattleof harness, and creak of wheels. Then Alfred came stamping in. 

"Majesty, here's where you get the real thing, " he announced, merrily. "We're rushing you off, I'm sorry to say; but we must hustle back tothe ranch. The fall round-up begins to-morrow. You will ride in thebuck-board with Florence and Stillwell. I'll ride on ahead with the boysand fix up a little for you at the ranch. Your baggage will follow, butwon't get there till to-morrow sometime. It's a long ride out--nearlyfifty miles by wagon-road. Flo, don't forget a couple of robes. Wrap herup well. And hustle getting ready. We're waiting. "

A little later, when Madeline went out with Florence, the gray gloom waslightening. Horses were champing bits and pounding gravel. 

"Mawnin', Miss Majesty, " said Stillwell, gruffly, from the front seat ofa high vehicle. 

Alfred bundled her up into the back seat, and Florence after her, andwrapped them with robes. Then he mounted his horse and started off. "Gid-eb!" growled Stillwell, and with a crack of his whip the teamjumped into a trot. Florence whispered into Madeline's ear:

"Bill's grouchy early in the mawnin'. He'll thaw out soon as it getswarm. "

It was still so gray that Madeline could not distinguish objects at anyconsiderable distance, and she left El Cajon without knowing what thetown really looked like. She did know that she was glad to get out ofit, and found an easier task of dispelling persistent haunting memory. 

"Here come the cowboys, " said Florence. 

A line of horsemen appeared coming from the right and fell in behindAlfred, and gradually they drew ahead, to disappear from sight. WhileMadeline watched them the gray gloom lightened into dawn. All about herwas bare and dark; the horizon seemed close; not a hill nor a tree brokethe monotony. The ground appeared to be flat, but the road went up anddown over little ridges. Madeline glanced backward in the direction ofEl Cajon and the mountains she had seen the day before, and she saw onlybare and dark ground, like that which rolled before. 

A puff of cold wind struck her face and she shivered. Florence noticedher and pulled up the second robe and tucked it closely round her up toher chin. 

"If we have a little wind you'll sure feel it, " said the Western girl. 

Madeline replied that she already felt it. The wind appeared topenetrate the robes. It was cold, pure, nipping. It was so thin she hadto breathe as fast as if she were under ordinary exertion. It hurt hernose and made her lungs ache. 

"Aren't you co-cold?" asked Madeline. 

"I?" Florence laughed. "I'm used to it. I never get cold. "

The Western girl sat with ungloved hands on the outside of the robe sheevidently did not need to draw up around her. Madeline thought she hadnever seen such a clear-eyed, healthy, splendid girl. 

"Do you like to see the sun rise?" asked Florence. 

"Yes, I think I do, " replied Madeline, thoughtfully. "Frankly, I havenot seen it for years. "

"We have beautiful sunrises, and sunsets from the ranch are glorious. "

Long lines of pink fire ran level with the eastern horizon, whichappeared to recede as day brightened. A bank of thin, fleecy clouds wasturning rose. To the south and west the sky was dark; but every momentit changed, the blue turning bluer. The eastern sky was opalescent. Thenin one place gathered a golden light, and slowly concentrated till itwas like fire. The rosy bank of cloud turned to silver and pearl, andbehind it shot up a great circle of gold. Above the dark horizon gleamedan intensely bright disk. It was the sun. It rose swiftly, blazing outthe darkness between the ridges and giving color and distance to thesweep of land. 

"Wal, wal, " drawled Stillwell, and stretched his huge arms as if he hadjust awakened, "thet's somethin' like. "

Florence nudged Madeline and winked at her. 

"Fine mawnin', girls, " went on old Bill, cracking his whip. "MissMajesty, it'll be some oninterestin' ride all mawnin'. But when we getup a bit you'll sure like it. There! Look to the southwest, jest overthet farthest ridge. "

Madeline swept her gaze along the gray, sloping horizon-line to wheredark-blue spires rose far beyond the ridge. 

"Peloncillo Mountains, " said Stillwell. "Thet's home, when we getthere. We won't see no more of them till afternoon, when they rise upsudden-like. "

Peloncillo! Madeline murmured the melodious name. Where had she heardit? Then she remembered. The cowboy Stewart had told the little Mexicangirl Bonita to "hit the Peloncillo trail. " Probably the girl had riddenthe big, dark horse over this very road at night, alone. Madeline had alittle shiver that was not occasioned by the cold wind. 

"There's a jack!" cried Florence, suddenly. 

Madeline saw her first jack-rabbit. It was as large as a dog, and itsears were enormous. It appeared to be impudently tame, and the horseskicked dust over it as they trotted by. From then on old Bill andFlorence vied with each other in calling Madeline's attention to manythings along the way. Coyotes stealing away into the brush; buzzardsflapping over the carcass of a cow that had been mired in a wash; queerlittle lizards running swiftly across the road; cattle grazing in thehollows; adobe huts of Mexican herders; wild, shaggy horses, with headshigh, watching from the gray ridges--all these things Madeline lookedat, indifferently at first, because indifference had become habitualwith her, and then with an interest that flourished up and insensiblygrew as she rode on. It grew until sight of a little ragged Mexican boyastride the most diminutive burro she had ever seen awakened her tothe truth. She became conscious of faint, unmistakable awakening oflong-dead feelings--enthusiasm and delight. When she realized that, shebreathed deep of the cold, sharp air and experienced an inward joy. Andshe divined then, though she did not know why, that henceforth there wasto be something new in her life, something she had never felt before, something good for her soul in the homely, the commonplace, the natural, and the wild. 

Meanwhile, as Madeline gazed about her and listened to her companions, the sun rose higher and grew warm and soared and grew hot; the horsesheld tirelessly to their steady trot, and mile after mile of rollingland slipped by. 

From the top of a ridge Madeline saw down into a hollow where a few ofthe cowboys had stopped and were sitting round a fire, evidently busy atthe noonday meal. Their horses were feeding on the long, gray grass. 

"Wal, smell of thet burnin' greasewood makes my mouth water, " saidStillwell. "I'm sure hungry. We'll noon hyar an' let the hosses rest. It's a long pull to the ranch. "

He halted near the camp-fire, and, clambering down, began to unharnessthe team. Florence leaped out and turned to help Madeline. 

"Walk round a little, " she said. "You must be cramped from sitting stillso long. I'll get lunch ready. "

Madeline got down, glad to stretch her limbs, and began to stroll about. She heard Stillwell throw the harness on the ground and slap his horses. "Roll, you sons-of-guns!" he said. Both horses bent their fore legs, heaved down on their sides, and tried to roll over. One horse succeededon the fourth try, and then heaved up with a satisfied snort and shookoff the dust and gravel. The other one failed to roll over, and gave itup, half rose to his feet, and then lay down on the other side. 

"He's sure going to feel the ground, " said Florence, smiling atMadeline. "Miss Hammond, I suppose that prize horse of yours--WhiteStockings--would spoil his coat if he were heah to roll in thisgreasewood and cactus. "

During lunch-time Madeline observed that she was an object of manifestlygreat interest to the three cowboys. She returned the compliment, and was amused to see that a glance their way caused them painfulembarrassment. They were grown men--one of whom had white hair--yetthey acted like boys caught in the act of stealing a forbidden look at apretty girl. 

"Cowboys are sure all flirts, " said Florence, as if stating anuninteresting fact. But Madeline detected a merry twinkle in her cleareyes. The cowboys heard, and the effect upon them was magical. Theyfell to shamed confusion and to hurried useless tasks. Madeline foundit difficult to see where they had been bold, though evidently they werestricken with conscious guilt. She recalled appraising looks of criticalEnglish eyes, impudent French stares, burning Spanish glances--gantletswhich any American girl had to run abroad. Compared with foreign eyesthe eyes of these cowboys were those of smiling, eager babies. 

"Haw, haw!" roared Stillwell. "Florence, you jest hit the nail on thehaid. Cowboys are all plumb flirts. I was wonderin' why them boys noonedhyar. This ain't no place to noon. Ain't no grazin' or wood wuth burnin'or nuthin'. Them boys jest held up, throwed the packs, an' waitedfer us. It ain't so surprisin' fer Booly an' Ned--they're young an'coltish--but Nels there, why, he's old enough to be the paw of both yougirls. It sure is amazin' strange. "

A silence ensued. The white-haired cowboy, Nels, fussed aimlessly overthe camp-fire, and then straightened up with a very red face. 

"Bill, you're a dog-gone liar, " he said. "I reckon I won't stand to beclassed with Booly an' Ned. There ain't no cowboy on this range thet'smore appreciatin' of the ladies than me, but I shore ain't ridin' outof my way. I reckon I hev enough ridin' to do. Now, Bill, if you've sichdog-gone good eyes mebbe you seen somethin' on the way out?"

"Nels, I hevn't seen nothin', " he replied, bluntly. His levitydisappeared, and the red wrinkles narrowed round his searching eyes. 

"Jest take a squint at these hoss tracks, " said Nels, and he drewStillwell a few paces aside and pointed to large hoofprints in the dust. "I reckon you know the hoss thet made them?"

"Gene Stewart's roan, or I'm a son-of-a-gun!" exclaimed Stillwell, andhe dropped heavily to his knees and began to scrutinize the tracks. "Myeyes are sure pore; but, Nels, they ain't fresh. "

"I reckon them tracks was made early yesterday mornin'. "

"Wal, what if they was?" Stillwell looked at his cowboy. "It's sure asthet red nose of yourn Gene wasn't ridin' the roan. "

"Who's sayin' he was? Bill, its more 'n your eyes thet's gettin' old. Jest foller them tracks. Come on. "

Stillwell walked slowly, with his head bent, muttering to himself. Some thirty paces or more from the camp-fire he stopped short and againflopped to his knees. Then he crawled about, evidently examining horsetracks. 

"Nels, whoever was straddlin' Stewart's hoss met somebody. An' theyhauled up a bit, but didn't git down. "

"Tolerable good for you, Bill, thet reasonin', " replied the cowboy. 

Stillwell presently got up and walked swiftly to the left for some rods, halted, and faced toward the southwest, then retraced his steps. Helooked at the imperturbable cowboy. 

"Nels, I don't like this a little, " he growled. "Them tracks makestraight fer the Peloncillo trail. "

"Shore, " replied Nels. 

"Wal?" went on Stillwell, impatiently. 

"I reckon you know what hoss made the other tracks?"

"I'm thinkin' hard, but I ain't sure. "

"It was Danny Mains's bronc. "

"How do you know thet?" demanded Stillwell, sharply. "Bill, the leftfront foot of thet little hoss always wears a shoe thet sets crooked. Any of the boys can tell you. I'd know thet track if I was blind. "

Stillwell's ruddy face clouded and he kicked at a cactus plant. 

"Was Danny comin' or goin'?" he asked. 

"I reckon he was hittin' across country fer the Peloncillo trail. But Iain't shore of thet without back-trailin' him a ways. I was jest waitin'fer you to come up. "

"Nels, you don't think the boy's sloped with thet little hussy, Bonita?"

"Bill, he shore was sweet on Bonita, same as Gene was, an' Ed Lintonbefore he got engaged, an' all the boys. She's shore chain-lightnin', that little black-eyed devil. Danny might hev sloped with her all right. Danny was held up on the way to town, an' then in the shame of it he gotdrunk. But he'll shew up soon. "

"Wal, mebbe you an' the boys are right. I believe you are. Nels, thereain't no doubt on earth about who was ridin' Stewart's hoss?"

"Thet's as plain as the hoss's tracks. "

"Wal, it's all amazin' strange. It beats me. I wish the boys would easeup on drinkin'. I was pretty fond of Danny an' Gene. I'm afraid Gene'sdone fer, sure. If he crosses the border where he can fight it won'ttake long fer him to get plugged. I guess I'm gettin' old. I don't standthings like I used to. "

"Bill, I reckon I'd better hit the Peloncillo trail. Mebbe I can findDanny. "

"I reckon you had, Nels, " replied Stillwell. "But don't take more 'n acouple of days. We can't do much on the round-up without you. I'm shortof boys. "

That ended the conversation. Stillwell immediately began to hitch up histeam, and the cowboys went out to fetch their strayed horses. Madelinehad been curiously interested, and she saw that Florence knew it. 

"Things happen, Miss Hammond, " she said, soberly, almost sadly. 

Madeline thought. And then straightway Florence began brightly to hum atune and to busy herself repacking what was left of the lunch. Madelineconceived a strong liking and respect for this Western girl. She admiredthe consideration or delicacy or wisdom--what-ever it was--which keptFlorence from asking her what she knew or thought or felt about theevents that had taken place. 

Soon they were once more bowling along the road down a gradual incline, and then they began to climb a long ridge that had for hours hidden whatlay beyond. That climb was rather tiresome, owing to the sun and thedust and the restricted view. 

When they reached the summit Madeline gave a little gasp of pleasure. Adeep, gray, smooth valley opened below and sloped up on the other sidein little ridges like waves, and these led to the foothills, dotted withclumps of brush or trees, and beyond rose dark mountains, pine-fringedand crag-spired. 

"Wal, Miss Majesty, now we're gettin' somewhere, " said Stillwell, cracking his whip. "Ten miles across this valley an' we'll be in thefoothills where the Apaches used to run. "

"Ten miles!" exclaimed Madeline. "It looks no more than half a mile tome. "

"Wal, young woman, before you go to ridin' off alone you want to getyour eyes corrected to Western distance. Now, what'd you call them blackthings off there on the slope?"

"Horsemen. No, cattle, " replied Madeline, doubtfully. 

"Nope. Jest plain, every-day cactus. An' over hyar--look down thevalley. Somethin' of a pretty forest, ain't thet?" he asked, pointing. 

Madeline saw a beautiful forest in the center of the valley toward thesouth. 

"Wal, Miss Majesty, thet's jest this deceivin' air. There's no forest. It's a mirage. "

"Indeed! How beautiful it is!" Madeline strained her gaze on the darkblot, and it seemed to float in the atmosphere, to have no clearlydefined margins, to waver and shimmer, and then it faded and vanished. 

The mountains dropped down again behind the horizon, and presently theroad began once more to slope up. The horses slowed to a walk. There wasa mile of rolling ridge, and then came the foothills. The road ascendedthrough winding valleys. Trees and brush and rocks began to appear inthe dry ravines. There was no water, yet all along the sandy washes wereindications of floods at some periods. The heat and the dust stifledMadeline, and she had already become tired. Still she looked with allher eyes and saw birds, and beautiful quail with crests, and rabbits, and once she saw a deer. 

"Miss Majesty, " said Stillwell, "in the early days the Indians made thiscountry a bad one to live in. I reckon you never heerd much about themtimes. Surely you was hardly born then. I'll hev to tell you some dayhow I fought Comanches in the Panhandle--thet was northern Texas--an' Ihad some mighty hair-raisin' scares in this country with Apaches. "

He told her about Cochise, chief of the Chiricahua Apaches, the mostsavage and bloodthirsty tribe that ever made life a horror for thepioneer. Cochise befriended the whites once; but he was the victim ofthat friendliness, and he became the most implacable of foes. Then, Geronimo, another Apache chief, had, as late as 1885, gone on thewar-path, and had left a bloody trail down the New Mexico and Arizonaline almost to the border. Lone ranchmen and cowboys had been killed, and mothers had shot their children and then themselves at the approachof the Apache. The name Apache curdled the blood of any woman of theSouthwest in those days. 

Madeline shuddered, and was glad when the old frontiersman changedthe subject and began to talk of the settling of that country by theSpaniards, the legends of lost gold-mines handed down to the Mexicans, and strange stories of heroism and mystery and religion. The Mexicanshad not advanced much in spite of the spread of civilization to theSouthwest. They were still superstitious, and believed the legends oftreasures hidden in the walls of their missions, and that unseen handsrolled rocks down the gullies upon the heads of prospectors who dared tohunt for the lost mines of the padres. 

"Up in the mountains back of my ranch there's a lost mine, " saidStillwell. "Mebbe it's only a legend. But somehow I believe it's there. Other lost mines hev been found. An' as fer' the rollin' stones, I sureknow thet's true, as any one can find out if he goes trailin' up thegulch. Mebbe thet's only the weatherin' of the cliffs. It's a sleepy, strange country, this Southwest, an', Miss Majesty, you're a-goin' tolove it. You'll call it ro-mantic, Wal, I reckon ro-mantic is correct. Afeller gets lazy out hyar an' dreamy, an' he wants to put off work tillto-morrow. Some folks say it's a land of manana--a land of to-morrow. Thet's the Mexican of it. 

"But I like best to think of what a lady said to me onct--an eddicatedlady like you, Miss Majesty. Wal, she said it's a land where it's alwaysafternoon. I liked thet. I always get up sore in the mawnin's, an' don'tfeel good till noon. But in the afternoon I get sorta warm an' likethings. An' sunset is my time. I reckon I don't want nothin' any finerthan sunset from my ranch. You look out over a valley that spreads widebetween Guadalupe Mountains an' the Chiricahuas, down across the redArizona desert clear to the Sierra Madres in Mexico. Two hundred miles, Miss Majesty! An' all as clear as print! An' the sun sets behind allthet! When my time comes to die I'd like it to be on my porch smokin' mypipe an' facin' the west. "

So the old cattleman talked on while Madeline listened, and Florencedozed in her seat, and the sun began to wane, and the horses climbedsteadily. Presently, at the foot of the steep ascent, Stillwell got outand walked, leading the team. During this long climb fatigue claimedMadeline, and she drowsily closed her eyes, to find when she opened themagain that the glaring white sky had changed to a steel-blue. The sunhad sunk behind the foothills and the air was growing chilly. Stillwellhad returned to the driving-seat and was chuckling to the horses. Shadows crept up out of the hollows. 

"Wal, Flo, " said Stillwell, "I reckon we'd better hev the rest of thetthere lunch before dark. "

"You didn't leave much of it, " laughed Florence, as she produced thebasket from under the seat. 

While they ate, the short twilight shaded and gloom filled the hollows. Madeline saw the first star, a faint, winking point of light. The skyhad now changed to a hazy gray. Madeline saw it gradually clear anddarken, to show other faint stars. After that there was perceptibledeepening of the gray and an enlarging of the stars and a brightening ofnew-born ones. Night seemed to come on the cold wind. Madeline was gladto have the robes close around her and to lean against Florence. Thehollows were now black, but the tops of the foothills gleamed pale ina soft light. The steady tramp of the horses went on, and the creak ofwheels and crunching of gravel. Madeline grew so sleepy that she couldnot keep her weary eyelids from falling. There were drowsier spells inwhich she lost a feeling of where she was, and these were disturbed bythe jolt of wheels over a rough place. Then came a blank interval, shortor long, which ended in a more violent lurch of the buckboard. Madelineawoke to find her head on Florence's shoulder. She sat up laughing andapologizing for her laziness. Florence assured her they would soon reachthe ranch. 

Madeline observed then that the horses were once more trotting. The windwas colder, the night darker, the foot-hills flatter. And the sky wasnow a wonderful deep velvet-blue blazing with millions of stars. Someof them were magnificent. How strangely white and alive! Again Madelinefelt the insistence of familiar yet baffling associations. These whitestars called strangely to her or haunted her. 

V. The Round-Up

It was a crackling and roaring of fire that awakened Madeline nextmorning, and the first thing she saw was a huge stone fireplace in whichlay a bundle of blazing sticks. Some one had kindled a fire while sheslept. For a moment the curious sensation of being lost returned to her. She just dimly remembered reaching the ranch and being taken into a hugehouse and a huge, dimly lighted room. And it seemed to her that she hadgone to sleep at once, and had awakened without remembering how she hadgotten to bed. 

But she was wide awake in an instant. The bed stood near one end of anenormous chamber. The adobe walls resembled a hall in an ancient feudalcastle, stone-floored, stone-walled, with great darkened rafters runningacross the ceiling. The few articles of furniture were worn out andsadly dilapidated. Light flooded into the room from two windows on theright of the fireplace and two on the left, and another large windownear the bedstead. Looking out from where she lay, Madeline saw a dark, slow up-sweep of mountain. Her eyes returned to the cheery, snappingfire, and she watched it while gathering courage to get up. The room wascold. When she did slip her bare feet out upon the stone floor she veryquickly put them back under the warm blankets. And she was still inbed trying to pluck up her courage when, with a knock on the door and acheerful greeting, Florence entered, carrying steaming hot water. 

"Good mawnin', Miss Hammond. Hope you slept well. You sure were tiredlast night. I imagine you'll find this old rancho house as cold as abarn. It'll warm up directly. Al's gone with the boys and Bill. We're toride down on the range after a while when your baggage comes. "

Florence wore a woolen blouse with a scarf round her neck, ashort corduroy divided skirt, and boots; and while she talked sheenergetically heaped up the burning wood in the fireplace, and laidMadeline's clothes at the foot of the bed, and heated a rug and put thaton the floor by the bedside. And lastly, with a sweet, direct smile, shesaid:

"Al told me--and I sure saw myself--that you weren't used to beingwithout your maid. Will you let me help you?"

"Thank you, I am going to be my own maid for a while. I expect I doappear a very helpless individual, but really I do not feel so. PerhapsI have had just a little too much waiting on. "

"All right. Breakfast will be ready soon, and after that we'll lookabout the place. "

Madeline was charmed with the old Spanish house, and the more she saw ofit the more she thought what a delightful home it could be made. Allthe doors opened into a courtyard, or patio, as Florence called it. Thehouse was low, in the shape of a rectangle, and so immense in size thatMadeline wondered if it had been a Spanish barracks. Many of the roomswere dark, without windows, and they were empty. Others were full ofranchers' implements and sacks of grain and bales of hay. Florencecalled these last alfalfa. The house itself appeared strong and wellpreserved, and it was very picturesque. But in the living-rooms wereonly the barest necessities, and these were worn out and comfortless. 

However, when Madeline went outdoors she forgot the cheerless, bareinterior. Florence led the way out on a porch and waved a hand at avast, colored void. "That's what Bill likes, " she said. 

At first Madeline could not tell what was sky and what was land. Theimmensity of the scene stunned her faculties of conception. She sat downin one of the old rocking-chairs and looked and looked, and knew thatshe was not grasping the reality of what stretched wondrously beforeher. 

"We're up at the edge of the foothills, " Florence said. "You remember werode around the northern end of the mountain range? Well, that's behindus now, and you look down across the line into Arizona and Mexico. Thatlong slope of gray is the head of the San Bernardino Valley. Straightacross you see the black Chiricahua Mountains, and away down to thesouth the Guadalupe Mountains. That awful red gulf between is thedesert, and far, far beyond the dim, blue peaks are the Sierra Madres inMexico. "

Madeline listened and gazed with straining eyes, and wondered if thiswas only a stupendous mirage, and why it seemed so different from allelse that she had seen, and so endless, so baffling, so grand. 

"It'll sure take you a little while to get used to being up high andseeing so much, " explained Florence. "That's the secret--we're up high, the air is clear, and there's the whole bare world beneath us. Don'tit somehow rest you? Well, it will. Now see those specks in the valley. They are stations, little towns. The railroad goes down that way. Thelargest speck is Chiricahua. It's over forty miles by trail. Here roundto the north you can see Don Carlos's rancho. He's fifteen miles off, and I sure wish he were a thousand. That little green square abouthalf-way between here and Don Carlos--that's Al's ranch. Just below usare the adobe houses of the Mexicans. There's a church, too. And here tothe left you see Stillwell's corrals and bunk-houses and his stables allfalling to pieces. The ranch has gone to ruin. All the ranches are goingto ruin. But most of them are little one-horse affairs. And here--seethat cloud of dust down in the valley? It's the round-up. The boys arethere, and the cattle. Wait, I'll get the glasses. "

By their aid Madeline saw in the foreground a great, dense herd ofcattle with dark, thick streams and dotted lines of cattle leading inevery direction. She saw streaks and clouds of dust, running horses, anda band of horses grazing; and she descried horsemen standing still likesentinels, and others in action. 

"The round-up! I want to know all about it--to see it, " declaredMadeline. "Please tell me what it means, what it's for, and then take medown there. "

"It's sure a sight, Miss Hammond. I'll be glad to take you down, but Ifancy you'll not want to go close. Few Eastern people who regularly eattheir choice cuts of roast beef and porterhouse have any idea of theopen range and the struggle cattle have to live and the hard life ofcowboys. It'll sure open your eyes, Miss Hammond. I'm glad you care toknow. Your brother would have made a big success in this cattle businessif it hadn't been for crooked work by rival ranchers. He'll make it yet, in spite of them. "

"Indeed he shall, " replied Madeline. "But tell me, please, all about theround-up. "

"Well, in the first place, every cattleman has to have a brand toidentify his stock. Without it no cattleman, nor half a hundred cowboys, if he had so many, could ever recognize all the cattle in a big herd. There are no fences on our ranges. They are all open to everybody. Someday I hope we'll be rich enough to fence a range. The different herdsgraze together. Every calf has to be caught, if possible, and brandedwith the mark of its mother. That's no easy job. A maverick is anunbranded calf that has been weaned and shifts for itself. The maverickthen belongs to the man who finds it and brands it. These little calvesthat lose their mothers sure have a cruel time of it. Many of them die. Then the coyotes and wolves and lions prey on them. Every year we havetwo big round-ups, but the boys do some branding all the year. A calfshould be branded as soon as it's found. This is a safeguard againstcattle-thieves. We don't have the rustling of herds and bunches ofcattle like we used to. But there's always the calf-thief, and alwayswill be as long as there's cattle-raising. The thieves have a good manycunning tricks. They kill the calf's mother or slit the calf's tongueso it can't suck and so loses its mother. They steal and hide a calfand watch it till it's big enough to fare for itself, and then brand it. They make imperfect brands and finish them at a later time. 

"We have our big round-up in the fall, when there's plenty of grass andwater, and all the riding-stock as well as the cattle are in fine shape. The cattlemen in the valley meet with their cowboys and drive in all thecattle they can find. Then they brand and cut out each man's herdand drive it toward home. Then they go on up or down the valley, makeanother camp, and drive in more cattle. It takes weeks. There areso many Greasers with little bands of stock, and they are crafty andgreedy. Bill says he knows Greaser cowboys, vaqueros, who never owneda steer or a cow, and now they've got growing herds. The same might besaid of more than one white cowboy. But there's not as much of that asthere used to be. "

"And the horses? I want to know about them, " said Madeline, whenFlorence paused. 

"Oh, the cow-ponies! Well, they sure are interesting. Broncos, the boyscall them. Wild! they're wilder than the steers they have to chase. Bill's got broncos heah that never have been broken and never will be. And not every boy can ride them, either. The vaqueros have the finesthorses. Don Carlos has a black that I'd give anything to own. And hehas other fine stock. Gene Stewart's big roan is a Mexican horse, theswiftest and proudest I ever saw. I was up on him once and--oh, he canrun! He likes a woman, too, and that's sure something I want in a horse. I heard Al and Bill talking at breakfast about a horse for you. Theywere wrangling. Bill wanted you to have one, and Al another. It wasfunny to hear them. Finally they left the choice to me, until theround-up is over. Then I suppose every cowboy on the range will offeryou his best mount. Come, let's go out to the corrals and look over thefew horses left. "

For Madeline the morning hours flew by, with a goodly part of the timespent on the porch gazing out over that ever-changing vista. At noona teamster drove up with her trunks. Then while Florence helped theMexican woman get lunch Madeline unpacked part of her effects and gotout things for which she would have immediate need. After lunch shechanged her dress for a riding-habit and, going outside, found Florencewaiting with the horses. 

The Western girl's clear eyes seemed to take stock of Madeline'sappearance in one swift, inquisitive glance and then shone withpleasure. 

"You sure look--you're a picture, Miss Hammond. That riding-outfit isa new one. What it 'd look like on me or another woman I can't imagine, but on you it's--it's stunning. Bill won't let you go within a mile ofthe cowboys. If they see you that'll be the finish of the round-up. "

While they rode down the slope Florence talked about the open ranges ofNew Mexico and Arizona. 

"Water is scarce, " she said. "If Bill could afford to pipe water downfrom the mountains he'd have the finest ranch in the valley. "

She went on to tell that the climate was mild in winter and hot insummer. Warm, sunshiny days prevailed nearly all the year round. Somesummers it rained, and occasionally there would be a dry year, thedreaded ano seco of the Mexicans. Rain was always expected and prayedfor in the midsummer months, and when it came the grama-grass sprangup, making the valleys green from mountain to mountain. The intersectingvalleys, ranging between the long slope of foothills, afforded the bestpasture for cattle, and these were jealously sought by the Mexicanswho had only small herds to look after. Stillwell's cowboys were alwayschasing these vaqueros off land that belonged to Stillwell. He ownedtwenty thousand acres of unfenced land adjoining the open range. DonCarlos possessed more acreage than that, and his cattle were alwaysmingling with Stillwell's. And in turn Don Carlos's vaqueros were alwayschasing Stillwell's cattle away from the Mexican's watering-place. Badfeeling had been manifested for years, and now relations were strainedto the breaking-point. 

As Madeline rode along she made good use of her eyes. The soil wassandy and porous, and she understood why the rain and water from thefew springs disappeared so quickly. At a little distance the grama-grassappeared thick, but near at hand it was seen to be sparse. Bunches ofgreasewood and cactus plants were interspersed here and there inthe grass. What surprised Madeline was the fact that, though she andFlorence had seemed to be riding quite awhile, they had apparently notdrawn any closer to the round-up. The slope of the valley was noticeableonly after some miles had been traversed. Looking forward, Madelineimagined the valley only a few miles wide. She would have been sure shecould walk her horse across it in an hour. Yet that black, bold rangeof Chiricahua Mountains was distant a long day's journey for even ahard-riding cowboy. It was only by looking back that Madeline couldgrasp the true relation of things; she could not be deceived by distanceshe had covered. 

Gradually the black dots enlarged and assumed shape of cattle and horsesmoving round a great dusty patch. In another half-hour Madeline rodebehind Florence to the outskirts of the scene of action. They drew reinnear a huge wagon in the neighborhood of which were more than a hundredhorses grazing and whistling and trotting about and lifting heads towatch the new-comers. Four cowboys stood mounted guard over this droveof horses. Perhaps a quarter of a mile farther out was a dusty melee. A roar of tramping hoofs filled Madeline's ears. The lines of marchingcattle had merged into a great, moving herd half obscured by dust. 

"I can make little of what is going on, " said Madeline. "I want to gocloser. "

They trotted across half the intervening distance, and when Florencehalted again Madeline was still not satisfied and asked to be takennearer. This time, before they reined in again, Al Hammond saw them andwheeled his horse in their direction. He yelled something which Madelinedid not understand, and then halted them. 

"Close enough, " he called; and in the din his voice was not very clear. "It's not safe. Wild steers! I'm glad you came, girls. Majesty, what doyou think of that bunch of cattle?"

Madeline could scarcely reply what she thought, for the noise and dustand ceaseless action confused her. 

"They're milling, Al, " said Florence. 

"We just rounded them up. They're milling, and that's bad. The vaquerosare hard drivers. They beat us all hollow, and we drove some, too. " Hewas wet with sweat, black with dust, and out of breath. "I'm off now. Flo, my sister will have enough of this in about two minutes. Take herback to the wagon. I'll tell Bill you're here, and run in whenever I geta minute. "

The bawling and bellowing, the crackling of horns and pounding of hoofs, the dusty whirl of cattle, and the flying cowboys disconcerted Madelineand frightened her a little; but she was intensely interested and meantto stay there until she saw for herself what that strife of sound andaction meant. When she tried to take in the whole scene she did not makeout anything clearly and she determined to see it little by little. 

"Will you stay longer?" asked Florence; and, receiving an affirmativereply, she warned Madeline: "If a runaway steer or angry cow comes thisway let your horse go. He'll get out of the way. "

That lent the situation excitement, and Madeline became absorbed. Thegreat mass of cattle seemed to be eddying like a whirlpool, and fromthat Madeline understood the significance of the range word "milling. "But when Madeline looked at one end of the herd she saw cattle standingstill, facing outward, and calves cringing close in fear. The motionof the cattle slowed from the inside of the herd to the outside andgradually ceased. The roar and tramp of hoofs and crack of horns andthump of heads also ceased in degree, but the bawling and bellowingcontinued. While she watched, the herd spread, grew less dense, andstragglers appeared to be about to bolt through the line of mountedcowboys. 

From that moment so many things happened, and so swiftly, that Madelinecould not see a tenth of what was going on within eyesight. It seemedhorsemen darted into the herd and drove out cattle. Madeline pinned hergaze on one cowboy who rode a white horse and was chasing a steer. Hewhirled a lasso around his head and threw it; the rope streaked outand the loop caught the leg of the steer. The white horse stopped withwonderful suddenness, and the steer slid in the dust. Quick as a flashthe cowboy was out of the saddle, and, grasping the legs of the steerbefore it could rise, he tied them with a rope. It had all been donealmost as quickly as thought. Another man came with what Madelinedivined was a branding-iron. He applied it to the flank of the steer. Then it seemed the steer was up with a jump, wildly looking for some wayto run, and the cowboy was circling his lasso. Madeline saw fires in thebackground, with a man in charge, evidently heating the irons. Then thissame cowboy roped a heifer which bawled lustily when the hot iron searedits hide. Madeline saw the smoke rising from the touch of the iron, and the sight made her shrink and want to turn away, but she resolutelyfought her sensitiveness. She had never been able to bear the sight ofany animal suffering. The rough work in men's lives was as a sealed bookto her; and now, for some reason beyond her knowledge, she wanted tosee and hear and learn some of the every-day duties that made up thoselives. 

"Look, Miss Hammond, there's Don Carlos!" said Florence. "Look at thatblack horse!"

Madeleine saw a dark-faced Mexican riding by. He was too far away forher to distinguish his features, but he reminded her of an Italianbrigand. He bestrode a magnificent horse. 

Stillwell rode up to the girls then and greeted them in his big voice. 

"Right in the thick of it, hey? Wal, thet's sure fine. I'm glad to see, Miss Majesty, thet you ain't afraid of a little dust or smell of burnin'hide an' hair. "

"Couldn't you brand the calves without hurting them?" asked Madeline. 

"Haw, haw! Why, they ain't hurt none. They jest bawl for their mammas. Sometimes, though, we hev to hurt one jest to find which is his mamma. "

"I want to know how you tell what brand to put on those calves that areseparated from their mothers, " asked Madeline. 

"Thet's decided by the round-up bosses. I've one boss an' Don Carloshas one. They decide everything, an' they hev to be obyed. There's NickSteele, my boss. Watch him! He's ridin' a bay in among the cattle there. He orders the calves an' steers to be cut out. Then the cowboys do thecuttin' out an' the brandin'. We try to divide up the mavericks as nearas possible. "

At this juncture Madeline's brother joined the group, evidently insearch of Stillwell. 

"Bill, Nels just rode in, " he said. 

"Good! We sure need him. Any news of Danny Mains?"

"No. Nels said he lost the trail when he got on hard ground. "

"Wal, wal. Say, Al, your sister is sure takin' to the round-up. An' theboys are gettin' wise. See thet sun-of-a-gun Ambrose cuttin' capersall around. He'll sure do his prettiest. Ambrose is a ladies' man, hethinks. "

The two men and Florence joined in a little pleasant teasing ofMadeline, and drew her attention to what appeared to be reallyunnecessary feats of horsemanship all made in her vicinity. The cowboysevinced their interest in covert glances while recoiling a lasso orwhile passing to and fro. It was all too serious for Madeline to beamused at that moment. She did not care to talk. She sat her horse andwatched. 

The lithe, dark vaqueros fascinated her. They were here, there, everywhere, with lariats flying, horses plunging back, jerking calvesand yearlings to the grass. They were cruel to their mounts, cruel totheir cattle. Madeline winced as the great silver rowels of the spurswent plowing into the flanks of their horses. She saw these spursstained with blood, choked with hair. She saw the vaqueros break thelegs of calves and let them lie till a white cowboy came along and shotthem. Calves were jerked down and dragged many yards; steers were pulledby one leg. These vaqueros were the most superb horsemen Madeline hadever seen, and she had seen the Cossacks and Tatars of the Russiansteppes. They were swift, graceful, daring; they never failed to catcha running steer, and the lassoes always went true. What sharp dashesthe horses made, and wheelings here and there, and sudden stops, and howthey braced themselves to withstand the shock!

The cowboys, likewise, showed wonderful horsemanship, and, reckless asthey were, Madeline imagined she saw consideration for steed and cattlethat was wanting in the vaqueros. They changed mounts oftener than theMexican riders, and the horses they unsaddled for fresh ones were not sospent, so wet, so covered with lather. It was only after an hour or moreof observation that Madeline began to realize the exceedingly toilsomeand dangerous work cowboys had to perform. There was little or no restfor them. They were continually among wild and vicious and wide-hornedsteers. In many instances they owed their lives to their horses. Thedanger came mostly when the cowboy leaped off to tie and brand a calf hehad thrown. Some of the cows charged with lowered, twisting horns. Timeand again Madeline's heart leaped to her throat for fear a man would begored. One cowboy roped a calf that bawled loudly. Its mother dashed inand just missed the kneeling cowboy as he rolled over. Then he had torun, and he could not run very fast. He was bow-legged and appearedawkward. Madeline saw another cowboy thrown and nearly run over by aplunging steer. His horse bolted as if it intended to leave the range. Then close by Madeline a big steer went down at the end of a lasso. The cowboy who had thrown it nimbly jumped down, and at that moment hishorse began to rear and prance and suddenly to lower his head close tothe ground and kick high. He ran round in a circle, the fallen steer onthe taut lasso acting as a pivot. The cowboy loosed the rope from thesteer, and then was dragged about on the grass. It was almost frightfulfor Madeline to see that cowboy go at his horse. But she recognized themastery and skill. Then two horses came into collision on the run. Onehorse went down; the rider of the other was unseated and was kickedbefore he could get up. This fellow limped to his mount and struck athim, while the horse showed his teeth in a vicious attempt to bite. 

All the while this ceaseless activity was going on there was a strangeuproar--bawl and bellow, the shock of heavy bodies meeting and falling, the shrill jabbering of the vaqueros, and the shouts and banterings ofthe cowboys. They took sharp orders and replied in jest. They went aboutthis stern toil as if it were a game to be played in good humor. Onesang a rollicking song, another whistled, another smoked a cigarette. The sun was hot, and they, like their horses, were dripping with sweat. The characteristic red faces had taken on so much dust that cowboyscould not be distinguished from vaqueros except by the difference indress. Blood was not wanting on tireless hands. The air was thick, oppressive, rank with the smell of cattle and of burning hide. 

Madeline began to sicken. She choked with dust, was almost stifledby the odor. But that made her all the more determined to stay there. Florence urged her to come away, or at least move back out of theworst of it. Stillwell seconded Florence. Madeline, however, smilinglyrefused. Then her brother said: "Here, this is making you sick. You'repale. " And she replied that she intended to stay until the day's workended. Al gave her a strange look, and made no more comment. The kindlyStillwell then began to talk. 

"Miss Majesty, you're seein' the life of the cattleman an' cowboy--thereal thing--same as it was in the early days. The ranchers in Texas an'some in Arizona hev took on style, new-fangled idees thet are good, an' I wish we could follow them. But we've got to stick to theold-fashioned, open-range round-up. It looks cruel to you, I can seethet. Wal, mebbe so, mebbe so. Them Greasers are cruel, thet's certain. Fer thet matter, I never seen a Greaser who wasn't cruel. But I reckonall the strenuous work you've seen to-day ain't any tougher than mostany day of a cowboy's life. Long hours on hossback, poor grub, sleepin'on the ground, lonesome watches, dust an' sun an' wind an' thirst, dayin an' day out all the year round--thet's what a cowboy has. 

"Look at Nels there. See, what little hair he has is snow-white. He'sred an' thin an' hard--burned up. You notice thet hump of his shoulders. An' his hands, when he gets close--jest take a peep at his hands. Nelscan't pick up a pin. He can't hardly button his shirt or untie a knot inhis rope. He looks sixty years--an old man. Wal, Nels 'ain't seen forty. He's a young man, but he's seen a lifetime fer every year. Miss Majesty, it was Arizona thet made Nels what he is, the Arizona desert an' thework of a cowman. He's seen ridin' at Canyon Diablo an' the Verdi an'Tonto Basin. He knows every mile of Aravaipa Valley an' the Pinalenocountry. He's ranged from Tombstone to Douglas. He hed shot bad whitemen an' bad Greasers before he was twenty-one. He's seen some life, Nelshas. My sixty years ain't nothin'; my early days in the Staked Plainsan' on the border with Apaches ain't nothin' to what Nels has seen an'lived through. He's just come to be part of the desert; you might sayhe's stone an' fire an' silence an' cactus an' force. He's a man, MissMajesty, a wonderful man. Rough he'll seem to you. Wal, I'll show youpieces of quartz from the mountains back of my ranch an' they're thetrough they'd cut your hands. But there's pure gold in them. An' so it iswith Nels an' many of these cowboys. 

"An' there's Price--Monty Price. Monty stands fer Montana, where hehails from. Take a good look at him, Miss Majesty. He's been hurt, Ireckon. Thet accounts fer him bein' without hoss or rope; an' thet limp. Wal, he's been ripped a little. It's sure rare an seldom thet a cowboygets foul of one of them thousands of sharp horns; but it does happen. "

Madeline saw a very short, wizened little man, ludicrously bow-legged, with a face the color and hardness of a burned-out cinder. He washobbling by toward the wagon, and one of his short, crooked legsdragged. 

"Not much to look at, is he?" went on Stillwell. "Wal; I know it'snatural thet we're all best pleased by good looks in any one, even aman. It hedn't ought to be thet way. Monty Price looks like hell. Butappearances are sure deceivin'. Monty saw years of ridin' along theMissouri bottoms, the big prairies, where there's high grass an'sometimes fires. In Montana they have blizzards that freeze cattlestandin' in their tracks. An' hosses freeze to death. They tell me theta drivin' sleet in the face with the mercury forty below is somethin' toride against. You can't get Monty to say much about cold. All you hevto do is to watch him, how he hunts the sun. It never gets too hot ferMonty. Wal, I reckon he was a little more prepossessin' once. The storythet come to us about Monty is this: He got caught out in a prairie firean' could hev saved himself easy, but there was a lone ranch right inthe line of fire, an' Monty knowed the rancher was away, an' his wifean' baby was home. He knowed, too, the way the wind was, thet theranch-house would burn. It was a long chance he was takin'. But he wentover, put the woman up behind him, wrapped the baby an' his hoss's haidin a wet blanket, an' rode away. Thet was sure some ride, I've heerd. But the fire ketched Monty at the last. The woman fell an' was lost, an' then his hoss. An' Monty ran an' walked an' crawled through the firewith thet baby, an' he saved it. Monty was never much good as a cowboyafter thet. He couldn't hold no jobs. Wal, he'll have one with me aslong as I have a steer left. "

VI. A Gift and A Purchase

For a week the scene of the round-up lay within riding-distance ofthe ranch-house, and Madeline passed most of this time in the saddle, watching the strenuous labors of the vaqueros and cowboys. Sheoverestimated her strength, and more than once had to be lifted from herhorse. Stillwell's pleasure in her attendance gave place to concern. Hetried to persuade her to stay away from the round-up, and Florence greweven more solicitous. 

Madeline, however, was not moved by their entreaties. She grasped onlydimly the truth of what it was she was learning--something infinitelymore than the rounding up of cattle by cowboys, and she was loath tolose an hour of her opportunity. 

Her brother looked out for her as much as his duties permitted; but forseveral days he never once mentioned her growing fatigue and the strainof excitement, or suggested that she had better go back to the housewith Florence. Many times she felt the drawing power of his keen blueeyes on her face. And at these moments she sensed more than brotherlyregard. He was watching her, studying her, weighing her, and theconviction was vaguely disturbing. It was disquieting for Madeline tothink that Alfred might have guessed her trouble. From time to timehe brought cowboys to her and introduced them, and laughed and jested, trying to make the ordeal less embarrassing for these men so little usedto women. 

Before the week was out, however, Alfred found occasion to tell her thatit would be wiser for her to let the round-up go on without gracing itfurther with her presence. He said it laughingly; nevertheless, he wasserious. And when Madeline turned to him in surprise he said, bluntly:

"I don't like the way Don Carlos follows you around. Bill's afraidthat Nels or Ambrose or one of the cowboys will take a fall out of theMexican. They're itching for the chance. Of course, dear, it's absurd toyou, but it's true. "

Absurd it certainly was, yet it served to show Madeline how intenselyoccupied she had been with her own feelings, roused by the tumult andtoil of the round-up. She recalled that Don Carlos had been presented toher, and that she had not liked his dark, striking face with its bold, prominent, glittering eyes and sinister lines; and she had not liked hissuave, sweet, insinuating voice or his subtle manner, with its slowbows and gestures. She had thought he looked handsome and dashing onthe magnificent black horse. However, now that Alfred's words made herthink, she recalled that wherever she had been in the field the noblehorse, with his silver-mounted saddle and his dark rider, had beenalways in her vicinity. 

"Don Carlos has been after Florence for a long time, " said Alfred. "He'snot a young man by any means. He's fifty, Bill says; but you can seldomtell a Mexican's age from his looks. Don Carlos is well educated and aman we know very little about. Mexicans of his stamp don't regard womenas we white men do. Now, my dear, beautiful sister from New York, Ihaven't much use for Don Carlos; but I don't want Nels or Ambrose tomake a wild throw with a rope and pull the Don off his horse. So you hadbetter ride up to the house and stay there. "

"Alfred, you are joking, teasing me, " said Madeline. "Indeed not, "replied Alfred. "How about it, Flo?" Florence replied that the cowboyswould upon the slightest provocation treat Don Carlos with less ceremonyand gentleness than a roped steer. Old Bill Stillwell came up to beimportuned by Alfred regarding the conduct of cowboys on occasion, andhe not only corroborated the assertion, but added emphasis and evidenceof his own. 

"An', Miss Majesty, " he concluded, "I reckon if Gene Stewart was ridin'fer me, thet grinnin' Greaser would hev hed a bump in the dust beforenow. "

Madeline had been wavering between sobriety and laughter untilStillwell's mention of his ideal of cowboy chivalry decided in favor ofthe laughter. 

"I am not convinced, but I surrender, " she said. "You have only someoccult motive for driving me away. I am sure that handsome Don Carlosis being unjustly suspected. But as I have seen a little of cowboys'singular imagination and gallantry, I am rather inclined to fear theirpossibilities. So good-by. "

Then she rode with Florence up the long, gray slope to the ranch-house. That night she suffered from excessive weariness, which she attributedmore to the strange working of her mind than to riding and sitting herhorse. Morning, however, found her in no disposition to rest. It wasnot activity that she craved, or excitement, or pleasure. An unerringinstinct, rising dear from the thronging sensations of the last fewdays, told her that she had missed something in life. It could not havebeen love, for she loved brother, sister, parents, friends; it could nothave been consideration for the poor, the unfortunate, the hapless; shehad expressed her sympathy for these by giving freely; it could not havebeen pleasure, culture, travel, society, wealth, position, fame, forthese had been hers all her life. Whatever this something was, shehad baffling intimations of it, hopes that faded on the verge ofrealizations, haunting promises that were unfulfilled. Whatever it was, it had remained hidden and unknown at home, and here in the West itbegan to allure and drive her to discovery. Therefore she could notrest; she wanted to go and see; she was no longer chasing phantoms; itwas a hunt for treasure that held aloof, as intangible as the substanceof dreams. 

That morning she spoke a desire to visit the Mexican quarters lying atthe base of the foothills. Florence protested that this was no place totake Madeline. But Madeline insisted, and it required only a few wordsand a persuading smile to win Florence over. 

From the porch the cluster of adobe houses added a picturesque touch ofcolor and contrast to the waste of gray valley. Near at hand they provedthe enchantment lent by distance. They were old, crumbling, broken down, squalid. A few goats climbed around upon them; a few mangy dogs barkedannouncement of visitors; and then a troop of half-naked, dirty, ragged children ran out. They were very shy, and at first retreated inaffright. But kind words and smiles gained their confidence, and thenthey followed in a body, gathering a quota of new children at eachhouse. Madeline at once conceived the idea of doing something to betterthe condition of these poor Mexicans, and with this in mind she decidedto have a look indoors. She fancied she might have been an apparition, judging from the effect her presence had upon the first woman sheencountered. While Florence exercised what little Spanish she hadcommand of, trying to get the women to talk, Madeline looked about themiserable little rooms. And there grew upon her a feeling of sickness, which increased as she passed from one house to another. She had notbelieved such squalor could exist anywhere in America. The huts reekedwith filth; vermin crawled over the dirt floors. There was absolutely noevidence of water, and she believed what Florence told her--that thesepeople never bathed. There was little evidence of labor. Idle men andwomen smoking cigarettes lolled about, some silent, others jabbering. They did not resent the visit of the American women, nor did they showhospitality. They appeared stupid. Disease was rampant in these houses;when the doors were shut there was no ventilation, and even with thedoors open Madeline felt choked and stifled. A powerful penetrating odorpervaded the rooms that were less stifling than others, and this odorFlorence explained came from a liquor the Mexicans distilled froma cactus plant. Here drunkenness was manifest, a terrible inertdrunkenness that made its victims deathlike. 

Madeline could not extend her visit to the little mission-house. She sawa padre, a starved, sad-faced man who, she instinctively felt, wasgood. She managed to mount her horse and ride up to the house; but, oncethere, she weakened and Florence had almost to carry her in-doors. Shefought off a faintness, only to succumb to it when alone in her room. Still, she did not entirely lose consciousness, and soon recovered tothe extent that she did not require assistance. 

Upon the morning after the end of the round-up, when she went out onthe porch, her brother and Stillwell appeared to be arguing about theidentity of a horse. 

"Wal, I reckon it's my old roan, " said Stillwell, shading his eyes withhis hand. 

"Bill, if that isn't Stewart's horse my eyes are going back on me, "replied Al. "It's not the color or shape--the distance is too far tojudge by that. It's the motion--the swing. "

"Al, mebbe you're right. But they ain't no rider up on thet hoss. Flo, fetch my glass. "

Florence went into the house, while Madeline tried to discover theobject of attention. Presently far up the gray hollow along a foothillshe saw dust, and then the dark, moving figure of a horse. She waswatching when Florence returned with the glass. Bill took a long look, adjusted the glasses carefully, and tried again. 

"Wal, I hate to admit my eyes are gettin' pore. But I guess I'll hev to. Thet's Gene Stewart's hoss, saddled, an' comin' at a fast clip withouta rider. It's amazin' strange, an' some in keepin' with other thingsconcernin' Gene. "

"Give me the glass, " said Al. "Yes, I was right. Bill, the horse is notfrightened. He's coming steadily; he's got something on his mind. "

"Thet's a trained hoss, Al. He has more sense than some men I know. Takea look with the glasses up the hollow. See anybody?"

"No. "

"Swing up over the foothills--where the trail leads. Higher--along thetridge where the rocks begin. See anybody?"

"By Jove! Bill--two horses! But I can't make out much for dust. They areclimbing fast. One horse gone among the rocks. There--the other's gone. What do you make of that?"

"Wal, I can't make no more 'n you. But I'll bet we know somethin' soon, fer Gene's hoss is comin' faster as he nears the ranch. "

The wide hollow sloping up into the foothills lay open to unobstructedview, and less than half a mile distant Madeline saw the riderlesshorse coming along the white trail at a rapid canter. She watched him, recalling the circumstances under which she had first seen him, and thenhis wild flight through the dimly lighted streets of El Cajon out intothe black night. She thrilled again and believed she would never thinkof that starry night's adventure without a thrill. She watched the horseand felt more than curiosity. A shrill, piercing whistle pealed in. 

"Wal, he's seen us, thet's sure, " said Bill. 

The horse neared the corrals, disappeared into a lane, and then, breaking his gait again, thundered into the inclosure and pounded to ahalt some twenty yards from where Stillwell waited for him. 

One look at him at close range in the clear light of day was enoughfor Madeline to award him a blue ribbon over all horses, even herprize-winner, White Stockings. The cowboy's great steed was no lithe, slender-bodied mustang. He was a charger, almost tremendous of build, with a black coat faintly mottled in gray, and it shone like polishedglass in the sun. Evidently he had been carefully dressed down for thisoccasion, for there was no dust on him, nor a kink in his beautifulmane, nor a mark on his glossy hide. 

"Come hyar, you son-of-a-gun, " said Stillwell. 

The horse dropped his head, snorted, and came obediently up. He wasneither shy nor wild. He poked a friendly nose at Stillwell, and thenlooked at Al and the women. Unhooking the stirrups from the pommel, Stillwell let them fall and began to search the saddle for somethingwhich he evidently expected to find. Presently from somewhere among thetrappings he produced a folded bit of paper, and after scrutinizing ithanded it to Al. 

"Addressed to you; an' I'll bet you two bits I know what's in it, " hesaid. 

Alfred unfolded the letter, read it, and then looked at Stillwell. 

"Bill, you're a pretty good guesser. Gene's made for the border. He sentthe horse by somebody, no names mentioned, and wants my sister to havehim if she will accept. "

"Any mention of Danny Mains?" asked the rancher. 

"Not a word. "

"Thet's bad. Gene'd know about Danny if anybody did. But he's aclose-mouthed cuss. So he's sure hittin' for Mexico. Wonder if Danny'sgoin', too? Wal, there's two of the best cowmen I ever seen gone to hellan' I'm sorry. "

With that he bowed his head and, grumbling to himself, went into thehouse. Alfred lifted the reins over the head of the horse and, leadinghim to Madeline, slipped the knot over her arm and placed the letter inher hand. 

"Majesty, I'd accept the horse, " he said. "Stewart is only a cowboy now, and as tough as any I've known. But he comes of a good family. He was acollege man and a gentleman once. He went to the bad out here, like somany fellows go, like I nearly did. Then he had told me about his sisterand mother. He cared a good deal for them. I think he has been a sourceof unhappiness to them. It was mostly when he was reminded of this insome way that he'd get drunk. I have always stuck to him, and I would doso yet if I had the chance. You can see Bill is heartbroken about DannyMains and Stewart. I think he rather hoped to get good news. There'snot much chance of them coming back now, at least not in the case ofStewart. This giving up his horse means he's going to join the rebelforces across the border. What wouldn't I give to see that cowboy breakloose on a bunch of Greasers! Oh, damn the luck! I beg your pardon, Majesty. But I'm upset, too. I'm sorry about Stewart. I liked himpretty well before he thrashed that coyote of a sheriff, Pat Hawe, andafterward I guess I liked him more. You read the letter, sister, andaccept the horse. "

In silence Madeline bent her gaze from her brother's face to the letter:

Friend Al, --I'm sending my horse down to you because I'm going away andhaven't the nerve to take him where he'd get hurt or fall into strangehands. 

If you think it's all right, why, give him to your sister with myrespects. But if you don't like the idea, Al, or if she won't have him, then he's for you. I'm not forgetting your kindness to me, even if Inever showed it. And, Al, my horse has never felt a quirt or a spur, andI'd like to think you'd never hurt him. I'm hoping your sister will takehim. She'll be good to him, and she can afford to take care of him. And, while I'm waiting to be plugged by a Greaser bullet, if I happen to havea picture in mind of how she'll look upon my horse, why, man, it's notgoing to make any difference to you. She needn't ever know it. Betweenyou and me, Al, don't let her or Flo ride alone over Don Carlos's way. If I had time I could tell you something about that slick Greaser. Andtell your sister, if there's ever any reason for her to run away fromanybody when she's up on that roan, just let her lean over and yell inhis ear. She'll find herself riding the wind. So long. 

Gene Stewart. 

Madeline thoughtfully folded the letter and murmured, "How he must lovehis horse!"

"Well, I should say so, " replied Alfred. "Flo will tell you. She's theonly person Gene ever let ride that horse, unless, as Bill thinks, thelittle Mexican girl, Bonita, rode him out of El Cajon the other night. Well, sister mine, how about it--will you accept the horse?"

"Assuredly. And very happy indeed am I to get him. Al, you said, Ithink, that Mr. Stewart named him after me--saw my nickname in the NewYork paper?"

"Yes. "

"Well, I will not change his name. But, Al, how shall I ever climb upon him? He's taller than I am. What a giant of a horse! Oh, look athim--he's nosing my hand. I really believe he understood what I said. Al, did you ever see such a splendid head and such beautiful eyes? Theyare so large and dark and soft--and human. Oh, I am a fickle woman, forI am forgetting White Stockings. "

"I'll gamble he'll make you forget any other horse, " said Alfred. "You'll have to get on him from the porch. "

As Madeline was not dressed for the saddle, she did not attempt tomount. 

"Come, Majesty--how strange that sounds!--we must get acquainted. Youhave now a new owner, a very severe young woman who will demand loyaltyfrom you and obedience, and some day, after a decent period, she willexpect love. "

Madeline led the horse to and fro, and was delighted with hisgentleness. She discovered that he did not need to be led. He came ather call, followed her like a pet dog, rubbed his black muzzle againsther. Sometimes, at the turns in their walk, he lifted his head and withears forward looked up the trail by which he had come, and beyond thefoothills. He was looking over the range. Some one was calling to him, perhaps, from beyond the mountains. Madeline liked him the better forthat memory, and pitied the wayward cowboy who had parted with his onlypossession for very love of it. 

That afternoon when Alfred lifted Madeline to the back of the big roanshe felt high in the air. 

"We'll have a run out to the mesa, " said her brother, as he mounted. "Keep a tight rein on him and ease up when you want him to go faster. But don't yell in his ear unless you want Florence and me to see youdisappear on the horizon. "

He trotted out of the yard, down by the corrals, to come out on theedge of a gray, open flat that stretched several miles to the slope of amesa. Florence led, and Madeline saw that she rode like a cowboy. Alfreddrew on to her side, leaving Madeline in the rear. Then the leadinghorses broke into a gallop. They wanted to run, and Madeline felt with athrill that she would hardly be able to keep Majesty from running, evenif she wanted to. He sawed on the tight bridle as the others drew awayand broke from pace to gallop. Then Florence put her horse into a run. Alfred turned and called to Madeline to come along. 

"This will never do. They are running away from us, " said Madeline, andshe eased up her hold on the bridle. Something happened beneath her justthen; she did not know at first exactly what. As much as she had been onhorseback she had never ridden at a running gait. In New York it was notdecorous or safe. So when Majesty lowered and stretched and changed thestiff, jolting gallop for a wonderful, smooth, gliding run it requiredMadeline some moments to realize what was happening. It did not takelong for her to see the distance diminishing between her and hercompanions. Still they had gotten a goodly start and were far advanced. She felt the steady, even rush of the wind. It amazed her to find howeasily, comfortably she kept to the saddle. The experience was new. The one fault she had heretofore found with riding was the violentshaking-up. In this instance she experienced nothing of that kind, nostrain, no necessity to hold on with a desperate awareness of work. Shehad never felt the wind in her face, the whip of a horse's mane, thebuoyant, level spring of a tanning gait. It thrilled her, exhilaratedher, fired her blood. Suddenly she found herself alive, throbbing; and, inspired by she knew not what, she loosened the bridle and, leaning farforward, she cried, "Oh, you splendid fellow, run!"

She heard from under her a sudden quick clattering roar of hoofs, andshe swayed back with the wonderfully swift increase in Majesty's speed. The wind stung her face, howled in her ears, tore at her hair. The grayplain swept by on each side, and in front seemed to be waving towardher. In her blurred sight Florence and Alfred appeared to be comingback. But she saw presently, upon nearer view, that Majesty wasoverhauling the other horses, was going to pass them. Indeed, he didpass them, shooting by so as almost to make them appear standing still. And he ran on, not breaking his gait till he reached the steep side ofthe mesa, where he slowed down and stopped. 

"Glorious!" exclaimed Madeline. She was all in a blaze, and every muscleand nerve of her body tingled and quivered. Her hands, as she endeavoredto put up the loosened strands of hair, trembled and failed oftheir accustomed dexterity. Then she faced about and waited for hercompanions. 

Alfred reached her first, laughing, delighted, yet also a littleanxious. 

"Holy smoke! But can't he run? Did he bolt on you?"

"No, I called in his ear, " replied Madeline. 

"So that was it. That's the woman of you, and forbidden fruit. Flo saidshe'd do it the minute she was on him. Majesty, you can ride. See if Flodoesn't say so. "

The Western girl came up then with her pleasure bright in her face. 

"It was just great to see you. How your hair burned in the wind! Al, shesure can ride. Oh, I'm so glad! I was a little afraid. And that horse!Isn't he grand? Can't he run?"

Alfred led the way up the steep, zigzag trail to the top of the mesa. Madeline saw a beautiful flat surface of short grass, level as a floor. She uttered a little cry of wonder and enthusiasm. 

"Al, what a place for golf! This would be the finest links in theworld. "

"Well, I've thought of that myself, " he replied. "The only trouble wouldbe--could anybody stop looking at the scenery long enough to hit a ball?Majesty, look!"

And then it seemed that Madeline was confronted by a spectacle toosublime and terrible for her gaze. The immensity of this red-ridged, deep-gulfed world descending incalculable distances refused to begrasped, and awed her, shocked her. 

"Once, Majesty, when I first came out West, I was down andout--determined to end it all, " said Alfred. "And happened to climb uphere looking for a lonely place to die. When I saw that I changed mymind. "

Madeline was silent. She remained so during the ride around the rim ofthe mesa and down the steep trail. This time Alfred and Florence failedto tempt her into a race. She had been awe-struck; she had been exaltedshe had been confounded; and she recovered slowly without diviningexactly what had come to her. 

She reached the ranch-house far behind her companions, and atsupper-time was unusually thoughtful. Later, when they assembled on theporch to watch the sunset, Stillwell's humorous complainings inspiredthe inception of an idea which flashed up in her mind swift aslightning. And then by listening sympathetically she encouraged him torecite the troubles of a poor cattleman. They were many and long andinteresting, and rather numbing to the life of her inspired idea. 

"Mr. Stillwell, could ranching here on a large scale, with up-to-datemethods, be made--well, not profitable, exactly, but to pay--to runwithout loss?" she asked, determined to kill her new-born idea at birthor else give it breath and hope of life. 

"Wal, I reckon it could, " he replied, with a short laugh. "It'd sure bea money-maker. Why, with all my bad luck an' poor equipment I've livedpretty well an' paid my debts an' haven't really lost any money exceptthe original outlay. I reckon thet's sunk fer good. "

"Would you sell--if some one would pay your price?"

"Miss Majesty, I'd jump at the chance. Yet somehow I'd hate to leavehyar. I'd jest be fool enough to go sink the money in another ranch. "

"Would Don Carlos and these other Mexicans sell?"

"They sure would. The Don has been after me fer years, wantin' to sellthet old rancho of his; an' these herders in the valley with their straycattle, they'd fall daid at sight of a little money. "

"Please tell me, Mr. Stillwell, exactly what you would do here if youhad unlimited means?" went on Madeline. 

"Good Lud!" ejaculated the rancher, and started so he dropped his pipe. Then with his clumsy huge fingers he refilled it, relighted it, took afew long pulls, puffed great clouds of smoke, and, squaring round, handson his knees, he looked at Madeline with piercing intentness. His hardface began to relax and soften and wrinkle into a smile. 

"Wal, Miss Majesty, it jest makes my old heart warm up to think of sicha thing. I dreamed a lot when I first come hyar. What would I do if Ihed unlimited money? Listen. I'd buy out Don Carlos an' the Greasers. I'd give a job to every good cowman in this country. I'd make themprosper as I prospered myself. I'd buy all the good horses on theranges. I'd fence twenty thousand acres of the best grazin'. I'd drillfer water in the valley. I'd pipe water down from the mountains. I'd damup that draw out there. A mile-long dam from hill to hill would give mea big lake, an' hevin' an eye fer beauty, I'd plant cottonwoods aroundit. I'd fill that lake full of fish. I'd put in the biggest field ofalfalfa in the South-west. I'd plant fruit-trees an' garden. I'd teardown them old corrals an' barns an' bunk-houses to build new ones. I'dmake this old rancho some comfortable an' fine. I'd put in grass an'flowers all around an' bring young pine-trees down from the mountains. An' when all thet was done I'd sit in my chair an' smoke an' watch thecattle stringin' in fer water an' stragglin' back into the valley. An'I see the cowboys ridin' easy an' heah them singin' in their bunks. An'thet red sun out there wouldn't set on a happier man in the world thanBill Stillwell, last of the old cattlemen. "

Madeline thanked the rancher, and then rather abruptly retired to herroom, where she felt no restraint to hide the force of that wonderfulidea, now full-grown and tenacious and alluring. 

Upon the next day, late in the afternoon, she asked Alfred if it wouldbe safe for her to ride out to the mesa. 

"I'll go with you, " he said, gaily. 

"Dear fellow, I want to go alone, " she replied. 

"Ah!" Alfred exclaimed, suddenly serious. He gave her just a quickglance, then turned away. "Go ahead. I think it's safe. I'll make itsafe by sitting here with my glass and keeping an eye on you. Be carefulcoming down the trail. Let the horse pick his way. That's all. "

She rode Majesty across the wide flat, up the zigzag trail, across thebeautiful grassy level to the far rim of the mesa, and not till then didshe lift her eyes to face the southwest. 

Madeline looked from the gray valley at her feet to the blue SierraMadres, gold-tipped in the setting sun. Her vision embraced in thatglance distance and depth and glory hitherto unrevealed to her. The grayvalley sloped and widened to the black sentinel Chiricahuas, and beyondwas lost in a vast corrugated sweep of earth, reddening down to thewest, where a golden blaze lifted the dark, rugged mountains into boldrelief. The scene had infinite beauty. But after Madeline's first swift, all-embracing flash of enraptured eyes, thought of beauty passed away. In that darkening desert there was something illimitable. Madeline sawthe hollow of a stupendous hand; she felt a mighty hold upon her heart. Out of the endless space, out of silence and desolation and mystery andage, came slow-changing colored shadows, phantoms of peace, and theywhispered to Madeline. They whispered that it was a great, grim, immutable earth; that time was eternity; that life was fleeting. Theywhispered for her to be a woman; to love some one before it was toolate; to love any one, every one; to realize the need of work, and indoing it to find happiness. 

She rode back across the mesa and down the trail, and, once more uponthe flat, she called to the horse and made him run. His spirit seemed torace with hers. The wind of his speed blew her hair from its fastenings. When he thundered to a halt at the porch steps Madeline, breathless anddisheveled, alighted with the mass of her hair tumbling around her. 

Alfred met her, and his exclamation, and Florence's rapt eyes shiningon her face, and Stillwell's speechlessness made her self-conscious. Laughing, she tried to put up the mass of hair. 

"I must--look a--fright, " she panted. 

"Wal, you can say what you like, " replied the old cattleman, "but I knowwhat I think. "

Madeline strove to attain calmness. 

"My hat--and my combs--went on the wind. I thought my hair would go, too. .. . There is the evening star. .. . I think I am very hungry. "

And then she gave up trying to be calm, and likewise to fasten up herhair, which fell again in a golden mass. 

"Mr. Stillwell, " she began, and paused, strangely aware of a hurriednote, a deeper ring in her voice. "Mr. Stillwell, I want to buy yourranch--to engage you as my superintendent. I want to buy Don Carlos'sranch and other property to the extent, say, of fifty thousand acres. I want you to buy horses and cattle--in short, to make all thoseimprovements which you said you had so long dreamed of. Then I haveideas of my own, in the development of which I must have your advice andAlfred's. I intend to better the condition of those poor Mexicans in thevalley. I intend to make life a little more worth living for them andfor the cowboys of this range. To-morrow we shall talk it all over, planall the business details. "

Madeline turned from the huge, ever-widening smile that beamed down uponher and held out her hands to her brother. 

"Alfred, strange, is it not, my coming out to you? Nay, don't smile. Ihope I have found myself--my work--my happiness--here under the light ofthat western star. "

VII. Her Majesty's Rancho

FIVE months brought all that Stillwell had dreamed of, and so many morechanges and improvements and innovations that it was as if a magic touchhad transformed the old ranch. Madeline and Alfred and Florence hadtalked over a fitting name, and had decided on one chosen by Madeline. But this instance was the only one in the course of developments inwhich Madeline's wishes were not compiled with. The cowboys named thenew ranch "Her Majesty's Rancho. " Stillwell said the names cowboysbestowed were felicitous, and as unchangeable as the everlasting hills;Florence went over to the enemy; and Alfred, laughing at Madeline'sprotest, declared the cowboys had elected her queen of the ranges, andthat there was no help for it. So the name stood "Her Majesty's Rancho. "

The April sun shone down upon a slow-rising green knoll that nestled inthe lee of the foothills, and seemed to center bright rays upon the longranch-house, which gleamed snow-white from the level summit. The groundsaround the house bore no semblance to Eastern lawns or parks; there hadbeen no landscape-gardening; Stillwell had just brought water and grassand flowers and plants to the knoll-top, and there had left them, as itwere, to follow nature. His idea may have been crude, but the resultwas beautiful. Under that hot sun and balmy air, with cool water dailysoaking into the rich soil, a green covering sprang into life, andeverywhere upon it, as if by magic, many colored flowers rose in thesweet air. Pale wild flowers, lavender daisies, fragile bluebells, whitefour-petaled lilies like Eastern mayflowers, and golden poppies, deepsunset gold, color of the West, bloomed in happy confusion. Californiaroses, crimson as blood, nodded heavy heads and trembled with the weightof bees. Low down in bare places, isolated, open to the full power ofthe sun, blazed the vermilion and magenta blossoms of cactus plants. 

Green slopes led all the way down to where new adobe barns and sheds hadbeen erected, and wide corrals stretched high-barred fences down to thegreat squares of alfalfa gently inclining to the gray of the valley. Thebottom of a dammed-up hollow shone brightly with its slowly increasingacreage of water, upon which thousands of migratory wildfowl whirred andsplashed and squawked, as if reluctant to leave this cool, wet surpriseso new in the long desert journey to the northland. Quarters for thecowboys--comfortable, roomy adobe houses that not even the lamest cowboydared describe as crampy bunks--stood in a row upon a long bench ofground above the lake. And down to the edge of the valley the cluster ofMexican habitations and the little church showed the touch of the samerenewing hand. 

All that had been left of the old Spanish house which had beenStillwell's home for so long was the bare, massive structure, andsome of this had been cut away for new doors and windows. Every modernconvenience, even to hot and cold running water and acetylene light, had been installed; and the whole interior painted and carpentered andfurnished. The ideal sought had not been luxury, but comfort. Every doorinto the patio looked out upon dark, rich grass and sweet-faced flowers, and every window looked down the green slopes. 

Madeline's rooms occupied the west end of the building and comprisedfour in number, all opening out upon the long porch. There was asmall room for her maid, another which she used as an office, then hersleeping-apartment; and, lastly, the great light chamber which she hadliked so well upon first sight, and which now, simply yet beautifullyfurnished and containing her favorite books and pictures, she had cometo love as she had never loved any room at home. In the morning thefragrant, balmy air blew the white curtains of the open windows; atnoon the drowsy, sultry quiet seemed to creep in for the siesta that wascharacteristic of the country; in the afternoon the westering sun peepedunder the porch roof and painted the walls with gold bars that slowlychanged to red. 

Madeline Hammond cherished a fancy that the transformation she hadwrought in the old Spanish house and in the people with whom she hadsurrounded herself, great as that transformation had been, was asnothing compared to the one wrought in herself. She had found an objectin life. She was busy, she worked with her hands as well as mind, yetshe seemed to have more time to read and think and study and idleand dream than ever before. She had seen her brother through hisdifficulties, on the road to all the success and prosperity that hecared for. Madeline had been a conscientious student of ranching and anapt pupil of Stillwell. The old cattleman, in his simplicity, gave herthe place in his heart that was meant for the daughter he had never had. His pride in her, Madeline thought, was beyond reason or belief orwords to tell. Under his guidance, sometimes accompanied by Alfred andFlorence, Madeline had ridden the ranges and had studied the life andwork of the cowboys. She had camped on the open range, slept under theblinking stars, ridden forty miles a day in the face of dust and wind. She had taken two wonderful trips down into the desert--one trip toChiricahua, and from there across the waste of sand and rock and alkaliand cactus to the Mexican borderline; and the other through the AravaipaValley, with its deep, red-walled canyons and wild fastnesses. 

This breaking-in, this training into Western ways, though she had beena so-called outdoor girl, had required great effort and severe pain; butthe education, now past its grades, had become a labor of love. Shehad perfect health, abounding spirits. She was so active hat she had totrain herself into taking the midday siesta, a custom of the countryand imperative during the hot summer months. Sometimes she looked inher mirror and laughed with sheer joy at sight of the lithe, audacious, brown-faced, flashing-eyed creature reflected there. It was not so muchjoy in her beauty as sheer joy of life. Eastern critics had been wont tocall her beautiful in those days when she had been pale and slender andproud and cold. She laughed. If they could only see her now! From thetip of her golden head to her feet she was alive, pulsating, on fire. 

Sometimes she thought of her parents, sister, friends, of how they hadpersistently refused to believe she could or would stay in the West. They were always asking her to come home. And when she wrote, which wasdutifully often, the last thing under the sun that she was likely tomention was the change in her. She wrote that she would return to herold home some time, of course, for a visit; and letters such as thisbrought returns that amused Madeline, sometimes saddened her. She meantto go back East for a while, and after that once or twice every year. But the initiative was a difficult step from which she shrank. Oncehome, she would have to make explanations, and these would not beunderstood. Her father's business had been such that he could not leaveit for the time required for a Western trip, or else, according to hisletter, he would have come for her. Mrs. Hammond could not have beendriven to cross the Hudson River; her un-American idea of the wildernesswestward was that Indians still chased buffalo on the outskirts ofChicago. Madeline's sister Helen had long been eager to come, as muchfrom curiosity, Madeline thought, as from sisterly regard. And at lengthMadeline concluded that the proof of her breaking permanent ties mightbetter be seen by visiting relatives and friends before she went backEast. With that in mind she invited Helen to visit her during thesummer, and bring as many friends as she liked. 

 * * *

No slight task indeed was it to oversee the many business details of HerMajesty's Rancho and to keep a record of them. Madeline found the courseof business training upon which her father had insisted to be invaluableto her now. It helped her to assimilate and arrange the practicaldetails of cattle-raising as put forth by the blunt Stillwell. She splitup the great stock of cattle into different herds, and when any of thesewere out running upon the open range she had them closely watched. Partof the time each herd was kept in an inclosed range, fed and watered, and carefully handled by a big force of cowboys. She employed threecowboy scouts whose sole duty was to ride the ranges searching forstray, sick, or crippled cattle or motherless calves, and to bring thesein to be treated and nursed. There were two cowboys whose business wasto master a pack of Russian stag-hounds and to hunt down the coyotes, wolves, and lions that preyed upon the herds. The better and tamermilch cows were separated from the ranging herds and kept in a pastureadjoining the dairy. All branding was done in corrals, and calves wereweaned from mother-cows at the proper time to benefit both. The oldmethod of branding and classing, that had so shocked Madeline, had beenabandoned, and one had been inaugurated whereby cattle and cowboys andhorses were spared brutality and injury. 

Madeline established an extensive vegetable farm, and she plantedorchards. The climate was superior to that of California, and, withabundant water, trees and plants and gardens flourished and bloomed ina way wonderful to behold. It was with ever-increasing pleasure thatMadeline walked through acres of ground once bare, now green and brightand fragrant. There were poultry-yards and pig-pens and marshy quartersfor ducks and geese. Here in the farming section of the ranch Madelinefound employment for the little colony of Mexicans. Their lives had beenas hard and barren as the dry valley where they had lived. But as thevalley had been transformed by the soft, rich touch of water, so theirlives had been transformed by help and sympathy and work. The childrenwere wretched no more, and many that had been blind could now see, andMadeline had become to them a new and blessed virgin. 

Madeline looked abroad over these lands and likened the change in themand those who lived by them to the change in her heart. It may havebeen fancy, but the sun seemed to be brighter, the sky bluer, the windsweeter. Certain it was that the deep green of grass and garden was notfancy, nor the white and pink of blossom, nor the blaze and perfume offlower, nor the sheen of lake and the fluttering of new-born leaves. Where there had been monotonous gray there was now vivid and changingcolor. Formerly there had been silence both day and night; now duringthe sunny hours there was music. The whistle of prancing stallionspealed in from the grassy ridges. Innumerable birds had come and, likethe northward-journeying ducks, they had tarried to stay. The songof meadow-lark and blackbird and robin, familiar to Madeline fromchildhood, mingled with the new and strange heart-throbbing songof mocking-bird and the piercing blast of the desert eagle and themelancholy moan of turtle-dove. 

 *****

One April morning Madeline sat in her office wrestling with a problem. She had problems to solve every day. The majority of these wereconcerned with the management of twenty-seven incomprehensible cowboys. This particular problem involved Ambrose Mills, who had eloped with herFrench maid, Christine. 

Stillwell faced Madeline with a smile almost as huge as his bulk. 

"Wal, Miss Majesty, we ketched them; but not before Padre Marcos hadmarried them. All thet speedin' in the autoomoobile was jest a-scarin'of me to death fer nothin'. I tell you Link Stevens is crazy aboutrunnin' thet car. Link never hed no sense even with a hoss. He ain'tafraid of the devil hisself. If my hair hedn't been white it 'd be whitenow. No more rides in thet thing fer me! Wal, we ketched Ambrose an'the girl too late. But we fetched them back, an' they're out there now, spoonin', sure oblivious to their shameless conduct. "

"Stillwell, what shall I say to Ambrose? How shall I punish him? He hasdone wrong to deceive me. I never was so surprised in my life. Christinedid not seem to care any more for Ambrose than for any of the othercowboys. What does my authority amount to? I must do something. Stillwell, you must help me. "

Whenever Madeline fell into a quandary she had to call upon theold cattleman. No man ever held a position with greater pride thanStillwell, but he had been put to tests that steeped him in humility. Here he scratched his head in great perplexity. 

"Dog-gone the luck! What's this elopin' bizness to do withcattle-raisin'? I don't know nothin' but cattle. Miss Majesty, it'samazin' strange what these cowboys hev come to. I never seen no cowboyslike these we've got hyar now. I don't know them any more. They dressswell an' read books, an' some of them hev actooly stopped cussin' an'drinkin'. I ain't sayin' all this is against them. Why, now, they'rejest the finest bunch of cow-punchers I ever seen or dreamed of. Butmanagin' them now is beyond me. When cowboys begin to play thet gamegol-lof an' run off with French maids I reckon Bill Stillwell has got toresign. "

"Stillwell! Oh, you will not leave me? What in the world would I do?"exclaimed Madeline, in great anxiety. 

"Wal, I sure won't leave you, Miss Majesty. No, I never'll do thet. I'llrun the cattle bizness fer you an' see after the hosses an' other stock. But I've got to hev a foreman who can handle this amazin' strange bunchof cowboys. "

"You've tried half a dozen foremen. Try more until you find the man whomeets your requirements, " said Madeline. "Never mind that now. Tell mehow to impress Ambrose--to make him an example, so to speak. I must haveanother maid. And I do not want a new one carried off in this summarymanner. "

"Wal, if you fetch pretty maids out hyar you can't expect nothin' else. Why, thet black-eyed little French girl, with her white skin an' prettyairs an' smiles an' shrugs, she had the cowboys crazy. It'll be wusswith the next one. "

"Oh dear!" sighed Madeline. 

"An' as fer impressin' Ambrose, I reckon I can tell you how to do thet. Jest give it to him good an' say you're goin' to fire him. That'll fixAmbrose, an' mebbe scare the other boys fer a spell. "

"Very well, Stillwell, bring Ambrose in to see me, and tell Christine towait in my room. "

It was a handsome debonair, bright-eyed cowboy that came trampinginto Madeline's presence. His accustomed shyness and awkwardness haddisappeared in an excited manner. He was a happy boy. He looked straightinto Madeline's face as if he expected her to wish him joy. And Madelineactually found that expression trembling to her lips. She held it backuntil she could be severe. But Madeline feared she would fail of muchseverity. Something warm and sweet, like a fragrance, had entered theroom with Ambrose. 

"Ambrose, what have you done?" she asked. 

"Miss Hammond, I've been and gone and got married, " replied Ambrose, hiswords tumbling over one another. His eyes snapped, and there was a kindof glow upon his clean-shaven brown cheek. "I've stole a march on theother boys. There was Frank Slade pushin' me close, and I was havin'some runnin' to keep Jim Bell back in my dust. Even old man Nels madeeyes at Christine! So I wasn't goin' to take any chances. I just packedher off to El Cajon and married her. "

"Oh, so I heard, " said Madeline, slowly, as she watched him. "Ambrose, do you--love her?"

He reddened under her clear gaze, dropped his head, and fumbled withhis new sombrero, and there was a catch in his breath. Madeline sawhis powerful brown hand tremble. It affected her strangely that thisstalwart cowboy, who could rope and throw and tie a wild steer in lessthan one minute, should tremble at a mere question. Suddenly he raisedhis head, and at the beautiful blase of his eyes Madeline turned her ownaway. 

"Yes, Miss Hammond, I love her, " he said. "I think I love her in theway you're askin' about. I know the first time I saw her I thought howwonderful it'd be to have a girl like that for my wife. It's all beenso strange--her comin' an' how she made me feel. Sure I never knew manygirls, and I haven't seen any girls at all for years. But when she came!A girl makes a wonderful difference in a man's feelin's and thoughts. I guess I never had any before. Leastways, none like I have now. My--it--well, I guess I have a little understandin' now of PadreMarcos's blessin'. "

"Ambrose, have you nothing to say to me?" asked Madeline. 

"I'm sure sorry I didn't have time to tell you. But I was in somehurry. "

"What did you intend to do? Where were you going when Stillwell foundyou?"

"We'd just been married. I hadn't thought of anything after that. Suppose I'd have rustled back to my job. I'll sure have to work now andsave my money. "

"Oh, well, Ambrose, I am glad you realize your responsibilities. Do youearn enough--is your pay sufficient to keep a wife?"

"Sure it is! Why, Miss Hammond, I never before earned half the salaryI'm gettin' now. It's some fine to work for you. I'm goin' to fire theboys out of my bunk-house and fix it up for Christine and me. Say, won'tthey be jealous?"

"Ambrose, I--I congratulate you. I wish you joy, " said Madeline. "I--Ishall make Christine a little wedding-present. I want to talk to her fora few moments. You may go now. "

It would have been impossible for Madeline to say one severe wordto that happy cowboy. She experienced difficulty in hiding her ownhappiness at the turn of events. Curiosity and interest mingled with herpleasure when she called to Christine. 

"Mrs. Ambrose Mills, please come in. "

No sound came from the other room. 

"I should like very much to see the bride, " went on Madeline. 

Still there was no stir or reply

"Christine!" called Madeline. 

Then it was as if a little whirlwind of flying feet and entreatinghands and beseeching eyes blew in upon Madeline. Christine was small, graceful, plump, with very white skin and very dark hair. She had beenMadeline's favorite maid for years and there was sincere affectionbetween the two. Whatever had been the blissful ignorance of Ambrose, itwas manifestly certain that Christine knew how she had transgressed. Her fear and remorse and appeal for forgiveness were poured out in anincoherent storm. Plain it was that the little French maid had beenoverwhelmed. It was only after Madeline had taken the emotional girl inher arms and had forgiven and soothed her that her part in the elopementbecame clear. Christine was in a maze. But gradually, as she talked andsaw that she was forgiven, calmness came in some degree, and with ita story which amused yet shocked Madeline. The unmistakable, shy, marveling love, scarcely realized by Christine, gave Madeline reliefand joy. If Christine loved Ambrose there was no harm done. Watching thegirl's eyes, wonderful with their changes of thought, listening to herattempts to explain what it was evident she did not understand, Madelinegathered that if ever a caveman had taken unto himself a wife, if evera barbarian had carried off a Sabine woman, then Ambrose Mills had actedwith the violence of such ancient forebears. Just how it all happenedseemed to be beyond Christine. 

"He say he love me, " repeated the girl, in a kind of rapt awe. "He askme to marry him--he kees me--he hug me--he lift me on ze horse--he ridewith me all night--he marry me. "

And she exhibited a ring on the third finger of her left hand. Madelinesaw that, whatever had been the state of Christine's feeling for Ambrosebefore this marriage, she loved him now. She had been taken forcibly, but she was won. 

After Christine had gone, comforted and betraying her shy eagernessto get back to Ambrose, Madeline was haunted by the look in the girl'seyes, and her words. Assuredly the spell of romance was on this sunnyland. For Madeline there was a nameless charm, a nameless thrillcombating her sense of the violence and unfitness of Ambrose's wooing. Something, she knew not what, took arms against her intellectualarraignment of the cowboy's method of getting himself a wife. He hadsaid straight out that he loved the girl--he had asked her to marryhim--he kissed her--he hugged her--he lifted her upon his horse--he rodeaway with her through the night--and he married her. In whatever lightMadeline reviewed this thing she always came back to her first naturalimpression; it thrilled her, charmed her. It went against all theprecepts of her training; nevertheless, it was somehow splendid andbeautiful. She imagined it stripped another artificial scale from herover-sophisticated eyes. 

Scarcely had she settled again to the task on her desk when Stillwell'sheavy tread across the porch interrupted her. This time when he enteredhe wore a look that bordered upon the hysterical; it was difficult totell whether he was trying to suppress grief or glee. 

"Miss Majesty, there's another amazin' strange thing sprung on me. Hyars Jim Bell come to see you, an', when I taxed him, sayin' you wastolerable busy, he up an' says he was hungry an' he ain't a-goin' to eatany more bread made in a wash-basin! Says he'll starve first. Says Nelshed the gang over to big bunk an' feasted them on bread you taught himhow to make in some new-fangled bucket-machine with a crank. Jim saysthet bread beat any cake he ever eat, an' he wants you to show him howto make some. Now, Miss Majesty, as superintendent of this ranch I oughtto know what's goin' on. Mebbe Jim is jest a-joshin' me. Mebbe he's goneclean dotty. Mebbe I hev. An' beggin' your pardon, I want to know ifthere's any truth in what Jim says Nels says. "

Whereupon it became necessary for Madeline to stifle her mirth and toinform the sadly perplexed old cattleman that she had received from theEast a patent bread-mixer, and in view of the fact that her householdwomen had taken fright at the contrivance, she had essayed to operateit herself. This had turned out to be so simple, so saving of time andenergy and flour, so much more cleanly than the old method of mixingdough with the hands, and particularly it had resulted in such goodbread, that Madeline had been pleased. Immediately she ordered moreof the bread-mixers. One day she had happened upon Nels making biscuitdough in his wash-basin, and she had delicately and consideratelyintroduced to him the idea of her new method. Nels, it appeared, had agreat reputation as a bread-maker, and he was proud of it. Moreover, he was skeptical of any clap-trap thing with wheels and cranks. Heconsented, however, to let her show how the thing worked and to samplesome of the bread. To that end she had him come up to the house, whereshe won him over. Stillwell laughed loud and long. 

"Wal, wal, wal!" he exclaimed, at length. "Thet's fine, an' it'spowerful funny. Mebbe you don't see how funny? Wal, Nels has jest beenlordin' it over the boys about how you showed him, an' now you'll hevto show every last cowboy on the place the same thing. Cowboys are thejealousest kind of fellers. They're all crazy about you, anyway. TakeJim out hyar. Why, thet lazy cowpuncher jest never would make bread. He's notorious fer shirkin' his share of the grub deal. I've knowed Jimto trade off washin' the pots an' pans fer a lonely watch on a rainynight. All he wants is to see you show him the same as Nels is crowin'over. Then he'll crow over his bunkie, Frank Slade, an' then Frank'llget lonely to know all about this wonderful bread-machine. Cowboys areamazin' strange critters, Miss Majesty. An' now thet you've begun withthem this way, you'll hev to keep it up. I will say I never seen such abunch to work. You've sure put heart in them. "

"Indeed, Stillwell, I am glad to hear that, " replied Madeline. "And Ishall be pleased to teach them all. But may I not have them all up hereat once--at least those off duty?"

"Wal, I reckon you can't onless you want to hev them scrappin', "rejoined Stillwell, dryly. "What you've got on your hands now, MissMajesty, is to let 'em come one by one, an' make each cowboy thinkyou're takin' more especial pleasure in showin' him than the feller whocame before him. Then mebbe we can go on with cattle-raisin'. "

Madeline protested, and Stillwell held inexorably to what he said waswisdom. Several times Madeline had gone against his advice, to her utterdiscomfiture and rout. She dared not risk it again, and resigned herselfgracefully and with subdued merriment to her task. Jim Bell was usheredinto the great, light, spotless kitchen, where presently Madelineappeared to put on an apron and roll up her sleeves. She explained theuse of the several pieces of aluminum that made up the bread-mixer andfastened the bucket to the table-shelf. Jim's life might have dependedupon this lesson, judging from his absorbed manner and his desire tohave things explained over and over, especially the turning of thecrank. When Madeline had to take Jim's hand three times to show him thesimple mechanism and then he did not understand she began to have faintmisgivings as to his absolute sincerity. She guessed that as long asshe touched Jim's hand he never would understand. Then as she beganto measure out flour and milk and lard and salt and yeast she saw withdespair that Jim was not looking at the ingredients, was not paying theslightest attention to them. His eyes were covertly upon her. 

"Jim, I am not sure about you, " said Madeline, severely. "How can youlearn to make bread if you do not watch me mix it?"

"I am a-watchin' you, " replied Jim, innocently. 

Finally Madeline sent the cowboy on his way rejoicing with thebread-mixer under his arm. Next morning, true to Stillwell's prophecy, Frank Slade, Jim's bunkmate, presented himself cheerfully to Madelineand unbosomed himself of a long-deferred and persistent desire torelieve his overworked comrade of some of the house-keeping in theirbunk. 

"Miss Hammond, " said Frank, "Jim's orful kind wantin' to do it allhisself. But he ain't very bright, an' I didn't believe him. You see, I'm from Missouri, an' you'll have to show me. "

For a whole week Madeline held clinics where she expounded thescientific method of modern bread-making. She got a good deal ofenjoyment out of her lectures. What boys these great hulking fellowswere! She saw through their simple ruses. Some of them were grave asdeacons; others wore expressions important enough to have fitted thefaces of statesmen signing government treaties. These cowboys werechildren; they needed to be governed; but in order to govern them theyhad to be humored. A more light-hearted, fun-loving crowd of boys couldnot have been found. And they were grown men. Stillwell explained thatthe exuberance of spirits lay in the difference in their fortunes. Twenty-seven cowboys, in relays of nine, worked eight hours a day. Thathad never been heard of before in the West. Stillwell declared thatcowboys from all points of the compass would head their horses towardHer Majesty's Rancho. 

VIII. El Capitan

Stillwell's interest in the revolution across the Mexican line hadmanifestly increased with the news that Gene Stewart had achieveddistinction with the rebel forces. Thereafter the old cattleman sentfor El Paso and Douglas newspapers, wrote to ranchmen he knew on the bigbend of the Rio Grande, and he would talk indefinitely to any onewho would listen to him. There was not any possibility of Stillwell'sfriends at the ranch forgetting his favorite cowboy. Stillwell alwaysprefaced his eulogy with an apologetic statement that Stewart had goneto the bad. Madeline liked to listen to him, though she was not alwayssure which news was authentic and which imagination. 

There appeared to be no doubt, however, that the cowboy had performedsome daring feats for the rebels. Madeline found his name mentioned inseveral of the border papers. When the rebels under Madero stormed andcaptured the city of Juarez, Stewart did fighting that won him thename of El Capitan. This battle apparently ended the revolution. Thecapitulation of President Diaz followed shortly, and there was a feelingof relief among ranchers on the border from Texas to California. Nothingmore was heard of Gene Stewart until April, when a report reachedStillwell that the cowboy had arrived in El Cajon, evidently huntingtrouble. The old cattleman saddled a horse and started post-haste fortown. In two days he returned, depressed in spirit. Madeline happened tobe present when Stillwell talked to Alfred. 

"I got there too late, Al, " said the cattleman. "Gene was gone. An' whatdo you think of this? Danny Mains hed jest left with a couple of burrospacked. I couldn't find what way he went, but I'm bettin' he hit thePeloncillo trail. "

"Danny will show up some day, " replied Alfred. "What did you learn aboutStewart? Maybe he left with Danny. "

"Not much, " said Stillwell, shortly. "Gene's hell-bent fer election! Nomountains fer him. "

"Well tell us about him. "

Stillwell wiped his sweaty brow and squared himself to talk. 

"Wal, it's sure amazin' strange about Gene. Its got me locoed. Hearrived in El Cajon a week or so ago. He was trained down like as ifhe'd been ridin' the range all winter. He hed plenty of money--Mex, theysaid. An' all the Greasers was crazy about him. Called him El Capitan. He got drunk an' went roarin' round fer Pat Hawe. You remember thatGreaser who was plugged last October--the night Miss Majesty arrived?Wal, he's daid. He's daid, an' people says thet Pat is a-goin' to laythet killin' onto Gene. I reckon thet's jest talk, though Pat is meanenough to do it, if he hed the nerve. Anyway, if he was in El Cajon hekept mighty much to hisself. Gene walked up an' down, up an' down, allday an' night, lookin' fer Pat. But he didn't find him. An', of course, he kept gettin' drunker. He jest got plumb bad. He made lots of trouble, but there wasn't no gun-play. Mebbe thet made him sore, so he went an'licked Flo's brother-in-law. Thet wasn't so bad. Jack sure needed a goodlickin'. Wal, then Gene met Danny an' tried to get Danny drunk. An'he couldn't! What do you think of that? Danny hedn't beendrinkin'--wouldn't touch a drop. I'm sure glad of thet, but it's amazin'strange. Why, Danny was a fish fer red liquor. I guess he an' Gene hadsome pretty hard words, though I'm not sure about thet. Anyway, Genewent down to the railroad an' he got on an engine, an' he was in theengine when it pulled out. Lord, I hope he doesn't hold up the train! Ifhe gets gay over in Arizona he'll go to the pen at Yuma. An' thet penis a graveyard fer cowboys. I wired to agents along the railroad to lookout fer Stewart, an' to wire back to me if he's located. "

"Suppose you do find him, Stillwell, what can you do?" inquired Alfred. 

The old man nodded gloomily. 

"I straightened him up once. Mebbe I can do it again. " Then, brighteningsomewhat, he turned to Madeline. "I jest hed an idee, Miss Majesty. IfI can get him, Gene Steward is the cowboy I want fer my foreman. Hecan manage this bunch of cow-punchers thet are drivin' me dotty. What'smore, since he's fought fer the rebels an' got that name El Capitan, all the Greasers in the country will kneel to him. Now, Miss Majesty, wehevn't got rid of Don Carlos an' his vaqueros yet. To be sure, he soldyou his house an' ranch an' stock. But you remember nothin' was putin black and white about when he should get out. An' Don Carlos ain'tgettin' out. I don't like the looks of things a little bit. I'll tellyou now thet Don Carlos knows somethin' about the cattle I lost, an'thet you've been losin' right along. Thet Greaser is hand an' glove withthe rebels. I'm willin' to gamble thet when he does get out he an'his vaqueros will make another one of the bands of guerrillas thetare harassin' the border. This revolution ain't over' yet. It's jestcommenced. An' all these gangs of outlaws are goin' to take advantageof it. We'll see some old times, mebbe. Wal, I need Gene Stewart. Ineed him bad. Will you let me hire him, Miss Majesty, if I can get himstraightened up?"

The old cattleman ended huskily. 

"Stillwell, by all means find Stewart, and do not wait to straighten himup. Bring him to the ranch, " replied Madeline. 

Thanking her, Stillwell led his horse away. 

"Strange how he loves that cowboy!" murmured Madeline. 

"Not so strange, Majesty, " replied her brother. "Not when you know. Stewart has been with Stillwell on some hard trips into the desertalone. There's no middle course of feeling between men facing deathin the desert. Either they hate each other or love each other. I don'tknow, but I imagine Stewart did something for Stillwell--saved us life, perhaps. Besides, Stewart's a lovable chap when he's going straight. I hope Stillwell brings him back. We do need him, Majesty. He's a bornleader. Once I saw him ride into a bunch of Mexicans whom we suspectedof rustling. It was fine to see him. Well, I'm sorry to tell you that weare worried about Don Carlos. Some of his vaqueros came into my yard theother day when I had left Flo alone. She had a bad scare. These vaqueroshave been different since Don Carlos sold the ranch. For that matter, I never would have trusted a white woman alone with them. But they arebolder now. Something's in the wind. They've got assurance. They canride off any night and cross the border. "

During the succeeding week Madeline discovered that a good deal ofher sympathy for Stillwell in his hunt for the reckless Stewart hadinsensibly grown to be sympathy for the cowboy. It was rather a paradox, she thought, that opposed to the continual reports of Stewart's wildnessas he caroused from town to town were the continual expressions of goodwill and faith and hope universally given out by those near her at theranch. Stillwell loved the cowboy; Florence was fond of him; Alfredliked and admired him, pitied him; the cowboys swore their regard forhim the more he disgraced himself. The Mexicans called him El GranCapitan. Madeline's personal opinion of Stewart had not changed in theleast since the night it had been formed. But certain attributes of his, not clearly defined in her mind, and the gift of his beautiful horse, his valor with the fighting rebels, and all this strange regard for him, especially that of her brother, made her exceedingly regret the cowboy'spresent behavior. 

Meanwhile Stillwell was so earnest and zealous that one not familiarwith the situation would have believed he was trying to find and reclaimhis own son. He made several trips to little stations in the valley, andfrom these he returned with a gloomy face. Madeline got the details fromAlfred. Stewart was going from bad to worse--drunk, disorderly, savage, sure to land in the penitentiary. Then came a report that hurriedStillwell off to Rodeo. He returned on the third day, a crushed man. Hehad been so bitterly hurt that no one, not even Madeline, could getout of him what had happened. He admitted finding Stewart, failing toinfluence him; and when the old cattleman got so far he turned purple inthe face and talked to himself, as if dazed: "But Gene was drunk. He wasdrunk, or he couldn't hev treated old Bill like thet!"

Madeline was stirred with an anger toward the brutal cowboy that wasas strong as her sorrow for the loyal old cattleman. And it was whenStillwell gave up that she resolved to take a hand. The persistent faithof Stillwell, his pathetic excuses in the face of what must have beenStewart's violence, perhaps baseness, actuated her powerfully, gaveher new insight into human nature. She honored a faith that remainedunshaken. And the strange thought came to her that Stewart must somehowbe worthy of such a faith, or he never could have inspired it. Madelinediscovered that she wanted to believe that somewhere deep down in themost depraved and sinful wretch upon earth there was some grain of good. She yearned to have the faith in human nature that Stillwell had inStewart. 

She sent Nels, mounted upon his own horse, and leading Majesty, to Rodeoin search of Stewart. Nels had instructions to bring Stewart back to theranch. In due time Nels returned, leading the roan without a rider. 

"Yep, I shore found him, " replied Nels, when questioned. "Found him halfsobered up. He'd been in a scrap, an' somebody hed put him to sleep, Iguess. Wal, when he seen thet roan hoss he let out a yell an' grabbedhim round the neck. The hoss knowed him, all right. Then Gene hugged thehoss an' cried--cried like--I never seen no one who cried like he did. Iwaited awhile, an' was jest goin' to say somethin' to him when he turnedon me red-eyed, mad as fire. 'Nels, ' he said, 'I care a hell of a lotfer thet boss, an' I liked you pretty well, but if you don't take himaway quick I'll shoot you both. ' Wal, I lit out. I didn't even git tosay howdy to him. "

"Nels, you think it useless--any attempt to see him--persuade him?"asked Madeline. 

"I shore do, Miss Hammond, " replied Nels, gravely. "I've seen a fewsun-blinded an' locoed an' snake-poisoned an' skunk-bitten cow-punchersin my day, but Gene Stewart beats 'em all. He's shore runnin' wild ferthe divide. "

Madeline dismissed Nels, but before he got out of earshot she heard himspeak to Stillwell, who awaited him on the porch. 

"Bill, put this in your pipe an' smoke it--none of them scraps Gene hashed was over a woman! It used to be thet when he was drank he'd scrapover every pretty Greaser girl he'd run across. Thet's why Pat Hawethinks Gene plugged the strange vaquero who was with little Bonita thetnight last fall. Wal, Gene's scrappin' now jest to git shot up hisself, for some reason thet only God Almighty knows. "

Nels's story of how Stewart wept over his horse influenced Madelinepowerfully. Her next move was to persuade Alfred to see if he could notdo better with this doggedly bent cowboy. Alfred needed only a wordof persuasion, for he said he had considered going to Rodeo of his ownaccord. He went, and returned alone. 

"Majesty, I can't explain Stewart's singular actions, " said Alfred. "Isaw him, talked with him. He knew me, but nothing I said appeared to getto him. He has changed terribly. I fancy his once magnificent strengthis breaking. It--it actually hurt me to look at him. I couldn't havefetched him back here--not as he is now. I heard all about him, andif he isn't downright out of his mind he's hell-bent, as Bill says, ongetting killed. Some of his escapades are--are not for your ears. Bill did all any man could do for another. We've all done our best forStewart. If you'd been given a chance perhaps you could have saved him. But it's too late. Put it out of mind now, dear. "

Madeline, however, did not forget nor give it up. If she had forgottenor surrendered, she felt that she would have been relinquishinginfinitely more than hope to aid one ruined man. But she was at a lossto know what further steps to take. Days passed, and each one broughtadditional gossip of Stewart's headlong career toward the Yumapenitentiary. For he had crossed the line into Cochise County, Arizona, where sheriffs kept a stricter observance of law. Finally a letter camefrom a friend of Nels's in Chiricahua saying that Stewart had been hurtin a brawl there. His hurt was not serious, but it would probablykeep him quiet long enough to get sober, and this opportunity, Nels'sinformant said, would be a good one for Stewart's friends to take himhome before he got locked up. This epistle inclosed a letter to Stewartfrom his sister. Evidently, it had been found upon him. It told a storyof illness and made an appeal for aid. Nels's friend forwarded thisletter without Stewart's knowledge, thinking Stillwell might care tohelp Stewart's family. Stewart had no money, he said. 

The sister's letter found its way to Madeline. She read it, tears inher eyes. It told Madeline much more than its brief story of illness andpoverty and wonder why Gene had not written home for so long. It told ofmotherly love, sisterly love, brotherly love--dear family ties that hadnot been broken. It spoke of pride in this El Capitan brother who hadbecome famous. It was signed "your loving sister Letty. "

Not improbably, Madeline revolved in mind, this letter was one reasonfor Stewart's headstrong, long-continued abasement. It had been receivedtoo late--after he had squandered the money that would have meant somuch to mother and sister. Be that as it might, Madeline immediatelysent a bank-draft to Stewart's sister with a letter explaining thatthe money was drawn in advance on Stewart's salary. This done, sheimpulsively determined to go to Chiricahua herself. 

The horseback-rides Madeline had taken to this little Arizona hamlet hadtried her endurance to the utmost; but the journey by automobile, exceptfor some rocky bits of road and sandy stretches, was comfortable, anda matter of only a few hours. The big touring-car was still a kind ofseventh wonder to the Mexicans and cowboys; not that automobiles werevery new and strange, but because this one was such an enormous machineand capable of greater speed than an express-train. The chauffeur whohad arrived with the car found his situation among the jealous cowboyssomewhat far removed from a bed of roses. He had been induced to remainlong enough to teach the operating and mechanical technique of the car. And choice fell upon Link Stevens, for the simple reason that of all thecowboys he was the only one with any knack for mechanics. Now Linkhad been a hard-riding, hard-driving cowboy, and that winter he hadsustained an injury to his leg, caused by a bad fall, and was unable tosit his horse. This had been gall and wormwood to him. But when the bigwhite automobile came and he was elected to drive it, life was once moreworth living for him. But all the other cowboys regarded Link and hismachine as some correlated species of demon. They were deathly afraid ofboth. 

It was for this reason that Nels, when Madeline asked him to accompanyher to Chiricahua, replied, reluctantly, that he would rather follow onhis horse. However, she prevailed over his hesitancy, and with Florencealso in the car they set out. For miles and miles the valley roadwas smooth, hard-packed, and slightly downhill. And when speeding wasperfectly safe, Madeline was not averse to it. The grassy plain sailedbackward in gray sheets, and the little dot in the valley grew largerand larger. From time to time Link glanced round at unhappy Nels, whoseeyes were wild and whose hands clutched his seat. While the car wascrossing the sandy and rocky places, going slowly, Nels appearedto breathe easier. And when it stopped in the wide, dusty street ofChiricahua Nels gladly tumbled out. 

"Nels, we shall wait here in the car while you find Stewart, " saidMadeline. 

"Miss Hammond, I reckon Gene'll run when he sees us, if he's able torun, " replied Nels. "Wal, I'll go find him an' make up my mind then whatwe'd better do. "

Nels crossed the railroad track and disappeared behind the low, flathouses. After a little time he reappeared and hurried up to the car. Madeline felt his gray gaze searching her face. 

"Miss Hammond, I found him, " said Nels. "He was sleepin'. I woke him. He's sober an' not bad hurt; but I don't believe you ought to see him. Mebbe Florence--"

"Nels, I want to see him myself. Why not? What did he say when you toldhim I was here?"

"Shore I didn't tell him that. I jest says, 'Hullo, Gene!' an' he says, 'My Gawd! Nels! mebbe I ain't glad to see a human bein'. ' He asked mewho was with me, an' I told him Link an' some friends. I said I'd fetchthem in. He hollered at thet. But I went, anyway. Now, if you reallywill see him, Miss Hammond, it's a good chance. But shore it's a touchymatter, an' you'll be some sick at sight of him. He's layin' in aGreaser hole over here. Likely the Greasers hev been kind to him. Butthey're shore a poor lot. "

Madeline did not hesitate a moment. 

"Thank you, Nels. Take me at once. Come, Florence. "

They left the car, now surrounded by gaping-eyed Mexican children, and crossed the dusty space to a narrow lane between red adobe walls. Passing by several houses, Nels stopped at the door of what appeared tobe an alleyway leading back. It was filthy. 

"He's in there, around thet first corner. It's a patio, open an' sunny. An', Miss Hammond, if you don't mind, I'll wait here for you. I reckonGene wouldn't like any fellers around when he sees you girls. "

It was that which made Madeline hesitate then and go forward slowly. She had given no thought at all to what Stewart might feel when suddenlysurprised by her presence. 

"Florence, you wait also, " said Madeline, at the doorway, and turned inalone. 

And she had stepped into a broken-down patio littered with alfalfa strawand debris, all clear in the sunlight. Upon a bench, back toward her, sat a man looking out through the rents in the broken wall. He hadnot heard her. The place was not quite so filthy and stifling as thepassages Madeline had come through to get there. Then she saw that ithad been used as a corral. A rat ran boldly across the dirt floor. The air swarmed with flies, which the man brushed at with weary hand. Madeline did not recognize Stewart. The side of his face exposed to hergaze was black, bruised, bearded. His clothes were ragged and soiled. There were bits of alfalfa in his hair. His shoulders sagged. He made awretched and hopeless figure sitting there. Madeline divined somethingof why Nels shrank from being present. 

"Mr. Stewart. It is I, Miss Hammond, come to see you, " she said. 

He grew suddenly perfectly motionless, as if he had been changed tostone. She repeated her greeting. 

His body jerked. He moved violently as if instinctively to turn and facethis intruder; but a more violent movement checked him. 

Madeline waited. How singular that this ruined cowboy had pride whichkept him from showing his face! And was it not shame more than pride?

"Mr. Stewart, I have come to talk with you, if you will let me. "

"Go away, " he muttered. 

"Mr. Stewart!" she began, with involuntary hauteur. But instantly shecorrected herself, became deliberate and cool, for she saw that shemight fail to be even heard by this man. "I have come to help you. Willyou let me?"

"For God's sake! You--you--" he choked over the words. "Go away!"

"Stewart, perhaps it was for God's sake that I came, " said Madeline, gently. "Surely it was for yours--and your sister's--" Madeline bit hertongue, for she had not meant to betray her knowledge of Letty. 

He groaned, and, staggering up to the broken wall, he leaned there withhis face hidden. Madeline reflected that perhaps the slip of speech hadbeen well. 

"Stewart, please let me say what I have to say?"

He was silent. And she gathered courage and inspiration. 

"Stillwell is deeply hurt, deeply grieved that he could not turn youback from this--this fatal course. My brother is also. They wanted tohelp you. And so do I. I have come, thinking somehow I might succeedwhere they have failed. Nels brought your sister's letter. I--I read it. I was only the more determined to try to help you, and indirectlyhelp your mother and Letty. Stewart, we want you to come to the ranch. Stillwell needs you for his foreman. The position is open to you, andyou can name your salary. Both Al and Stillwell are worried about DonCarlos, the vaqueros, and the raids down along the border. My cowboysare without a capable leader. Will you come?"

"No, " he answered. 

"But Stillwell wants you so badly. "

"No. "

"Stewart, I want you to come. "

"No. "

His replies had been hoarse, loud, furious. They disconcerted Madeline, and she paused, trying to think of a way to proceed. Stewart staggeredaway from the wall, and, falling upon the bench, he hid his face in hishands. All his motions, like his speech, had been violent. 

"Will you please go away?" he asked. 

"Stewart, certainly I cannot remain here longer if you insist upon mygoing. But why not listen to me when I want so much to help you? Why?"

"I'm a damned blackguard, " he burst out. "But I was a gentleman once, and I'm not so low that I can stand for you seeing me here. "

"When I made up my mind to help you I made it up to see you wherever youwere. Stewart, come away, come back with us to the ranch. You are in abad condition now. Everything looks black to you. But that will pass. When you are among friends again you will get well. You will be yourold self. The very fact that you were once a gentleman, that you come ofgood family, makes you owe so much more to yourself. Why, Stewart, thinkhow young you are! It is a shame to waste your life. Come back with me. "

"Miss Hammond, this was my last plunge, " he replied, despondently. "It'stoo late. "

"Oh no, it is not so bad as that. "

"It's too late. "

"At least make an effort, Stewart. Try!"

"No. There's no use. I'm done for. Please leave me--thank you for--"

He had been savage, then sullen, and now he was grim. Madeline all butlost power to resist his strange, deadly, cold finality. No doubt heknew he was doomed. Yet something halted her--held her even as she tooka backward step. And she became conscious of a subtle change in her ownfeeling. She had come into that squalid hole, Madeline Hammond, earnestenough, kind enough in her own intentions; but she had been almostimperious--a woman habitually, proudly used to being obeyed. She divinedthat all the pride, blue blood, wealth, culture, distinction, all theimpersonal condescending persuasion, all the fatuous philanthropy onearth would not avail to turn this man a single hair's-breadth from hisdownward career to destruction. Her coming had terribly augmentedhis bitter hate of himself. She was going to fail to help him. Sheexperienced a sensation of impotence that amounted almost to distress. The situation assumed a tragic keenness. She had set forth to reversethe tide of a wild cowboy's fortunes; she faced the swift wasting of hislife, the damnation of his soul. The subtle consciousness of change inher was the birth of that faith she had revered in Stillwell. And all atonce she became merely a woman, brave and sweet and indomitable. 

"Stewart, look at me, " she said. 

He shuddered. She advanced and laid a hand on his bent shoulder. Underthe light touch he appeared to sink. 

"Look at me, " she repeated. 

But he could not lift his head. He was abject, crushed. He dared notshow his swollen, blackened face. His fierce, cramped posture revealedmore than his features might have shown; it betrayed the torturing shameof a man of pride and passion, a man who had been confronted in hisdegradation by the woman he had dared to enshrine in his heart. Itbetrayed his love. 

"Listen, then, " went on Madeline, and her voice was unsteady. "Listen tome, Stewart. The greatest men are those who have fallen deepest intothe mire, sinned most, suffered most, and then have fought their evilnatures and conquered. I think you can shake off this desperate mood andbe a man. "

"No!" he cried. 

"Listen to me again. Somehow I know you're worthy of Stillwell's love. Will you come back with us--for his sake?"

"No. It's too late, I tell you. "

"Stewart, the best thing in life is faith in human nature. I have faithin you. I believe you are worth it. "

"You're only kind and good--saying that. You can't mean it. "

"I mean it with all my heart, " she replied, a sudden rich warmthsuffusing her body as she saw the first sign of his softening. "Will youcome back--if not for your own sake or Stillwell's--then for mine?"

"What am I to such a woman as you?"

"A man in trouble, Stewart. But I have come to help you, to show myfaith in you. "

"If I believed that I might try, " he said. 

"Listen, " she began, softly, hurriedly. "My word is not lightly given. Let it prove my faith in you. Look at me now and say you will come. "

He heaved up his big frame as if trying to cast off a giant's burden, and then slowly he turned toward her. His face was a blotched andterrible thing. The physical brutalizing marks were there, and at thatinstant all that appeared human to Madeline was the dawning in dead, furnace-like eyes of a beautiful light. 

"I'll come, " he whispered, huskily. "Give me a few days to straightenup, then I'll come. "

IX. The New Foreman

Toward the end of the week Stillwell informed Madeline that Stewart hadarrived at the ranch and had taken up quarters with Nels. 

"Gene's sick. He looks bad, " said the old cattleman. "He's so weak an'shaky he can't lift a cup. Nels says that Gene has hed some bad spells. A little liquor would straighten him up now. But Nels can't force himto drink a drop, an' has hed to sneak some liquor in his coffee. Wal, Ithink we'll pull Gene through. He's forgotten a lot. I was goin' to tellhim what he did to me up at Rodeo. But I know if he'd believe it he'dbe sicker than he is. Gene's losin' his mind, or he's got somethin'powerful strange on it. "

From that time Stillwell, who evidently found Madeline his mostsympathetic listener, unburdened himself daily of his hopes and fearsand conjectures. 

Stewart was really ill. It became necessary to send Link Stevens for aphysician. Then Stewart began slowly to mend and presently was able toget up and about. Stillwell said the cowboy lacked interest and seemedto be a broken man. This statement, however, the old cattleman modifiedas Stewart continued to improve. Then presently it was a good auguryof Stewart's progress that the cowboys once more took up the teasingrelation which had been characteristic of them before his illness. Acowboy was indeed out of sorts when he could not vent his peculiar humoron somebody or something. Stewart had evidently become a broad targetfor their badinage. 

"Wal, the boys are sure after Gene, " said Stillwell, with his hugesmile. "Joshin' him all the time about how he sits around an' hangsaround an' loafs around jest to get a glimpse of you, Miss Majesty. Sureall the boys hev a pretty bad case over their pretty boss, but noneof them is a marker to Gene. He's got it so bad, Miss Majesty, thet heactooly don't know they are joshin' him. It's the amazin'est strangething I ever seen. Why, Gene was always a feller thet you could josh. An' he'd laugh an' get back at you. But he was never before deaf totalk, an' there was a certain limit no feller cared to cross with him. Now he takes every word an' smiles dreamy like, an' jest looks an'looks. Why, he's beginnin' to make me tired. He'll never run thet bunchof cowboys if he doesn't wake up quick. "

Madeline smiled her amusement and expressed a belief that Stillwellwanted too much in such short time from a man who had done body and minda grievous injury. 

It had been impossible for Madeline to fail to observe Stewart'ssingular behavior. She never went out to take her customary walks andrides without seeing him somewhere in the distance. She was aware thathe watched for her and avoided meeting her. When she sat on the porchduring the afternoon or at sunset Stewart could always be descried atsome point near. He idled listlessly in the sun, lounged on the porchof his bunk-house, sat whittling the top bar of the corral fence, andalways it seemed to Madeline he was watching her. Once, while goingthe rounds with her gardener, she encountered Stewart and greetedhim kindly. He said little, but he was not embarrassed. She did notrecognize in his face any feature that she remembered. In fact, on eachof the few occasions when she had met Stewart he had looked so differentthat she had no consistent idea of his facial appearance. He was nowpale, haggard, drawn. His eyes held a shadow through which shone a soft, subdued light; and, once having observed this, Madeline fancied it waslike the light in Majesty's eyes, in the dumb, worshiping eyes of herfavorite stag-hound. She told Stewart that she hoped he would soon be inthe saddle again, and passed on her way. 

That Stewart loved her Madeline could not help but see. She endeavoredto think of him as one of the many who, she was glad to know, likedher. But she could not regulate her thoughts to fit the order herintelligence prescribed. Thought of Stewart dissociated itself fromthought of the other cowboys. When she discovered this she felt a littlesurprise and annoyance. Then she interrogated herself, and concludedthat it was not that Stewart was so different from his comrades, butthat circumstances made him stand out from them. She recalled hermeeting with him that night when he had tried to force her to marry him. This was unforgettable in itself. She called subsequent mention of him, and found it had been peculiarly memorable. The man and his actionsseemed to hinge on events. Lastly, the fact standing clear of all othersin its relation to her interest was that he had been almost ruined, almost lost, and she had saved him. That alone was sufficient to explainwhy she thought of him differently. She had befriended, uplifted theother cowboys; she had saved Stewart's life. To be sure, he had been aruffian, but a woman could not save the life of even a ruffian withoutremembering it with gladness. Madeline at length decided her interest inStewart was natural, and that her deeper feeling was pity. Perhaps theinterest had been forced from her; however, she gave the pity as shegave everything. 

Stewart recovered his strength, though not in time to ride at the springround-up; and Stillwell discussed with Madeline the advisability ofmaking the cowboy his foreman. 

"Wal, Gene seems to be gettin' along, " said Stillwell. "But he ain'tlike his old self. I think more of him at thet. But where's his spirit?The boys'd ride rough-shod all over him. Mebbe I'd do best to waitlonger now, as the slack season is on. All the same, if those vaquero ofDon Carlos's don't lay low I'll send Gene over there. Thet'll wake himup. "

A few days afterward Stillwell came to Madeline, rubbing his big handsin satisfaction and wearing a grin that was enormous. 

"Miss Majesty, I reckon before this I've said things was amazin'strange. But now Gene Stewart has gone an' done it! Listen to me. ThemGreasers down on our slope hev been gettin' prosperous. They're growin'like bad weeds. An' they got a new padre--the little old feller fromEl Cajon, Padre Marcos. Wal, this was all right, all the boys thought, except Gene. An' he got blacker 'n thunder an' roared round like adehorned bull. I was sure glad to see he could get mad again. Then Genehaids down the slope fer the church. Nels an' me follered him, thinkin'he might hev been took sudden with a crazy spell or somethin'. He hasn'tnever been jest right yet since he left off drinkin'. Wal, we run intohim comin' out of the church. We never was so dumfounded in our lives. Gene was crazy, all right--he sure hed a spell. But it was the kind ofa spell he hed thet paralyzed us. He ran past us like a streak, an' wefollered. We couldn't ketch him. We heerd him laugh--the strangest laughI ever heerd! You'd thought the feller was suddenly made a king. He waslike thet feller who was tied in a bunyin'-sack an' throwed into thesea, an' cut his way out, an' swam to the island where the treasureswas, an' stood up yellin', 'The world is mine. ' Wal, when we got up tohis bunk-house he was gone. He didn't come back all day an' all night. Frankie Slade, who has a sharp tongue, says Gene hed gone crazy forliquor an' thet was his finish. Nels was some worried. An' I was sick. 

"Wal' this mawnin' I went over to Nels's bunk. Some of the fellers wasthere, all speculatin' about Gene. Then big as life Gene struts roundthe corner. He wasn't the same Gene. His face was pale an' his eyesburned like fire. He had thet old mockin', cool smile, an' somethin'besides thet I couldn't understand. Frankie Slade up an' made aremark--no wuss than he'd been makin' fer days--an' Gene tumbled him outof his chair, punched him good, walked all over him. Frankie wasn't hurtso much as he was bewildered. 'Gene, ' he says, 'what the hell struckyou?' An' Gene says, kind of sweet like, 'Frankie, you may be a nicefeller when you're alone, but your talk's offensive to a gentleman. '

"After thet what was said to Gene was with a nice smile. Now, MissMajesty, it's beyond me what to allow for Gene's sudden change. Firstoff, I thought Padre Marcos had converted him. I actooly thought thet. But I reckon it's only Gene Stewart come back--the old Gene Stewart an'some. Thet's all I care about. I'm rememberin' how I once told you thetGene was the last of the cowboys. Perhaps I should hev said he's thelast of my kind of cowboys. Wal, Miss Majesty, you'll be apprecatin' ofwhat I meant from now on. "

It was also beyond Madeline to account for Gene Stewart's antics, and, making allowance for the old cattleman's fancy, she did not weigh hisremarks very heavily. She guessed why Stewart might have been angry atthe presence of Padre Marcos. Madeline supposed that it was rather anunusual circumstance for a cowboy to be converted to religious belief. But it was possible. And she knew that religious fervor often manifesteditself in extremes of feeling and action. Most likely, in Stewart'scase, his real manner had been both misunderstood and exaggerated. However, Madeline had a curious desire, which she did not wholly admitto herself, to see the cowboy and make her own deductions. 

The opportunity did not present itself for nearly two weeks. Stewart hadtaken up his duties as foreman, and his activities were ceaseless. Hewas absent most of the time, ranging down toward the Mexican line. Whenhe returned Stillwell sent for him. 

This was late in the afternoon of a day in the middle of April. Alfredand Florence were with Madeline on the porch. They saw the cowboy turnhis horse over to one of the Mexican boys at the corral and then comewith weary step up to the house, beating the dust out of his gauntlets. Little streams of gray sand trickled from his sombrero as he removed itand bowed to the women. 

Madeline saw the man she remembered, but with a singularly differentaspect. His skin was brown; his eyes were piercing and dark and steady;he carried himself erect; he seemed preoccupied, and there was not atrace of embarrassment in his manner. 

"Wal, Gene, I'm sure glad to see you, " Stillwell was saying. "Where doyou hail from?"

"Guadaloupe Canyon, " replied the cowboy. 

Stillwell whistled. 

"Way down there! You don't mean you follered them hoss tracks thet far?"

"All the way from Don Carlos's rancho across the Mexican line. I tookNick Steele with me. Nick is the best tracker in the outfit. This trailwe were on led along the foothill valleys. First we thought whoever madeit was hunting for water. But they passed two ranches without watering. At Seaton's Wash they dug for water. Here they met a pack-train ofburros that came down the mountain trail. The burros were heavilyloaded. Horse and burro tracks struck south from Seaton's to the oldCalifornia emigrant road. We followed the trail through Guadelope Canyonand across the border. On the way back we stopped at Slaughter's ranch, where the United States cavalry are camping. There we met foresters fromthe Peloncillo forest reserve. If these fellows knew anything they keptit to themselves. So we hit the trail home. "

"Wal, I reckon you know enough?" inquired Stillwell, slowly. 

"I reckon, " replied Stewart. 

"Wal, out with it, then, " said Stillwell, gruffly. "Miss Hammond can'tbe kept in the dark much longer. Make your report to her. "

The cowboy shifted his dark gaze to Madeline. He was cool and slow. 

"We're losing a few cattle on the open range. Night-drives by thevaqueros. Some of these cattle are driven across the valley, others upto the foothills. So far as I can find out no cattle are being drivensouth. So this raiding is a blind to fool the cowboys. Don Carlos is aMexican rebel. He located his rancho here a few years ago and pretendedto raise cattle. All that time he has been smuggling arms and ammunitionacross the border. He was for Madero against Diaz. Now he is againstMadero because he and all the rebels think Madero failed to keep hispromises. There will be another revolution. And all the arms go fromthe States across the border. Those burros I told about were packed withcontraband goods. "

"That's a matter for the United States cavalry. They are patrolling theborder, " said Alfred. 

"They can't stop the smuggling of arms, not down in that wild corner, "replied Stewart. 

"What is my--my duty? What has it to do with me?" inquired Madeline, somewhat perturbed. 

"Wal, Miss Majesty, I reckon it hasn't nothing to do with you, " put inStillwell. "Thet's my bizness an' Stewart's. But I jest wanted you toknow. There might be some trouble follerin' my orders. "

"Your orders?"

"I want to send Stewart over to fire Don Carlos an' his vaqueros off therange. They've got to go. Don Carlos is breakin' the law of the UnitedStates, an' doin' it on our property an' with our hosses. Hev I yourpermission, Miss Hammond?"

"Why, assuredly you have! Stillwell, you know what to do. Alfred, whatdo you think best?"

"It'll make trouble, Majesty, but it's got to be done, " replied Alfred. "Here you have a crowd of Eastern friends due next month. We want therange to ourselves then. But, Stillwell, if you drive those vaquerosoff, won't they hang around in the foothills? I declare they are a badlot. "

Stillwell's mind was not at ease. He paced the porch with a frownclouding his brow. 

"Gene, I reckon you got this Greaser deal figgered better'n me, " saidStillwell. "Now what do you say?"

"He'll have to be forced off, " replied Stewart, quietly. "The Don'spretty slick, but his vaqueros are bad actors. It's just this way. Nelssaid the other day to me, 'Gene, I haven't packed a gun for yearsuntil lately, and it feels good whenever I meet any of those strangeGreasers. ' You see, Stillwell, Don Carlos has vaqueros coming and goingall the time. They're guerrilla bands, that's all. And they're gettinguglier. There have been several shooting-scrapes lately. A rancher namedWhite, who lives up the valley, was badly hurt. It's only a matter oftime till something stirs up the boys here. Stillwell, you know Nels andMonty and Nick. "

"Sure I know 'em. An' you're not mentionin' one more particular cowboyin my outfit, " said Stillwell, with a dry chuckle and a glance atStewart. 

Madeline divined the covert meaning, and a slight chill passed over her, as if a cold wind had blown in from the hills. 

"Stewart, I see you carry a gun, " she said, pointing to a black handleprotruding from a sheath swinging low along his leather chaps. 

"Yes, ma'am. "

"Why do you carry it?" she asked. 

"Well, " he said, "it's not a pretty gun--and it's heavy. " She caughtthe inference. The gun was not an ornament. His keen, steady, dark gazecaused her vague alarm. What had once seemed cool and audacious aboutthis cowboy was now cold and powerful and mystical. Both her instinctand her intelligence realized the steel fiber of the man's nature. Asshe was his employer, she had the right to demand that he should not dowhat was so chillingly manifest that he might do. But Madeline couldnot demand. She felt curiously young and weak, and the five months ofWestern life were as if they had never been. She now had to do with aquestion involving human life. And the value she placed upon humanlife and its spiritual significance was a matter far from her cowboy'sthoughts. A strange idea flashed up. Did she place too much valueupon all human life? She checked that, wondering, almost horrifiedat herself. And then her intuition told her that she possessed a farstronger power to move these primitive men than any woman's stern ruleor order. 

"Stewart, I do not fully understand what you hint that Nels and hiscomrades might do. Please be frank with me. Do you mean Nels would shootupon little provocation?"

"Miss Hammond, as far as Nels is concerned, shooting is now just amatter of his meeting Don Carlos's vaqueros. It's wonderful what Nelshas stood from them, considering the Mexicans he's already killed. "

"Already killed! Stewart, you are not in earnest?" cried Madeline, shocked. 

"I am. Nels has seen hard life along the Arizona border. He likes peaceas well as any man. But a few years of that doesn't change what theearly days made of him. As for Nick Steele and Monty, they're just badmen, and looking for trouble. "

"How about yourself, Stewart? Stillwell's remark was not lost upon me, "said Madeline, prompted by curiosity. 

Stewart did not reply. He looked at her in respectful silence. In herkeen earnestness Madeline saw beneath his cool exterior and was allthe more baffled. Was there a slight, inscrutable, mocking light in hiseyes, or was it only her imagination? However, the cowboy's face was ashard as flint. 

"Stewart, I have come to love my ranch, " said Madeline, slowly, "and Icare a great deal for my--my cowboys. It would be dreadful if they wereto kill anybody, or especially if one of them should be killed. "

"Miss Hammond, you've changed things considerable out here, but youcan't change these men. All that's needed to start them is a littletrouble. And this Mexican revolution is bound to make rough times alongsome of the wilder passes across the border. We're in line, that's all. And the boys are getting stirred up. "

"Very well, then, I must accept the inevitable. I am facing a roughtime. And some of my cowboys cannot be checked much longer. But, Stewart, whatever you have been in the past, you have changed. " Shesmiled at him, and her voice was singularly sweet and rich. "Stillwellhas so often referred to you as the last of his kind of cowboy. I havejust a faint idea of what a wild life you have led. Perhaps that fitsyou to be a leader of such rough men. I am no judge of what a leadershould do in this crisis. My cowboys are entailing risk in my employ; myproperty is not safe; perhaps my life even might be endangered. I wantto rely upon you, since Stillwell believes, and I, too, that you are theman for this place. I shall give you no orders. But is it too much toask that you be my kind of a cowboy?"

Madeline remembered Stewart's former brutality and shame and abjectworship, and she measured the great change in him by the contrastafforded now in his dark, changeless, intent face. 

"Miss Hammond, what kind of a cowboy is that?" he asked. 

"I--I don't exactly know. It is that kind which I feel you might be. ButI do know that in the problem at hand I want your actions to be governedby reason, not passion. Human life is not for any man to sacrificeunless in self-defense or in protecting those dependent upon him. WhatStillwell and you hinted makes me afraid of Nels and Nick Steele andMonty. Cannot they be controlled? I want to feel that they will not gogunning for Don Carlos's men. I want to avoid all violence. And yetwhen my guests come I want to feel that they will be safe from danger orfright or even annoyance. May I not rely wholly upon you, Stewart? Justtrust you to manage these obstreperous cowboys and protect my propertyand Alfred's, and take care of us--of me, until this revolution isended? I have never had a day's worry since I bought the ranch. It isnot that I want to shirk my responsibilities; it is that I like beinghappy. May I put so much faith in you?"

"I hope so, Miss Hammond, " replied Stewart. It was an instant response, but none the less fraught with consciousness of responsibility. Hewaited a moment, and then, as neither Stillwell nor Madeline offeredfurther speech, he bowed and turned down the path, his long spursclinking in the gravel. 

"Wal, wal, " exclaimed Stillwell, "thet's no little job you give him, Miss Majesty. "

"It was a woman's cunning, Stillwell, " said Alfred. "My sister used tobe a wonder at getting her own way when we were kids. Just a smileor two, a few sweet words or turns of thought, and she had what shewanted. "

"Al, what a character to give me!" protested Madeline. "Indeed, I wasdeeply in earnest with Stewart. I do not understand just why, but Itrust him. He seems like iron and steel. Then I was a little frightenedat the prospect of trouble with the vaqueros. Both you and Stillwellhave influenced me to look upon Stewart as invaluable. I thought it bestto confess my utter helplessness and to look to him for support. "

"Majesty, whatever actuated you, it was a stroke of diplomacy, " repliedher brother. "Stewart has got good stuff in him. He was down and out. Well, he's made a game fight, and it looks as if he'd win. Trustinghim, giving him responsibility, relying upon him, was the surest way tostrengthen his hold upon himself. Then that little touch of sentimentabout being your kind of cowboy and protecting you--well, if GeneStewart doesn't develop into an Argus-eyed knight I'll say I don't knowcowboys. But, Majesty, remember, he's a composite of tiger breed andforked lightning, and don't imagine he has failed you if he gets into afight. 

"I'll sure tell you what Gene Stewart will do, " said Florence. "Don't Iknow cowboys? Why, they used to take me up on their horses when I was ababy. Gene Stewart will be the kind of cowboy your sister said he mightbe, whatever that is. She may not know and we may not guess, but heknows. "

"Wal, Flo, there you hit plumb center, " replied the old cattleman. "An'I couldn't be gladder if he was my own son. "

X. Don Carlos's Vaqueros

Early the following morning Stewart, with a company of cowboys, departedfor Don Carlos's rancho. As the day wore on without any report fromhim, Stillwell appeared to grow more at ease; and at nightfall he toldMadeline that he guessed there was now no reason for concern. 

"Wal, though it's sure amazin' strange, " he continued, "I've beenworryin' some about how we was goin' to fire Don Carlos. But Gene has away of doin' things. "

Next day Stillwell and Alfred decided to ride over Don Carlos's place, taking Madeline and Florence with them, and upon the return trip to stopat Alfred's ranch. They started in the cool, gray dawn, and after threehours' riding, as the sun began to get bright, they entered a mesquitegrove, surrounding corrals and barns, and a number of low, squatbuildings and a huge, rambling structure, all built of adobe and mostlycrumbling to ruin. Only one green spot relieved the bald red of groundsand walls; and this evidently was made by the spring which had givenboth value and fame to Don Carlos's range. The approach to the house wasthrough a wide courtyard, bare, stony, hard packed, with hitching-railsand watering-troughs in front of a long porch. Several dusty, tiredhorses stood with drooping heads and bridles down, their wet flanksattesting to travel just ended. 

"Wal, dog-gone it, Al, if there ain't Pat Hawe's hoss I'll eat it, "exclaimed Stillwell. 

"What's Pat want here, anyhow?" growled Alfred. 

No one was in sight; but Madeline heard loud voices coming from thehouse. Stillwell dismounted at the porch and stalked in at the door. Alfred leaped off his horse, helped Florence and Madeline down, and, bidding them rest and wait on the porch, he followed Stillwell. 

"I hate these Greaser places, " said Florence, with a grimace. "They'reso mysterious and creepy. Just watch now! They'll be dark-skinned, beady-eyed, soft-footed Greasers slip right up out of the ground!There'll be an ugly face in every door and window and crack. "

"It's like a huge barn with its characteristic odor permeated by tobaccosmoke, " replied Madeline, sitting down beside Florence. "I don't thinkvery much of this end of my purchase. Florence, isn't that Don Carlos'sblack horse over there in the corral?"

"It sure is. Then the Don's heah yet. I wish we hadn't been in such ahurry to come over. There! that doesn't sound encouraging. "

From the corridor came the rattling of spurs, tramping of boots, andloud voices. Madeline detected Alfred's quick notes when he was annoyed:"We'll rustle back home, then, " he said. The answer came, "No!" Madelinerecognized Stewart's voice, and she quickly straightened up. "I won'thave them in here, " went on Alfred. 

"Outdoors or in, they've got to be with us!" replied Stewart, sharply. "Listen, Al, " came the boom of Stillwell's big voice, "now that we'vebutted in over hyar with the girls, you let Stewart run things. "

Then a crowd of men tramped pell-mell out upon the porch. Stewart, dark-browed and somber, was in the lead. Nels hung close to him, andMadeline's quick glance saw that Nels had undergone some indescribablechange. The grinning, brilliant-eyed Don Carlos came jostling out besidea gaunt, sharp-featured man wearing a silver shield. This, no doubt, was Pat Hawe. In the background behind Stillwell and Alfred stood NickSteele, head and shoulders over a number of vaqueros and cowboys. 

"Miss Hammond, I'm sorry you came, " said Stewart, bluntly. "We're in amuddle here. I've insisted that you and Flo be kept close to us. I'llexplain later. If you can't stop your ears I beg you to overlook roughtalk. "

With that he turned to the men behind him: "Nick, take Booly, go back toMonty and the boys. Fetch out that stuff. All of it. Rustle, now!"

Stillwell and Alfred disengaged themselves from the crowd to take uppositions in front of Madeline and Florence. Pat Hawe leaned against apost and insolently ogled Madeline and then Florence. Don Carlos pressedforward. His whole figure filled Madeline's reluctant but fascinatedeyes. He wore tight velveteen breeches, with a heavy fold down theoutside seam, which was ornamented with silver buttons. Round his waistwas a sash, and a belt with fringed holster, from which protruded apearl-handled gun. A vest or waistcoat, richly embroidered, partlyconcealed a blouse of silk and wholly revealed a silken scarf round hisneck. His swarthy face showed dark lines, like cords, under the surface. His little eyes were exceedingly prominent and glittering. To Madelinehis face seemed to be a bold, handsome mask through which his eyespiercingly betrayed the evil nature of the man. 

He bowed low with elaborate and sinuous grace. His smile revealedbrilliant teeth, enhanced the brilliance of his eyes. He slowly spreaddeprecatory hands. 

"Senoritas, I beg a thousand pardons, " he said. How strange it was forMadeline to hear English spoken in a soft, whiningly sweet accent! "Thegracious hospitality of Don Carlos has passed with his house. "

Stewart stepped forward and, thrusting Don Carlos aside, he called, "Make way, there!"

The crowd fell back to the tramp of heavy boots. Cowboys appearedstaggering out of the corridor with long boxes. These they placed sideby side upon the floor of the porch. 

"Now, Hawe, we'll proceed with our business, " said Stewart. "You seethese boxes, don't you?"

"I reckon I see a good many things round hyar, " replied Hawe, meaningly. 

"Well, do you intend to open these boxes upon my say-so?"

"No!" retorted Hawe. "It's not my place to meddle with property as comeby express an' all accounted fer regular. "

"You call yourself a sheriff!" exclaimed Stewart, scornfully. 

"Mebbe you'll think so before long, " rejoined Hawe, sullenly. 

"I'll open them. Here, one of you boys, knock the tops off these boxes, "ordered Stewart. "No, not you, Monty. You use your eyes. Let Boolyhandle the ax. Rustle, now!"

Monty Price had jumped out of the crowd into the middle of the porch. The manner in which he gave way to Booly and faced the vaqueros was notsignificant of friendliness or trust. 

"Stewart, you're dead wrong to bust open them boxes. Thet's ag'in' thelaw, " protested Hawe, trying to interfere. 

Stewart pushed him back. Then Don Carlos, who had been stunned by theappearance of the boxes, suddenly became active in speech and person. Stewart thrust him back also. The Mexican's excitement increased. Hewildly gesticulated; he exclaimed shrilly in Spanish. When, however, thelids were wrenched open and an inside packing torn away he grew rigidand silent. Madeline raised herself behind Stillwell to see that theboxes were full of rifles and ammunition. 

"There, Hawe! What did I tell you?" demanded Stewart. "I came over hereto take charge of this ranch. I found these boxes hidden in an unusedroom. I suspected what they were. Contraband goods!"

"Wal, supposin' they are? I don't see any call fer sech all-fired fussas you're makin'. Stewart, I calkilate you're some stuck on your new joban' want to make a big show before--"

"Hawe, stop slinging that kind of talk, " interrupted Stewart. "Yougot too free with your mouth once before! Now here, I'm supposed tobe consulting an officer of the law. Will you take charge of thesecontraband goods?"

"Say, you're holdin' on high an' mighty, " replied Hawe, in astonishmentthat was plainly pretended. "What 're you drivin' at?"

Stewart muttered an imprecation. He took several swift strides acrossthe porch; he held out his hands to Stillwell as if to indicate thehopelessness of intelligent and reasonable arbitration; he looked atMadeline with a glance eloquent of his regret that he could not handlethe situation to please her. Then as he wheeled he came face to facewith Nels, who had slipped forward out of the crowd. 

Madeline gathered serious import from the steel-blue meaning flashof eyes whereby Nels communicated something to Stewart. Whatever thatsomething was, it dispelled Stewart's impatience. A slight movement ofhis hand brought Monty Price forward with a jump. In these sudden jumpsof Monty's there was a suggestion of restrained ferocity. Then Nelsand Monty lined up behind Stewart. It was a deliberate action, even toMadeline, unmistakably formidable. Pat Hawe's face took on an ugly look;his eyes had a reddish gleam. Don Carlos added a pale face and extremenervousness to his former expressions of agitation. The cowboys edgedaway from the vaqueros and the bronzed, bearded horsemen who wereevidently Hawe's assistants. 

"I'm driving at this, " spoke up Stewart, presently; and now he was slowand caustic. "Here's contraband of war! Hawe, do you get that? Arms andammunition for the rebels across the border! I charge you as an officerto confiscate these goods and to arrest the smuggler--Don Carlos. "

These words of Stewart's precipitated a riot among Don Carlos and hisfollowers, and they surged wildly around the sheriff. There was anupflinging of brown, clenching hands, a shrill, jabbering babel ofMexican voices. The crowd around Don Carlos grew louder and denserwith the addition of armed vaqueros and barefooted stable-boys anddusty-booted herdsmen and blanketed Mexicans, the last of whom suddenlyslipped from doors and windows and round comers. It was a motleyassemblage. The laced, fringed, ornamented vaqueros presented a sharpcontrast to the bare-legged, sandal-footed boys and the ragged herders. Shrill cries, evidently from Don Carlos, somewhat quieted the commotion. Then Don Carlos could be heard addressing Sheriff Hawe in an exhortationof mingled English and Spanish. He denied, he avowed, he proclaimed, and all in rapid, passionate utterance. He tossed his black hair inhis vehemence; he waved his fists and stamped the floor; he rolledhis glittering eyes; he twisted his thin lips into a hundred differentshapes, and like a cornered wolf showed snarling white teeth. 

It seemed to Madeline that Don Carlos denied knowledge of the boxes ofcontraband goods, then knowledge of their real contents, then knowledgeof their destination, and, finally, everything except that they werethere in sight, damning witnesses to somebody's complicity in thebreaking of neutrality laws. Passionate as had been his denial of allthis, it was as nothing compared to his denunciation of Stewart. 

"Senor Stewart, he keel my Vaquero!" shouted Don Carlos, as, sweatingand spent, he concluded his arraignment of the cowboy. "Him you mustarrest! Senor Stewart a bad man! He keel my vaquero!"

"Do you hear thet?" yelled Hawe. "The Don's got you figgered fer thetlittle job at El Cajon last fall. "

The clamor burst into a roar. Hawe began shaking his finger in Stewart'sface and hoarsely shouting. Then a lithe young vaquero, swift asan Indian, glided under Hawe's uplifted arm. Whatever the action heintended, he was too late for its execution. Stewart lunged out, struck the vaquero, and knocked him off the porch. As he fell a daggerglittered in the sunlight and rolled clinking over the stones. The manwent down hard and did not move. With the same abrupt violence, and amanner of contempt, Stewart threw Hawe off the porch, then Don Carlos, who, being less supple, fell heavily. Then the mob backed beforeStewart's rush until all were down in the courtyard. 

The shuffling of feet ceased, the clanking of spurs, and the shouting. Nels and Monty, now reinforced by Nick Steele, were as shadows ofStewart, so closely did they follow him. Stewart waved them back andstepped down into the yard. He was absolutely fearless; but what struckMadeline so keenly was his magnificent disdain. Manifestly, he knew thenature of the men with whom he was dealing. From the look of him it wasnatural for Madeline to expect them to give way before him, which theydid, even Hawe and his attendants sullenly retreating. 

Don Carlos got up to confront Stewart. The prostrate vaquero stirred andmoaned, but did not rise. 

"You needn't jibber Spanish to me, " said Stewart. "You can talkAmerican, and you can understand American. If you start a rough-househere you and your Greasers will be cleaned up. You've got to leave thisranch. You can have the stock, the packs and traps in the second corral. There's grub, too. Saddle up and hit the trail. Don Carlos, I'm dealingmore than square with you. You're lying about these boxes of guns andcartridges. You're breaking the laws of my country, and you're doingit on property in my charge. If I let smuggling go on here I'd beimplicated myself. Now you get off the range. If you don't I'll have theUnited States cavalry here in six hours, and you can gamble they'll getwhat my cowboys leave of you. "

Don Carlos was either a capital actor and gratefully relieved atStewart's leniency or else he was thoroughly cowed by references to thetroops. "Si, Senor! Gracias, Senor!" he exclaimed; and then, turningaway, he called to his men. They hurried after him, while the fallenvaquero got to his feet with Stewart's help and staggered across thecourtyard. In a moment they were gone, leaving Hawe and his severalcomrades behind. 

Hawe was spitefully ejecting a wad of tobacco from his mouth andswearing in an undertone about "white-livered Greasers. " He cocked hisred eye speculatively at Stewart. 

"Wal, I reckon as you're so hell-bent on doin' it up brown thet you'lltry to fire me off'n the range, too?"

"If I ever do, Pat, you'll need to be carried off, " replied Stewart. "Just now I'm politely inviting you and your deputy sheriffs to leave. "

"We'll go; but we're comin' back one of these days, an' when we do we'llput you in irons. "

"Hawe, if you've got it in that bad for me, come over here in the corraland let's fight it out. "

"I'm an officer, an' I don't fight outlaws an' sich except when I hev tomake arrests. "

"Officer! You're a disgrace to the county. If you ever did get irons onme you'd take me some place out of sight, shoot me, and then swear youkilled me in self-defense. It wouldn't be the first time you pulled thattrick, Pat Hawe. "

"Ho, ho!" laughed Hawe, derisively. Then he started toward the horses. 

Stewart's long arm shot out, his hand clapped on Hawe's shoulder, spinning him round like a top. 

"You're leaving, Pat, but before you leave you'll come out with yourplay or you'll crawl, " said Stewart. "You've got it in for me, man toman. Speak up now and prove you're not the cowardly skunk I've alwaysthought you. I've called your hand. "

Pat Hawe's face turned a blackish-purple hue. 

"You can jest bet thet I've got it in fer you, " he shouted, hoarsely. "You're only a low-down cow-puncher. You never hed a dollar or a decentjob till you was mixed up with thet Hammond woman--"

Stewart's hand flashed out and hit Hawe's face in a ringing slap. Thesheriff's head jerked back, his sombrero fell to the ground. As he bentover to reach it his hand shook, his arm shook, his whole body shook. 

Monty Price jumped straight forward and crouched down with a strange, low cry. 

Stewart seemed all at once rigid, bending a little. 

"Say Miss Hammond, if there's occasion to use her name, " said Stewart, in a voice that seemed coolly pleasant, yet had a deadly undernote. 

Hawe did a moment's battle with strangling fury, which he conquered insome measure. 

"I said you was a low-down, drunken cow-puncher, a tough as damn near adesperado as we ever hed on the border, " went on Hawe, deliberately. Hisspeech appeared to be addressed to Stewart, although his flame-pointedeyes were riveted upon Monty Price. "I know you plugged that vaquerolast fall, an' when I git my proof I'm comin' after you. "

"That's all right, Hawe. You can call me what you like, and you can comeafter me when you like, " replied Stewart. "But you're going to get inbad with me. You're in bad now with Monty and Nels. Pretty soon you'llqueer yourself with all the cowboys and the ranchers, too. If that don'tput sense into you--Here, listen to this. You knew what these boxescontained. You know Don Carlos has been smuggling arms and ammunitionacross the border. You know he is hand and glove with the rebels. You'vebeen wearing blinders, and it has been to your interest. Take a hunchfrom me. That's all. Light out now, and the less we see of your handsomemug the better we'll like you. "

Muttering, cursing, pallid of face, Hawe climbed astride his horse. His comrades followed suit. Certain it appeared that the sheriffwas contending with more than fear and wrath. He must have had anirresistible impulse to fling more invective and threat upon Stewart, but he was speechless. Savagely he spurred his horse, and as it snortedand leaped he turned in his saddle, shaking his fist. His comrades ledthe way, with their horses clattering into a canter. They disappearedthrough the gate. 

 * * *

When, later in the day, Madeline and Florence, accompanied by Alfred andStillwell, left Don Carlos's ranch it was not any too soon forMadeline. The inside of the Mexican's home was more unprepossessing anduncomfortable than the outside. The halls were dark, the rooms huge, empty, and musty; and there was an air of silence and secrecy andmystery about them most fitting to the character Florence had bestowedupon the place. 

On the other hand, Alfred's ranch-house, where the party halted to spendthe night, was picturesquely located, small and cozy, camplike in itsarrangement, and altogether agreeable to Madeline. 

The day's long rides and the exciting events had wearied her. She restedwhile Florence and the two men got supper. During the meal Stillwellexpressed satisfaction over the good riddance of the vaqueros, and withhis usual optimism trusted he had seen the last of them. Alfred, too, took a decidedly favorable view of the day's proceedings. However, itwas not lost upon Madeline that Florence appeared unusually quiet andthoughtful. Madeline wondered a little at the cause. She rememberedthat Stewart had wanted to come with them, or detail a few cowboys toaccompany them, but Alfred had laughed at the idea and would have noneof it. 

After supper Alfred monopolized the conversation by describing what hewanted to do to improve his home before he and Florence were married. 

Then at an early hour they all retired. 

Madeline's deep slumbers were disturbed by a pounding upon the wall, andthen by Florence's crying out in answer to a call:

"Get up! Throw some clothes on and come out!"

It was Alfred's voice. 

"What's the matter?" asked Florence, as she slipped out of bed. 

"Alfred, is there anything wrong?" added Madeline, sitting up. 

The room was dark as pitch, but a faint glow seemed to mark the positionof the window. 

"Oh, nothing much, " replied Alfred. "Only Don Carlos's rancho going upin smoke. "

"Fire!" cried Florence, sharply. 

"You'll think so when you see it. Hurry out. Majesty, old girl, now youwon't have to tear down that heap of adobe, as you threatened. I don'tbelieve a wall will stand after that fire. "

"Well, I'm glad of it, " said Madeline. "A good healthy fire will purifythe atmosphere over there and save me expense. Ugh! that haunted ranchogot on my nerves! Florence, I do believe you've appropriated part of myriding-habit. Doesn't Alfred have lights in this house?"

Florence laughingly helped Madeline to dress. Then they hurriedlystumbled over chairs, and, passing through the dining-room, went outupon the porch. 

Away to the westward, low down along the horizon, she saw leaping redflames and wind-swept columns of smoke. 

Stillwell appeared greatly perturbed. 

"Al, I'm lookin' fer that ammunition to blow up, " he said. "There wasenough of it to blow the roof off the rancho. "

"Bill, surely the cowboys would get that stuff out the first thing, "replied Alfred, anxiously. 

"I reckon so. But all the same, I'm worryin'. Mebbe there wasn't time. Supposin' thet powder went off as the boys was goin' fer it or carryin'it out! We'll know soon. If the explosion doesn't come quick now we canfigger the boys got the boxes out. "

For the next few moments there was a silence of sustained and painfulsuspense. Florence gripped Madeline's arm. Madeline felt a fullness inher throat and a rapid beating of her heart. Presently she was relievedwith the others when Stillwell declared the danger of an explosionneeded to be feared no longer. 

"Sure you can gamble on Gene Stewart, " he added. 

The night happened to be partly cloudy, with broken rifts showing themoon, and the wind blew unusually strong. The brightness of the fireseemed subdued. It was like a huge bonfire smothered by some greatcovering, penetrated by different, widely separated points of flame. These corners of flame flew up, curling in the wind, and then died down. Thus the scene was constantly changing from dull light to dark. There came a moment when a blacker shade overspread the wide area offlickering gleams and then obliterated them. Night enfolded the scene. The moon peeped a curved yellow rim from under broken clouds. To allappearances the fire had burned itself out. But suddenly a pinpoint oflight showed where all had been dense black. It grew and became long andsharp. It moved. It had life. It leaped up. Its color warmed from whiteto red. Then from all about it burst flame on flame, to leap into agreat changing pillar of fire that climbed high and higher. Huge funnelsof smoke, yellow, black, white, all tinged with the color of fire, slanted skyward, drifting away on the wind. 

"Wal, I reckon we won't hev the good of them two thousand tons ofalfalfa we was figgerin' on, " remarked Stillwell. 

"Ah! Then that last outbreak of fire was burning hay, " said Madeline. "I do not regret the rancho. But it's too bad to lose such a quantity ofgood feed for the stock. "

"It's lost, an' no mistake. The fire's dyin' as quick as she flaredup. Wal, I hope none of the boys got risky to save a saddle or blanket. Monty--he's hell on runnin' the gantlet of fire. He's like a hoss that'sjest been dragged out of a burnin' stable an' runs back sure locoed. There! She's smolderin' down now. Reckon we-all might jest as well turnin again. It's only three o'clock. "

"I wonder how the fire originated?" remarked Alfred. "Some carelesscowboy's cigarette, I'll bet. "

Stillwell rolled out his laugh. 

"Al, you sure are a free-hearted, trustin' feller. I'm some doubtin' thecigarette idee; but you can gamble if it was a cigarette it belonged toa cunnin' vaquero, an' wasn't dropped accident-like. "

"Now, Bill, you don't mean Don Carlos burned the rancho?" ejaculatedAlfred, in mingled amaze and anger. 

Again the old cattleman laughed. 

"Powerful strange to say, my friend, ole Bill means jest thet. "

"Of course Don Carlos set that fire, " put in Florence, with spirit. "Al, if you live out heah a hundred years you'll never learn that Greasersare treacherous. I know Gene Stewart suspected something underhand. That's why he wanted us to hurry away. That's why he put me on the blackhorse of Don Carlos's. He wants that horse for himself, and feared theDon would steal or shoot him. And you, Bill Stillwell, you're as bad asAl. You never distrust anybody till it's too late. You've been singingever since Stewart ordered the vaqueros off the range. But you surehaven't been thinking. "

"Wal, now, Flo, you needn't pitch into me jest because I hev a naturalChristian spirit, " replied Stillwell, much aggrieved. "I reckon I'vehed enough trouble in my life so's not to go lookin' fer more. Wal, I'msorry about the hay burnin'. But mebbe the boys saved the stock. An'as fer that ole adobe house of dark holes an' under-ground passages, solong's Miss Majesty doesn't mind, I'm darn glad it burned. Come, let'sall turn in again. Somebody'll ride over early an' tell us what's what. "

Madeline awakened early, but not so early as the others, who were up andhad breakfast ready when she went into the dining-room. Stillwell wasnot in an amiable frame of mind. The furrows of worry lined his broadbrow and he continually glanced at his watch, and growled becausethe cowboys were so late in riding over with the news. He gulped hisbreakfast, and while Madeline and the others ate theirs he trampedup and down the porch. Madeline noted that Alfred grew nervous andrestless. Presently he left the table to join Stillwell outside. 

"They'll slope off to Don Carlos's rancho and leave us to ride homealone, " observed Florence. 

"Do you mind?" questioned Madeline. 

"No, I don't exactly mind; we've got the fastest horses in this country. I'd like to run that big black devil off his legs. No, I don't mind; butI've no hankering for a situation Gene Stewart thinks--"

Florence began disconnectedly, and she ended evasively. Madeline didnot press the point, although she had some sense of misgiving. Stillwelltramped in, shaking the floor with his huge boots; Alfred followed him, carrying a field-glass. 

"Not a hoss in sight, " complained Stillwell. "Some-thin' wrong over DonCarlos's way. Miss Majesty, it'll be jest as well fer you an' Flo to hitthe home trail. We can telephone over an' see that the boys know you'recomin'. "

Alfred, standing in the door, swept the gray valley with hisfield-glass. 

"Bill, I see running stock-horses or cattle; I can't make out which. Iguess we'd better rustle over there. "

Both men hurried out, and while the horses were being brought up andsaddled Madeline and Florence put away the breakfast-dishes, thenspeedily donned spurs, sombreros, and gauntlets. 

"Here are the horses ready, " called Alfred. "Flo, that black Mexicanhorse is a prince. "

The girls went out in time to hear Stillwell's good-by as he mounted andspurred away. Alfred went through the motions of assisting Madeline andFlorence to mount, which assistance they always flouted, and then he, too, swung up astride. 

"I guess it's all right, " he said, rather dubiously. "You really mustnot go over toward Don Carlos's. It's only a few miles home. "

"Sure it's all right. We can ride, can't we?" retorted Florence. "Betterhave a care for yourself, going off over there to mix in goodness knowswhat. "

Alfred said good-by, spurred his horse, and rode away. 

"If Bill didn't forget to telephone!" exclaimed Florence. "I declare heand Al were sure rattled. "

Florence dismounted and went into the house. She left the door open. Madeline had some difficulty in holding Majesty. It struck Madeline thatFlorence stayed rather long indoors. Presently she came out with soberface and rather tight lips. 

"I couldn't get anybody on the 'phone. No answer. I tried a dozentimes. "

"Why, Florence!" Madeline was more concerned by the girl's looks than bythe information she imparted. 

"The wire's been cut, " said Florence. Her gray glance swept swiftlyafter Alfred, who was now far out of earshot. "I don't like this alittle bit. Heah's where I've got to 'figger, ' as Bill says. "

She pondered a moment, then hurried into the house, to return presentlywith the field-glass that Alfred had used. With this she took a surveyof the valley, particularly in the direction of Madeline's ranch-house. This was hidden by low, rolling ridges which were quite close by. 

"Anyway, nobody in that direction can see us leave heah, " she mused. "There's mesquite on the ridges. We've got cover long enough to save ustill we can see what's ahead. "

"Florence, what--what do you expect?" asked Madeline, nervously. 

"I don't know. There's never any telling about Greasers. I wish Bill andAl hadn't left us. Still, come to think of that, they couldn't help usmuch in case of a chase. We'd run right away from them. Besides, they'dshoot. I guess I'm as well as satisfied that we've got the job ofgetting home on our own hands. We don't dare follow Al toward DonCarlos's ranch. We know there's trouble over there. So all that's leftis to hit the trail for home. Come, let's ride. You stick like a Spanishneedle to me. "

A heavy growth of mesquite covered the top of the first ridge, and thetrail went through it. Florence took the lead, proceeding cautiously, and as soon as she could see over the summit she used the field-glass. Then she went on. Madeline, following closely, saw down the slope of theridge to a bare, wide, grassy hollow, and onward to more rolling land, thick with cactus and mesquite. Florence appeared cautious, deliberate, yet she lost no time. She was ominously silent. Madeline's misgivingstook definite shape in the fear of vaqueros in ambush. 

Upon the ascent of the third ridge, which Madeline remembered was thelast uneven ground between the point she had reached and home, Florenceexercised even more guarded care in advancing. Before she reached thetop of this ridge she dismounted, looped her bridle round a dead snag, and, motioning Madeline to wait, she slipped ahead through the mesquiteout of sight. Madeline waited, anxiously listening and watching. Certainit was that she could not see or hear anything alarming. The sun beganto have a touch of heat; the morning breeze rustled the thin mesquitefoliage; the deep magenta of a cactus flower caught her eye; along-tailed, cruel-beaked, brown bird sailed so close to her she couldhave touched it with her whip. But she was only vaguely aware of thesethings. She was watching for Florence, listening for some sound fraughtwith untoward meaning. All of a sudden she saw Majesty's ears were heldstraight up. Then Florence's face, now strangely white, showed round theturn of the trail. 

"'S-s-s-sh!" whispered Florence, holding up a warning finger. Shereached the black horse and petted him, evidently to still an uneasinesshe manifested. "We're in for it, " she went on. "A whole bunch ofvaqueros hiding among the mesquite over the ridge! They've not seen orheard us yet. We'd better risk riding ahead, cut off the trail, and beatthem to the ranch. Madeline, you're white as death! Don't faint now!"

"I shall not faint. But you frighten me. Is there danger? What shall wedo?"

"There's danger. Madeline, I wouldn't deceive you, " went on Florence, inan earnest whisper. "Things have turned out just as Gene Stewart hinted. Oh, we should--Al should have listened to Gene! I believe--I'm afraidGene knew!"

"Knew what?" asked Madeline. 

"Never mind now. Listen. We daren't take the back trail. We'll goon. I've a scheme to fool that grinning Don Carlos. Get down, Madeline--hurry. "

Madeline dismounted. 

"Give me your white sweater. Take it off--And that white hat! Hurry, Madeline. "

"Florence, what on earth do you mean?" cried Madeline. 

"Not so loud, " whispered the other. Her gray eyes snapped. She haddivested herself of sombrero and jacket, which she held out to Madeline. "Heah. Take these. Give me yours. Then get up on the black. I'll rideMajesty. Rustle now, Madeline. This is no time to talk. "

"But, dear, why--why do you want--? Ah! You're going to make thevaqueros take you for me!"

"You guessed it. Will you--"

"I shall not allow you to do anything of the kind, " returned Madeline. 

It was then that Florence's face, changing, took on the hard, sternsharpness so typical of a cowboy's. Madeline had caught glimpses of thatexpression in Alfred's face, and on Stewart's when he was silent, andon Stillwell's always. It was a look of iron and fire--unchangeable, unquenchable will. There was even much of violence in the swift actionwhereby Florence compelled Madeline to the change of apparel. 

"It 'd been my idea, anyhow, if Stewart hadn't told me to do it, "said Florence, her words as swift as her hands. "Don Carlos is afteryou--you, Miss Madeline Hammond! He wouldn't ambush a trail for any oneelse. He's not killing cowboys these days. He wants you for some reason. So Gene thought, and now I believe him. Well, we'll know for sure infive minutes. You ride the black; I'll ride Majesty. We'll slip roundthrough the brush, out of sight and sound, till we can break out intothe open. Then we'll split. You make straight for the ranch. I'll cutloose for the valley where Gene said positively the cowboys were withthe cattle. The vaqueros will take me for you. They all know thosestriking white things you wear. They'll chase me. They'll never getanywhere near me. And you'll be on a fast horse. He can take you homeahead of any vaqueros. But you won't be chased. I'm staking all on that. Trust me, Madeline. If it were only my calculation, maybe I'd--It'sbecause I remember Stewart. That cowboy knows things. Come, this heah'sthe safest and smartest way to fool Don Carlos. " Madeline felt herselfmore forced than persuaded into acquiescence. She mounted the black andtook up the bridle. In another moment she was guiding her horse offthe trail in the tracks of Majesty. Florence led off at right angles, threading a slow passage through the mesquite. She favored sandy patchesand open aisles between the trees, and was careful not to break abranch. Often she stopped to listen. This detour of perhaps half a milebrought Madeline to where she could see open ground, the ranch-houseonly a few miles off, and the cattle dotting the valley. She had notlost her courage, but it was certain that these familiar sights somewhatlightened the pressure upon her breast. Excitement gripped her. Theshrill whistle of a horse made both the black and Majesty jump. Florencequickened the gait down the slope. Soon Madeline saw the edge of thebrush, the gray-bleached grass and level ground. 

Florence waited at the opening between the low trees. She gave Madelinea quick, bright glance. 

"All over but the ride! That'll sure be easy. Bolt now and keep yournerve!"

When Florence wheeled the fiery roan and screamed in his ear Madelineseemed suddenly to grow lax and helpless. The big horse leaped intothundering action. This was memorable of Bonita of the flying hair andthe wild night ride. Florence's hair streamed on the wind and shone goldin the sunlight. Yet Madeline saw her with the same thrill with whichshe had seen the wild-riding Bonita. Then hoarse shouts unclampedMadeline's power of movement, and she spurred the black into the open. 

He wanted to run and he was swift. Madeline loosened the reins--laidthem loose upon his neck. His action was strange to her. He was hardto ride. But he was fast, and she cared for nothing else. Madeline knewhorses well enough to realize that the black had found he was free andcarrying a light weight. A few times she took up the bridle and pulledto right or left, trying to guide him. He kept a straight course, however, and crashed through small patches of mesquite and jumped thecracks and washes. Uneven ground offered no perceptible obstacle to hisrunning. To Madeline there was now a thrilling difference in the lash ofwind and the flash of the gray ground underneath. She was running awayfrom something; what that was she did not know. But she rememberedFlorence, and she wanted to look back, yet hated to do so for fear ofthe nameless danger Florence had mentioned. 

Madeline listened for the pounding of pursuing hoofs in her rear. Involuntarily she glanced back. On the mile or more of gray levelbetween her and the ridge there was not a horse, a man, or anythingliving. She wheeled to look back on the other side, down the valleyslope. 

The sight of Florence riding Majesty in zigzag flight before a wholetroop of vaqueros blanched Madeline's cheek and made her grip the pommelof her saddle in terror. That strange gait of her roan was not hiswonderful stride. Could Majesty be running wild? Madeline saw onevaquero draw closer, whirling his lasso round his head, but he did notget near enough to throw. So it seemed to Madeline. Another vaqueroswept across in front of the first one. Then, when Madeline gasped inbreathless expectancy, the roan swerved to elude the attack. It flashedover Madeline that Florence was putting the horse to some such awkwardflight as might have been expected of an Eastern girl frightened out ofher wits. Madeline made sure of this when, after looking again, she sawthat Florence, in spite of the horse's breaking gait and the irregularcourse, was drawing slowly and surely down the valley. 

Madeline had not lost her head to the extent of forgetting her own mountand the nature of the ground in front. When, presently, she turned againto watch Florence, uncertainty ceased in her mind. The strange featuresof that race between girl and vaqueros were no longer in evidence. Majesty was in his beautiful, wonderful stride, low down along theground, stretching, with his nose level and straight for the valley. Between him and the lean horses in pursuit lay an ever-increasing space. He was running away from the vaqueros. Florence was indeed "riding thewind, " as Stewart had aptly expressed his idea of flight upon the fleetroan. 

A dimness came over Madeline's eyes, and it was not all owing to thesting of the wind. She rubbed it away, seeing Florence as a flyingdot in a strange blur. What a daring, intrepid girl! This kind ofstrength--and aye, splendid thought for a weaker sister--was what theWest inculcated in a woman. 

The next time Madeline looked back Florence was far ahead of herpursuers and going out of sight behind a low knoll. Assured ofFlorence's safety, Madeline put her mind to her own ride and thepossibilities awaiting at the ranch. She remembered the failure toget any of her servants or cowboys on the telephone. To be sure, awind-storm had once broken the wire. But she had little real hope ofsuch being the case in this instance. She rode on, pulling the black asshe neared the ranch. Her approach was from the south and off the usualtrail, so that she went up the long slope of the knoll toward the backof the house. Under these circumstances she could not consider it out ofthe ordinary that she did not see any one about the grounds. 

It was perhaps fortunate for her, she thought, that the climb up theslope cut the black's speed so she could manage him. He was not veryhard to stop. The moment she dismounted, however, he jumped and trottedoff. At the edge of the slope, facing the corrals, he halted to lifthis head and shoot up his ears. Then he let out a piercing whistle anddashed down the lane. 

Madeline, prepared by that warning whistle, tried to fortify herself fora new and unexpected situation; but as she espied an unfamiliar companyof horsemen rapidly riding down a hollow leading from the foothills shefelt the return of fears gripping at her like cold hands, and she fledprecipitously into the house. 

XI. A Band of Guerrillas

Madeline bolted the door, and, flying into the kitchen, she told thescared servants to shut themselves in. Then she ran to her own rooms. It was only a matter of a few moments for her to close and bar the heavyshutters, yet even as she was fastening the last one in the room sheused as an office a clattering roar of hoofs seemed to swell up to thefront of the house. She caught a glimpse of wild, shaggy horses andragged, dusty men. She had never seen any vaqueros that resembled thesehorsemen. Vaqueros had grace and style; they were fond of lace andglitter and fringe; they dressed their horses in silvered trappings. Butthe riders now trampling into the driveway were uncouth, lean, savage. They were guerrillas, a band of the raiders who had been harassing theborder since the beginning of the revolution. A second glimpse assuredMadeline that they were not all Mexicans. 

The presence of outlaws in that band brought home to Madeline her realdanger. She remembered what Stillwell had told her about recent outlawraids along the Rio Grande. These flying bands, operating under theexcitement of the revolution, appeared here and there, everywhere, inremote places, and were gone as quickly as they came. Mostly they wantedmoney and arms, but they would steal anything, and unprotected women hadsuffered at their hands. 

Madeline, hurriedly collecting her securities and the considerable moneyshe had in her desk, ran out, closed and locked the door, crossed thepatio to the opposite side of the house, and, entering again, went downa long corridor, trying to decide which of the many unused rooms wouldbe best to hide in. And before she made up her mind she came to the lastroom. Just then a battering on door or window in the direction of thekitchen and shrill screams from the servant women increased Madeline'salarm. 

She entered the last room. There was no lock or bar upon the door. Butthe room was large and dark, and it was half full of bales of alfalfahay. Probably it was the safest place in the house; at least time wouldbe necessary to find any one hidden there. She dropped her valuables ina dark corner and covered them with loose hay. That done, she felther way down a narrow aisle between the piled-up bales and presentlycrouched in a niche. 

With the necessity of action over for the immediate present, Madelinebecame conscious that she was quivering and almost breathless. Her skinfelt tight and cold. There was a weight on her chest; her mouth was dry, and she had a strange tendency to swallow. Her listening faculty seemedmost acute. Dull sounds came from parts of the house remote from her. In the intervals of silence between these sounds she heard the squeakingand rustling of mice in the hay. A mouse ran over her hand. 

She listened, waiting, hoping yet dreading to hear the clatteringapproach of her cowboys. There would be fighting--blood--men injured, perhaps killed. Even the thought of violence of any kind hurt her. Butperhaps the guerrillas would run in time to avoid a clash with her men. She hoped for that, prayed for it. Through her mind flitted what sheknew of Nels, of Monty, of Nick Steele; and she experienced a sensationthat left her somewhat chilled and sick. Then she thought of thedark-browed, fire-eyed Stewart. She felt a thrill drive away the coldnausea. And her excitement augmented. 

Waiting, listening increased all her emotions. Nothing appeared tobe happening. Yet hours seemed to pass while she crouched there. HadFlorence been overtaken? Could any of those lean horses outrun Majesty?She doubted it; she knew it could not be true. Nevertheless, the strainof uncertainty was torturing. 

Suddenly the bang of the corridor door pierced her through and throughwith the dread of uncertainty. Some of the guerrillas had entered theeast wing of the house. She heard a babel of jabbering voices, theshuffling of boots and clinking of spurs, the slamming of doors andransacking of rooms. 

Madeline lost faith in her hiding-place. Moreover, she found itimpossible to take the chance. The idea of being caught in that darkroom by those ruffians filled her with horror. She must get out into thelight. Swiftly she rose and went to the window. It was rather more of adoor than window, being a large aperture closed by two wooden doors onhinges. The iron hook yielded readily to her grasp, and one door stuckfast, while the other opened a few inches. She looked out upon a greenslope covered with flowers and bunches of sage and bushes. Neither mannor horse showed in the narrow field of her vision. She believed shewould be safer hidden out there in the shrubbery than in the house. Thejump from the window would be easy for her. And with her quick decisioncame a rush and stir of spirit that warded off her weakness. 

She pulled at the door. It did not budge. It had caught at the bottom. Pulling with all her might proved to be in vain. Pausing, with palms hotand bruised, she heard a louder, closer approach of the invaders of herhome. Fear, wrath, and impotence contested for supremacy over her anddrove her to desperation. She was alone here, and she must rely onherself. And as she strained every muscle to move that obstinate doorand heard the quick, harsh voices of men and the sounds of a hurriedsearch she suddenly felt sure that they were hunting for her. Sheknew it. She did not wonder at it. But she wondered if she were reallyMadeline Hammond, and if it were possible that brutal men would harmher. Then the tramping of heavy feet on the floor of the adjoining roomlent her the last strength of fear. Pushing with hands and shoulders, she moved the door far enough to permit the passage of her body. Thenshe stepped up on the sill and slipped through the aperture. She saw noone. Lightly she jumped down and ran in among the bushes. But thesedid not afford her the cover she needed. She stole from one clump toanother, finding too late that she had chosen with poor judgment. Theposition of the bushes had drawn her closer to the front of the houserather than away from it, and just before her were horses, and beyonda group of excited men. With her heart in her throat Madeline croucheddown. 

A shrill yell, followed by running and mounting guerrillas, roused herhope. They had sighted the cowboys and were in flight. Rapid thumping ofboots on the porch told of men hurrying from the house. Several horsesdashed past her, not ten feet distant. One rider saw her, for he turnedto shout back. This drove Madeline into a panic. Hardly knowing what shedid, she began to run away from the house. Her feet seemed leaden. Shefelt the same horrible powerlessness that sometimes came over her whenshe dreamed of being pursued. Horses with shouting riders streakedpast her in the shrubbery. There was a thunder of hoofs behind her. Sheturned aside, but the thundering grew nearer. She was being run down. 

As Madeline shut her eyes and, staggering, was about to fall, apparentlyright under pounding hoofs, a rude, powerful hand clapped round herwaist, clutched deep and strong, and swung her aloft. She felt a heavyblow when the shoulder of the horse struck her, and then a wrenching ofher arm as she was dragged up. A sudden blighting pain made sight andfeeling fade from her. 

But she did not become unconscious to the extent that she lost the senseof being rapidly borne away. She seemed to hold that for a long time. When her faculties began to return the motion of the horse was nolonger violent. For a few moments she could not determine her position. Apparently she was upside down. Then she saw that she was facing theground, and must be lying across a saddle with her head hanging down. She could not move a hand; she could not tell where her hands were. Thenshe felt the touch of soft leather. She saw a high-topped Mexican boot, wearing a huge silver spur, and the reeking flank and legs of a horse, and a dusty, narrow trail. Soon a kind of red darkness veiled her eyes, her head swam, and she felt motion and pain only dully. 

After what seemed a thousand weary hours some one lifted her from thehorse and laid her upon the ground, where, gradually, as the bloodleft her head and she could see, she began to get the right relation ofthings. 

She lay in a sparse grove of firs, and the shadows told of lateafternoon. She smelled wood smoke, and she heard the sharp crunch ofhorses' teeth nipping grass. Voices caused her to turn her face. A groupof men stood and sat round a camp-fire eating like wolves. The looks ofher captors made Madeline close her eyes, and the fascination, thefear they roused in her made her open them again. Mostly they werethin-bodied, thin-bearded Mexicans, black and haggard and starved. Whatever they might be, they surely were hunger-stricken and squalid. Not one had a coat. A few had scarfs. Some wore belts in which werescattered cartridges. Only a few had guns, and these were of diversepatterns. Madeline could see no packs, no blankets, and only a fewcooking-utensils, all battered and blackened. Her eyes fastened uponmen she believed were white men; but it was from their features and nottheir color that she judged. Once she had seen a band of nomad robbersin the Sahara, and somehow was reminded of them by this motley outlawtroop. 

They divided attention between the satisfying of ravenous appetitesand a vigilant watching down the forest aisles. They expected some one, Madeline thought, and, manifestly, if it were a pursuing posse, theydid not show anxiety. She could not understand more than a word hereand there that they uttered. Presently, however, the name of Don Carlosrevived keen curiosity in her and realization of her situation, and thenonce more dread possessed her breast. 

A low exclamation and a sweep of arm from one of the guerrillas causedthe whole band to wheel and concentrate their attention in the oppositedirection. They heard something. They saw some one. Grimy hands soughtweapons, and then every man stiffened. Madeline saw what hunted menlooked like at the moment of discovery, and the sight was terrible. Sheclosed her eyes, sick with what she saw, fearful of the moment when theguns would leap out. 

There were muttered curses, a short period of silence followed bywhisperings, and then a clear voice rang out, "El Capitan!"

A strong shock vibrated through Madeline, and her eyelids sweptopen. Instantly she associated the name El Capitan with Stewart andexperienced a sensation of strange regret. It was not pursuit or rescueshe thought of then, but death. These men would kill Stewart. But surelyhe had not come alone. The lean, dark faces, corded and rigid, told herin what direction to look. She heard the slow, heavy thump of hoofs. Soon into the wide aisle between the trees moved the form of a man, arms flung high over his head. Then Madeline saw the horse, and sherecognized Majesty, and she knew it was really Stewart who rode theroan. When doubt was no longer possible she felt a suffocating sense ofgladness and fear and wonder. 

Many of the guerrillas leaped up with drawn weapons. Still Stewartapproached with his hands high, and he rode right into the camp-firecircle. Then a guerrilla, evidently the chief, waved down thethreatening men and strode up to Stewart. He greeted him. There wasamaze and pleasure and respect in the greeting. Madeline could tellthat, though she did not know what was said. At the moment Stewartappeared to her as cool and careless as if he were dismounting at herporch steps. But when he got down she saw that his face was white. Heshook hands with the guerrilla, and then his glittering eyes roved overthe men and around the glade until they rested upon Madeline. Withoutmoving from his tracks he seemed to leap, as if a powerful current hadshocked him. Madeline tried to smile to assure him she was alive andwell; but the intent in his eyes, the power of his controlled spirittelling her of her peril and his, froze the smile on her lips. 

With that he faced the chief and spoke rapidly in the Mexican jargonMadeline had always found so difficult to translate. The chief answered, spreading wide his hands, one of which indicated Madeline as she laythere. Stewart drew the fellow a little aside and said something forhis ear alone. The chief's hands swept up in a gesture of surprise andacquiescence. Again Stewart spoke swiftly. His hearer then turned toaddress the band. Madeline caught the words "Don Carlos" and "pesos. "There was a brief muttering protest which the chief thundered down. Madeline guessed her release had been given by this guerrilla and boughtfrom the others of the band. 

Stewart strode to her side, leading the roan. Majesty reared and snortedwhen he saw his mistress prostrate. Stewart knelt, still holding thebridle. 

"Are you all right?" he asked. 

"I think so, " she replied, essaying a laugh that was rather a failure. "My feet are tied. "

Dark blood blotted out all the white from his face, and lightning shotfrom his eyes. She felt his hands, like steel tongs, loosening the bondsround her ankles. Without a word he lifted her upright and then uponMajesty. Madeline reeled a little in the saddle, held hard to the pommelwith one hand, and tried to lean on Stewart's shoulder with the other. 

"Don't give up, " he said. 

She saw him gaze furtively into the forest on all sides. And itsurprised her to see the guerrillas riding away. Putting the two factstogether, Madeline formed an idea that neither Stewart nor the othersdesired to meet with some one evidently due shortly in the glade. Stewart guided the roan off to the right and walked beside Madeline, steadying her in the saddle. At first Madeline was so weak and dizzythat she could scarcely retain her seat. The dizziness left herpresently, and then she made an effort to ride without help. Herweakness, however, and a pain in her wrenched arm made the tasklaborsome. 

Stewart had struck off the trail, if there were one, and was keepingto denser parts of the forest. The sun sank low, and the shafts of goldfell with a long slant among the firs. Majesty's hoofs made no soundon the soft ground, and Stewart strode on without speaking. Neither hishurry nor vigilance relaxed until at least two miles had been covered. Then he held to a straighter course and did not send so many glancesinto the darkening woods. The level of the forest began to be cut upby little hollows, all of which sloped and widened. Presently the softground gave place to bare, rocky soil. The horse snorted and tossed hishead. A sound of splashing water broke the silence. The hollow openedinto a wider one through which a little brook murmured its way over thestones. Majesty snorted again and stopped and bent his head. 

"He wants a drink, " said Madeline. "I'm thirsty, too, and very tired. "

Stewart lifted her out of the saddle, and as their hands parted she feltsomething moist and warm. Blood was running down her arm and into thepalm of her hand. 

"I'm--bleeding, " she said, a little unsteadily. "Oh, I remember. My armwas hurt. "

She held it out, the blood making her conscious of her weakness. Stewart's fingers felt so firm and sure. Swiftly he ripped the wetsleeve. Her forearm had been cut or scratched. He washed off the blood. 

"Why, Stewart, it's nothing. I was only a little nervous. I guess that'sthe first time I ever saw my own blood. "

He made no reply as he tore her handkerchief into strips and bound herarm. His swift motions and his silence gave her a hint of how he mightmeet a more serious emergency. She felt safe. And because of thatimpression, when he lifted his head and she saw that he was pale andshaking, she was surprised. He stood before her folding his scarf, which was still wet, and from which he made no effort to remove the redstains. 

"Miss Hammond, " he said, hoarsely, "it was a man's hands--a Greaser'sfinger-nails--that cut your arm. I know who he was. I could have killedhim. But I mightn't have got your freedom. You understand? I didn'tdare. "

Madeline gazed at Stewart, astounded more by his speech than hisexcessive emotion. 

"My dear boy!" she exclaimed. And then she paused. She could not findwords. 

He was making an apology to her for not killing a man who had laid arough hand upon her person. He was ashamed and seemed to be in a torturethat she would not understand why he had not killed the man. Thereseemed to be something of passionate scorn in him that he had not beenable to avenge her as well as free her. 

"Stewart, I understand. You were being my kind of cowboy. I thank you. "

But she did not understand so much as she implied. She had heard manystories of this man's cool indifference to peril and death. He hadalways seemed as hard as granite. Why should the sight of a little bloodupon her arm pale his cheek and shake his hand and thicken his voice?What was there in his nature to make him implore her to see the onlyreason he could not kill an outlaw? The answer to the first questionwas that he loved her. It was beyond her to answer the second. But thesecret of it lay in the same strength from which his love sprang--anintensity of feeling which seemed characteristic of these Western men ofsimple, lonely, elemental lives. All at once over Madeline rushed a tideof realization of how greatly it was possible for such a man as Stewartto love her. The thought came to her in all its singular power. All herEastern lovers who had the graces that made them her equals in the sightof the world were without the only great essential that a lonely, hardlife had given to Stewart. Nature here struck a just balance. Somethingdeep and dim in the future, an unknown voice, called to Madeline anddisturbed her. And because it was not a voice to her intelligence shedeadened the ears of her warm and throbbing life and decided never tolisten. 

"Is it safe to rest a little?" she asked. "I am so tired. Perhaps I'llbe stronger if I rest. "

"We're all right now, " he said. "The horse will be better, too. I ranhim out. And uphill, at that. "

"Where are we?"

"Up in the mountains, ten miles and more from the ranch. There's a trailjust below here. I can get you home by midnight. They'll be some worrieddown there. "

"What happened?"

"Nothing much to any one but you. That's the--the hard luck of it. Florence caught us out on the slope. We were returning from the fire. Wewere dead beat. But we got to the ranch before any damage was done. Wesure had trouble in finding a trace of you. Nick spotted the prints ofyour heels under the window. And then we knew. I had to fight the boys. If they'd come after you we'd never have gotten you without a fight. Ididn't want that. Old Bill came out packing a dozen guns. He was crazy. I had to rope Monty. Honest, I tied him to the porch. Nels and Nickpromised to stay and hold him till morning. That was the best I coulddo. I was sure lucky to come up with the band so soon. I had figuredright. I knew that guerrilla chief. He's a bandit in Mexico. It's abusiness with him. But he fought for Madero, and I was with him a gooddeal. He may be a Greaser, but he's white. "

"How did you effect my release?"

"I offered them money. That's what the rebels all want. They need money. They're a lot of poor, hungry devils. "

"I gathered that you offered to pay ransom. How much?"

"Two thousand dollars Mex. I gave my word. I'll have to take the money. I told them when and where I'd meet them. "

"Certainly. I'm glad I've got the money. " Madeline laughed. "What astrange thing to happen to me! I wonder what dad would say to that?Stewart, I'm afraid he'd say two thousand dollars is more than I'mworth. But tell me. That rebel chieftain did not demand money?"

"No. The money is for his men. "

"What did you say to him? I saw you whisper in his ear. "

Stewart dropped his head, averting her direct gaze. 

"We were comrades before Juarez. One day I dragged him out of a ditch. Ireminded him. Then I--I told him something I--I thought--"

"Stewart, I know from the way he looked at me that you spoke of me. "

Her companion did not offer a reply to this, and Madeline did not pressthe point. 

"I heard Don Carlos's name several times. That interests me. What haveDon Carlos and his vaqueros to do with this?"

"That Greaser has all to do with it, " replied Stewart, grimly. "Heburned his ranch and corrals to keep us from getting them. But he alsodid it to draw all the boys away from your home. They had a deep plot, all right. I left orders for some one to stay with you. But Al andStillwell, who're both hot-headed, rode off this morning. Then theguerrillas came down. "

"Well, what was the idea--the plot--as you call it?"

"To get you, " he said, bluntly. 

"Me! Stewart, you do not mean my capture--whatever you call it--wasanything more than mere accident?"

"I do mean that. But Stillwell and your brother think the guerrillaswanted money and arms, and they just happened to make off with youbecause you ran under a horse's nose. "

"You do not incline to that point of view?"

"I don't. Neither does Nels nor Nick Steele. And we know Don Carlos andthe Greasers. Look how the vaqueros chased Flo for you!"

"What do you think, then?"

"I'd rather not say. "

"But, Stewart, I would like to know. If it is about me, surely I oughtto know, " protested Madeline. "What reason have Nels and Nick to suspectDon Carlos of plotting to abduct me?"

"I suppose they've no reason you'd take. Once I heard Nels say he'd seenthe Greaser look at you, and if he ever saw him do it again he'd shoothim. "

"Why, Stewart, that is ridiculous. To shoot a man for looking at awoman! This is a civilized country. "

"Well, maybe it would be ridiculous in a civilized country. There's somethings about civilization I don't care for. "

"What, for instance?"

"For one thing, I can't stand for the way men let other men treatwomen. "

"But, Stewart, this is strange talk from you, who, that night I came--"

She broke off, sorry that she had spoken. His shame was not pleasant tosee. Suddenly he lifted his head, and she felt scorched by flaming eyes. 

"Suppose I was drunk. Suppose I had met some ordinary girl. Suppose Ihad really made her marry me. Don't you think I would have stopped beinga drunkard and have been good to her?"

"Stewart, I do not know what to think about you, " replied Madeline. 

Then followed a short silence. Madeline saw the last bright rays of thesetting sun glide up over a distant crag. Stewart rebridled the horseand looked at the saddle-girths. 

"I got off the trail. About Don Carlos I'll say right out, not what Nelsand Nick think, but what I know. Don Carlos hoped to make off with youfor himself, the same as if you had been a poor peon slave-girl down inSonora. Maybe he had a deeper plot than my rebel friend told me. Maybehe even went so far as to hope for American troops to chase him. The rebels are trying to stir up the United States. They'd welcomeintervention. But, however that may be, the Greaser meant evil to you, and has meant it ever since he saw you first. That's all. "

"Stewart, you have done me and my family a service we can never hope torepay. "

"I've done the service. Only don't mention pay to me. But there's onething I'd like you to know, and I find it hard to say. It's prompted, maybe, by what I know you think of me and what I imagine your family andfriends would think if they knew. It's not prompted by pride or conceit. And it's this: Such a woman as you should never have come to thisGod-forsaken country unless she meant to forget herself. But as you didcome, and as you were dragged away by those devils, I want you to knowthat all your wealth and position and influence--all that power behindyou--would never have saved you from hell to-night. Only such a man asNels or Nick Steele or I could have done that. "

Madeline Hammond felt the great leveling force of the truth. Whateverthe difference between her and Stewart, or whatever the imagineddifference set up by false standards of class and culture, the truthwas that here on this wild mountain-side she was only a woman and he wassimply a man. It was a man that she needed, and if her choice could havebeen considered in this extremity it would have fallen upon him who hadjust faced her in quiet, bitter speech. Here was food for thought. 

"I reckon we'd better start now, " he said, and drew the horse close to alarge rock. "Come. "

Madeline's will greatly exceeded her strength. For the first time sheacknowledged to herself that she had been hurt. Still, she did not feelmuch pain except when she moved her shoulder. Once in the saddle, whereStewart lifted her, she drooped weakly. The way was rough; every stepthe horse took hurt her; and the slope of the ground threw her forwardon the pommel. Presently, as the slope grew rockier and her discomfortincreased, she forgot everything except that she was suffering. 

"Here is the trail, " said Stewart, at length. 

Not far from that point Madeline swayed, and but for Stewart's supportwould have fallen from the saddle. She heard him swear under his breath. 

"Here, this won't do, " he said. "Throw your leg over the pommel. Theother one--there. "

Then, mounting, he slipped behind her and lifted and turned her, andthen held her with his left arm so that she lay across the saddle andhis knees, her head against his shoulder. 

As the horse started into a rapid walk Madeline gradually lost all painand discomfort when she relaxed her muscles. Presently she let herselfgo and lay inert, greatly to her relief. For a little while she seemedto be half drunk with the gentle swaying of a hammock. Her mind becameat once dreamy and active, as if it thoughtfully recorded the slow, softimpressions pouring in from all her senses. 

A red glow faded in the west. She could see out over the foothills, where twilight was settling gray on the crests, dark in the hollows. Cedar and pinyon trees lined the trail, and there were no more firs. Atintervals huge drab-colored rocks loomed over her. The sky was clearand steely. A faint star twinkled. And lastly, close to her, she sawStewart's face, once more dark and impassive, with the inscrutable eyesfixed on the trail. 

His arm, like a band of iron, held her, yet it was flexible and yieldedher to the motion of the horse. One instant she felt the brawn, the bone, heavy and powerful; the next the stretch and ripple, theelasticity of muscles. He held her as easily as if she were a child. Theroughness of his flannel shirt rubbed her cheek, and beneath that shefelt the dampness of the scarf he had used to bathe her arm, and deeperstill the regular pound of his heart. Against her ear, filling it withstrong, vibrant beat, his heart seemed a mighty engine deep within agreat cavern. Her head had never before rested on a man's breast, andshe had no liking for it there; but she felt more than the physicalcontact. The position was mysterious and fascinating, and somethingnatural in it made her think of life. Then as the cool wind blew downfrom the heights, loosening her tumbled hair, she was compelled to seestrands of it curl softly into Stewart's face, before his eyes, acrosshis lips. She was unable to reach it with her free hand, and thereforecould not refasten it. And when she shut her eyes she felt thoseloosened strands playing against his cheeks. 

In the keener press of such sensations she caught the smell of dust anda faint, wild, sweet tang on the air. There was a low, rustling sigh ofwind in the brush along the trail. Suddenly the silence ripped apart tothe sharp bark of a coyote, and then, from far away, came a long wail. And then Majesty's metal-rimmed hoof rang on a stone. 

These later things lent probability to that ride for Madeline. Otherwiseit would have seemed like a dream. Even so it was hard to believe. Againshe wondered if this woman who had begun to think and feel so much wasMadeline Hammond. Nothing had ever happened to her. And here, playingabout her like her hair played about Stewart's face, was adventure, perhaps death, and surely life. She could not believe the evidence ofthe day's happenings. Would any of her people, her friends, ever believeit? Could she tell it? How impossible to think that a cunning Mexicanmight have used her to further the interests of a forlorn revolution. She remembered the ghoulish visages of those starved rebels, andmarveled at her blessed fortune in escaping them. She was safe, and nowself-preservation had some meaning for her. Stewart's arrival in theglade, the courage with which he had faced the outlawed men, grewas real to her now as the iron arm that clasped her. Had it been aninstinct which had importuned her to save this man when he lay ill andhopeless in the shack at Chiricahua? In helping him had she hedged roundher forces that had just operated to save her life, or if not that, morethan life was to her? She believed so. 

Madeline opened her eyes after a while and found that night had fallen. The sky was a dark, velvety blue blazing with white stars. The coolwind tugged at her hair, and through waving strands she saw Stewart'sprofile, bold and sharp against the sky. 

Then, as her mind succumbed to her bodily fatigue, again her situationbecame unreal and wild. A heavy languor, like a blanket, began to stealupon her. She wavered and drifted. With the last half-conscious senseof a muffled throb at her ear, a something intangibly sweet, deep-toned, and strange, like a distant calling bell, she fell asleep with her headon Stewart's breast. 

XII. Friends from the East

Three days after her return to the ranch Madeline could not discover anyphysical discomfort as a reminder of her adventurous experiences. Thissurprised her, but not nearly so much as the fact that after a few weeksshe found she scarcely remembered the adventures at all. If it had notbeen for the quiet and persistent guardianship of her cowboys she mightalmost have forgotten Don Carlos and the raiders. Madeline was assuredof the splendid physical fitness to which this ranch life had developedher, and that she was assimilating something of the Western disregardof danger. A hard ride, an accident, a day in the sun and dust, anadventure with outlaws--these might once have been matters of largeimport, but now for Madeline they were in order with all the rest of herchanged life. 

There was never a day that something interesting was not brought to hernotice. Stillwell, who had ceaselessly reproached himself for ridingaway the morning Madeline was captured, grew more like an anxious parentthan a faithful superintendent. He was never at ease regarding herunless he was near the ranch or had left Stewart there, or else Nels andNick Steele. Naturally, he trusted more to Stewart than to any one else. 

"Miss Majesty, it's sure amazin' strange about Gene, " said the oldcattleman, as he tramped into Madeline's office. 

"What's the matter now?" she inquired. 

"Wal, Gene has rustled off into the mountains again. "

"Again? I did not know he had gone. I gave him money for that band ofguerrillas. Perhaps he went to take it to them. "

"No. He took that a day or so after he fetched you back home. Then inabout a week he went a second time. An' he packed some stuff with him. Now he's sneaked off, an' Nels, who was down to the lower trail, sawhim meet somebody that looked like Padre Marcos. Wal, I went down tothe church, and, sure enough, Padre Marcos is gone. What do you think ofthat, Miss Majesty?"

"Maybe Stewart is getting religious, " laughed Madeline. You told me soonce. 

Stillwell puffed and wiped his red face. 

"If you'd heerd him cuss Monty this mawnin' you'd never guess it wasreligion. Monty an' Nels hev been givin' Gene a lot of trouble lately. They're both sore an' in fightin' mood ever since Don Carlos hed youkidnapped. Sure they're goin' to break soon, an' then we'll hev a coupleof wild Texas steers ridin' the range. I've a heap to worry me. "

"Let Stewart take his mysterious trips into the mountains. Here, Stillwell, I have news for you that may give you reason for worry. I have letters from home. And my sister, with a party of friends, iscoming out to visit me. They are society folk, and one of them is anEnglish lord. "

"Wal, Miss Majesty, I reckon we'll all be glad to see them, " saidStillwell. "Onless they pack you off back East. "

"That isn't likely, " replied Madeline, thoughtfully. "I must go backsome time, though. Well, let me read you a few extracts from my mail. "

Madeline took up her sister's letter with a strange sensation of howeasily sight of a crested monogram and scent of delicately perfumedpaper could recall the brilliant life she had given up. She scannedthe pages of beautiful handwriting. Helen's letter was in turn gay andbrilliant and lazy, just as she was herself; but Madeline detected moreof curiosity in it than of real longing to see the sister and brother inthe Far West. Much of what Helen wrote was enthusiastic anticipation ofthe fun she expected to have with bashful cowboys. Helen seldom wroteletters, and she never read anything, not even popular novels of theday. She was as absolutely ignorant of the West as the Englishman, who, she said, expected to hunt buffalo and fight Indians. Moreover, therewas a satiric note in the letter that Madeline did not like, and whichroused her spirit. Manifestly, Helen was reveling in the prospect of newsensation. 

When she finished reading aloud a few paragraphs the old cattlemansnorted and his face grew redder. 

"Did your sister write that?" he asked. 

"Yes. "

"Wal, I--I beg pawdin, Miss Majesty. But it doesn't seem like you. Doesshe think we're a lot of wild men from Borneo?"

"Evidently she does. I rather think she is in for a surprise. Now, Stillwell, you are clever and you can see the situation. I want myguests to enjoy their stay here, but I do not want that to be at theexpense of the feelings of all of us, or even any one. Helen will bringa lively crowd. They'll crave excitement--the unusual. Let us see thatthey are not disappointed. You take the boys into your confidence. Tellthem what to expect, and tell them how to meet it. I shall help you inthat. I want the boys to be on dress-parade when they are off duty. Iwant them to be on their most elegant behavior. I do not care what theydo, what measures they take to protect themselves, what tricks theycontrive, so long as they do not overstep the limit of kindness andcourtesy. I want them to play their parts seriously, naturally, as ifthey had lived no other way. My guests expect to have fun. Let us meetthem with fun. Now what do you say?"

Stillwell rose, his great bulk towering, his huge face beaming. 

"Wal, I say it's the most amazin' fine idee I ever heerd in my life. "

"Indeed, I am glad you like it, " went on Madeline. 

"Come to me again, Stillwell, after you have spoken to the boys. But, now that I have suggested it, I am a little afraid. You know what cowboyfun is. Perhaps--"

"Don't you go back on that idee, " interrupted Stillwell. He was assuringand bland, but his hurry to convince Madeline betrayed him. "Leave theboys to me. Why, don't they all swear by you, same as the Mexicans doto the Virgin? They won't disgrace you, Miss Majesty. They'll be simplyimmense. It'll beat any show you ever seen. "

"I believe it will, " replied Madeline. She was still doubtful ofher plan, but the enthusiasm of the old cattleman was infectious andirresistible. "Very well, we will consider it settled. My guests willarrive on May ninth. Meanwhile let us get Her Majesty's Rancho in shapefor this invasion. "

 * * *

On the afternoon of the ninth of May, perhaps half an hour afterMadeline had received a telephone message from Link Stevens announcingthe arrival of her guests at El Cajon, Florence called her out upon theporch. Stillwell was there with his face wrinkled by his wonderful smileand his eagle eyes riveted upon the distant valley. Far away, perhapstwenty miles, a thin streak of white dust rose from the valley floor andslanted skyward. 

"Look!" said Florence, excitedly. 

"What is that?" asked Madeline. 

"Link Stevens and the automobile!"

"Oh no! Why, it's only a few minutes since he telephoned saying theparty had just arrived. "

"Take a look with the glasses, " said Florence. 

One glance through the powerful binoculars convinced Madeline thatFlorence was right. And another glance at Stillwell told her that he wasspeechless with delight. She remembered a little conversation she hadhad with Link Stevens a short while previous. 

"Stevens, I hope the car is in good shape, " she had said. "Now, MissHammond, she's as right as the best-trained hoss I ever rode, " he hadreplied. 

"The valley road is perfect, " she had gone on, musingly. "I never sawsuch a beautiful road, even in France. No fences, no ditches, no rocks, no vehicles. Just a lonely road on the desert. "

"Shore, it's lonely, " Stevens had answered, with slowly brighteningeyes. "An' safe, Miss Hammond. "

"My sister used to like fast riding. If I remember correctly, all ofmy guests were a little afflicted with the speed mania. It is a commondisease with New-Yorkers. I hope, Stevens, that you will not give themreason to think we are altogether steeped in the slow, dreamy mananalanguor of the Southwest. "

Link doubtfully eyed her, and then his bronze face changed its darkaspect and seemed to shine. 

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss Hammond, thet's shore tall talk fer LinkStevens to savvy. You mean--as long as I drive careful an' safe I canrun away from my dust, so to say, an' get here in somethin' less thanthe Greaser's to-morrow?"

Madeline had laughed her assent. And now, as she watched the thinstreak of dust, at that distance moving with snail pace, she reproachedherself. She trusted Stevens; she had never known so skilful, daring, and iron-nerved a driver as he was. If she had been in the car herselfshe would have had no anxiety. But, imagining what Stevens would do onforty miles and more of that desert road, Madeline suffered a prick ofconscience. 

"Oh, Stillwell!" she exclaimed. "I am afraid I will go back on mywonderful idea. What made me do it?"

"Your sister wanted the real thing, didn't she? Said they all wanted it. Wal, I reckon they've begun gettin' it, " replied Stillwell. 

That statement from the cattleman allayed Madeline's pangs ofconscience. She understood just what she felt, though she could not haveput it in words. She was hungry for a sight of well-remembered faces;she longed to hear the soft laughter and gay repartee of oldfriends; she was eager for gossipy first-hand news of her old world. Nevertheless, something in her sister's letter, in messages from theothers who were coming, had touched Madeline's pride. In one sense theexpected guests were hostile, inasmuch as they were scornful and curiousabout the West that had claimed her. She imagined what they wouldexpect in a Western ranch. They would surely get the real thing, too, asStillwell said; and in that certainty was satisfaction for a small grainof something within Madeline which approached resentment. She wistfullywondered, however, if her sister or friends would come to see the Westeven a little as she saw it. That, perhaps, would he hoping too much. She resolved once for all to do her best to give them the sensationtheir senses craved, and equally to show them the sweetness and beautyand wholesomeness and strength of life in the Southwest. 

"Wal, as Nels says, I wouldn't be in that there ottomobile right now fora million pesos, " remarked Stillwell. 

"Why? Is Stevens driving fast?"

"Good Lord! Fast? Miss Majesty, there hain't ever been anythin' except astreak of lightnin' run so fast in this country. I'll bet Link for onceis in heaven. I can jest see him now, the grim, crooked-legged littledevil, hunchin' down over that wheel as if it was a hoss's neck. "

"I told him not to let the ride be hot or dusty, " remarked Madeline. 

"Haw, haw!" roared Stillwell. "Wal, I'll be goin'. I reckon I'd like tobe hyar when Link drives up, but I want to be with the boys down by thebunks. It'll be some fun to see Nels an' Monty when Link comes flyin'along. "

"I wish Al had stayed to meet them, " said Madeline. 

Her brother had rather hurried a shipment of cattle to California: andit was Madeline's supposition that he had welcomed the opportunity toabsent himself from the ranch. 

"I am sorry he wouldn't stay, " replied Florence. "But Al's all businessnow. And he's doing finely. It's just as well, perhaps. "

"Surely. That was my pride speaking. I would like to have all my familyand all my old friends see what a man Al has become. Well, Link Stevensis running like the wind. The car will be here before we know it. Florence, we've only a few moments to dress. But first I want to ordermany and various and exceedingly cold refreshments for that approachingparty. "

Less than a half-hour later Madeline went again to the porch and foundFlorence there. 

"Oh, you look just lovely!" exclaimed Florence, impulsively, as shegazed wide-eyed up at Madeline. "And somehow so different!"

Madeline smiled a little sadly. Perhaps when she had put on thatexquisite white gown something had come to her of the manner whichbefitted the wearing of it. She could not resist the desire to look faironce more in the eyes of these hypercritical friends. The sad smile hadbeen for the days that were gone. For she knew that what society hadonce been pleased to call her beauty had trebled since it had last beenseen in a drawing-room. Madeline wore no jewels, but at her waist shehad pinned two great crimson roses. Against the dead white they had thelife and fire and redness of the desert. 

"Link's hit the old round-up trail, " said Florence, "and oh, isn't heriding that car!"

With Florence, as with most of the cowboys, the car was never driven, but ridden. 

A white spot with a long trail of dust showed low down in the valley. It was now headed almost straight for the ranch. Madeline watchedit growing larger moment by moment, and her pleasurable emotion grewaccordingly. Then the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs caused her to turn. 

Stewart was riding in on his black horse. He had been absent on animportant mission, and his duty had taken him to the internationalboundary-line. His presence home long before he was expected wasparticularly gratifying to Madeline, for it meant that his mission hadbeen brought to a successful issue. Once more, for the hundredth time, the man's reliability struck Madeline. He was a doer of things. Theblack horse halted wearily without the usual pound of hoofs on thegravel, and the dusty rider dismounted wearily. Both horse and ridershowed the heat and dust and wind of many miles. 

Madeline advanced to the porch steps. And Stewart, after taking a parcelof papers from a saddle-bag, turned toward her. 

"Stewart, you are the best of couriers, " she said. "I am pleased. "

Dust streamed from his sombrero as he doffed it. His dark face seemed torise as he straightened weary shoulders. 

"Here are the reports, Miss Hammond, " he replied. 

As he looked up to see her standing there, dressed to receive herEastern guests, he checked his advance with a violent action whichrecalled to Madeline the one he had made on the night she had met him, when she disclosed her identity. It was not fear nor embarrassment norawkwardness. And it was only momentary. Yet, slight as had been hispause, Madeline received from it an impression of some strong haltingforce. A man struck by a bullet might have had an instant jerk ofmuscular control such as convulsed Stewart. In that instant, as her keengaze searched his dust-caked face, she met the full, free look ofhis eyes. Her own did not fall, though she felt a warmth steal to hercheeks. Madeline very seldom blushed. And now, conscious of her suddencolor a genuine blush flamed on her face. It was irritating because itwas incomprehensible. She received the papers from Stewart and thankedhim. He bowed, then led the black down the path toward the corrals. 

"When Stewart looks like that he's been riding, " said Florence. "Butwhen his horse looks like that he's sure been burning the wind. "

Madeline watched the weary horse and rider limp down the path. Whathad made her thoughtful? Mostly it was something new or sudden orinexplicable that stirred her mind to quick analysis. In this instancethe thing that had struck Madeline was Stewart's glance. He had lookedat her, and the old burning, inscrutable fire, the darkness, had lefthis eyes. Suddenly they had been beautiful. The look had not been one ofsurprise or admiration; nor had it been one of love. She was familiar, too familiar with all three. It had not been a gaze of passion, forthere was nothing beautiful in that. Madeline pondered. And presentlyshe realized that Stewart's eyes had expressed a strange joy of pride. That expression Madeline had never before encountered in the look of anyman. Probably its strangeness had made her notice it and accounted forher blushing. The longer she lived among these outdoor men the morethey surprised her. Particularly, how incomprehensible was this cowboyStewart! Why should he have pride or joy at sight of her?

Florence's exclamation made Madeline once more attend to the approachingautomobile. It was on the slope now, some miles down the long gradualslant. Two yellow funnel-shaped clouds of dust seemed to shoot out frombehind the car and roll aloft to join the column that stretched down thevalley. 

"I wonder what riding a mile a minute would be like, " said Florence. "I'll sure make Link take me. Oh, but look at him come!"

The giant car resembled a white demon, and but for the dust would haveappeared to be sailing in the air. Its motion was steadily forward, holding to the road as if on rails. And its velocity was astounding. Long, gray veils, like pennants, streamed in the wind. A low rushingsound became perceptible, and it grew louder, became a roar. The carshot like an arrow past the alfalfa-field, by the bunk-houses, where thecowboys waved and cheered. The horses and burros in the corrals began tosnort and tramp and race in fright. At the base of the long slope ofthe foothill Link cut the speed more than half. Yet the car roared up, rolling the dust, flying capes and veils and ulsters, and crashed andcracked to a halt in the yard before the porch. 

Madeline descried a gray, disheveled mass of humanity packed inside thecar. Besides the driver there were seven occupants, and for a momentthey appeared to be coming to life, moving and exclaiming under theveils and wraps and dust-shields. 

Link Stevens stepped out and, removing helmet and goggles, coolly lookedat his watch. 

"An hour an' a quarter, Miss Hammond, " he said. "It's sixty-three milesby the valley road, an' you know there's a couple of bad hills. I reckonwe made fair time, considerin' you wanted me to drive slow an' safe. "

From the mass of dusty-veiled humanity in the car came low exclamationsand plaintive feminine wails. 

Madeline stepped to the front of the porch. Then the deep voices ofmen and softer voices of women united in one glad outburst, as much athanksgiving as a greeting, "MAJESTY!"

 *****

Helen Hammond was three years younger than Madeline, and a slender, pretty girl. She did not resemble her sister, except in whiteness andfineness of skin, being more of a brown-eyed, brown-haired type. Havingrecovered her breath soon after Madeline took her to her room, she beganto talk. 

"Majesty, old girl, I'm here; but you can bet I would never have gottenhere if I had known about that ride from the railroad. You never wrotethat you had a car. I thought this was out West--stage-coach, andall that sort of thing. Such a tremendous car! And the road! And thatterrible little man with the leather trousers! What kind of a chauffeuris he?"

"He's a cowboy. He was crippled by falling under his horse, so I had himinstructed to run the car. He can drive, don't you think?"

"Drive? Good gracious! He scared us to death, except Castleton. Nothingcould scare that cold-blooded little Englishman. I am dizzy yet. Doyou know, Majesty, I was delighted when I saw the car. Then your cowboydriver met us at the platform. What a queer-looking individual! He hada big pistol strapped to those leather trousers. That made me nervous. When he piled us all in with our grips, he put me in the seat besidehim, whether I liked it or not. I was fool enough to tell him I lovedto travel fast. What do you think he said? Well, he eyed me in arather cool and speculative way and said, with a smile, 'Miss, I reckonanything you love an' want bad will be coming to you out here!' I didn'tknow whether it was delightful candor or impudence. Then he said to allof us: 'Shore you had better wrap up in the veils an' dusters. It's along, slow, hot, dusty ride to the ranch, an' Miss Hammond's order wasto drive safe. ' He got our baggage checks and gave them to a man witha huge wagon and a four-horse team. Then he cranked the car, jumped in, wrapped his arms round the wheel, and sank down low in his seat. Therewas a crack, a jerk, a kind of flash around us, and that dirty littletown was somewhere on the map behind. For about five minutes I had alovely time. Then the wind began to tear me to pieces. I couldn't hearanything but the rush of wind and roar of the car. I could see onlystraight ahead. What a road! I never saw a road in my life till to-day. Miles and miles and miles ahead, with not even a post or tree. That bigcar seemed to leap at the miles. It hummed and sang. I was fascinated, then terrified. We went so fast I couldn't catch my breath. The windwent through me, and I expected to be disrobed by it any minute. I wasafraid I couldn't hold any clothes on. Presently all I could see wasa flashing gray wall with a white line in the middle. Then my eyesblurred. My face burned. My ears grew full of a hundred thousand howlingdevils. I was about ready to die when the car stopped. I looked andlooked, and when I could see, there you stood!"

"Helen, I thought you were fond of speeding, " said Madeline, with alaugh. 

"I was. But I assure you I never before was in a fast car; I never saw aroad; I never met a driver. "

"Perhaps I may have a few surprises for you out here in the wild andwoolly West. "

Helen's dark eyes showed a sister's memory of possibilities. 

"You've started well, " she said. "I am simply stunned. I expected tofind you old and dowdy. Majesty, you're the handsomest thing I everlaid eyes on. You're so splendid and strong, and your skin is like whitegold. What's happened to you? What's changed you? This beautifulroom, those glorious roses out there, the cool, dark sweetness of thiswonderful house! I know you, Majesty, and, though you never wrote it, Ibelieve you have made a home out here. That's the most stunning surpriseof all. Come, confess. I know I've always been selfish and not much ofa sister; but if you are happy out here I am glad. You were not happy athome. Tell me about yourself and about Alfred. Then I shall give you allthe messages and news from the East. "

It afforded Madeline exceeding pleasure to have from one and all ofher guests varied encomiums of her beautiful home, and a real and warminterest in what promised to be a delightful and memorable visit. 

Of them all Castleton was the only one who failed to show surprise. Hegreeted her precisely as he had when he had last seen her in London. Madeline, rather to her astonishment, found meeting him againpleasurable. She discovered she liked this imperturbable Englishman. Manifestly her capacity for liking any one had immeasurably enlarged. Quite unexpectedly her old girlish love for her younger sister spranginto life, and with it interest in these half-forgotten friends, and awarm regard for Edith Wayne, a chum of college days. 

Helen's party was smaller than Madeline had expected it to be. Helen hadbeen careful to select a company of good friends, all of whom were wellknown to Madeline. Edith Wayne was a patrician brunette, a serious, soft-voiced woman, sweet and kindly, despite a rather bitter experiencethat had left her worldly wise. Mrs. Carrollton Beck, a plain, livelyperson, had chaperoned the party. The fourth and last of the femininecontingent was Miss Dorothy Coombs--Dot, as they called her--a youngwoman of attractive blond prettiness. 

For a man Castleton was of very small stature. He had a pink-and-whitecomplexion, a small golden mustache, and his heavy eyelids, alwaysdrooping, made him look dull. His attire, cut to what appeared to be anexaggerated English style, attracted attention to his diminutive size. He was immaculate and fastidious. Robert Weede was a rather large floridyoung man, remarkable only for his good nature. Counting Boyd Harvey, ahandsome, pale-faced fellow, with the careless smile of the man for whomlife had been easy and pleasant, the party was complete. 

Dinner was a happy hour, especially for the Mexican women who served itand who could not fail to note its success. The mingling of low voicesand laughter, the old, gay, superficial talk, the graciousness of aclass which lived for the pleasure of things and to make time passpleasurably for others--all took Madeline far back into the past. Shedid not care to return to it, but she saw that it was well she had notwholly cut herself off from her people and friends. 

When the party adjourned to the porch the heat had markedly decreasedand the red sun was sinking over the red desert. An absence of spokenpraise, a gradually deepening silence, attested to the impression onthe visitors of that noble sunset. Just as the last curve of red rimvanished beyond the dim Sierra Madres and the golden lightning began toflare brighter Helen broke the silence with an exclamation. 

"It wants only life. Ah, there's a horse climbing the hill! See, he'sup! He has a rider!"

Madeline knew before she looked the identity of the man riding up themesa. But she did not know until that moment how the habit of watchingfor him at this hour had grown upon her. He rode along the rim of themesa and out to the point, where, against the golden background, horseand rider stood silhouetted in bold relief. 

"What's he doing there? Who is he?" inquired the curious Helen. 

"That is Stewart, my right-hand man, " replied Madeline. "Every day whenhe is at the ranch he rides up there at sunset. I think he likes theride and the scene; but he goes to take a look at the cattle in thevalley. "

"Is he a cowboy?" asked Helen. 

"Indeed yes!" replied Madeline, with a little laugh. "You will think sowhen Stillwell gets hold of you and begins to talk. "

Madeline found it necessary to explain who Stillwell was, and what hethought of Stewart, and, while she was about it, of her own accord sheadded a few details of Stewart's fame. 

"El Capitan. How interesting!" mused Helen. "What does he look like?"

"He is superb. "

Florence handed the field-glass to Helen and bade her look. 

"Oh, thank you!" said Helen, as she complied. "There. I see him. Indeed, he is superb. What a magnificent horse! How still he stands! Why, heseems carved in stone. "

"Let me look?" said Dorothy Coombs, eagerly. 

Helen gave her the glass. 

"You can look, Dot, but that's all. He's mine. I saw him first. "

Whereupon Madeline's feminine guests held a spirited contest overthe field-glass, and three of them made gay, bantering boasts not toconsider Helen's self-asserted rights. Madeline laughed with the otherswhile she watched the dark figure of Stewart and his black outlineagainst the sky. There came over her a thought not by any means new orstrange--she wondered what was in Stewart's mind as he stood there inthe solitude and faced the desert and the darkening west. Some day shemeant to ask him. Presently he turned the horse and rode down into theshadow creeping up the mesa. 

"Majesty, have you planned any fun, any excitement for us?" asked Helen. She was restless, nervous, and did not seem to be able to sit still amoment. 

"You will think so when I get through with you, " replied Madeline. 

"What, for instance?" inquired Helen and Dot and Mrs. Beck, in unison. Edith Wayne smiled her interest. 

"Well, I am not counting rides and climbs and golf; but these arenecessary to train you for trips over into Arizona. I want to show youthe desert and the Aravaipa Canyon. We have to go on horseback and packour outfit. If any of you are alive after those trips and want more weshall go up into the mountains. I should like very much to know what youeach want particularly. "

"I'll tell you, " replied Helen, promptly. "Dot will be the same out hereas she was in the East. She wants to look bashfully down at her hand--ahand imprisoned in another, by the way--and listen to a man talk poetryabout her eyes. If cowboys don't make love that way Dot's visit willbe a failure. Now Elsie Beck wants solely to be revenged upon us fordragging her out here. She wants some dreadful thing to happen to us. Idon't know what's in Edith's head, but it isn't fun. Bobby wants to benear Elsie, and no more. Boyd wants what he has always wanted--theonly thing he ever wanted that he didn't get. Castleton has a horriblebloodthirsty desire to kill something. "

"I declare now, I want to ride and camp out, also, " protested Castleton. 

"As for myself, " went on Helen, "I want--Oh, if I only knew what it isthat I want! Well, I know I want to be outdoors, to get into the open, to feel sun and wind, to burn some color into my white face. I want someflesh and blood and life. I am tired out. Beyond all that I don't knowvery well. I'll try to keep Dot from attaching all the cowboys to hertrain. "

"What a diversity of wants!" said Madeline. 

"Above all, Majesty, we want something to happen, " concluded Helen, withpassionate finality. 

"My dear sister, maybe you will have your wish fulfilled, " repliedMadeline, soberly. "Edith, Helen has made me curious about your especialyearning. "

"Majesty, it is only that I wanted to be with you for a while, " repliedthis old friend. 

There was in the wistful reply, accompanied by a dark and eloquentglance of eyes, what told Madeline of Edith's understanding, of hersympathy, and perhaps a betrayal of her own unquiet soul. It saddenedMadeline. How many women might there not be who had the longing to breakdown the bars of their cage, but had not the spirit!

XIII. Cowboy Golf

In the whirl of the succeeding days it was a mooted question whetherMadeline's guests or her cowboys or herself got the keenest enjoymentout of the flying time. Considering the sameness of the cowboys'ordinary life, she was inclined to think they made the most of thepresent. Stillwell and Stewart, however, had found the situation trying. The work of the ranch had to go on, and some of it got sadly neglected. Stillwell could not resist the ladies any more than he could resist thefun in the extraordinary goings-on of the cowboys. Stewart alone keptthe business of cattle-raising from a serious setback. Early and latehe was in the saddle, driving the lazy Mexicans whom he had hired torelieve the cowboys. 

One morning in June Madeline was sitting on the porch with her merryfriends when Stillwell appeared on the corral path. He had not cometo consult Madeline for several days--an omission so unusual as to beremarked. 

"Here comes Bill--in trouble, " laughed Florence. 

Indeed, he bore some faint resemblance to a thundercloud as heapproached the porch; but the greetings he got from Madeline's party, especially from Helen and Dorothy, chased away the blackness from hisface and brought the wonderful wrinkling smile. 

"Miss Majesty, sure I'm a sad demoralized old cattleman, " he said, presently. "An' I'm in need of a heap of help. "

"What's wrong now?" asked Madeline, with her encouraging smile. 

"Wal, it's so amazin' strange what cowboys will do. I jest am about togive up. Why, you might say my cowboys were all on strike for vacations. What do you think of that? We've changed the shifts, shortened hours, let one an' another off duty, hired Greasers, an', in fact, doneeverythin' that could be thought of. But this vacation idee growedworse. When Stewart set his foot down, then the boys begin to get sick. Never in my born days as a cattleman have I heerd of so many diseases. An' you ought to see how lame an' crippled an' weak many of the boyshave got all of a sudden. The idee of a cowboy comin' to me with asore finger an' askin' to be let off for a day! There's Booly. Now I'veknowed a hoss to fall all over him, an' onct he rolled down a canyon. Never bothered him at all. He's got a blister on his heel, a ridin'blister, an' he says it's goin' to blood-poisonin' if he doesn't rest. There's Jim Bell. He's developed what he says is spinal mengalootis, or some such like. There's Frankie Slade. He swore he had scarlet feverbecause his face burnt so red, I guess, an' when I hollered that scarletfever was contagious an' he must be put away somewhere, he up an' sayshe guessed it wasn't that. But he was sure awful sick an' needed to loafaround an' be amused. Why, even Nels doesn't want to work these days. Ifit wasn't for Stewart, who's had Greasers with the cattle, I don't knowwhat I'd do. "

"Why all this sudden illness and idleness?" asked Madeline. 

"Wal, you see, the truth is every blamed cowboy on the range exceptStewart thinks it's his bounden duty to entertain the ladies. "

"I think that is just fine!" exclaimed Dorothy Coombs; and she joined inthe general laugh. 

"Stewart, then, doesn't care to help entertain us?" inquired Helen, incurious interest. "Wal, Miss Helen, Stewart is sure different from theother cowboys, " replied Stillwell. "Yet he used to be like them. Therenever was a cowboy fuller of the devil than Gene. But he's changed. He'sforeman here, an' that must be it. All the responsibility rests on him. He sure has no time for amusin' the ladies. "

"I imagine that is our loss, " said Edith Wayne, in her earnest way. "Iadmire him. "

"Stillwell, you need not be so distressed with what is only gallantry inthe boys, even if it does make a temporary confusion in the work, " saidMadeline. 

"Miss Majesty, all I said is not the half, nor the quarter, nor nuthin'of what's troublin' me, " answered he, sadly. 

"Very well; unburden yourself. "

"Wal, the cowboys, exceptin' Gene, have gone plumb batty, jest plaincrazy over this heah game of gol-lof. "

A merry peal of mirth greeted Stillwell's solemn assertion. 

"Oh, Stillwell, you are in fun, " replied Madeline. 

"I hope to die if I'm not in daid earnest, " declared the cattleman. "It's an amazin' strange fact. Ask Flo. She'll tell you. She knowscowboys, an' how if they ever start on somethin' they ride it as theyride a hoss. "

Florence being appealed to, and evidently feeling all eyes upon her, modestly replied that Stillwell had scarcely misstated the situation. 

"Cowboys play like they work or fight, " she added. "They give theirwhole souls to it. They are great big simple boys. "

"Indeed they are, " said Madeline. "Oh, I'm glad if they like the game ofgolf. They have so little play. "

"Wal, somethin's got to be did if we're to go on raisin' cattle at HerMajesty's Rancho, " replied Stillwell. He appeared both deliberate andresigned. 

Madeline remembered that despite Stillwell's simplicity he was as deepas any of his cowboys, and there was absolutely no gaging him wherepossibilities of fun were concerned. Madeline fancied that hisexaggerated talk about the cowboys' sudden craze for golf was in linewith certain other remarkable tales that had lately emanated from him. Some very strange things had occurred of late, and it was impossible totell whether or not they were accidents, mere coincidents, or deep-laid, skilfully worked-out designs of the fun-loving cowboys. Certainly therehad been great fun, and at the expense of her guests, particularlyCastleton. So Madeline was at a loss to know what to think aboutStillwell's latest elaboration. From mere force of habit she sympathizedwith him and found difficulty in doubting his apparent sincerity. 

"To go back a ways, " went on Stillwell, as Madeline looked upexpectantly, "you recollect what pride the boys took in fixin' up thatgol-lof course out on the mesa? Wal, they worked on that job, an' thoughI never seen any other course, I'll gamble yours can't be beat. The boyswas sure curious about that game. You recollect also how they all wantedto see you an' your brother play, an' be caddies for you? Wal, wheneveryou'd quit they'd go to work tryin' to play the game. Monty Price, hewas the leadin' spirit. Old as I am, Miss Majesty, an' used as I am tocowboy excentrikities, I nearly dropped daid when I heered that littlehobble-footed, burned-up Montana cow-puncher say there wasn't anygame too swell for him, an' gol-lof was just his speed. Serious as apreacher, mind you, he was. An' he was always practisin'. When Stewartgave him charge of the course an' the club-house an' all them funnysticks, why, Monty was tickled to death. You see, Monty is sensitivethat he ain't much good any more for cowboy work. He was glad to have ajob that he didn't feel he was hangin' to by kindness. Wal, he practisedthe game, an' he read the books in the club-house, an' he got the boysto doin' the same. That wasn't very hard, I reckon. They played earlyan' late an' in the moonlight. For a while Monty was coach, an' the boysstood it. But pretty soon Frankie Slade got puffed on his game, an' hehad to have it out with Monty. Wal, Monty beat him bad. Then one afteranother the other boys tackled Monty. He beat them all. After that theysplit up an' begin to play matches, two on a side. For a spell thisworked fine. But cowboys can't never be satisfied long onless they winall the time. Monty an' Link Stevens, both cripples, you might say, joined forces an' elected to beat all comers. Wal, they did, an' that'sthe trouble. Long an' patient the other cowboys tried to beat them twogame legs, an' hevn't done it. Mebbe if Monty an' Link was perfectlysound in their legs like the other cowboys there wouldn't hev been sucha holler. But no sound cowboys'll ever stand for a disgrace like that. Why, down at the bunks in the evenin's it's some mortifyin' the wayMonty an' Link crow over the rest of the outfit. They've taken onsuperior airs. You couldn't reach up to Monty with a trimmed sprucepole. An' Link--wal, he's just amazin' scornful. 

"'It's a swell game, ain't it?' says Link, powerful sarcastic. 'Wal, what's hurtin' you low-down common cowmen? You keep harpin' on Monty'sgame leg an' on my game leg. If we hed good legs we'd beat you all thewuss. It's brains that wins in gol-lof. Brains an' airstoocratik blood, which of the same you fellers sure hev little. '

"An' then Monty he blows smoke powerful careless an' superior, an' hesays:

"'Sure it's a swell game. You cow-headed gents think beef an' brawnought to hev the call over skill an' gray matter. You'll all hev to backup an' get down. Go out an' learn the game. You don't know a baffy froma Chinee sandwich. All you can do is waggle with a club an' fozzle theball. '

"Whenever Monty gets to usin' them queer names the boys go round kind ofdotty. Monty an' Link hev got the books an' directions of the game, an'they won't let the other boys see them. They show the rules, butthat's all. An', of course, every game ends in a row almost before it'sstarted. The boys are all turrible in earnest about this gol-lof. An' Iwant to say, for the good of ranchin', not to mention a possible fight, that Monty an' Link hev got to be beat. There'll be no peace round thisranch till that's done. "

Madeline's guests were much amused. As for herself, in spite of herscarcely considered doubt, Stillwell's tale of woe occasioned heranxiety. However, she could hardly control her mirth. 

"What in the world can I do?"

"Wal, I reckon I couldn't say. I only come to you for advice. It seemsthat a queer kind of game has locoed my cowboys, an' for the time bein'ranchin' is at a standstill. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but cowboys areas strange as wild cattle. All I'm sure of is that the conceit has gotto be taken out of Monty an' Link. Onct, just onct, will square it, an'then we can resoome our work. "

"Stillwell, listen, " said Madeline, brightly. "We'll arrange a matchgame, a foursome, between Monty and Link and your best picked team. Castleton, who is an expert golfer, will umpire. My sister, and friends, and I will take turns as caddies for your team. That will be fair, considering yours is the weaker. Caddies may coach, and perhaps expertadvice is all that is necessary for your team to defeat Monty's. "

"A grand idee, " declared Stillwell, with instant decision. "When can wehave this match game?"

"Why, to-day--this afternoon. We'll all ride out to the links. "

"Wal, I reckon I'll be some indebted to you, Miss Majesty, an' all yourguests, " replied Stillwell, warmly. He rose with sombrero in hand, and atwinkle in his eye that again prompted Madeline to wonder. "An' now I'llbe goin' to fix up for the game of cowboy gol-lof. Adios. "

The idea was as enthusiastically received by Madeline's guests as it hadbeen by Stillwell. They were highly amused and speculative to thepoint of taking sides and making wagers on their choice. Moreover, thissituation so frankly revealed by Stillwell had completed their deepmystification. They were now absolutely nonplussed by the singularcharacter of American cowboys. Madeline was pleased to note howseriously they had taken the old cattleman's story. She had a littlethrob of wild expectancy that made her both fear and delight in theafternoon's prospect. 

The June days had set in warm; in fact, hot during the noon hours: andthis had inculcated in her insatiable visitors a tendency to profitby the experience of those used to the Southwest. They indulged in therestful siesta during the heated term of the day. 

Madeline was awakened by Majesty's well-known whistle and pounding onthe gravel. Then she heard the other horses. When she went out she foundher party assembled in gala golf attire, and with spirits to match theircostumes. Castleton, especially, appeared resplendent in a golf coatthat beggared description. Madeline had faint misgivings when shereflected on what Monty and Nels and Nick might do under the influenceof that blazing garment. 

"Oh. Majesty, " cried Helen, as Madeline went up to her horse, "don'tmake him kneel! Try that flying mount. We all want to see it. It's sostunning. "

"But that way, too, I must have him kneel, " said Madeline, "or I can'treach the stirrup. He's so tremendously high. "

Madeline had to yield to the laughing insistence of her friends, andafter all of them except Florence were up she made Majesty go down onone knee. Then she stood on his left side, facing back, and took a goodfirm grip on the bridle and pommel and his mane. After she had slippedthe toe of her boot firmly into the stirrup she called to Majesty. Hejumped and swung her up into the saddle. 

"Now just to see how it ought to be done watch Florence, " said Madeline. 

The Western girl was at her best in riding-habit and with her horse. Itwas beautiful to see the ease and grace with which she accomplished thecowboys' flying mount. Then she led the party down the slope and acrossthe flat to climb the mesa. 

Madeline never saw a group of her cowboys without looking them over, almost unconsciously, for her foreman, Gene Stewart. This afternoon, asusual, he was not present. However, she now had a sense--of which shewas wholly conscious--that she was both disappointed and irritated. Hehad really not been attentive to her guests, and he, of all hercowboys, was the one of whom they wanted most to see something. Helen, particularly, had asked to have him attend the match. But Stewart waswith the cattle. Madeline thought of his faithfulness, and was ashamedof her momentary lapse into that old imperious habit of desiring thingsirrespective of reason. 

Stewart, however, immediately slipped out of her mind as she surveyedthe group of cowboys on the links. By actual count there were sixteen, not including Stillwell. And the same number of splendid horses, allshiny and clean, grazed on the rim in the care of Mexican lads. Thecowboys were on dress-parade, looking very different in Madeline's eyes, at least, from the way cowboys usually appeared. But they were real andnatural to her guests; and they were so picturesque that they might havebeen stage cowboys instead of real ones. Sombreros with silverbuckles and horsehair bands were in evidence; and bright silk scarfs, embroidered vests, fringed and ornamented chaps, huge swinging guns, andclinking silver spurs lent a festive appearance. 

Madeline and her party were at once eagerly surrounded by the cowboys, and she found it difficult to repress a smile. If these cowboys werestill remarkable to her, what must they be to her guests?

"Wal, you-all raced over, I seen, " said Stillwell, taking Madeline'sbridle. "Get down--get down. We're sure amazin' glad an' proud. An', Miss Majesty, I'm offerin' to beg pawdin for the way the boys arepackin' guns. Mebbe it ain't polite. But it's Stewart's orders. "

"Stewart's orders!" echoed Madeline. Her friends were suddenly silent. 

"I reckon he won't take no chances on the boys bein' surprised suddenby raiders. An' there's raiders operatin' in from the Guadalupes. That'sall. Nothin' to worry over. I was just explainin'. "

Madeline, with several of her party, expressed relief, but Helen showedexcitement and then disappointment. 

"Oh, I want something to happen!" she cried. 

Sixteen pairs of keen cowboy eyes fastened intently upon her pretty, petulant face; and Madeline divined, if Helen did not, that the desiredconsummation was not far off. 

"So do I, " said Dot Coombs. "It would be perfectly lovely to have a realadventure. "

The gaze of the sixteen cowboys shifted and sought the demure face ofthis other discontented girl. Madeline laughed, and Stillwell wore hisstrange, moving smile. 

"Wal, I reckon you ladies sure won't have to go home unhappy, " he said. "Why, as boss of this heah outfit I'd feel myself disgraced forever ifyou didn't have your wish. Just wait. An' now, ladies, the matter onhand may not be amusin' or excitin' to you; but to this heah cowboyoutfit it's powerful important. An' all the help you can give us willsure be thankfully received. Take a look across the links. Do you-allsee them two apologies for human bein's prancin' like a couple ofhobbled broncs? Wal, you're gazin' at Monty Price an' Link Stevens, who have of a sudden got too swell to associate with their old bunkies. They're practisin' for the toornament. They don't want my boys to seehow they handle them crooked clubs. "

"Have you picked your team?" inquired Madeline. 

Stillwell mopped his red face with an immense bandana, and showedsomething of confusion and perplexity. 

"I've sixteen boys, an' they all want to play, " he replied. "Pickin' theteam ain't goin' to be an easy job. Mebbe it won't be healthy, either. There's Nels and Nick. They just stated cheerful-like that if theydidn't play we won't have any game at all. Nick never tried before, an'Nels, all he wants is to get a crack at Monty with one of them crookedclubs. "

"I suggest you let all your boys drive from the tee and choose the twowho drive the farthest, " said Madeline. 

Stillwell's perplexed face lighted up. 

"Wal, that's a plumb good idee. The boys'll stand for that. "

Wherewith he broke up the admiring circle of cowboys round the ladies. 

"Grap a rope--I mean a club--all you cow-punchers, an' march over hyaran' take a swipe at this little white bean. "

The cowboys obeyed with alacrity. There was considerable difficulty overthe choice of clubs and who should try first. The latter question hadto be adjusted by lot. However, after Frankie Slade made severalineffectual attempts to hit the ball from the teeing-ground, at last tosend it only a few yards, the other players were not so eager to follow. Stillwell had to push Booly forward, and Booly executed a most miserableshot and retired to the laughing comments of his comrades. The effortsof several succeeding cowboys attested to the extreme difficulty ofmaking a good drive. 

"Wal, Nick, it's your turn, " said Stillwell. 

"Bill, I ain't so all-fired particular about playin', " replied Nick. 

"Why? You was roarin' about it a little while ago. Afraid to show howbad you'll play?"

"Nope, jest plain consideration for my feller cow-punchers, " answeredNick, with spirit. "I'm appreciatin' how bad they play, an' I'm not meanenough to show them up. "

"Wal, you've got to show me, " said Stillwell. "I know you never seena gol-lof stick in your life. What's more, I'll bet you can't hit thatlittle ball square--not in a dozen cracks at it. "

"Bill, I'm also too much of a gent to take your money. But you know I'mfrom Missouri. Gimme a club. "

Nick's angry confidence seemed to evaporate as one after another he tookup and handled the clubs. It was plain that he had never before wieldedone. But, also, it was plain that he was not the kind of a man to givein. Finally he selected a driver, looked doubtfully at the small knob, and then stepped into position on the teeing-ground. 

Nick Steele stood six feet four inches in height. He had the rider'swiry slenderness, yet he was broad of shoulder. His arms were long. Manifestly he was an exceedingly powerful man. He swung the driveraloft and whirled it down with a tremendous swing. Crack! The white balldisappeared, and from where it had been rose a tiny cloud of dust. 

Madeline's quick sight caught the ball as it lined somewhat to theright. It was shooting low and level with the speed of a bullet. It wentup and up in swift, beautiful flight, then lost its speed and began tosail, to curve, to drop; and it fell out of sight beyond the rim of themesa. Madeline had never seen a drive that approached this one. It wasmagnificent, beyond belief except for actual evidence of her own eyes. 

The yelling of the cowboys probably brought Nick Steele out of theastounding spell with which he beheld his shot. Then Nick, suddenlyalive to the situation, recovered from his trance and, restingnonchalantly upon his club, he surveyed Stillwell and the boys. Aftertheir first surprised outburst they were dumb. 

"You-all seen thet?" Nick grandly waved his hand. "Thaught I wasjoshin', didn't you? Why, I used to go to St. Louis an' Kansas City toplay this here game. There was some talk of the golf clubs takin' medown East to play the champions. But I never cared fer the game. Tooeasy fer me! Them fellers back in Missouri were a lot of cheap dubs, anyhow, always kickin' because whenever I hit a ball hard I always lostit. Why, I hed to hit sort of left-handed to let 'em stay in my class. Now you-all can go ahead an' play Monty an' Link. I could beat 'em both, playin' with one hand, if I wanted to. But I ain't interested. I jesthit thet ball off the mesa to show you. I sure wouldn't be seen playin'on your team. "

With that Nick sauntered away toward the horses. Stillwell appearedcrushed. And not a scornful word was hurled after Nick, which factproved the nature of his victory. Then Nels strode into the limelight. As far as it was possible for this iron-faced cowboy to be so, he wasbland and suave. He remarked to Stillwell and the other cowboys thatsometimes it was painful for them to judge of the gifts of superiorcowboys such as belonged to Nick and himself. He picked up the clubNick had used and called for a new ball. Stillwell carefully built upa little mound of sand and, placing the ball upon it, squared away towatch. He looked grim and expectant. 

Nels was not so large a man as Nick, and did not look so formidableas he waved his club at the gaping cowboys. Still he was lithe, tough, strong. Briskly, with a debonair manner, he stepped up and thendelivered a mighty swing at the ball. He missed. The power and momentumof his swing flung him off his feet, and he actually turned upside downand spun round on his head. The cowboys howled. Stillwell's stentorianlaugh rolled across the mesa. Madeline and her guests found itimpossible to restrain their mirth. And when Nels got up he cast areproachful glance at Madeline. His feelings were hurt. 

His second attempt, not by any means so violent, resulted in as clean amiss as the first, and brought jeers from the cowboys. Nels's red faceflamed redder. Angrily he swung again. The mound of sand spread over theteeing-ground and the exasperating little ball rolled a few inches. Thistime he had to build up the sand mound and replace the ball himself. Stillwell stood scornfully by, and the boys addressed remarks to Nels. 

"Take off them blinders, " said one. 

"Nels, your eyes are shore bad, " said another. 

"You don't hit where you look. "

"Nels, your left eye has sprung a limp. "

"Why, you dog-goned old fule, you cain't hit thet bawl. "

Nels essayed again, only to meet ignominious failure. Then carefullyhe gathered himself together, gaged distance, balanced the club, swungcautiously. And the head of the club made a beautiful curve round theball. 

"Shore it's jest thet crooked club, " he declared. 

He changed clubs and made another signal failure. Rage suddenlypossessing him, he began to swing wildly. Always, it appeared, theillusive little ball was not where he aimed. Stillwell hunched his hugebulk, leaned hands on knees, and roared his riotous mirth. The cowboysleaped up and down in glee. 

"You cain't hit thet bawl, " sang out one of the noisiest. A few morewhirling, desperate lunges on the part of Nels, all as futile as ifthe ball had been thin air, finally brought to the dogged cowboy arealization that golf was beyond him. 

Stillwell bawled: "Oh, haw, haw, haw! Nels, you're--too old--eyes nogood!"

Nels slammed down the club, and when he straightened up with the redleaving his face, then the real pride and fire of the man showed. Deliberately he stepped off ten paces and turned toward the little moundupon which rested the ball. His arm shot down, elbow crooked, hand likea claw. 

"Aw, Nels, this is fun!" yelled Stillwell. 

But swift as a gleam of light Nels flashed his gun, and the report camewith the action. Chips flew from the golf-ball as it tumbled from themound. Nels had hit it without raising the dust. Then he dropped thegun back in its sheath and faced the cowboys. 

"Mebbe my eyes ain't so orful bad, " he said, coolly, and started to walkoff. 

"But look ah-heah, Nels, " yelled Stillwell, "we come out to playgol-lof! We can't let you knock the ball around with your gun. What'dyou want to get mad for? It's only fun. Now you an' Nick hang roundheah an' be sociable. We ain't depreciatin' your company none, nor yourusefulness on occasions. An' if you just hain't got inborn politenesssufficient to do the gallant before the ladies, why, remember Stewart'sorders. "

"Stewart's orders?" queried Nels, coming to a sudden halt. 

"That's what I said, " replied Stillwell, with asperity. "His orders. Are you forgettin' orders? Wal, you're a fine cowboy. You an' Nick an'Monty, 'specially, are to obey orders. "

Nels took off his sombrero and scratched his head. "Bill, I reckon I'msome forgetful. But I was mad. I'd 'a' remembered pretty soon, an' mebbemy manners. "

"Sure you would, " replied Stillwell. "Wal, now, we don't seem to beproceedin' much with my gol-lof team. Next ambitious player step up. "

In Ambrose, who showed some skill in driving, Stillwell found one ofhis team. The succeeding players, however, were so poor and so evenlymatched that the earnest Stillwell was in despair. He lost his temperjust as speedily as Nels had. Finally Ed Linton's wife appeared ridingup with Ambrose's wife, and perhaps this helped, for Ed suddenlydisclosed ability that made Stillwell single him out. 

"Let me coach you a little, " said Bill. 

"Sure, if you like, " replied Ed. "But I know more about this game thanyou do. "

"Wal, then, let's see you hit a ball straight. Seems to me you gotgood all-fired quick. It's amazin' strange. " ere Bill looked around todiscover the two young wives modestly casting eyes of admiration upontheir husbands. "Haw, haw! It ain't so darned strange. Mebbe that'llhelp some. Now, Ed, stand up and don't sling your club as if you wasropin' a steer. Come round easy-like an' hit straight. "

Ed made several attempts which, although better than those of hispredecessors, were rather discouraging to the exacting coach. Presently, after a particularly atrocious shot, Stillwell strode in distress hereand there, and finally stopped a dozen paces or more in front of theteeing-ground. Ed, who for a cowboy was somewhat phlegmatic, calmly madeready for another attempt. 

"Fore!" he called. 

Stillwell stared. 

"Fore!" yelled Ed. 

"Why're you hollerin' that way at me?" demanded Bill. 

"I mean for you to lope off the horizon. Get back from in front. "

"Oh, that was one of them durned crazy words Monty is always hollerin'. Wal, I reckon I'm safe enough hyar. You couldn't hit me in a millionyears. "

"Bill, ooze away, " urged Ed. 

"Didn't I say you couldn't hit me? What am I coachin' you for? It'sbecause you hit crooked, ain't it? Wal, go ahaid an' break your back. "

Ed Linton was a short, heavy man, and his stocky build gave evidenceof considerable strength. His former strokes had not been made at theexpense of exertion, but now he got ready for a supreme effort. A suddensilence clamped down upon the exuberant cowboys. It was one of thosefateful moments when the air was charged with disaster. As Ed swung theclub it fairly whistled. 

Crack! Instantly came a thump. But no one saw the ball until it droppedfrom Stillwell's shrinking body. His big hands went spasmodically to theplace that hurt, and a terrible groan rumbled from him. 

Then the cowboys broke into a frenzy of mirth that seemed to findadequate expression only in dancing and rolling accompaniment to theirhowls. Stillwell recovered his dignity as soon as he caught his breath, and he advanced with a rueful face. 

"Wal, boys, it's on Bill, " he said. "I'm a livin' proof of thepig-headedness of mankind. Ed, you win. You're captain of the team. Youhit straight, an' if I hadn't been obstructin' the general atmospherethat ball would sure have gone clear to the Chiricahuas. "

Then making a megaphone of his huge hands, he yelled a loud blast ofdefiance at Monty and Link. 

"Hey, you swell gol-lofers! We're waitin'. Come on if you ain't scared. "

Instantly Monty and Link quit practising, and like two emperors camestalking across the links. 

"Guess my bluff didn't work much, " said Stillwell. Then he turned toMadeline and her friends. "Sure I hope, Miss Majesty, that you-all won'tweaken an' go over to the enemy. Monty is some eloquent, an', besides, he has a way of gettin' people to agree with him. He'll be plumb wildwhen he heahs what he an' Link are up against. But it's a square deal, because he wouldn't help us or lend the book that shows how to play. An', besides, it's policy for us to beat him. Now, if you'll elect who'sto be caddies an' umpire I'll be powerful obliged. "

Madeline's friends were hugely amused over the prospective match; but, except for Dorothy and Castleton, they disclaimed any ambition foractive participation. Accordingly, Madeline appointed Castleton to judgethe play, Dorothy to act as caddie for Ed Linton, and she herself to becaddie for Ambrose. While Stillwell beamingly announced this momentousnews to his team and supporters Monty and Link were striding up. 

Both were diminutive in size, bow-legged, lame in one foot, andaltogether unprepossessing. Link was young, and Monty's years, more thantwice Link's, had left their mark. But it would have been impossible totell Monty's age. As Stillwell said, Monty was burned to the color andhardness of a cinder. He never minded the heat, and always wore heavysheepskin chaps with the wool outside. This made him look broader thanhe was long. Link, partial to leather, had, since he became Madeline'schauffeur, taken to leather altogether. He carried no weapon, but Montywore a huge gun-sheath and gun. Link smoked a cigarette and lookedcoolly impudent. Monty was dark-faced, swaggering, for all the worldlike a barbarian chief. 

"That Monty makes my flesh creep, " said Helen, low-voiced. "Really, Mr. Stillwell, is he so bad--desperate--as I've heard? Did he ever killanybody?"

"Sure. 'Most as many as Nels, " replied Stillwell, cheerfully. 

"Oh! And is that nice Mr. Nels a desperado, too? I wouldn't have thoughtso. He's so kind and old-fashioned and soft-voiced. "

"Nels is sure an example of the dooplicity of men, Miss Helen. Don'tyou listen to his soft voice. He's really as bad as a side-winderrattlesnake. "

At this juncture Monty and Link reached the teeing-ground, and Stillwellwent out to meet them. The other cowboys pressed forward to surround thetrio. Madeline heard Stillwell's voice, and evidently he was explainingthat his team was to have skilled advice during the play. Suddenly therecame from the center of the group a loud, angry roar that broke off assuddenly. Then followed excited voices all mingled together. PresentlyMonty appeared, breaking away from restraining hands, and he strodetoward Madeline. 

Monty Price was a type of cowboy who had never been known to speak toa woman unless he was first addressed, and then he answered in blunt, awkward shyness. Upon this great occasion, however, it appeared thathe meant to protest or plead with Madeline, for he showed stress ofemotion. Madeline had never gotten acquainted with Monty. She was alittle in awe, if not in fear, of him, and now she found it imperativefor her to keep in mind that more than any other of the wild fellows onher ranch this one should be dealt with as if he were a big boy. 

Monty removed his sombrero--something he had never done before--and thesingle instant when it was off was long enough to show his head entirelybald. This was one of the hall-marks of that terrible Montana prairiefire through which he had fought to save the life of a child. Madelinedid not forget it, and all at once she wanted to take Monty's side. Remembering Stillwell's wisdom, however, she forebore yielding tosentiment, and called upon her wits. 

"Miss--Miss Hammond, " began Monty, stammering, "I'm extendin' admirin'greetin's to you an' your friends. Link an' me are right down proud toplay the match game with you watchin'. But Bill says you're goin' tocaddie for his team an' coach 'em on the fine points. An' I want to ask, all respectful, if thet's fair an' square?"

"Monty, that is for you to say, " replied Madeline. "It was mysuggestion. But if you object in the least, of course we shall withdraw. It seems fair to me, because you have learned the game; you are expert, and I understand the other boys have no chance with you. Then you havecoached Link. I think it would be sportsmanlike of you to accept thehandicap. "

"Aw, a handicap! Thet was what Bill was drivin' at. Why didn't he sayso? Every time Bill comes to a word thet's pie to us old golfers he jeststumbles. Miss Majesty, you've made it all clear as print. An' I maysay with becomin' modesty thet you wasn't mistaken none about mebein' sportsmanlike. Me an' Link was born thet way. An' we accept thehandicap. Lackin' thet handicap, I reckon Link an' me would have noambish to play our most be-ootiful game. An' thankin' you, Miss Majesty, an' all your friends, I want to add thet if Bill's outfit couldn't beatus before, they've got a swell chanct now, with you ladies a-watchin' mean' Link. "

Monty had seemed to expand with pride as he delivered this speech, and at the end he bowed low and turned away. He joined the group roundStillwell. Once more there was animated discussion and argument andexpostulation. One of the cowboys came for Castleton and led him away toexploit upon ground rules. 

It seemed to Madeline that the game never would begin. She strolled onthe rim of the mesa, arm in arm with Edith Wayne, and while Edithtalked she looked out over the gray valley leading to the rugged blackmountains and the vast red wastes. In the foreground on the gray slopeshe saw cattle in movement and cowboys riding to and fro. She thoughtof Stewart. Then Boyd Harvey came for them, saying all details hadbeen arranged. Stillwell met them half-way, and this cool, dry, oldcattleman, whose face and manner scarcely changed at the announcement ofa cattle-raid, now showed extreme agitation. 

"Wal, Miss Majesty, we've gone an' made a foozle right at the start, " hesaid, dejectedly. 

"A foozle? But the game has not yet begun, " replied Madeline. 

"A bad start, I mean. It's amazin' bad, an' we're licked already. "

"What in the world is wrong?"

She wanted to laugh, but Stillwell's distress restrained her. 

"Wal, it's this way. That darn Monty is as cute an' slick as a fox. After he got done declaimin' about the handicap he an' Link was so happyto take, he got Castleton over hyar an' drove us all dotty with hiscrazy gol-lof names. Then he borrowed Castleton's gol-lof coat. I reckonborrowed is some kind word. He just about took that blazin' coat off theEnglishman. Though I ain't sayin' but that Casleton was agreeablewhen he tumbled to Monty's meanin'. Which was nothin' more 'n to breakAmbrose's heart. That coat dazzles Ambrose. You know how vain Ambroseis. Why, he'd die to get to wear that Englishman's gol-lof coat. An'Monty forestalled him. It's plumb pitiful to see the look in Ambrose'seyes. He won't be able to play much. Then what do you think? Monty fixedEd Linton, all right. Usually Ed is easy-goin' an' cool. But now he'son the rampage. Wal, mebbe it's news to you to learn that Ed's wife ispowerful, turrible jealous of him. Ed was somethin' of a devil with thewimmen. Monty goes over an' tells Beulah--that's Ed's wife--that Ed isgoin' to have for caddie the lovely Miss Dorothy with the goo-goo eyes. I reckon this was some disrespectful, but with all doo respect to MissDorothy she has got a pair of unbridled eyes. Mebbe it's just naturalfor her to look at a feller like that. Oh, it's all right; I'm notsayin' any-thin'! I know it's all proper an' regular for girls back Eastto use their eyes. But out hyar it's bound to result disastrous. All theboys talk about among themselves is Miss Dot's eyes, an' all they bragabout is which feller is the luckiest. Anyway, sure Ed's wife knows it. An' Monty up an' told her that it was fine for her to come out an' seehow swell Ed was prancin' round under the light of Miss Dot's browneyes. Beulah calls over Ed, figgertively speakin', ropes him for aminnit. Ed comes back huggin' a grouch as big as a hill. Oh, it wasfunny! He was goin' to punch Monty's haid off. An' Monty stands therean' laughs. Says Monty, sarcastic as alkali water: 'Ed, we-all knowedyou was a heap married man, but you're some locoed to give yourselfaway. ' That settled Ed. He's some touchy about the way Beulah henpeckshim. He lost his spirit. An' now he couldn't play marbles, let alonegol-lof. Nope, Monty was too smart. An' I reckon he was right aboutbrains bein' what wins. "

The game began. At first Madeline and Dorothy essayed to direct theendeavors of their respective players. But all they said and did onlymade their team play the worse. At the third hole they were far behindand hopelessly bewildered. What with Monty's borrowed coat, with itsdazzling effect upon Ambrose, and Link's oft-repeated allusion toEd's matrimonial state, and Stillwell's vociferated disgust, and theclamoring good intention and pursuit of the cowboy supporters, and theembarrassing presence of the ladies, Ambrose and Ed wore through allmanner of strange play until it became ridiculous. 

"Hey, Link, " came Monty's voice booming over the links, "our esteemedrivals are playin' shinny. "

Madeline and Dorothy gave up, presently, when the game became a rout, and they sat down with their followers to watch the fun. Whether by hookor crook, Ed and Ambrose forged ahead to come close upon Monty and Link. Castleton disappeared in a mass of gesticulating, shouting cowboys. Whenthat compact mass disintegrated Castleton came forth rather hurriedly, it appeared, to stalk back toward his hostess and friends. 

"Look!" exclaimed Helen, in delight. "Castleton is actually excited. Whatever did they do to him? Oh, this is immense!"

Castleton was excited, indeed, and also somewhat disheveled. 

"By Jove! that was a rum go, " he said, as he came up. "Never saw suchblooming golf! I resigned my office as umpire. "

Only upon considerable pressure did he reveal the reason. "It was likethis, don't you know. They were all together over there, watching eachother. Monty Price's ball dropped into a hazard, and he moved it toimprove the lie. By Jove! they've all been doing that. But over therethe game was waxing hot. Stillwell and his cowboys saw Monty move theball, and there was a row. They appealed to me. I corrected the play, showed the rules. Monty agreed he was in the wrong. However, when itcame to moving his ball back to its former lie in the hazard there wasmore blooming trouble. Monty placed the ball to suit him, and then hetransfixed me with an evil eye. 

"'Dook, ' he said. I wish the bloody cowboy would not call me that. 'Dook, mebbe this game ain't as important as international politics orsome other things relatin', but there's some health an' peace dependin'on it. Savvy? For some space our opponents have been dead to honor an'sportsmanlike conduct. I calculate the game depends on my next drive. I'm placin' my ball as near to where it was as human eyesight could. You seen where it was same as I seen it. You're the umpire, an', Dook, Itake you as a honorable man. Moreover, never in my born days has my wordbeen doubted without sorrow. So I'm askin' you, wasn't my ball layin'just about here?'

"The bloody little desperado smiled cheerfully, and he dropped his righthand down to the butt of his gun. By Jove, he did! Then I had to tell ablooming lie!"

Castleton even caught the tone of Monty's voice, but it was plain thathe had not the least conception that Monty had been fooling. Madelineand her friends divined it, however; and, there being no need ofreserve, they let loose the fountains of mirth. 

XIV. Bandits

When Madeline and her party recovered composure they sat up to watch thefinish of the match. It came with spectacular suddenness. A sharp yellpealed out, and all the cowboys turned attentively in its direction. Abig black horse had surmounted the rim of the mesa and was just breakinginto a run. His rider yelled sharply to the cowboys. They wheeled todash toward their grazing horses. 

"That's Stewart. There is something wrong, " said Madeline, in alarm. 

Castleton stared. The other men exclaimed uneasily. The women soughtMadeline's face with anxious eyes. 

The black got into his stride and bore swiftly down upon them. 

"Oh, look at that horse run!" cried Helen. "Look at that fellow ride!"

Helen was not alone in her admiration, for Madeline divided heremotions between growing alarm of some danger menacing and a thrill andquickening of pulse-beat that tingled over her whenever she saw Stewartin violent action. No action of his was any longer insignificant, butviolent action meant so much. It might mean anything. For one moment sheremembered Stillwell and all his talk about fun, and plots, and tricksto amuse her guest. Then she discountenanced the thought. Stewart mightlend himself to a little fun, but he cared too much for a horse to runhim at that speed unless there was imperious need. That alone sufficedto answer Madeline's questioning curiosity. And her alarm mounted tofear not so much for herself as for her guests. But what danger couldthere be? She could think of nothing except the guerrillas. 

Whatever threatened, it would be met and checked by this man Stewart, who was thundering up on his fleet horse; and as he neared her, so thatshe could see the dark gleam of face and eyes, she had a strange feelingof trust in her dependence upon him. 

The big black was so close to Madeline and her friends that when Stewartpulled him the dust and sand kicked up by his pounding hoofs flew intheir faces. 

"Oh, Stewart, what is it?" cried Madeline. 

"Guess I scared you, Miss Hammond, " he replied. "But I'm pressed fortime. There's a gang of bandits hiding on the ranch, most likely in adeserted hut. They held up a train near Agua Prieta. Pat Hawe is withthe posse that's trailing them, and you know Pat has no use for us. I'mafraid it wouldn't be pleasant for you or your guests to meet either theposse or the bandits. "

"I fancy not, " said Madeline, considerably relieved. "We'll hurry backto the house. "

They exchanged no more speech at the moment, and Madeline's guests weresilent. Perhaps Stewart's actions and looks belied his calm words. Hispiercing eyes roved round the rim of the mesa, and his face was as hardand stern as chiseled bronze. 

Monty and Nick came galloping up, each leading several horses by thebridles. Nels appeared behind them with Majesty, and he was havingtrouble with the roan. Madeline observed that all the other cowboys haddisappeared. 

One sharp word from Stewart calmed Madeline's horse; the other horses, however, were frightened and not inclined to stand. The men mountedwithout trouble, and likewise Madeline and Florence. But Edith Wayneand Mrs. Beck, being nervous and almost helpless, were with difficultygotten into the saddle. 

"Beg pardon, but I'm pressed for time, " said Stewart, coolly, as withiron arm he forced Dorothy's horse almost to its knees. Dorothy, who wasactive and plucky, climbed astride; and when Stewart loosed his hold onbit and mane the horse doubled up and began to buck. Dorothy screamedas she shot into the air. Stewart, as quick as the horse, leaped forwardand caught Dorothy in his arms. She had slipped head downward and, hadhe not caught her, would have had a serious fall. Stewart, handling heras if she were a child, turned her right side up to set her upon herfeet. Dorothy evidently thought only of the spectacle she presented, andmade startled motions to readjust her riding-habit. It was no timeto laugh, though Madeline felt as if she wanted to. Besides, it wasimpossible to be anything but sober with Stewart in violent mood. Forhe had jumped at Dorothy's stubborn mount. All cowboys were masters ofhorses. It was wonderful to see him conquer the vicious animal. He wascruel, perhaps, yet it was from necessity. When, presently, he led thehorse back to Dorothy she mounted without further trouble. Meanwhile, Nels and Nick had lifted Helen into her saddle. 

"We'll take the side trail, " said Stewart, shortly, as he swung uponthe big black. Then he led the way, and the other cowboys trotted in therear. 

It was only a short distance to the rim of the mesa, and when Madelinesaw the steep trail, narrow and choked with weathered stone, she feltthat her guests would certainly flinch. 

"That's a jolly bad course, " observed Castleton. 

The women appeared to be speechless. 

Stewart checked his horse at the deep cut where the trail started down. 

"Boys, drop over, and go slow, " he said, dismounting. "Flo, you follow. Now, ladies, let your horses loose and hold on. Lean forward and hang tothe pommel. It looks bad. But the horses are used to such trails. "

Helen followed closely after Florence; Mrs. Beck went next, and thenEdith Wayne. Dorothy's horse balked. 

"I'm not so--so frightened, " said Dorothy. "If only he would behave!"

She began to urge him into the trail, making him rear, when Stewartgrasped the bit and jerked the horse down. 

"Put your foot in my stirrup, " said Stewart. "We can't waste time. "

He lifted her upon his horse and started him down over the rim. 

"Go on, Miss Hammond. I'll have to lead this nag down. It'll save time. "

Then Madeline attended to the business of getting down herself. It was aloose trail. The weathered slopes seemed to slide under the feet of thehorses. Dust-clouds formed; rocks rolled and rattled down; cactus spikestore at horse and rider. Mrs. Beck broke into laughter, and there wasa note in it that suggested hysteria. Once or twice Dorothy murmuredplaintively. Half the time Madeline could not distinguish those aheadthrough the yellow dust. It was dry and made her cough. The horsessnorted. She heared Stewart close behind, starting little avalanchesthat kept rolling on Majesty's fetlocks. She feared his legs might becut or bruised, for some of the stones cracked by and went rattling downthe slope. At length the clouds of dust thinned and Madeline saw theothers before her ride out upon a level. Soon she was down, and Stewartalso. 

Here there was a delay, occasioned by Stewart changing Dorothy from hishorse to her own. This struck Madeline as being singular, and made herthoughtful. In fact, the alert, quiet manner of all the cowboys was notreassuring. As they resumed the ride it was noticeable that Nels andNick were far in advance, Monty stayed far in the rear, and Stewart rodewith the party. Madeline heard Boyd Harvey ask Stewart if lawlessnesssuch as he had mentioned was not unusual. Stewart replied that, exceptfor occasional deeds of outlawry such as might break out in any isolatedsection of the country, there had been peace and quiet along the borderfor years. It was the Mexican revolution that had revived wild times, with all the attendant raids and holdups and gun-packing. Madeline knewthat they were really being escorted home under armed guard. 

When they rounded the head of the mesa, bringing into view theranch-house and the valley, Madeline saw dust or smoke hovering over ahut upon the outskirts of the Mexican quarters. As the sun had setand the light was fading, she could not distinguish which it was. ThenStewart set a fast pace for the house. In a few minutes the party was inthe yard, ready and willing to dismount. 

Stillwell appeared, ostensibly cheerful, too cheerful to deceiveMadeline. She noted also that a number of armed cowboys were walkingwith their horses just below the house. 

"Wal, you-all had a nice little run, " Stillwell said, speakinggenerally. "I reckon there wasn't much need of it. Pat Hawe thinks he'sgot some outlaws corralled on the ranch. Nothin' at all to be fussedup about. Stewart's that particular he won't have you meetin' with anyrowdies. "

Many and fervent were the expressions of relief from Madeline's feminineguests as they dismounted and went into the house. Madeline lingeredbehind to speak with Stillwell and Stewart. 

"Now, Stillwell, out with it, " she said, briefly. 

The cattleman stared, and then he laughed, evidently pleased with herkeenness. 

"Wal, Miss Majesty, there's goin' to be a fight somewhere, an' Stewartwanted to get you-all in before it come off. He says the valley'soverrun by vaqueros an' guerrillas an' robbers, an' Lord knows whatelse. "

He stamped off the porch, his huge spurs rattling, and started down thepath toward the waiting men. 

Stewart stood in his familiar attentive position, erect, silent, with ahand on pommel and bridle. 

"Stewart, you are exceedingly--thoughtful of my interests, " she said, wanting to thank him, and not readily finding words. "I would not knowwhat to do without you. Is there danger?"

"I'm not sure. But I want to be on the safe side. "

She hesitated. It was no longer easy for her to talk to him, and she didnot know why. 

"May I know the special orders you gave Nels and Nick and Monty?" sheasked. 

"Who said I gave those boys special orders?"

"I heard Stillwell tell them so. "

"Of course I'll tell you if you insist. But why should you worry oversomething that'll likely never happen?"

"I insist, Stewart, " she replied, quietly. 

"My orders were that at least one of them must be on guard near you dayand night--never to be out of hearing of your voice. "

"I thought as much. But why Nels or Monty or Nick? That seems ratherhard on them. For that matter, why put any one to keep guard over me? Doyou not trust any other of my cowboys?"

"I'd trust their honesty, but not their ability. "

"Ability? Of what nature?"

"With guns. "

"Stewart!" she exclaimed. 

"Miss Hammond, you have been having such a good time entertaining yourguests that you forget. I'm glad of that. I wish you had not questionedme. "

"Forget what?"

"Don Carlos and his guerrillas. "

"Indeed I have not forgotten. Stewart, you still think Don Carlos triedto make off with me--may try it again?"

"I don't think. I know. "

"And besides all your other duties you have shared the watch with thesethree cowboys?"

"Yes. "

"It has been going on without my knowledge?"

"Yes. "

"Since when?"

"Since I brought you down from the mountains last month. "

"How long is it to continue?"

"That's hard to say. Till the revolution is over, anyhow. "

She mused a moment, looking away to the west, where the great void wasfilling with red haze. She believed implicitly in him, and the menacehovering near her fell like a shadow upon her present happiness. 

"What must I do?" she asked. 

"I think you ought to send your friends back East--and go with them, until this guerrilla war is over. "

"Why, Stewart, they would be broken-hearted, and so would I. "

He had no reply for that. 

"If I do not take your advice it will be the first time since I havecome to look to you for so much, " she went on. "Cannot you suggestsomething else? My friends are having such a splendid visit. Helen isgetting well. Oh, I should be sorry to see them go before they want to. "

"We might take them up into the mountains and camp out for a while, " hesaid, presently. "I know a wild place up among the crags. It's a hardclimb, but worth the work. I never saw a more beautiful spot. Finewater, and it will be cool. Pretty soon it'll be too hot here for yourparty to go out-of-doors. "

"You mean to hide me away among the crags and clouds?" replied Madeline, with a laugh. 

"Well, it'd amount to that. Your friends need not know. Perhaps in a fewweeks this spell of trouble on the border will be over till fall. "

"You say it's a hard climb up to this place?"

"It surely is. Your friends will get the real thing if they make thattrip. "

"That suits me. Helen especially wants something to happen. And they areall crazy for excitement. "

"They'd get it up there. Bad trails, canyons to head, steep climbs, wind-storms, thunder and lightning, rain, mountain-lions and wildcats. "

"Very well, I am decided. Stewart, of course you will take charge? Idon't believe I--Stewart, isn't there something more you could tellme--why you think, why you know my own personal liberty is in peril?"

"Yes. But do not ask me what it is. If I hadn't been a rebel soldier Iwould never have known. "

"If you had not been a rebel soldier, where would Madeline Hammond benow?" she asked, earnestly. 

He made no reply. 

"Stewart, " she continued, with warm impulse, "you once mentioned a debtyou owed me--" And seeing his dark face pale, she wavered, then went on. "It is paid. "

"No, no, " he answered, huskily. 

"Yes. I will not have it otherwise. "

"No. That never can be paid. "

Madeline held out her hand. 

"It is paid, I tell you, " she repeated. 

Suddenly he drew back from the outstretched white hand that seemed tofascinate him. 

"I'd kill a man to touch your hand. But I won't touch it on the termsyou offer. "

His unexpected passion disconcerted her. 

"Stewart, no man ever before refused to shake hands with me, for anyreason. It--it is scarcely flattering, " she said, with a littlelaugh. "Why won't you? Because you think I offer it as mistress toservant--rancher to cowboy?"

"No. "

"Then why? The debt you owed me is paid. I cancel it. So why not shakehands upon it, as men do?"

"I won't. That's all. "

"I fear you are ungracious, whatever your reason, " she replied. "Still, I may offer it again some day. Good night. "

He said good night and turned. Madeline wonderingly watched him go downthe path with his hand on the black horse's neck. 

She went in to rest a little before dressing for dinner, and, beingfatigued from the day's riding and excitement, she fell asleep. When sheawoke it was twilight. She wondered why her Mexican maid had not come toher, and she rang the bell. The maid did not put in an appearance, norwas there any answer to the ring. The house seemed unusually quiet. Itwas a brooding silence, which presently broke to the sound of footstepson the porch. Madeline recognized Stillwell's tread, though it appearedto be light for him. Then she heard him call softly in at the opendoor of her office. The suggestion of caution in his voice suited thestrangeness of his walk. With a boding sense of trouble she hurriedthrough the rooms. He was standing outside her office door. 

"Stillwell!" she exclaimed. 

"Anybody with you?" he asked, in a low tone. 

"No. "

"Please come out on the porch, " he added. 

She complied, and, once out, was enabled to see him. His grave face, paler than she had ever beheld it, caused her to stretch an appealinghand toward him. Stillwell intercepted it and held it in his own. 

"Miss Majesty, I'm amazin' sorry to tell worrisome news. " He spokealmost in a whisper, cautiously looked about him, and seemed bothhurried and mysterious. "If you'd heerd Stewart cuss you'd sure know howwe hate to hev to tell you this. But it can't be avoided. The fact iswe're in a bad fix. If your guests ain't scared out of their skins it'llbe owin' to your nerve an' how you carry out Stewart's orders. "

"You can rely upon me, " replied Madeline, firmly, though she trembled. 

"Wal, what we're up against is this: that gang of bandits Pat Hawe waschasin'--they're hidin' in the house!"

"In the house?" echoed Madeline, aghast. 

"Miss Majesty, it's the amazin' truth, an' shamed indeed am I to admitit. Stewart--why, he's wild with rage to think it could hev happened. You see, it couldn't hev happened if I hedn't sloped the boys off to thegol-lof-links, an' if Stewart hedn't rid out on the mesa after us. It'smy fault. I've hed too much femininity around fer my old haid. Genecussed me--he cussed me sure scandalous. But now we've got to faceit--to figger. "

"Do you mean that a gang of hunted outlaws--bandits--have actually takenrefuge somewhere in my house?" demanded Madeline. 

"I sure do. Seems powerful strange to me why you didn't find somethin'was wrong, seem' all your servants hev sloped. "

"Gone? Ah, I missed my maid! I wondered why no lights were lit. Wheredid my servants go?"

"Down to the Mexican quarters, an' scared half to death. Now listen. When Stewart left you an hour or so ago he follered me direct to whereme an' the boys was tryin' to keep Pat Hawe from tearin' the ranch topieces. At that we was helpin' Pat all we could to find them bandits. But when Stewart got there he made a difference. Pat was nasty before, but seein' Stewart made him wuss. I reckon Gene to Pat is the same asred to a Greaser bull. Anyway, when the sheriff set fire to an old adobehut Stewart called him an' called him hard. Pat Hawe hed six fellerswith him, an' from all appearances bandit-huntin' was some fiesta. Therewas a row, an 'it looked bad fer a little. But Gene was cool, an' hecontrolled the boys. Then Pat an' his tough de-pooties went on huntin'. That huntin', Miss Majesty, petered out into what was only a farce. Ireckon Pat could hev kept on foolin' me an' the boys, but as soon asStewart showed up on the scene--wal, either Pat got to blunderin' orelse we-all shed our blinders. Anyway, the facts stood plain. PatHawe wasn't lookin' hard fer any bandits; he wasn't daid set huntin'anythin', unless it was trouble fer Stewart. Finally, when Pat's menmade fer our storehouse, where we keep ammunition, grub, liquors, an'sich, then Gene called a halt. An' he ordered Pat Hawe off the ranch. Itwas hyar Hawe an' Stewart locked horns. 

"An' hyar the truth come out. There was a gang of bandits hidsomewheres, an' at fust Pat Hawe hed been powerful active an' earnest inhis huntin'. But sudden-like he'd fetched a pecooliar change of heart. He had been some flustered with Stewart's eyes a-pryin' into his moves, an' then, mebbe to hide somethin', mebbe jest nat'rul, he got mad. He hollered law. He pulled down off the shelf his old stock grudgeon Stewart, accusin' him over again of that Greaser murder last fall. Stewart made him look like a fool--showed him up as bein' scared of thebandits or hevin' some reason fer slopin' off the trail. Anyway, the rowstarted all right, an' but fer Nels it might hev amounted to a fight. In the thick of it, when Stewart was drivin' Pat an' his crowd off theplace, one of them de-pooties lost his head an' went fer his gun. Nelsthrowed his gun an' crippled the feller's arm. Monty jumped then an'throwed two forty-fives, an' fer a second or so it looked ticklish. Butthe bandit-hunters crawled, an' then lit out. "

Stillwell paused in the rapid delivery of his narrative; he stillretained Madeline's hand, as if by that he might comfort her. 

"After Pat left we put our haids together, " began the old cattleman, with a long respiration. "We rounded up a lad who hed seen a dozen orso fellers--he wouldn't to they was Greasers--breakin' through theshrubbery to the back of the house. That was while Stewart was ridin'out to the mesa. Then this lad seen your servants all runnin' down thehill toward the village. Now, heah's the way Gene figgers. There surewas some deviltry down along the railroad, an' Pat Hawe trailed banditsup to the ranch. He hunts hard an' then all to onct he quits. Stewartsays Pat Hawe wasn't scared, but he discovered signs or somethin', orgot wind in some strange way that there was in the gang of bandits somefellers he didn't want to ketch. Sabe? Then Gene, quicker 'n a flash, springs his plan on me. He'd go down to Padre Marcos an' hev him help tofind out all possible from your Mexican servants. I was to hurry up hyaran' tell you--give you orders, Miss Majesty. Ain't that amazin' strange?Wal, you're to assemble all your guests in the kitchen. Make a grandbluff an' pretend, as your help has left, that it'll be great fun feryour guests to cook dinner. The kitchen is the safest room in the house. While you're joshin' your party along, makin' a kind of picnic out ofit, I'll place cowboys in the long corridor, an' also outside in thecorner where the kitchen joins on to the main house. It's pretty surethe bandits think no one's wise to where they're hid. Stewart saysthey're in that end room where the alfalfa is, an' they'll slope in thenight. Of course, with me an' the boys watchin', you-all will be safe togo to bed. An' we're to rouse your guests early before daylight, to hitthe trail up into the mountains. Tell them to pack outfits before goin'to bed. Say as your servants hev sloped, you might as well go campin'with the cowboys. That's all. If we hev any luck your' friends'll neverknow they've been sittin' on a powder-mine. "

"Stillwell, do you advise that trip up into the mountains?" askedMadeline. 

"I reckon I do, considerin' everythin'. Now, Miss Majesty, I've used upa lot of time explainin'. You'll sure keep your nerve?"

"Yes, " Madeline replied, and was surprised at herself. "Better tellFlorence. She'll be a power of comfort to you. I'm goin' now to fetch upthe boys. "

Instead of returning to her room Madeline went through the office intothe long corridor. It was almost as dark as night. She fancied she sawa slow-gliding figure darker than the surrounding gloom; and sheentered upon the fulfilment of her part of the plan in something liketrepidation. Her footsteps were noiseless. Finding the door to thekitchen, and going in, she struck lights. Upon passing out again shemade certain she discerned a dark shape, now motionless, crouching alongthe wall. But she mistrusted her vivid imagination. It took all herboldness to enable her unconcernedly and naturally to strike thecorridor light. Then she went on through her own rooms and thence intothe patio. 

Her guests laughingly and gladly entered into the spirit of theoccasion. Madeline fancied her deceit must have been perfect, seeingthat it deceived even Florence. They trooped merrily into the kitchen. Madeline, delaying at the door, took a sharp but unobtrusive glance downthe great, barnlike hall. She saw nothing but blank dark space. Suddenlyfrom one side, not a rod distant, protruded a pale, gleaming facebreaking the even blackness. Instantly it flashed back out of sight. Yetthat time was long enough for Madeline to see a pair of glittering eyes, and to recognize them as Don Carlos's. 

Without betraying either hurry or alarm, she closed the door. It had aheavy bolt which she slowly, noiselessly shot. Then the cold amaze thathad all but stunned her into inaction throbbed into wrath. How daredthat Mexican steal into her home! What did he mean? Was he one of thebandits supposed to be hidden in her house? She was thinking herselfinto greater anger and excitement, and probably would have betrayedherself had not Florence, who had evidently seen her bolt the doorand now read her thoughts, come toward her with a bright, intent, questioning look. Madeline caught herself in time. 

Thereupon she gave each of her guests a duty to perform. LeadingFlorence into the pantry, she unburdened herself of the secret in onebrief whisper. Florence's reply was to point out of the little openwindow, passing which was a file of stealthily moving cowboys. Then Madeline lost both anger and fear, retaining only the glow ofexcitement. 

Madeline could be gay, and she initiated the abandonment of dignity bycalling Castleton into the pantry, and, while interesting him in somepretext or other, imprinting the outlines of her flour-covered handsupon the back of his black coat. Castleton innocently returned to thekitchen to be greeted with a roar. That surprising act of the hostessset the pace, and there followed a merry, noisy time. Everybody helped. The miscellaneous collection of dishes so confusingly contrived made upa dinner which they all heartily enjoyed. Madeline enjoyed it herself, even with the feeling of a sword hanging suspended over her. 

The hour was late when she rose from the table and told her guests to goto their rooms, don their riding-clothes, pack what they needed for thelong and adventurous camping trip that she hoped would be the climaxof their Western experience, and to snatch a little sleep before thecowboys roused them for the early start. 

Madeline went immediately to her room, and was getting out her campingapparel when a knock interrupted her. She thought Florence had cometo help her pack. But this knock was upon the door opening out in theporch. It was repeated. 

"Who's there?" she questioned. 

"Stewart, " came the reply. 

She opened the door. He stood on the threshold. Beyond him, indistinctin the gloom, were several cowboys. 

"May I speak to you?" he asked. 

"Certainly. " She hesitated a moment, then asked him in and closed thedoor. "Is--is everything all right?"

"No. These bandits stick to cover pretty close. They must have foundout we're on the watch. But I'm sure we'll get you and your friends awaybefore anything starts. I wanted to tell you that I've talked with yourservants. They were just scared. They'll come back to-morrow, soonas Bill gets rid of this gang. You need not worry about them or yourproperty. "

"Do you have any idea who is hiding in the house?"

"I was worried some at first. Pat Hawe acted queer. I imagined he'ddiscovered he was trailing bandits who might turn out to be hissmuggling guerrilla cronies. But talking with your servants, findinga bunch of horses upon hidden down in the mesquite behind thepond--several things have changed my mind. My idea is that a cowardlyhandful of riffraff outcasts from the border have hidden in your house, more by accident than design. We'll let them go--get rid of them withouteven a shot. If I didn't think so--well, I'd be considerably worried. Itwould make a different state of affairs. "

"Stewart, you are wrong, " she said. 

He started, but his reply did not follow swiftly. The expression of hiseyes altered. Presently he spoke:

"How so?"

"I saw one of these bandits. I distinctly recognized him. "

One long step brought him close to her. 

"Who was he?" demanded Stewart. 

"Don Carlos. "

He muttered low and deep, then said, "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I saw his figure twice in the hall, then his face in thelight. I could never mistake his eyes. "

"Did he know you saw him?"

"I am not positive, but I think so. Oh, he must have known! I wasstanding full in the light. I had entered the door, then purposelystepped out. His face showed from around a corner, and swiftly flashedout of sight. "

Madeline was tremblingly conscious that Stewart underwent atransformation. She saw as well as felt the leaping passion that changedhim. 

"Call your friends--get them in here!" he ordered, tersely, and wheeledtoward the door. 

"Stewart, wait!" she said. 

He turned. His white face, his burning eyes, his presence now chargedwith definite, fearful meaning, influenced her strangely, weakened her. 

"What will you do?" she asked. 

"That needn't concern you. Get your party in here. Bar the windows andlock the doors. You'll be safe. "

"Stewart! Tell me what you intend to do. "

"I won't tell you, " he replied, and turned away again. 

"But I will know, " she said. With a hand on his arm she detained him. She saw how he halted--felt the shock in him as she touched him. "Oh, Ido know. You mean to fight!"

"Well, Miss Hammond, isn't it about time?" he asked. Evidently heovercame a violent passion for instant action. There was weariness, dignity, even reproof in his question. "The fact of that Mexican'spresence here in your house ought to prove to you the nature of thecase. These vaqueros, these guerrillas, have found out you won't standfor any fighting on the part of your men. Don Carlos is a sneak, acoward, yet he's not afraid to hide in your own house. He has learnedyou won't let your cowboys hurt anybody. He's taking advantage of it. He'll rob, burn, and make off with you. He'll murder, too, if it fallshis way. These Greasers use knives in the dark. So I ask--isn't it abouttime we stop him?"

"Stewart, I forbid you to fight, unless in self-defense. I forbid you. "

"What I mean to do is self-defense. Haven't I tried to explain to youthat just now we've wild times along this stretch of border? Must I tellyou again that Don Carlos is hand and glove with the revolution? Therebels are crazy to stir up the United States. You are a woman ofprominence. Don Carlos would make off with you. If he got you, whatlittle matter to cross the border with you! Well, where would thehue and cry go? Through the troops along the border! To New York! ToWashington! Why, it would mean what the rebels are working for--UnitedStates intervention. In other words, war!"

"Oh, surely you exaggerate!" she cried. 

"Maybe so. But I'm beginning to see the Don's game. And, Miss Hammond, I--It's awful for me to think what you'd suffer if Don Carlos got youover the line. I know these low-caste Mexicans. I've been among thepeons--the slaves. "

"Stewart, don't let Don Carlos get me, " replied Madeline, in sweetdirectness. 

She saw him shake, saw his throat swell as he swallowed hard, saw thehard fierceness return to his face. 

"I won't. That's why I'm going after him. "

"But I forbade you to start a fight deliberately. "

"Then I'll go ahead and start one without your permission, " he repliedshortly, and again he wheeled. 

This time, when Madeline caught his arm she held to it, even after hestopped. 

"No, " she said, imperiously. 

He shook off her hand and strode forward. 

"Please don't go!" she called, beseechingly. But he kept on. "Stewart!"

She ran ahead of him, intercepted him, faced him with her back againstthe door. He swept out a long arm as if to brush her aside. But itwavered and fell. Haggard, troubled, with working face, he stood beforeher. 

"It's for your sake, " he expostulated. 

"If it is for my sake, then do what pleases me. "

"These guerrillas will knife somebody. They'll burn the house. They'llmake off with you. They'll do something bad unless we stop them. "

"Let us risk all that, " she importuned. 

"But it's a terrible risk, and it oughtn't be run, " he exclaimed, passionately. "I know best here. Stillwell upholds me. Let me out, MissHammond. I'm going to take the boys and go after these guerrillas. "

"No!"

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Stewart. "Why not let me go? It's the thing todo. I'm sorry to distress you and your guests. Why not put an end to DonCarlos's badgering? Is it because you're afraid a rumpus will spoil yourfriends' visit?"

"It isn't--not this time. "

"Then it's the idea of a little shooting at these Greasers?"

"No. "

"You're sick to think of a little Greaser blood staining the halls ofyour home?"

"No!"

"Well, then, why keep me from doing what I know is best?"

"Stewart, I--I--" she faltered, in growing agitation. "I'mfrightened--confused. All this is too--too much for me. I'm not acoward. If you have to fight you'll see I'm not a coward. But your wayseems so reckless--that hall is so dark--the guerrillas would shoot frombehind doors. You're so wild, so daring, you'd rush right into peril. Is that necessary? I think--I mean--I don't know just why I feel so--soabout you doing it. But I believe it's because I'm afraid you--you mightbe hurt. "

"You're afraid I--I might be hurt?" he echoed, wonderingly, the hardwhiteness of his face warming, flushing, glowing. 

"Yes. "

The single word, with all it might mean, with all it might not mean, softened him as if by magic, made him gentle, amazed, shy as a boy, stifling under a torrent of emotions. 

Madeline thought she had persuaded him--worked her will with him. Thenanother of his startlingly sudden moves told her that she had reckonedtoo quickly. This move was to put her firmly aside so he could pass;and Madeline, seeing he would not hesitate to lift her out of the way, surrendered the door. He turned on the threshold. His face was stillworking, but the flame-pointed gleam of his eyes indicated the return ofthat cowboy ruthlessness. 

"I'm going to drive Don Carlos and his gang out of the house, " declaredStewart. "I think I may promise you to do it without a fight. But if ittakes a fight, off he goes!"

XV. The Mountain Trail

As Stewart departed from one door Florence knocked upon another; andMadeline, far shaken out of her usual serenity, admitted the coolWestern girl with more than gladness. Just to have her near helpedMadeline to get back her balance. She was conscious of Florence's sharpscrutiny, then of a sweet, deliberate change of manner. Florence mighthave been burning with curiosity to know more about the bandits hiddenin the house, the plans of the cowboys, the reason for Madeline'ssuppressed emotion; but instead of asking Madeline questions sheintroduced the important subject of what to take on the camping trip. For an hour they discussed the need of this and that article, selected those things most needful, and then packed them in Madeline'sduffle-bags. 

That done, they decided to lie down, fully dressed as they were inriding-costume, and sleep, or at least rest, the little remaining timeleft before the call to saddle. Madeline turned out the light and, peeping through her window, saw dark forms standing sentinel-like in thegloom. When she lay down she heard soft steps on the path. This fidelityto her swelled her heart, while the need of it presaged that fearfulsomething which, since Stewart's passionate appeal to her, haunted heras inevitable. 

Madeline did not expect to sleep, yet she did sleep, and it seemed tohave been only a moment until Florence called her. She followed Florenceoutside. It was the dark hour before dawn. She could discern saddledhorses being held by cowboys. There was an air of hurry and mysteryabout the departure. Helen, who came tip-toeing out with Madeline'sother guests, whispered that it was like an escape. She was delighted. The others were amused. To Madeline it was indeed an escape. 

In the darkness Madeline could not see how many escorts her party was tohave. She heard low voices, the champing of bits and thumping of hoofs, and she recognized Stewart when he led up Majesty for her to mount. Then came a pattering of soft feet and the whining of dogs. Cold nosestouched her hands, and she saw the long, gray, shaggy shapes of her packof Russian wolf-hounds. That Stewart meant to let them go with her wasindicative of how he studied her pleasure. She loved to be out with thehounds and her horse. 

Stewart led Majesty out into the darkness past a line of mounted horses. 

"Guess we're ready?" he said. "I'll make the count. " He went back alongthe line, and on the return Madeline heard him say several times, "Now, everybody ride close to the horse in front, and keep quiet tilldaylight. " Then the snorting and pounding of the big black horse infront of her told Madeline that Stewart had mounted. 

"All right, we're off, " he called. 

Madeline lifted Majesty's bridle and let the roan go. There was a crackand crunch of gravel, fire struck from stone, a low whinny, a snort, and then steady, short, clip-clop of iron hoofs on hard ground. Madelinecould just discern Stewart and his black outlined in shadowy gray beforeher. Yet they were almost within touching distance. Once or twice one ofthe huge stag-hounds leaped up at her and whined joyously. A thick beltof darkness lay low, and seemed to thin out above to a gray fog, throughwhich a few wan stars showed. It was altogether an unusual departurefrom the ranch; and Madeline, always susceptible even to ordinaryincident that promised well, now found herself thrillingly sensitive tothe soft beat of hoofs, the feel of cool, moist air, the dim sight ofStewart's dark figure. The caution, the early start before dawn, theenforced silence--these lent the occasion all that was needful to makeit stirring. 

Majesty plunged into a gully, where sand and rough going made Madelinestop romancing to attend to riding. In the darkness Stewart was notso easy to keep close to even on smooth trails, and now she had tobe watchfully attentive to do it. Then followed a long march throughdragging sand. Meantime the blackness gradually changed to gray. Atlength Majesty climbed out of the wash, and once more his iron shoesrang on stone. He began to climb. The figure of Stewart and his horseloomed more distinctly in Madeline's sight. Bending over, she tried tosee the trail, but could not. She wondered how Stewart could followa trail in the dark. His eyes must be as piercing as they sometimeslooked. Over her shoulder Madeline could not see the horse behind her, but she heard him. 

As Majesty climbed steadily Madeline saw the gray darkness grow opaque, change and lighten, lose its substance, and yield the grotesque shapesof yucca and ocotillo. Dawn was about to break. Madeline imagined shewas facing east, still she saw no brightening of sky. All at once, toher surprise, Stewart and his powerful horse stood clear in her sight. She saw the characteristic rock and cactus and brush that covered thefoothills. The trail was old and seldom used, and it zigzagged andturned and twisted. Looking back, she saw the short, squat figure ofMonty Price humped over his saddle. Monty's face was hidden under hissombrero. Behind him rode Dorothy Coombs, and next loomed up the loftyform of Nick Steele. Madeline and the members of her party were ridingbetween cowboy escorts. 

Bright daylight came, and Madeline saw the trail was leading up throughfoothills. It led in a round-about way through shallow gullies fullof stone and brush washed down by floods. At every turn now Madelineexpected to come upon water and the waiting pack-train. But time passed, and miles of climbing, and no water or horses were met. Expectation inMadeline gave place to desire; she was hungry. 

Presently Stewart's horse went splashing into a shallow pool. Beyondthat damp places in the sand showed here and there, and again more waterin rocky pockets. Stewart kept on. It was eight o'clock by Madeline'swatch when, upon turning into a wide hollow, she saw horses grazing onspare grass, a great pile of canvas-covered bundles, and a fire roundwhich cowboys and two Mexican women were busy. 

Madeline sat her horse and reviewed her followers as they rode up singlefile. Her guests were in merry mood, and they all talked at once. 

"Breakfast--and rustle, " called out Stewart, without ceremony. 

"No need to tell me to rustle, " said Helen. "I am simply ravenous. Thisair makes me hungry. "

For that matter, Madeline observed Helen did not show any markedcontrast to the others. The hurry order, however, did not interfere withthe meal being somewhat in the nature of a picnic. While they ateand talked and laughed the cowboys were packing horses and burros andthrowing the diamond-hitch, a procedure so interesting to Castleton thathe got up with coffee-cup in hand and tramped from one place to another. 

"Heard of that diamond-hitch-up, " he observed to a cowboy. "Bally nicelittle job!"

As soon as the pack-train was in readiness Stewart started it off in thelead to break trail. A heavy growth of shrub interspersed with rock andcactus covered the slopes; and now all the trail appeared to be uphill. It was not a question of comfort for Madeline and her party, for comfortwas impossible; it was a matter of making the travel possible for him. Florence wore corduroy breeches and high-top boots, and the advantageof this masculine garb was at once in evidence. The riding-habits of theother ladies suffered considerably from the sharp spikes. It took allMadeline's watchfulness to save her horse's legs, to pick the best bitsof open ground, to make cut-offs from the trail, and to protect herselffrom outreaching thorny branches, so that the time sped by without herknowing it. The pack-train forged ahead, and the trailing couples grewfarther apart. At noon they got out of the foothills to face the realascent of the mountains. The sun beat down hot. There was little breeze, and the dust rose thick and hung in a pall. The view was restricted, andwhat scenery lay open to the eye was dreary and drab, a barren monotonyof slow-mounting slopes ridged by rocky canyons. 

Once Stewart waited for Madeline, and as she came up he said:

"We're going to have a storm. "

"That will be a relief. It's so hot and dusty, " replied Madeline. 

"Shall I call a halt and make camp?"

"Here? Oh no! What do you think best?"

"Well, if we have a good healthy thunder-storm it will be something newfor your friends. I think we'd be wise to keep on the go. There's noplace to make a good camp. The wind would blow us off this slope ifthe rain didn't wash us off. It'll take all-day travel to reach a goodcamp-site, and I don't promise that. We're making slow time. If itrains, let it rain. The pack outfit is well covered. We will have to getwet. "

"Surely, " replied Madeline; and she smiled at his inference. She knewwhat a storm was in that country, and her guests had yet to experienceone. "If it rains, let it rain. "

Stewart rode on, and Madeline followed. Up the slope toiled and noddedthe pack-animals, the little burros going easily where the horseslabored. Their packs, like the humps of camels, bobbed from side toside. Stones rattled down; the heat-waves wavered black; the dust puffedup and sailed. The sky was a pale blue, like heated steel, except wheredark clouds peeped over the mountain crests. A heavy, sultry atmospheremade breathing difficult. Down the slope the trailing party stretchedout in twos and threes, and it was easy to distinguish the weary riders. 

Half a mile farther up Madeline could see over the foothills to thenorth and west and a little south, and she forgot the heat andweariness and discomfort for her guests in wide, unlimited prospects ofsun-scorched earth. She marked the gray valley and the black mountainsand the wide, red gateway of the desert, and the dim, shadowy peaks, blue as the sky they pierced. She was sorry when the bleak, gnarledcedar-trees shut off her view. 

Then there came a respite from the steep climb, and the way led in awinding course through a matted, storm-wrenched forest of stunted trees. Even up to this elevation the desert reached with its gaunt hand. Theclouds overspreading the sky, hiding the sun, made a welcome change. Thepack-train rested, and Stewart and Madeline waited for the party to comeup. Here he briefly explained to her that Don Carlos and his bandits hadleft the ranch some time in the night. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a faint wind rustled the scant foliage of the cedars. The air grewoppressive; the horses panted. 

"Sure it'll be a hummer, " said Stewart. "The first storm almost alwaysis bad. I can feel it in the air. "

The air, indeed, seemed to be charged with a heavy force that waswaiting to be liberated. 

One by one the couples mounted to the cedar forest, and the femininecontingent declaimed eloquently for rest. But there was to be nopermanent rest until night and then that depended upon reaching thecrags. The pack-train wagged onward, and Stewart fell in behind. Thestorm-center gathered slowly around the peaks; low rumble and howl ofthunder increased in frequence; slowly the light shaded as smoky cloudsrolled up; the air grew sultrier, and the exasperating breeze puffed afew times and then failed. 

An hour later the party had climbed high and was rounding the side of agreat bare ridge that long had hidden the crags. The last burro of thepack-train plodded over the ridge out of Madeline's sight. She lookedbackward down the slope, amused to see her guests change wearily fromside to side in their saddles. Far below lay the cedar flat and thefoothills. Far to the west the sky was still clear, with shafts ofsunlight shooting down from behind the encroaching clouds. 

Stewart reached the summit of the ridge and, though only a few rodsahead, he waved to her, sweeping his hand round to what he saw beyond. It was an impressive gesture, and Madeline, never having climbed as highas this, anticipated much. 

Majesty surmounted the last few steps and, snorting, halted besideStewart's black. To Madeline the scene was as if the world had changed. The ridge was a mountain-top. It dropped before her into a black, stone-ridged, shrub-patched, many-canyoned gulf. Eastward, beyond thegulf, round, bare mountain-heads loomed up. Upward, on the right, ledgiant steps of cliff and bench and weathered slope to the fir-borderedand pine-fringed crags standing dark and bare against the stormy sky. Massed inky clouds were piling across the peaks, obscuring the highestones. A fork of white lightning flashed, and, like the booming of anavalanche, thunder followed. 

That bold world of broken rock under the slow mustering of storm-cloudswas a grim, awe-inspiring spectacle. It had beauty, but beauty of thesublime and majestic kind. The fierce desert had reached up to meet themagnetic heights where heat and wind and frost and lightning and floodcontended in everlasting strife. And before their onslaught this mightyupflung world of rugged stone was crumbling, splitting, wearing to ruin. 

Madeline glanced at Stewart. He had forgotten her presence. Immovableas stone, he sat his horse, dark-faced, dark-eyed, and, like an Indianunconscious of thought, he watched and watched. To see him thus, to divine the strange affinity between the soul of this man, becomeprimitive, and the savage environment that had developed him, werepowerful helps to Madeline Hammond in her strange desire to understandhis nature. 

A cracking of iron-shod hoofs behind her broke the spell. Monty hadreached the summit. 

"Gene, what it won't all be doin' in a minnut Moses hisself couldn'ttell, " observed Monty. 

Then Dorothy climbed to his side and looked. 

"Oh, isn't it just perfectly lovely!" she exclaimed. "But I wish itwouldn't storm. We'll all get wet. "

Once more Stewart faced the ascent, keeping to the slow heave of theridge as it rose southward toward the looming spires of rock. Soon hewas off smooth ground, and Madeline, some rods behind him, looked backwith concern at her friends. Here the real toil, the real climb began, and a mountain storm was about to burst in all its fury. 

The slope that Stewart entered upon was a magnificent monument to theruined crags above. It was a southerly slope, and therefore semi-arid, covered with cercocarpus and yucca and some shrub that Madeline believedwas manzanita. Every foot of the trail seemed to slide under Majesty. What hard ground there was could not be traveled upon, owing to thespiny covering or masses of shattered rocks. Gullies lined the slope. 

Then the sky grew blacker; the slow-gathering clouds appeared to besuddenly agitated; they piled and rolled and mushroomed and obscuredthe crags. The air moved heavily and seemed to be laden with sulphuroussmoke, and sharp lightning flashes began to play. A distant roar of windcould be heard between the peals of thunder. 

Stewart waited for Madeline under the lee of a shelving cliff, where thecowboys had halted the pack-train. Majesty was sensitive to the flashesof lightning. Madeline patted his neck and softly called to him. Theweary burros nodded; the Mexican women covered their heads with theirmantles. Stewart untied the slicker at the back of Madeline's saddleand helped her on with it. Then he put on his own. The other cowboysfollowed suit. Presently Madeline saw Monty and Dorothy rounding thecliff, and hoped the others would come soon. 

A blue-white, knotted rope of lightning burned down out of the clouds, and instantly a thunder-clap crashed, seeming to shake the foundationsof the earth. Then it rolled, as if banging from cloud to cloud, andboomed along the peaks, and reverberated from deep to low, at last torumble away into silence. Madeline felt the electricity in Majesty'smane, and it seemed to tingle through her nerves. The air had a weird, bright cast. The ponderous clouds swallowed more and more of the easterndomes. This moment of the breaking of the storm, with the strangegrowing roar of wind, like a moaning monster, was pregnant with aheart-disturbing emotion for Madeline Hammond. Glorious it was to befree, healthy, out in the open, under the shadow of the mountain andcloud, in the teeth of the wind and rain and storm. 

Another dazzling blue blaze showed the bold mountain-side and thestorm-driven clouds. In the flare of light Madeline saw Stewart's face. 

"Are you afraid?" she asked. 

"Yes, " he replied, simply. 

Then the thunderbolt racked the heavens, and as it boomed away inlessening power Madeline reflected with surprise upon Stewart's answer. Something in his face had made her ask him what she considered a foolishquestion. His reply amazed her. She loved a storm. Why should he fearit--he, with whom she could not associate fear?

"How strange! Have you not been out in many storms?"

A smile that was only a gleam flitted over his dark face. 

"In hundreds of them. By day, with the cattle stampeding. At night, alone on the mountain, with the pines crashing and the rocks rolling--inflood on the desert. "

"It's not only the lightning, then?" she asked. 

"No. All the storm. "

Madeline felt that henceforth she would have less faith in what she hadimagined was her love of the elements. What little she knew! If thisiron-nerved man feared a storm, then there was something about a stormto fear. 

And suddenly, as the ground quaked under her horse's feet, and allthe sky grew black and crisscrossed by flaming streaks, and betweenthunderous reports there was a strange hollow roar sweeping down uponher, she realized how small was her knowledge and experience of themighty forces of nature. Then, with that perversity of character ofwhich she was wholly conscious, she was humble, submissive, reverent, and fearful even while she gloried in the grandeur of the dark, cloud-shadowed crags and canyons, the stupendous strife of sound, thewonderful driving lances of white fire. 

With blacker gloom and deafening roar came the torrent of rain. It wasa cloud-burst. It was like solid water tumbling down. For long Madelinesat her horse, head bent to the pelting rain. When its force lessenedand she heard Stewart call for all to follow, she looked up to see thathe was starting once more. She shot a glimpse at Dorothy and as quicklyglanced away. Dorothy, who would not wear a hat suitable for inclementweather, nor one of the horrid yellow, sticky slickers, was a drenchedand disheveled spectacle. Madeline did not trust herself to look at theother girls. It was enough to hear their lament. So she turned her horseinto Stewart's trail. 

Rain fell steadily. The fury of the storm, however, had passed, and theroll of thunder diminished in volume. The air had wonderfully clearedand was growing cool. Madeline began to feel uncomfortably cold and wet. Stewart was climbing faster than formerly, and she noted that Monty keptat her heels, pressing her on. Time had been lost, and the camp-site wasa long way off. The stag-hounds began to lag and get footsore. The sharprocks of the trail were cruel to their feet. Then, as Madeline began totire, she noticed less and less around her. The ascent grew rougher andsteeper--slow toil for panting horses. The thinning rain grew colder, and sometimes a stronger whip of wind lashed stingingly in Madeline'sface. Her horse climbed and climbed, and brush and sharp corners ofstone everlastingly pulled and tore at her wet garments. A gray gloomsettled down around her. Night was approaching. Majesty heaved upwardwith a snort, the wet saddle creaked, and an even motion told Madelineshe was on level ground. She looked up to see looming crags and spires, like huge pipe-organs, dark at the base and growing light upward. The rain had ceased, but the branches of fir-trees and juniper werewater-soaked arms reaching out for her. Through an opening between cragsMadeline caught a momentary glimpse of the west. Red sun-shafts shonethrough the murky, broken clouds. The sun had set. 

Stewart's horse was on a jog-trot now, and Madeline left the trail moreto Majesty than to her own choosing. The shadows deepened, and the cragsgrew gloomy and spectral. A cool wind moaned through the dark trees. Coyotes, scenting the hounds, kept apace of them, and barked and howledoff in the gloom. But the tired hounds did not appear to notice. 

As black night began to envelop her surroundings, Madeline marked thatthe fir-trees had given place to pine forest. Suddenly a pin-point oflight pierced the ebony blackness. Like a solitary star in dark skyit twinkled and blinked. She lost sight of it--found it again. It grewlarger. Black tree-trunks crossed her line of vision. The light was afire. She heard a cowboy song and the wild chorus of a pack of coyotes. Drops of rain on the branches of trees glittered in the rays of thefire. Stewart's tall figure, with sombrero slouched down, was now andthen outlined against a growing circle of light. And by the aid of thatlight she saw him turn every moment or so to look back, probably toassure himself that she was close behind. 

With a prospect of fire and warmth, and food and rest, Madeline'senthusiasm revived. What a climb! There was promise in this wild rideand lonely trail and hidden craggy height, not only in the adventure herfriends yearned for, but in some nameless joy and spirit for herself. 

XVI. The Crags

Glad indeed was Madeline to be lifted off her horse beside a roaringfire--to see steaming pots upon red-hot coals. Except about hershoulders, which had been protected by the slicker, she was wringingwet. The Mexican women came quickly to help her change in a tent nearby; but Madeline preferred for the moment to warm her numb feet andhands and to watch the spectacle of her arriving friends. 

Dorothy plumped off her saddle into the arms of several waiting cowboys. She could scarcely walk. Far removed in appearance was she from herusual stylish self. Her face was hidden by a limp and lopsided hat. From under the disheveled brim came a plaintive moan: "O-h-h! what a-ana-awful ride!" Mrs. Beck was in worse condition; she had to be takenoff her horse. "I'm paralyzed--I'm a wreck. Bobby, get a roller-chair. "Bobby was solicitous and willing, but there were no roller-chairs. Florence dismounted easily, and but for her mass of hair, wet andtumbling, would have been taken for a handsome cowboy. Edith Wayne hadstood the physical strain of the ride better than Dorothy; however, asher mount was rather small, she had been more at the mercy of cactusand brush. Her habit hung in tatters. Helen had preserved a remnant ofstyle, as well as of pride, and perhaps a little strength. But her facewas white, her eyes were big, and she limped. "Majesty!" she exclaimed. "What did you want to do to us? Kill us outright or make us homesick?"Of all of them, however, Ambrose's wife, Christine, the little Frenchmaid, had suffered the most in that long ride. She was unaccustomed tohorses. Ambrose had to carry her into the big tent. Florence persuadedMadeline to leave the fire, and when they went in with the othersDorothy was wailing because her wet boots would not come off, Mrs. Beck was weeping and trying to direct a Mexican woman to unfasten herbedraggled dress, and there was general pandemonium. 

"Warm clothes--hot drinks and grub--warm blankets, " rang out Stewart'ssharp order. 

Then, with Florence helping the Mexican women, it was not long untilMadeline and the feminine side of the party were comfortable, except forthe weariness and aches that only rest and sleep could alleviate. 

Neither fatigue nor pains, however, nor the strangeness of being packedsardine-like under canvas, nor the howls of coyotes, kept Madeline'sguests from stretching out with long, grateful sighs, and one by onedropping into deep slumber. Madeline whispered a little to Florence, and laughed with her once or twice, and then the light flickering on thecanvas faded and her eyelids closed. Darkness and roar of camp life, low voices of men, thump of horses' hoofs, coyote serenade, the sense ofwarmth and sweet rest--all drifted away. 

 *****

When she awakened shadows of swaying branches moved on the sunlit canvasabove her. She heard the ringing strokes of an ax, but no other soundfrom outside. Slow, regular breathing attested to the deep slumbers ofher tent comrades. She observed presently that Florence was missing fromthe number. Madeline rose and peeped out between the flaps. 

An exquisitely beautiful scene surprised and enthralled her gaze. Shesaw a level space, green with long grass, bright with flowers, dottedwith groves of graceful firs and pines and spruces, reaching to superbcrags, rosy and golden in the sunlight. Eager to get out where she couldenjoy an unrestricted view, she searched for her pack, found it in acorner, and then hurriedly and quietly dressed. 

Her favorite stag-hounds, Russ and Tartar, were asleep before thedoor, where they had been chained. She awakened them and loosened them, thinking the while that it must have been Stewart who had chainedthem near her. Close at hand also was a cowboy's bed rolled up in atarpaulin. 

The cool air, fragrant with pine and spruce and some subtle namelesstang, sweet and tonic, made Madeline stand erect and breathe slowlyand deeply. It was like drinking of a magic draught. She felt it inher blood, that it quickened its flow. Turning to look in the otherdirection, beyond the tent, she saw the remnants of last night'stemporary camp, and farther on a grove of beautiful pines from whichcame the sharp ring of the ax. Wider gaze took in a wonderful park, notonly surrounded by lofty crags, but full of crags of lesser height, manylifting their heads from dark-green groves of trees. The morning sun, not yet above the eastern elevations, sent its rosy and golden shafts inbetween the towering rocks, to tip the pines. 

Madeline, with the hounds beside her, walked through the nearest grove. The ground was soft and springy and brown with pine-needles. Thenshe saw that a clump of trees had prevented her from seeing the moststriking part of this natural park. The cowboys had selected a campsitewhere they would have the morning sun and afternoon shade. Severaltents and flies were already up; there was a huge lean-to made of spruceboughs; cowboys were busy round several camp-fires; piles of packs laycovered with tarpaulins, and beds were rolled up under the trees. Thisspace was a kind of rolling meadow, with isolated trees here and there, and other trees in aisles and circles; and it mounted up in low, grassybanks to great towers of stone five hundred feet high. Other crags rosebehind these. From under a mossy cliff, huge and green and cool, bubbleda full, clear spring. Wild flowers fringed its banks. Out in the meadowthe horses were knee-deep in grass that waved in the morning breeze. 

Florence espied Madeline under the trees and came running. She was likea young girl, with life and color and joy. She wore a flannel blouse, corduroy skirt, and moccasins. And her hair was fastened under a bandlike an Indian's. 

"Castleton's gone with a gun, for hours, it seems, " said Florence. "Gene just went to hunt him up. The other gentlemen are still asleep. Iimagine they sure will sleep up heah in this air. "

Then, business-like, Florence fell to questioning Madeline about detailsof camp arrangement which Stewart, and Florence herself, could hardlysee to without suggestion. 

Before any of Madeline's sleepy guests awakened the camp was completed. Madeline and Florence had a tent under a pine-tree, but they did notintend to sleep in it except during stormy weather. They spread atarpaulin, made their bed on it, and elected to sleep under the lightof the stars. After that, taking the hounds with them, they explored. ToMadeline's surprise, the park was not a little half-mile nook nestlingamong the crags, but extended farther than they cared to walk, and wasrather a series of parks. They were no more than small valleys betweengray-toothed peaks. As the day advanced the charm of the place grew uponMadeline. Even at noon, with the sun beating down, there was comfortablewarmth rather than heat. It was the kind of warmth that Madeline likedto feel in the spring. And the sweet, thin, rare atmosphere beganto affect her strangely. She breathed deeply of it until she feltlight-headed, as if her body lacked substance and might drift awaylike a thistledown. All at once she grew uncomfortably sleepy. A dreamylanguor possessed her, and, lying under a pine with her head againstFlorence, she went to sleep. When she opened her eyes the shadows ofthe crags stretched from the west, and between them streamed a red-goldlight. It was hazy, smoky sunshine losing its fire. The afternoon hadfar advanced. Madeline sat up. Florence was lazily reading. The twoMexican women were at work under the fly where the big stone fireplacehad been erected. No one else was in sight. 

Florence, upon being questioned, informed Madeline that incident aboutcamp had been delightfully absent. Castleton had returned and wasprofoundly sleeping with the other men. Presently a chorus of merrycalls attracted Madeline's attention, and she turned to see Helenlimping along with Dorothy, and Mrs. Beck and Edith supporting eachother. They were all rested, but lame, and delighted with the place, andas hungry as bears awakened from a winter's sleep. Madeline forthwithescorted them round the camp, and through the many aisles between thetrees, and to the mossy, pine-matted nooks under the crags. 

Then they had dinner, sitting on the ground after the manner of Indians;and it was a dinner that lacked merriment only because everybody was toobusily appeasing appetite. 

Later Stewart led them across a neck of the park, up a rather steepclimb between towering crags, to take them out upon a grassy promontorythat faced the great open west--a vast, ridged, streaked, and reddenedsweep of earth rolling down, as it seemed, to the golden sunset end ofthe world. Castleton said it was a jolly fine view; Dorothy voiced herusual languid enthusiasm; Helen was on fire with pleasure and wonder;Mrs. Beck appealed to Bobby to see how he liked it before she ventured, and she then reiterated his praise; and Edith Wayne, like Madeline andFlorence, was silent. Boyd was politely interested; he was the kind ofman who appeared to care for things as other people cared for them. 

Madeline watched the slow transformation of the changing west, with itshaze of desert dust, through which mountain and cloud and sun slowlydarkened. She watched until her eyes ached, and scarcely had a thoughtof what she was watching. When her eyes shifted to encounter the tallform of Stewart standing motionless on the rim, her mind became activeagain. As usual, he stood apart from the others, and now he seemed aloofand unconscious. He made a dark, powerful figure, and he fitted thatwild promontory. 

She experienced a strange, annoying surprise when she discovered bothHelen and Dorothy watching Stewart with peculiar interest. Edith, too, was alive to the splendid picture the cowboy made. But when Edith smiledand whispered in her ear, "It's so good to look at a man like that, "Madeline again felt the surprise, only this time the accompaniment was avague pleasure rather than annoyance. Helen and Dorothy were flirts, onedeliberate and skilled, the other unconscious and natural. EdithWayne, occasionally--and Madeline reflected that the occasions wereinfrequent--admired a man sincerely. Just here Madeline might havefallen into a somewhat revealing state of mind if it had not been forthe fact that she believed Stewart was only an object of deep interestto her, not as a man, but as a part of this wild and wonderful Westwhich was claiming her. So she did not inquire of herself why Helen'scoquetry and Dorothy's languishing allurement annoyed her, or whyEdith's eloquent smile and words had pleased her. She got as far, however, as to think scornfully how Helen and Dorothy would welcome andmeet a flirtation with this cowboy and then go back home and forget himas utterly as if he had never existed. She wondered, too, with a curioustwist of feeling that was almost eagerness, how the cowboy would meettheir advances. Obviously the situation was unfair to him; and if bysome strange accident he escaped unscathed by Dorothy's beautiful eyeshe would never be able to withstand Helen's subtle and fascinating andimperious personality. 

They returned to camp in the cool of the evening and made merry rounda blazing camp-fire. But Madeline's guests soon succumbed to thepersistent and irresistible desire to sleep. 

Then Madeline went to bed with Florence under the pine-tree. Russ layupon one side and Tartar upon the other. The cool night breeze sweptover her, fanning her face, waving her hair. It was not strong enoughto make any sound through the branches, but it stirred a faint, silkenrustle in the long grass. The coyotes began their weird bark and howl. Russ raised his head to growl at their impudence. 

Madeline faced upward, and it seemed to her that under those wonderfulwhite stars she would never be able to go to sleep. They blinked downthrough the black-barred, delicate crisscross of pine foliage, and theylooked so big and so close. Then she gazed away to open space, where anexpanse of sky glittered with stars, and the longer she gazed the largerthey grew and the more she saw. 

It was her belief that she had come to love all the physical thingsfrom which sensations of beauty and mystery and strength poured into herresponsive mind; but best of all she loved these Western stars, for theywere to have something to do with her life, were somehow to influenceher destiny. 

 *****

For a few days the prevailing features of camp life for Madeline'sguests were sleep and rest. Dorothy Coombs slept through twenty-fourhours, and then was so difficult to awaken that for a while her friendswere alarmed. Helen almost fell asleep while eating and talking. Themen were more visibly affected by the mountain air than the women. Castleton, however, would not succumb to the strange drowsiness while hehad a chance to prowl around with a gun. 

This languorous spell disappeared presently, and then the days were fullof life and action. Mrs. Beck and Bobby and Boyd, however, did not go infor anything very strenuous. Edith Wayne, too, preferred to walk throughthe groves or sit upon the grassy promontory. It was Helen and Dorothywho wanted to explore the crags and canyons, and when they could not getthe others to accompany them they went alone, giving the cowboy guidesmany a long climb. 

Necessarily, of course, Madeline and her guests were now thrown much incompany with the cowboys. And the party grew to be like one big family. Her friends not only adapted themselves admirably to the situation, butcame to revel in it. As for Madeline, she saw that outside of a certainproclivity of the cowboys to be gallant and on dress-parade and aliveto possibilities of fun and excitement, they were not greatly differentfrom what they were at all times. If there were a leveling process hereit was made by her friends coming down to meet the Westerners. Besides, any class of people would tend to grow natural in such circumstances andenvironment. 

Madeline found the situation one of keen and double interest for her. If before she had cared to study her cowboys, particularly Stewart, now, with the contrasts afforded by her guests, she felt by turns she wasamused and mystified and perplexed and saddened, and then again subtlypleased. 

Monty, once he had overcome his shyness, became a source of delightto Madeline, and, for that matter, to everybody. Monty had suddenlydiscovered that he was a success among the ladies. Either he was exaltedto heroic heights by this knowledge or he made it appear so. Dorothy hadbeen his undoing, and in justice to her Madeline believed her innocent. Dorothy thought Monty hideous to look at, and, accordingly, if he hadbeen a hero a hundred times and had saved a hundred poor little babies'lives, he could not have interested her. Monty followed her around, reminding her, she told Madeline, of a little adoring dog one moment andthe next of a huge, devouring gorilla. 

Nels and Nick stalked at Helen's heels like grenadiers on duty, and ifshe as much as dropped her glove they almost came to blows to see whoshould pick it up. 

In a way Castleton was the best feature of the camping party. He wassuch an absurd-looking little man, and his abilities were at suchtremendous odds with what might have been expected of him from hislooks. He could ride, tramp, climb, shoot. He liked to help around thecamp, and the cowboys could not keep him from it. He had an insatiabledesire to do things that were new to him. The cowboys played innumerabletricks upon him, not one of which he ever discovered. He wasserious, slow in speech and action, and absolutely imperturbable. If imperturbability could ever be good humor, then he was alwaysgood-humored. Presently the cowboys began to understand him, and thento like him. When they liked a man it meant something. Madeline had beensorry more than once to see how little the cowboys chose to speak toBoyd Harvey. With Castleton, however, they actually became friends. Theydid not know it, and certainly such a thing never occurred to him; allthe same, it was a fact. And it grew solely out of the truth that theEnglishman was manly in the only way cowboys could have interpretedmanliness. When, after innumerable attempts, he succeeded in throwingthe diamond-hitch on a pack-horse the cowboys began to respect him. Castleton needed only one more accomplishment to claim their hearts, andhe kept trying that--to ride a bucking bronco. One of the cowboys hada bronco that they called Devil. Every day for a week Devil threw theEnglishman all over the park, ruined his clothes, bruised him, andfinally kicked him. Then the cowboys solicitously tried to makeCastleton give up; and this was remarkable enough, for the spectacleof an English lord on a bucking bronco was one that any Westerner wouldhave ridden a thousand miles to see. Whenever Devil threw Castleton thecowboys went into spasms. But Castleton did not know the meaning of theword fail, and there came a day when Devil could not throw him. Then itwas a singular sight to see the men line up to shake hands with thecool Englishman. Even Stewart, who had watched from the background, cameforward with a warm and pleasant smile on his dark face. When Castletonwent to his tent there was much characteristic cowboy talk, and thistime vastly different from the former persiflage. 

"By Gawd!" ejaculated Monty Price, who seemed to be the most amazed andelated of them all. "Thet's the fust Englishman I ever seen! He's orfuldeceivin' to look at, but I know now why England rules the wurrld. Jesttake a peek at thet bronco. His spirit is broke. Rid by a leetle Englishdook no bigger 'n a grasshopper! Fellers, if it hain't dawned on youyit, let Monty Price give you a hunch. There's no flies on Castleton. An' I'll bet a million steers to a rawhide rope thet next he'll bethrowin' a gun as good as Nels. "

It was a distinct pleasure for Madeline to realize that she likedCastleton all the better for the traits brought out so forcibly by hisassociation with the cowboys. On the other hand, she liked the cowboysbetter for something in them that contact with Easterners brought out. This was especially true in Stewart's case. She had been wholly wrongwhen she had imagined he would fall an easy victim to Dorothy's eyes andHelen's lures. He was kind, helpful, courteous, and watchful. But hehad no sentiment. He did not see Dorothy's charms or feel Helen'sfascination. And their efforts to captivate him were now so obvious thatMrs. Beck taunted them, and Edith smiled knowingly, and Bobby and Boydmade playful remarks. All of which cut Helen's pride and hurt Dorothy'svanity. They essayed open conquest of Stewart. 

So it came about that Madeline unconsciously admitted the cowboy to aplace in her mind never occupied by any other. The instant it occurredto her why he was proof against the wiles of the other women she drovethat amazing and strangely disturbing thought from her. Nevertheless, as she was human, she could not help thinking and being pleased andenjoying a little the discomfiture of the two coquettes. 

Moreover, from this thought of Stewart, and the watchfulness growing outof it she discovered more about him. He was not happy; he often pacedup and down the grove at night; he absented himself from camp sometimesduring the afternoon when Nels and Nick and Monty were there; he wasalways watching the trails, as if he expected to see some one comeriding up. He alone of the cowboys did not indulge in the fun and talkaround the camp-fire. He remained preoccupied and sad, and was alwayslooking away into distance. Madeline had a strange sense of hisguardianship over her; and, remembering Don Carlos, she imagined heworried a good deal over his charge, and, indeed, over the safety of allthe party. 

But if he did worry about possible visits from wandering guerrillas, whydid he absent himself from camp? Suddenly into Madeline's inquisitivemind flashed a remembrance of the dark-eyed Mexican girl, Bonita, whohad never been heard of since that night she rode Stewart's big horseout of El Cajon. The remembrance of her brought an idea. Perhaps Stewarthad a rendezvous in the mountains, and these lonely trips of his were tomeet Bonita. With the idea hot blood flamed into Madeline's cheek. Then she was amazed at her own feelings--amazed because her swiftestsucceeding thought was to deny the idea--amazed that its conception hadfired her cheek with shame. Then her old self, the one aloof from thisred-blooded new self, gained control over her emotions. 

But Madeline found that new-born self a creature of strange power toreturn and govern at any moment. She found it fighting loyally for whatintelligence and wisdom told her was only her romantic conception ofa cowboy. She reasoned: If Stewart were the kind of man her feminineskepticism wanted to make him, he would not have been so blind to thecoquettish advances of Helen and Dorothy. He had once been--she did notwant to recall what he had once been. But he had been uplifted. MadelineHammond declared that. She was swayed by a strong, beating pride, andher instinctive woman's faith told her that he could not stoop to suchdishonor. She reproached herself for having momentarily thought of it. 

 *****

One afternoon a huge storm-cloud swooped out of the sky and envelopedthe crags. It obscured the westering sun and laid a mantle of darknessover the park. Madeline was uneasy because several of her party, including Helen and Dorothy, had ridden off with the cowboys thatafternoon and had not returned. Florence assured her that even ifthey did not get back before the storm broke there was no reason forapprehension. Nevertheless, Madeline sent for Stewart and asked him togo or send some one in search of them. 

Perhaps half an hour later Madeline heard the welcome pattering of hoofson the trail. The big tent was brightly lighted by several lanterns. Edith and Florence were with her. It was so black outside that Madelinecould not see a rod before her face. The wind was moaning in the trees, and big drops of rain were pelting upon the canvas. 

Presently, just outside the door, the horses halted, and there was asharp bustle of sound, such as would naturally result from a hurrieddismounting and confusion in the dark. Mrs. Beck came running into thetent out of breath and radiant because they had beaten the storm. Helenentered next, and a little later came Dorothy, but long enough to makeher entrance more noticeable. The instant Madeline saw Dorothy's blazingeyes she knew something unusual had happened. Whatever it was might haveescaped comment had not Helen caught sight of Dorothy. 

"Heavens, Dot, but you're handsome occasionally!" remarked Helen. "Whenyou get some life in your face and eyes!"

Dorothy turned her face away from the others, and perhaps it was onlyaccident that she looked into a mirror hanging on the tent wall. Swiftlyshe put her hand up to feel a wide red welt on her cheek. Dorothy hadbeen assiduously careful of her soft, white skin, and here was an uglymark marring its beauty. 

"Look at that!" she cried, in distress. "My complexion's ruined!"

"How did you get such a splotch?" inquired Helen, going closer. 

"I've been kissed!" exclaimed Dorothy, dramatically. 

"What?" queried Helen, more curiously, while the others laughed. 

"I've been kissed--hugged and kissed by one of those shameless cowboys!It was so pitch-dark outside I couldn't see a thing. And so noisy Icouldn't hear. But somebody was trying to help me off my horse. My footcaught in the stirrup, and away I went--right into somebody's arms. Thenhe did it, the wretch! He hugged and kissed me in a most awful bearishmanner. I couldn't budge a finger. I'm simply boiling with rage!"

When the outburst of mirth subsided Dorothy turned her big, dilated eyesupon Florence. 

"Do these cowboys really take advantage of a girl when she's helplessand in the dark?"

"Of course they do, " replied Florence, with her frank smile. 

"Dot, what in the world could you expect?" asked Helen. "Haven't youbeen dying to be kissed?"

"No. "

"Well, you acted like it, then. I never before saw you in a rage overbeing kissed. "

"I--I wouldn't care so much if the brute hadn't scoured the skin off myface. He had whiskers as sharp and stiff as sandpaper. And when I jerkedaway he rubbed my cheek with them. "

This revelation as to the cause of her outraged dignity almostprostrated her friends with glee. 

"Dot, I agree with you; it's one thing to be kissed, and quite anotherto have your beauty spoiled, " replied Helen, presently. "Who was thisparticular savage?"

"I don't know!" burst out Dorothy. "If I did I'd--I'd--"

Her eyes expressed the direful punishment she could not speak. 

"Honestly now, Dot, haven't you the least idea who did it?" questionedHelen. 

"I hope--I think it was Stewart, " replied Dorothy. 

"Ah! Dot, your hope is father to the thought. My dear, I'm sorry toriddle your little romance. Stewart did not--could not have been theoffender or hero. "

"How do you know he couldn't?" demanded Dorothy, flushing. 

"Because he was clean-shaven to-day at noon, before we rode out. Iremember perfectly how nice and smooth and brown his face looked. "

"Oh, do you? Well, if your memory for faces is so good, maybe you cantell me which one of these cowboys wasn't clean-shaven. "

"Merely a matter of elimination, " replied Helen, merrily. "It was notNick; it was not Nels; it was not Frankie. There was only one othercowboy with us, and he had a short, stubby growth of black beard, muchlike that cactus we passed on the trail. "

"Oh, I was afraid of it, " moaned Dorothy. "I knew he was going to do it. That horrible little smiling demon, Monty Price!"

 *****

A favorite lounging-spot of Madeline's was a shaded niche under the leeof crags facing the east. Here the outlook was entirely different fromthat on the western side. It was not red and white and glaring, nor sochangeable that it taxed attention. This eastern view was one of themountains and valleys, where, to be sure, there were arid patches; butthe restful green of pine and fir was there, and the cool gray of crags. Bold and rugged indeed were these mountain features, yet they werecompanionably close, not immeasurably distant and unattainable like thedesert. Here in the shade of afternoon Madeline and Edith would oftenlounge under a low-branched tree. Seldom they talked much, for it wasafternoon and dreamy with the strange spell of this mountain fastness. There was smoky haze in the valleys, a fleecy cloud resting over thepeaks, a sailing eagle in the blue sky, silence that was the unbrokensilence of the wild heights, and a soft wind laden with incense of pine. 

One afternoon, however, Edith appeared prone to talk seriously. 

"Majesty, I must go home soon. I cannot stay out here forever. Are yougoing back with me?"

"Well, maybe, " replied Madeline, thoughtfully. "I have considered it. I shall have to visit home some time. But this summer mother and fatherare going to Europe. "

"See here, Majesty Hammond, do you intend to spend the rest of your lifein this wilderness?" asked Edith, bluntly. 

Madeline was silent. 

"Oh, it is glorious! Don't misunderstand me, dear, " went on Edith, earnestly, as she laid her hand on Madeline's. "This trip has been arevelation to me. I did not tell you, Majesty, that I was ill when Iarrived. Now I'm well. So well! Look at Helen, too. Why, she was a ghostwhen we got here. Now she is brown and strong and beautiful. If it werefor nothing else than this wonderful gift of health I would love theWest. But I have come to love it for other things--even spiritualthings. Majesty, I have been studying you. I see and feel what this lifehas made of you. When I came I wondered at your strength, your virility, your serenity, your happiness. And I was stunned. I wondered at thecauses of your change. Now I know. You were sick of idleness, sick ofuselessness, if not of society--sick of the horrible noises and smellsand contacts one can no longer escape in the cities. I am sick of allthat, too, and I could tell you many women of our kind who suffer in alike manner. You have done what many of us want to do, but have not thecourage. You have left it. I am not blind to the splendid difference youhave made in your life. I think I would have discovered, even if yourbrother had not told me, what good you have done to the Mexicans andcattlemen of your range. Then you have work to do. That is much thesecret of your happiness, is it not? Tell me. Tell me something of whatit means to you?"

"Work, of course, has much to do with any one's happiness, " repliedMadeline. "No one can be happy who has no work. As regards myself--forthe rest I can hardly tell you. I have never tried to put it in words. Frankly, I believe, if I had not had money that I could not have foundsuch contentment here. That is not in any sense a judgment against theWest. But if I had been poor I could not have bought and maintained myranch. Stillwell tells me there are many larger ranches than mine, but none just like it. Then I am almost paying my expenses out of mybusiness. Think of that! My income, instead of being wasted, is mostlysaved. I think--I hope I am useful. I have been of some little goodto the Mexicans--eased the hardships of a few cowboys. For the rest, Ithink my life is a kind of dream. Of course my ranch and range are real, my cowboys are typical. If I were to tell you how I feel about them itwould simply be a story of how Madeline Hammond sees the West. They aretrue to the West. It is I who am strange, and what I feel for them maybe strange, too. Edith, hold to your own impressions. "

"But, Majesty, my impressions have changed. At first I did not like thewind, the dust, the sun, the endless open stretches. But now I do likethem. Where once I saw only terrible wastes of barren ground now I seebeauty and something noble. Then, at first, your cowboys struck me asdirty, rough, loud, crude, savage--all that was primitive. I did notwant them near me. I imagined them callous, hard men, their only joy acarouse with their kind. But I was wrong. I have changed. The dirt wasonly dust, and this desert dust is clean. They are still rough, loud, crude, and savage in my eyes, but with a difference. They are naturalmen. They are little children. Monty Price is one of nature's noblemen. The hard thing is to discover it. All his hideous person, all hisactions and speech, are masks of his real nature. Nels is a joy, asimple, sweet, kindly, quiet man whom some woman should have loved. Whatwould love have meant to him! He told me that no woman ever loved himexcept his mother, and he lost her when he was ten. Every man ought tobe loved--especially such a man as Nels. Somehow his gun record doesnot impress me. I never could believe he killed a man. Then take yourforeman, Stewart. He is a cowboy, his work and life the same as theothers. But he has education and most of the graces we are in the habitof saying make a gentleman. Stewart is a strange fellow, just like thisstrange country. He's a man, Majesty, and I admire him. So, you see, myimpressions are developing with my stay out here. "

"Edith, I am so glad you told me that, " replied Madeline, warmly. 

"I like the country, and I like the men, " went on Edith. "One reason Iwant to go home soon is because I am discontented enough at home now, without falling in love with the West. For, of course, Majesty, I would. I could not live out here. And that brings me to my point. Admittingall the beauty and charm and wholesomeness and good of this wonderfulcountry, still it is no place for you, Madeline Hammond. You have yourposition, your wealth, your name, your family. You must marry. You musthave children. You must not give up all that for a quixotic life in awilderness. "

"I am convinced, Edith, that I shall live here all the rest of my life. "

"Oh, Majesty! I hate to preach this way. But I promised your mother Iwould talk to you. And the truth is I hate--I hate what I'm saying. Ienvy you your courage and wisdom. I know you have refused to marryBoyd Harvey. I could see that in his face. I believe you will refuseCastleton. Whom will you marry? What chance is there for a woman of yourposition to marry out here? What in the world will become of you?"

"Quien sabe?" replied Madeline, with a smile that was almost sad. 

 *****

Not so many hours after this conversation with Edith, Madeline sat withBoyd Harvey upon the grassy promontory overlooking the west, and shelistened once again to his suave courtship. 

Suddenly she turned to him and said, "Boyd, if I married you would yoube willing--glad to spend the rest of your life here in the West?"

"Majesty!" he exclaimed. There was amaze in the voice usually so evenand well modulated--amaze in the handsome face usually so indifferent. Her question had startled him. She saw him look down the iron-graycliffs, over the barren slopes and cedared ridges, beyond thecactus-covered foothills to the grim and ghastly desert. Just then, withits red veils of sunlit dust-clouds, its illimitable waste of ruined andupheaved earth, it was a sinister spectacle. 

"No, " he replied, with a tinge of shame in his cheek. Madeline said nomore, nor did he speak. She was spared the pain of refusing him, and sheimagined he would never ask her again. There was both relief and regretin the conviction. Humiliated lovers seldom made good friends. 

It was impossible not to like Boyd Harvey. The thought of that, and whyshe could not marry him, concentrated her never-satisfied mind upon theman. She looked at him, and she thought of him. 

He was handsome, young, rich, well born, pleasant, cultivated--he wasall that made a gentleman of his class. If he had any vices she hadnot heard of them. She knew he had no thirst for drink or craze forgambling. He was considered a very desirable and eligible young man. Madeline admitted all this. 

Then she thought of things that were perhaps exclusively her own strangeideas. Boyd Harvey's white skin did not tan even in this southwesternsun and wind. His hands were whiter than her own, and as soft. They werereally beautiful, and she remembered what care he took of them. Theywere a proof that he never worked. His frame was tall, graceful, elegant. It did not bear evidence of ruggedness. He had never indulgedin a sport more strenuous than yachting. He hated effort and activity. He rode horseback very little, disliked any but moderate motoring, spentmuch time in Newport and Europe, never walked when he could help it, andhad no ambition unless it were to pass the days pleasantly. If he everhad any sons they would be like him, only a generation more toward theinevitable extinction of his race. 

Madeline returned to camp in just the mood to make a sharp, decidingcontrast. It happened--fatefully, perhaps--that the first man shesaw was Stewart. He had just ridden into camp, and as she came up heexplained that he had gone down to the ranch for the important mailabout which she had expressed anxiety. 

"Down and back in one day!" she exclaimed. 

"Yes, " he replied. "It wasn't so bad. "

"But why did you not send one of the boys, and let him make the regulartwo-day trip?"

"You were worried about your mail, " he answered, briefly, as hedelivered it. Then he bent to examine the fetlocks of his weary horse. 

It was midsummer now, Madeline reflected and exceedingly hot and dustyon the lower trail. Stewart had ridden down the mountain and back againin twelve hours. Probably no horse in the outfit, except his big blackor Majesty, could have stood that trip. And his horse showed the effectsof a grueling day. He was caked with dust and lame and weary. 

Stewart looked as if he had spared the horse his weight on many a mileof that rough ascent. His boots were evidence of it. His heavy flannelshirt, wet through with perspiration, adhered closely to his shouldersand arms, so that every ripple of muscle plainly showed. His face wasblack, except round the temples and forehead, where it was bright red. Drops of sweat, running off his blackened hands dripped to the ground. He got up from examining the lame foot, and then threw off the saddle. The black horse snorted and lunged for the watering-pool. Stewart lethim drink a little, then with iron arms dragged him away. In this actionthe man's lithe, powerful form impressed Madeline with a wonderful senseof muscular force. His brawny wrist was bare; his big, strong hand, first clutching the horse's mane, then patting his neck, had a bruisedknuckle, and one finger was bound up. That hand expressed as muchgentleness and thoughtfulness for the horse as it had strength to draghim back from too much drinking at a dangerous moment. 

Stewart was a combination of fire, strength, and action. Theseattributes seemed to cling about him. There was something vital andcompelling in his presence. Worn and spent and drawn as he was fromthe long ride, he thrilled Madeline with his potential youth and unusedvitality and promise of things to be, red-blooded deeds, both of fleshand spirit. In him she saw the strength of his forefathers unimpaired. The life in him was marvelously significant. The dust, the dirt, thesweat, the soiled clothes, the bruised and bandaged hand, the brawn andbone--these had not been despised by the knights of ancient days, nor bymodern women whose eyes shed soft light upon coarse and bloody toilers. 

Madeline Hammond compared the man of the East with the man of the West;and that comparison was the last parting regret for her old standards. 

XVII. The Lost Mine of the Padres

In the cool, starry evenings the campers sat around a blazing fire andtold and listened to stories thrillingly fitted to the dark crags andthe wild solitude. 

Monty Price had come to shine brilliantly as a storyteller. He wasan atrocious liar, but this fact would not have been evident to hisenthralled listeners if his cowboy comrades, in base jealousy, had notbetrayed him. The truth about his remarkable fabrications, however, had not become known to Castleton, solely because of the Englishman'sobtuseness. And there was another thing much stranger than this andquite as amusing. Dorothy Coombs knew Monty was a liar; but she wasso fascinated by the glittering, basilisk eyes he riveted upon her, sotaken in by his horrible tales of blood, that despite her knowledge shecould not help believing them. 

Manifestly Monty was very proud of his suddenly acquired gift. Formerlyhe had hardly been known to open his lips in the presence of strangers. Monty had developed more than one singular and hitherto unknown traitsince his supremacy at golf had revealed his possibilities. He wasas sober and vain and pompous about his capacity for lying as aboutanything else. Some of the cowboys were jealous of him because he heldthe attention and, apparently, the admiration of the ladies; and Nelswas jealous, not because Monty made himself out to be a wonderfulgun-man, but because Monty could tell a story. Nels really had been thehero of a hundred fights; he had never been known to talk about them;but Dorothy's eyes and Helen's smile had somehow upset his modesty. Whenever Monty would begin to talk Nels would growl and knock his pipeon a log, and make it appear he could not stay and listen, though henever really left the charmed circle of the camp-fire. Wild horses couldnot have dragged him away. 

One evening at twilight, as Madeline was leaving her tent, sheencountered Monty. Evidently, he had way-laid her. With the mostmysterious of signs and whispers he led her a little aside. 

"Miss Hammond, I'm makin' bold to ask a favor of you, " he said. 

Madeline smiled her willingness. 

"To-night, when they've all shot off their chins an' it's quiet-like, I want you to ask me, jest this way, 'Monty, seein' as you've hed moreadventures than all them cow-punchers put together, tell us about themost turrible time you ever hed. ' Will you ask me, Miss Hammond, jestkinda sincere like?"

"Certainly I will, Monty, " she replied. 

His dark, seared face had no more warmth than a piece of cold, volcanicrock, which it resembled. Madeline appreciated how monstrous Dorothyfound this burned and distorted visage, how deformed the little manlooked to a woman of refined sensibilities. It was difficult forMadeline to look into his face. But she saw behind the blackened mask. And now she saw in Monty's deep eyes a spirit of pure fun. 

So, true to her word, Madeline remembered at an opportune moment, whenconversation had hushed and only the long, dismal wail of coyotes brokethe silence, to turn toward the little cowboy. 

"Monty, " she said, and paused for effect--"Monty, seeing that you havehad more adventures than all the cowboys together, tell us about themost terrible time you ever had. "

Monty appeared startled at the question that fastened all eyes upon him. He waved a deprecatory hand. 

"Aw, Miss Hammond, thankin' you all modest-like fer the compliment, I'llhev to refuse, " replied Monty, laboring in distress. "It's too harrowin'fer tender-hearted gurls to listen to. "

"Go on?" cried everybody except the cowboys. Nels began to nod his headas if he, as well as Monty, understood human nature. Dorothy hugged herknees with a kind of shudder. Monty had fastened the hypnotic eyes uponher. Castleton ceased smoking, adjusted his eyeglass, and prepared tolisten in great earnestness. 

Monty changed his seat to one where the light from the blazing logsfell upon his face; and he appeared plunged into melancholy and profoundthought. 

"Now I tax myself, I can't jest decide which was the orfulest time Iever hed, " he said, reflectively. 

Here Nels blew forth an immense cloud of smoke, as if he desired to hidehimself from sight. Monty pondered, and then when the smoke rolled awayhe turned to Nels. 

"See hyar, old pard, me an' you seen somethin' of each other in thePanhandle, more 'n thirty years ago--"

"Which we didn't, " interrupted Nels, bluntly. "Shore you can't make meout an ole man. "

"Mebbe it wasn't so darn long. Anyhow, Nels, you recollect them threehoss-thieves I hung all on one cottonwood-tree, an' likewise thetboo-tiful blond gurl I rescooed from a band of cutthroats who murderedher paw, ole Bill Warren, the buffalo-hunter? Now, which of them twoscraps was the turriblest, in your idee?"

"Monty, my memory's shore bad, " replied the unimpeachable Nels. 

"Tell us about the beautiful blonde, " cried at least three of theladies. Dorothy, who had suffered from nightmare because of a formerstory of hanging men on trees, had voicelessly appealed to Monty tospare her more of that. 

"All right, we'll hev the blond gurl, " said Monty, settling back, "though I ain't thinkin' her story is most turrible of the two, an'it'll rake over tender affections long slumberin' in my breast. "

As he paused there came a sharp, rapping sound. This appeared to be Nelsknocking the ashes out of his pipe on a stump--a true indication of thepassing of content from that jealous cowboy. 

"It was down in the Panhandle, 'way over in the west end of thetComanche huntin'-ground, an' all the redskins an' outlaws in thetcountry were hidin' in the river-bottoms, an' chasin' some of the lastbuffalo herds thet hed wintered in there. I was a young buck them days, an' purty much of a desperado, I'm thinkin'. Though of all the seventeennotches on my gun--an' each notch meant a man killed face to face--therewas only one thet I was ashamed of. Thet one was fer an expressmessenger who I hit on the head most unprofessional like, jest becausehe wouldn't hand over a leetle package. I hed the kind of a reputashunthet made all the fellers in saloons smile an' buy drinks. 

"Well, I dropped into a place named Taylor's Bend, an' was peacefulstandin' to the bar when three cow-punchers come in, an', me bein' withmy back turned, they didn't recognize me an' got playful. I didn't stopdrinkin', an' I didn't turn square round; but when I stopped shootin'under my arm the saloon-keeper hed to go over to the sawmill an' fetcha heap of sawdust to cover up what was left of them three cow-punchers, after they was hauled out. You see, I was rough them days, an' wouldshoot ears off an' noses off an' hands off; when in later days I'd jestkill a man quick, same as Wild Bill. 

"News drifts into town thet night thet a gang of cut-throats hedmurdered ole Bill Warren an' carried off his gurl. I gathers up a fewgood gun-men, an' we rid out an' down the river-bottom, to an ole logcabin, where the outlaws hed a rondevoo. We rid up boldlike, an' made ahell of a racket. Then the gang began to throw lead from the cabin, an'we all hunted cover. Fightin' went on all night. In the mornin' all myoutfit was killed but two, an' they was shot up bad. We fought all daywithout eatin' or drinkin', except some whisky I hed, an' at night I wason the job by my lonesome. 

"Bein' bunged up some myself, I laid off an' went down to the river towash the blood off, tie up my wounds, an' drink a leetle. While I wasdown there along comes one of the cutthroats with a bucket. Instead ofgettin' water he got lead, an' as he was about to croak he tells me awhole bunch of outlaws was headin' in there, doo to-morrer. An' if Iwanted to rescoo the gurl I hed to be hurryin'. There was five fellersleft in the cabin. 

"I went back to the thicket where I hed left my hoss, an' loaded up withtwo more guns an' another belt, an' busted a fresh box of shells. If Irecollect proper, I got some cigarettes, too. Well, I mozied back to thecabin. It was a boo-tiful moonshiny night, an' I wondered if ole Bill'sgun was as purty as I'd heerd. The grass growed long round the cabin, an' I crawled up to the door without startin' anythin'. Then I figgered. There was only one door in thet cabin, an' it was black dark inside. Ijest grabbed open the door an' slipped in quick. It worked all right. They heerd me, but hedn't been quick enough to ketch me in the light ofthe door. Of course there was some shots, but I ducked too quick, an'changed my position. 

"Ladies an' gentlemen, thet there was some dool by night. An' I wasn'toften in the place where they shot. I was most wonderful patient, an'jest waited until one of them darned ruffians would get so nervous he'dhev to hunt me up. When mornin' come there they was all piled up onthe floor, all shot to pieces. I found the gurl. Purty! Say, she wasboo-tiful. We went down to the river, where she begun to bathe mywounds. I'd collected a dozen more or so, an' the sight of tears in herlovely eyes, an' my blood a-stainin' of her little hands, jest nat'rallywakened a trembly spell in my heart. I seen she was took the same way, an' thet settled it. 

"We was comin' up from the river, an' I hed jest straddled my hoss, withthe gurl behind, when we run right into thet cutthroat gang thet wasdoo about then. Bein' some handicapped, I couldn't drop more 'n onegun-round of them, an' then I hed to slope. The whole gang folleredme, an' some miles out chased me over a ridge right into a big herd ofbuffalo. Before I knowed what was what thet herd broke into a stampede, with me in the middle. Purty soon the buffalo closed in tight. I knowedI was in some peril then. But the gurl trusted me somethin' pitiful. Iseen again thet she hed fell in love with me. I could tell from the wayshe hugged me an' yelled. Before long I was some put to it to keep myhoss on his feet. Far as I could see was dusty, black, bobbin', shaggyhumps. A huge cloud of dust went along over our heads. The roar oftramplin' hoofs was turrible. My hoss weakened, went down, an' wascarried along a leetle while I slipped off with the gurl on to the backsof the buffalo. 

"Ladies, I ain't denyin' that then Monty Price was some scairt. Fusttime in my life! But the trustin' face of thet boo-tiful gurl, as shelay in my arms an' hugged me an' yelled, made my spirit leap like ashootin' star. I just began to jump from buffalo to buffalo. I must hevjumped a mile of them bobbin' backs before I come to open places. An'here's where I performed the greatest stunts of my life. I hed on mybig spurs, an' I jest sit down an' rid an' spurred till thet perticklerbuffalo I was on got near another, an' then I'd flop over. Thusly I gotto the edge of the herd, tumbled off'n the last one, an' rescooed thegurl. 

"Well, as my memory takes me back, thet was a most affectin' walk hometo the little town where she lived. But she wasn't troo to me, an'married another feller. I was too much a sport to kill him. But thetlow-down trick rankled in my breast. Gurls is strange. I've neverstopped wonderin' how any gurl who has been hugged an' kissed by one mancould marry another. But matoor experience teaches me thet sich is thecase. "

The cowboys roared; Helen and Mrs. Beck and Edith laughed till theycried; Madeline found repression absolutely impossible; Dorothy sathugging her knees, her horror at the story no greater than at Monty'sunmistakable reference to her and to the fickleness of women;and Castleton for the first time appeared to be moved out of hisimperturbability, though not in any sense by humor. Indeed, when he cameto notice it, he was dumfounded by the mirth. 

"By Jove! you Americans are an extraordinary people, " he said. "I don'tsee anything blooming funny in Mr. Price's story of his adventure. ByJove! that was a bally warm occasion. Mr. Price, when you speak of beingfrightened for the only time in your life, I appreciate what you mean. Ihave experienced that. I was frightened once. "

"Dook, I wouldn't hev thought it of you, " replied Monty. "I'm suretolerable curious to hear about it. "

Madeline and her friends dared not break the spell, for fear that theEnglishman might hold to his usual modest reticence. He had exploredin Brazil, seen service in the Boer War, hunted in India andAfrica--matters of experience of which he never spoke. Upon thisoccasion, however, evidently taking Monty's recital word for word asliteral truth, and excited by it into a Homeric mood, he might tell astory. The cowboys almost fell upon their knees in their importunity. There was a suppressed eagerness in their solicitations, a hint ofsomething that meant more than desire, great as it was, to hear a storytold by an English lord. Madeline divined instantly that the cowboyshad suddenly fancied that Castleton was not the dense and easily fooledperson they had made such game of; that he had played his part well;that he was having fun at their expense; that he meant to tell a story, a lie which would simply dwarf Monty's. Nels's keen, bright expectationsuggested how he would welcome the joke turned upon Monty. The slowclosing of Monty's cavernous smile, the gradual sinking of his proudbearing, the doubt with which he began to regard Castleton--these wereproofs of his fears. 

"I have faced charging tigers and elephants in India, and chargingrhinos and lions in Africa, " began Castleton, his quick and fluentspeech so different from the drawl of his ordinary conversation; "but Inever was frightened but once. It will not do to hunt those wild beastsif you are easily balled up. This adventure I have in mind happened inBritish East Africa, in Uganda. I was out with safari, and we were in anative district much infested by man-eating lions. Perhaps I may as wellstate that man-eaters are very different from ordinary lions. They arealways matured beasts, and sometimes--indeed, mostly--are old. Theybecome man-eaters most likely by accident or necessity. When old theyfind it more difficult to make a kill, being slower, probably, and withpoorer teeth. Driven by hunger, they stalk and kill a native, and, oncehaving tasted human blood, they want no other. They become absolutelyfearless and terrible in their attacks. 

"The natives of this village near where we camped were in a terrorizedstate owing to depredations of two or more man-eaters. The night ofour arrival a lion leaped a stockade fence, seized a native fromamong others sitting round a fire, and leaped out again, carrying thescreaming fellow away into the darkness. I determined to kill theselions, and made a permanent camp in the village for that purpose. Byday I sent beaters into the brush and rocks of the river-valley, andby night I watched. Every night the lions visited us, but I did not seeone. I discovered that when they roared around the camp they were not soliable to attack as when they were silent. It was indeed remarkable howsilently they could stalk a man. They could creep through a thicketso dense you would not believe a rabbit could get through, and do itwithout the slightest sound. Then, when ready to charge, they did sowith terrible onslaught and roar. They leaped right into a circle offires, tore down huts, even dragged natives from the low trees. Therewas no way to tell at which point they would make an attack. 

"After ten days or more of this I was worn out by loss of sleep. And onenight, when tired out with watching, I fell asleep. My gun-bearerwas alone in the tent with me. A terrible roar awakened me, then anunearthly scream pierced right into my ears. I always slept with myrifle in my hands, and, grasping it, I tried to rise. But I could notfor the reason that a lion was standing over me. Then I lay still. Thescreams of my gun-bearer told me that the lion had him. I was fond ofthis fellow and wanted to save him. I thought it best, however, not tomove while the lion stood over me. Suddenly he stepped, and I felt poorLuki's feet dragging across me. He screamed, 'Save me, master!' Andinstinctively I grasped at him and caught his foot. The lion walked outof the tent dragging me as I held to Luki's foot. The night was brightmoonlight. I could see the lion distinctly. He was a huge, black-manedbrute, and he held Luki by the shoulder. The poor lad kept screamingfrightfully. The man-eater must have dragged me forty yards before hebecame aware of a double incumbrance to his progress. Then he haltedand turned. By Jove! he made a devilish fierce object with his shaggy, massive head, his green-fire eyes, and his huge jaws holding Luki. I letgo of Luki's foot and bethought myself of the gun. But as I lay there onmy side, before attempting to rise, I made a horrible discovery. I didnot have my rifle at all. I had Luki's iron spear, which he always hadnear him. My rifle had slipped out of the hollow of my arm, and when thelion awakened me, in my confusion I picked up Luki's spear instead. Thebloody brute dropped Luki and uttered a roar that shook the ground. Itwas then I felt frightened. For an instant I was almost paralyzed. The lion meant to charge, and in one spring he could reach me. Undercircumstances like those a man can think many things in little time. Iknew to try to run would be fatal. I remembered how strangely lions hadbeen known to act upon occasion. One had been frightened by an umbrella;one had been frightened by a blast from a cow-horn; another had beenfrightened by a native who in running from one lion ran right at theother which he had not seen. Accordingly, I wondered if I could frightenthe lion that meant to leap at me. Acting upon wild impulse, I proddedhim in the hind quarters with the spear. Ladies and gentlemen, I am ablooming idiot if that lion did not cower like a whipped dog, put histail down, and begin to slink away. Quick to see my chance, I jumpedup yelling, and made after him, prodding him again. He let out a bellowsuch as you could imagine would come from an outraged king of beasts. I prodded again, and then he loped off. I found Luki not badly hurt. Infact, he got well. But I've never forgotten that scare. "

When Castleton finished his narrative there was a trenchant silence. Alleyes were upon Monty. He looked beaten, disgraced, a disgusted man. Yetthere shone from his face a wonderful admiration for Castleton. 

"Dook, you win!" he said; and, dropping his head, he left the camp-firecircle with the manner of a deposed emperor. 

Then the cowboys exploded. The quiet, serene, low-voiced Nels yelledlike a madman and he stood upon his head. All the other cowboys wentthrough marvelous contortions. Mere noise was insufficient to relievetheir joy at what they considered the fall and humiliation of the tyrantMonty. 

The Englishman stood there and watched them in amused consternation. They baffled his understanding. Plain it was to Madeline and her friendsthat Castleton had told the simple truth. But never on the earth, oranywhere else, could Nels and his comrades have been persuaded thatCastleton had not lied deliberately to humble their great exponent ofAnanias. 

Everybody seemed reluctant to break the camp-fire spell. The logs hadburned out to a great heap of opal and gold and red coals, in the heartof which quivered a glow alluring to the spirit of dreams. As the blazesubsided the shadows of the pines encroached darker and darker upon thecircle of fading light. A cool wind fanned the embers, whipped up flakesof white ashes, and moaned through the trees. The wild yelps of coyoteswere dying in the distance, and the sky was a wonderful dark-blue domespangled with white stars. 

"What a perfect night!" said Madeline. "This is a night to understandthe dream, the mystery, the wonder of the Southwest. Florence, for longyou have promised to tell us the story of the lost mine of the padres. It will give us all pleasure, make us understand something of the thrallin which this land held the Spaniards who discovered it so many yearsago. It will be especially interesting now, because this mountain hidessomewhere under its crags the treasures of the lost mine of the padres. "

 *****

"In the sixteenth century, " Florence began, in her soft, slow voice sosuited to the nature of the legend, "a poor young padre of New Spain wasshepherding his goats upon a hill when the Virgin appeared before him. He prostrated himself at her feet, and when he looked up she was gone. But upon the maguey plant near where she had stood there were goldenashes of a strange and wonderful substance. He took the incident as agood omen and went again to the hilltop. Under the maguey had sprungup slender stalks of white, bearing delicate gold flowers, and as theseflowers waved in the wind a fine golden dust, as fine as powdered ashes, blew away toward the north. Padre Juan was mystified, but believed thatgreat fortune attended upon him and his poor people. So he went againand again to the hilltop in hope that the Virgin would appear to him. 

"One morning, as the sun rose gloriously, he looked across the windyhill toward the waving grass and golden flowers under the maguey, andhe saw the Virgin beckoning to him. Again he fell upon his knees; butshe lifted him and gave him of the golden flowers, and bade him leavehis home and people to follow where these blowing golden ashes led. There he would find gold--pure gold--wonderful fortune to bring back tohis poor people to build a church for them, and a city. 

"Padre Juan took the flowers and left his home, promising to return, and he traveled northward over the hot and dusty desert, through themountain passes, to a new country where fierce and warlike Indiansmenaced his life. He was gentle and good, and of a persuasive speech. Moreover, he was young and handsome of person. The Indians were Apaches, and among them he became a missionary, while always he was searching forthe flowers of gold. He heard of gold lying in pebbles upon the mountainslopes, but he never found any. A few of the Apaches he converted; themost of them, however, were prone to be hostile to him and his religion. But Padre Juan prayed and worked on. 

"There came a time when the old Apache chief, imagining the padre haddesigns upon his influence with the tribe, sought to put him to deathby fire. The chief's daughter, a beautiful, dark-eyed maiden, secretlyloved Juan and believed in his mission, and she interceded for hislife and saved him. Juan fell in love with her. One day she came tohim wearing golden flowers in her dark hair, and as the wind blew theflowers a golden dust blew upon it. Juan asked her where to find suchflowers, and she told him that upon a certain day she would take himto the mountain to look for them. And upon the day she led up to themountain-top from which they could see beautiful valleys and great treesand cool waters. There at the top of a wonderful slope that looked downupon the world, she showed Juan the flowers. And Juan found gold in suchabundance that he thought he would go out of his mind. Dust of gold!Grains of gold! Pebbles of gold! Rocks of gold! He was rich beyond alldreams. He remembered the Virgin and her words. He must return to hispeople and build their church, and the great city that would bear hisname. 

"But Juan tarried. Always he was going manana. He loved the dark-eyedApache girl so well that he could not leave her. He hated himself forhis infidelity to his Virgin, to his people. He was weak and false, a sinner. But he could not go, and he gave himself up to love of theIndian maiden. 

"The old Apache chief discovered the secret love of his daughter and thepadre. And, fierce in his anger, he took her up into the mountains andburned her alive and cast her ashes upon the wind. He did not kill PadreJuan. He was too wise, and perhaps too cruel, for he saw the strengthof Juan's love. Besides, many of his tribe had learned much from theSpaniard. 

"Padre Juan fell into despair. He had no desire to live. He faded andwasted away. But before he died he went to the old Indians who hadburned the maiden, and he begged them, when he was dead, to burn hisbody and to cast his ashes to the wind from that wonderful slope, where they would blow away to mingle forever with those of his Indiansweetheart. 

"The Indians promised, and when Padre Juan died they burned his body andtook his ashes to the mountain heights and cast them to the wind, wherethey drifted and fell to mix with the ashes of the Indian girl he hadloved. 

"Years passed. More padres traveled across the desert to the home ofthe Apaches, and they heard the story of Juan. Among their number wasa padre who in his youth had been one of Juan's people. He set forth tofind Juan's grave, where he believed he would also find the gold. And hecame back with pebbles of gold and flowers that shed a golden dust, and he told a wonderful story. He had climbed and climbed into themountains, and he had come to a wonderful slope under the crags. Thatslope was yellow with golden flowers. When he touched them golden ashesdrifted from them and blew down among the rocks. There the padre founddust of gold, grains of gold, pebbles of gold, rocks of gold. 

"Then all the padres went into the mountains. But the discoverer of themine lost his way. They searched and searched until they were old andgray, but never found the wonderful slope and flowers that marked thegrave and the mine of Padre Juan. 

"In the succeeding years the story was handed down from father to son. But of the many who hunted for the lost mine of the padres there wasnever a Mexican or an Apache. For the Apache the mountain slopes werehaunted by the spirit of an Indian maiden who had been false to hertribe and forever accursed. For the Mexican the mountain slopes werehaunted by the spirit of the false padre who rolled stones upon theheads of those adventurers who sought to find his grave and his accursedgold. "

XVIII. Bonita

Florence's story of the lost mine fired Madeline's guests with thefever for gold-hunting. But after they had tried it a few times and theglamour of the thing wore off they gave up and remained in camp. Havingexhausted all the resources of the mountain, such that had interest forthem, they settled quietly down for a rest, which Madeline knew wouldsoon end in a desire for civilized comforts. They were almost tiredof roughing it. Helen's discontent manifested itself in her remark, "Iguess nothing is going to happen, after all. "

Madeline awaited their pleasure in regard to the breaking of camp; andmeanwhile, as none of them cared for more exertion, she took her walkswithout them, sometimes accompanied by one of the cowboys, always by thestag-hounds. These walks furnished her exceeding pleasure. And, nowthat the cowboys would talk to her without reserve, she grew fonder oflistening to their simple stories. The more she knew of them the moreshe doubted the wisdom of shut-in lives. Companionship with Nels andmost of the cowboys was in its effect like that of the rugged pinesand crags and the untainted wind. Humor, their predominant trait whena person grew to know them, saved Madeline from finding their hardnesstrying. They were dreamers, as all men who lived lonely lives in thewilds were dreamers. 

The cowboys all had secrets. Madeline learned some of them. She marveledmost at the strange way in which they hid emotions, except of violenceof mirth and temper so easily aroused. It was all the more remarkablein view of the fact that they felt intensely over little things to whichmen of the world were blind and dead. Madeline had to believe that ahard and perilous life in a barren and wild country developed greatprinciples in men. Living close to earth, under the cold, bleak peaks, on the dust-veiled desert, men grew like the nature that developedthem--hard, fierce, terrible, perhaps, but big--big with elementalforce. 

But one day, while out walking alone, before she realized it she hadgone a long way down a dim trail winding among the rocks. It was themiddle of a summer afternoon, and all about her were shadows of thecrags crossing the sunlit patches. The quiet was undisturbed. She wenton and on, not blind to the fact that she was perhaps going too far fromcamp, but risking it because she was sure of her way back, and enjoyingthe wild, craggy recesses that were new to her. Finally she came outupon a bank that broke abruptly into a beautiful little glade. Here shesat down to rest before undertaking the return trip. 

Suddenly Russ, the keener of the stag-hounds, raised his head andgrowled. Madeline feared he might have scented a mountain-lion orwildcat. She quieted him and carefully looked around. To each side wasan irregular line of massive blocks of stone that had weathered fromthe crags. The little glade was open and grassy, with here a pine-tree, there a boulder. The outlet seemed to go down into a wilderness ofcanyons and ridges. Looking in this direction, Madeline saw the slight, dark figure of a woman coming stealthily along under the pines. Madelinewas amazed, then a little frightened, for that stealthy walk from treeto tree was suggestive of secrecy, if nothing worse. 

Presently the woman was joined by a tall man who carried a package, which he gave to her. They came on up the glade and appeared to betalking earnestly. In another moment Madeline recognized Stewart. Shehad no greater feeling of surprise than had at first been hers. But forthe next moment she scarcely thought at all--merely watched the coupleapproaching. In a flash came back her former curiosity as to Stewart'sstrange absences from camp, and then with the return of her doubt of himthe recognition of the woman. The small, dark head, the brown face, the big eyes--Madeline now saw distinctly--belonged to the Mexican girlBonita. Stewart had met her there. This was the secret of his lonelytrips, taken ever since he had come to work for Madeline. This secludedglade was a rendezvous. He had her hidden there. 

Quietly Madeline arose, with a gesture to the dogs, and went back alongthe trail toward camp. Succeeding her surprise was a feeling of sorrowthat Stewart's regeneration had not been complete. Sorrow gave placeto insufferable distrust that while she had been romancing about thiscowboy, dreaming of her good influence over him, he had been merelybase. Somehow it stung her. Stewart had been nothing to her, shethought, yet she had been proud of him. She tried to revolve the thing, to be fair to him, when every instinctive tendency was to expel him, andall pertaining to him, from her thoughts. And her effort at sympathy, atextenuation, failed utterly before her pride. Exerting her will-power, she dismissed Stewart from her mind. 

Madeline did not think of him again till late that afternoon, when, asshe was leaving her tent to join several of her guests, Stewart appearedsuddenly in her path. 

"Miss Hammond, I saw your tracks down the trail, " he began, eagerly, buthis tone was easy and natural. "I'm thinking--well, maybe you sure gotthe idea--"

"I do not wish for an explanation, " interrupted Madeline. 

Stewart gave a slight start. His manner had a semblance of the old, coolaudacity. As he looked down at her it subtly changed. 

What effrontery, Madeline thought, to face her before her guests withan explanation of his conduct! Suddenly she felt an inward flash of firethat was pain, so strange, so incomprehensible, that her mind whirled. Then anger possessed her, not at Stewart, but at herself, that anythingcould rouse in her a raw emotion. She stood there, outwardly cold, serene, with level, haughty eyes upon Stewart; but inwardly she wasburning with rage and shame. 

"I'm sure not going to have you think--" He began passionately, but hebroke off, and a slow, dull crimson blotted over the healthy red-brownof his neck and cheeks. 

"What you do or think, Stewart, is no concern of mine. "

"Miss--Miss Hammond! You don't believe--" faltered Stewart. 

The crimson receded from his face, leaving it pale. His eyes wereappealing. They had a kind of timid look that struck Madeline even inher anger. There was something boyish about him then. He took a stepforward and reached out with his hand open-palmed in a gesture that washumble, yet held a certain dignity. 

"But listen. Never mind now what you--you think about me. There's a goodreason--"

"I have no wish to hear your reason. "

"But you ought to, " he persisted. 

"Sir!"

Stewart underwent another swift change. He started violently. A darktide shaded his face and a glitter leaped to his eyes. He took two longstrides--loomed over her. 

"I'm not thinking about myself, " he thundered. "Will you listen?"

"No, " she replied; and there was freezing hauteur in her voice. With aslight gesture of dismissal, unmistakable in its finality, she turnedher back upon him. Then she joined her guests. 

Stewart stood perfectly motionless. Then slowly he began to lift hisright hand in which he held his sombrero. He swept it up and up highover his head. His tall form towered. With fierce suddenness he flunghis sombrero down. He leaped at his black horse and dragged him to wherehis saddle lay. With one pitch he tossed the saddle upon the horse'sback. His strong hands flashed at girths and straps. Every action wasswift, decisive, fierce. Bounding for his bridle, which hung overa bush, he ran against a cowboy who awkwardly tried to avoid theonslaught. 

"Get out of my way!" he yelled. 

Then with the same savage haste he adjusted the bridle on his horse. 

"Mebbe you better hold on a minnit, Gene, ole feller, " said Monty Price. 

"Monty, do you want me to brain you?" said Stewart, with the short, hardring in his voice. 

"Now, considerin' the high class of my brains, I oughter be real carefulto keep 'em, " replied Monty. "You can betcher life, Gene, I ain't goin'to git in front of you. But I jest says--Listen!"

Stewart raised his dark face. Everybody listened. And everybody heardthe rapid beat of a horse's hoofs. The sun had set, but the park waslight. Nels appeared down the trail, and his horse was running. Inanother moment he was in the circle, pulling his bay back to a slidinghalt. He leaped off abreast of Stewart. 

Madeline saw and felt a difference in Nels's presence. 

"What's up, Gene?" he queried, sharply. 

"I'm leaving camp, " replied Stewart, thickly. His black horse began tostamp as Stewart grasped bridle and mane and kicked the stirrup round. 

Nels's long arm shot out, and his hand fell upon Stewart, holding himdown. 

"Shore I'm sorry, " said Nels, slowly. "Then you was goin' to hit thetrail?"

"I am going to. Let go, Nels. "

"Shore you ain't goin', Gene?"

"Let go, damn you!" cried Stewart, as he wrestled free. 

"What's wrong?" asked Nels, lifting his hand again. 

"Man! Don't touch me!"

Nels stepped back instantly. He seemed to become aware of Stewart'swhite, wild passion. Again Stewart moved to mount. 

"Nels, don't make me forget we've been friends, " he said. 

"Shore I ain't fergettin', " replied Nels. "An' I resign my job righthere an' now!"

His strange speech checked the mounting cowboy. Stewart stepped downfrom the stirrup. Then their hard faces were still and cold while theireyes locked glances. 

Madeline was as much startled by Nels's speech as Stewart. Quick to notea change in these men, she now sensed one that was unfathomable. 

"Resign?" questioned Stewart. 

"Shore. What 'd you think I'd do under circumstances sich as has comeup?"

"But see here, Nels, I won't stand for it. "

"You're not my boss no more, an' I ain't beholdin' to Miss Hammond, neither. I'm my own boss, an' I'll do as I please. Sabe, senor?"

Nels's words were at variance with the meaning in his face. 

"Gene, you sent me on a little scout down in the mountains, didn't you?"he continued. 

"Yes, I did, " replied Stewart, with a new sharpness in his voice. 

"Wal, shore you was so good an' right in your figgerin', as opposed tomine, that I'm sick with admirin' of you. If you hedn't sent me--wal, I'm reckonin' somethin' might hev happened. As it is we're shore upagainst a hell of a proposition!"

How significant was the effect of his words upon all the cowboys!Stewart made a fierce and violent motion, terrible where his othermotions had been but passionate. Monty leaped straight up into theair in a singular action as suggestive of surprise as it was of wildacceptance of menace. Like a stalking giant Nick Steele strode over toNels and Stewart. The other cowboys rose silently, without a word. 

Madeline and her guests, in a little group, watched and listened, unableto divine what all this strange talk and action meant. 

"Hold on, Nels, they don't need to hear it, " said Stewart, hoarsely, ashe waved a hand toward Madeline's silent group. 

"Wal, I'm sorry, but I reckon they'd as well know fust as last. Mebbethet yearnin' wish of Miss Helen's fer somethin' to happen will cometrue. Shore I--"

"Cut out the joshin', " rang out Monty's strident voice. 

It had as decided an effect as any preceding words or action. Perhapsit was the last thing needed to transform these men, doing unaccustomedduty as escorts of beautiful women, to their natural state as men of thewild. 

"Tell us what's what, " said Stewart, cool and grim. 

"Don Carlos an' his guerrillas are campin' on the trails thet leadup here. They've got them trails blocked. By to-morrer they'd hed uscorralled. Mebbe they meant to surprise us. He's got a lot of Greasersan' outlaws. They're well armed. Now what do they mean? You-all canfigger it out to suit yourselves. Mebbe the Don wants to pay a sociablecall on our ladies. Mebbe his gang is some hungry, as usual. Mebbe theywant to steal a few hosses, or anythin' they can lay hands on. Mebbethey mean wuss, too. Now my idee is this, an' mebbe it's wrong. I longsince separated from love with Greasers. Thet black-faced Don Carlos hasgot a deep game. Thet two-bit of a revolution is hevin' hard times. The rebels want American intervention. They'd stretch any point to maketrouble. We're only ten miles from the border. Suppose them guerrillasgot our crowd across thet border? The U. S. Cavalry would foller. You-all know what thet'd mean. Mebbe Don Carlos's mind works thet way. Mebbe it don't. I reckon we'll know soon. An' now, Stewart, whatever theDon's game is, shore you're the man to outfigger him. Mebbe it's just aswell you're good an' mad about somethin'. An' I resign my job because Iwant to feel unbeholdin' to anybody. Shore it struck me long since thetthe old days hed come back fer a little spell, an' there I was trailin'a promise not to hurt any Greaser. "

XIX. Don Carlos

Stewart took Nels, Monty, and Nick Steele aside out of earshot, and theyevidently entered upon an earnest colloquy. Presently the other cowboyswere called. They all talked more or less, but the deep voice of Stewartpredominated over the others. Then the consultation broke up, and thecowboys scattered. 

"Rustle, you Indians!" ordered Stewart. 

The ensuing scene of action was not reassuring to Madeline and herfriends. They were quiet, awaiting some one to tell them what to do. Atthe offset the cowboys appeared to have forgotten Madeline. Some of themran off into the woods, others into the open, grassy places, where theyrounded up the horses and burros. Several cowboys spread tarpaulinsupon the ground and began to select and roll small packs, evidently forhurried travel. Nels mounted his horse to ride down the trail. Montyand Nick Steele went off into the grove, leading their horses. Stewartclimbed up a steep jumble of stone between two sections of low, crackedcliff back of the camp. 

Castleton offered to help the packers, and was curtly told he wouldbe in the way. Madeline's friends all importuned her: Was there realdanger? Were the guerrillas coming? Would a start be made at once forthe ranch? Why had the cowboys suddenly become so different? Madelineanswered as best she could; but her replies were only conjecture, andmodified to allay the fears of her guests. Helen was in a white glow ofexcitement. 

Soon cowboys appeared riding barebacked horses, driving in others andthe burros. Some of these horses were taken away and evidently hiddenin deep recesses between the crags. The string of burros were packedand sent off down the trail in charge of a cowboy. Nick Steele and Montyreturned. Then Stewart appeared, clambering down the break between thecliffs. 

His next move was to order all the baggage belonging to Madeline and herguests taken up the cliff. This was strenuous toil, requiring the needof lassoes to haul up the effects. 

"Get ready to climb, " said Stewart, turning to Madelines party. 

"Where?" asked Helen. 

He waved his hand at the ascent to be made. Exclamations of dismayfollowed his gesture. 

"Mr. Stewart, is there danger?" asked Dorothy; and her voice trembled. 

This was the question Madeline had upon her lips to ask Stewart, but shecould not speak it. 

"No, there's no danger, " replied Stewart, "but we're taking precautionswe all agreed on as best. "

Dorothy whispered that she believed Stewart lied. Castleton askedanother question, and then Harvey followed suit. Mrs. Beck made a timidquery. 

"Please keep quiet and do as you're told, " said Stewart, bluntly. 

At this juncture, when the last of the baggage was being hauled up thecliff, Monty approached Madeline and removed his sombrero. His blackface seemed the same, yet this was a vastly changed Monty. 

"Miss Hammond, I'm givin' notice I resign my job, " he said. 

"Monty! What do you mean? What does Nels mean now, when dangerthreatens?"

"We jest quit. Thet's all, " replied Monty, tersely. He was stern andsomber; he could not stand still; his eyes roved everywhere. 

Castleton jumped up from the log where he had been sitting, and his facewas very red. 

"Mr. Price, does all this blooming fuss mean we are to be robbed orattacked or abducted by a lot of ragamuffin guerrillas?"

"You've called the bet. "

Dorothy turned a very pale face toward Monty. 

"Mr. Price, you wouldn't--you couldn't desert us now? You and Mr. Nels--"

"Desert you?" asked Monty, blankly. 

"Yes, desert us. Leave us when we may need you so much, with somethingdreadful coming. "

Monty uttered a short, hard laugh as he bent a strange look upon thegirl. 

"Me an' Nels is purty much scared, an' we're goin' to slope. MissDorothy, bein' as we've rustled round so much; it sorta hurts us to seenice young girls dragged off by the hair. "

Dorothy uttered a little cry and then became hysterical. Castleton foronce was fully aroused. 

"By Gad! You and your partner are a couple of blooming cowards. Wherenow is that courage you boasted of?"

Monty's dark face expressed extreme sarcasm. 

"Dook, in my time I've seen some bright fellers, but you take thecake. It's most marvelous how bright you are. Figger'n' me an' Nels socorrect. Say, Dook, if you don't git rustled off to Mexico an' roped toa cactus-bush you'll hev a swell story fer your English chums. BahJove! You'll tell 'em how you seen two old-time gun-men run like scaredjack-rabbits from a lot of Greasers. Like hell you will! Unless youlie like the time you told about proddin' the lion. That there storyallus--"

"Monty, shut up!" yelled Stewart, as he came hurriedly up. Then Montyslouched away, cursing to himself. 

Madeline and Helen, assisted by Castleton, worked over Dorothy, andwith some difficulty quieted her. Stewart passed several times withoutnoticing them, and Monty, who had been so ridiculously eager to payevery little attention to Dorothy, did not see her at all. Rude itseemed; in Monty's ease more than that. Madeline hardly knew what tomake of it. 

Stewart directed cowboys to go to the head of the open place in thecliff and let down lassoes. Then, with little waste of words, he urgedthe women toward this rough ladder of stones. 

"We want to hide you, " he said, when they demurred. "If the guerrillascome we'll tell them you've all gone down to the ranch. If we have tofight you'll be safe up there. "

Helen stepped boldly forward and let Stewart put the loop of a lassoround her and tighten it. He waved his hand to the cowboys above. 

"Just walk up, now, " he directed Helen. 

It proved to the watchers to be an easy, safe, and rapid means ofscaling the steep passage. The men climbed up without assistance. Mrs. Beck, as usual, had hysteria; she half walked and was half dragged up. Stewart supported Dorothy with one arm, while with the other he held tothe lasso. Ambrose had to carry Christine. The Mexican women requiredno assistance. Edith Wayne and Madeline climbed last; and, once up, Madeline saw a narrow bench, thick with shrubs, and overshadowed byhuge, leaning crags. There were holes in the rock, and dark fissuresleading back. It was a rough, wild place. Tarpaulins and bedding werethen hauled up, and food and water. The cowboys spread comfortable bedsin several of the caves, and told Madeline and her friends to be asquiet as possible, not to make a light, and to sleep dressed, ready fortravel at a moment's notice. 

After the cowboys had gone down it was not a cheerful group left therein the darkening twilight. Castleton prevailed upon them to eat. 

"This is simply great, " whispered Helen. 

"Oh, it's awful!" moaned Dorothy. "It's your fault, Helen. You prayedfor something to happen. "

"I believe it's a horrid trick those cowboys are playing, " said Mrs. Beck. 

Madeline assured her friends that no trick was being played upon them, and that she deplored the discomfort and distress, but felt no realalarm. She was more inclined to evasive kindness here than to sincerity, for she had a decided uneasiness. The swift change in the manner andlooks of her cowboys had been a shock to her. The last glance she had ofStewart's face, then stern, almost sad, and haggard with worry, remainedto augment her foreboding. 

Darkness appeared to drop swiftly down; the coyotes began theirhaunting, mournful howls; the stars showed and grew brighter; the windmoaned through the tips of the pines. Castleton was restless. He walkedto and fro before the overhanging shelf of rock, where his companionssat lamenting, and presently he went out to the ledge of the bench. Thecowboys below had built a fire, and the light from it rose in a huge, fan-shaped glow. Castleton's little figure stood out black against thislight. Curious and anxious also, Madeline joined him and peered downfrom the cliff. The distance was short, and occasionally she coulddistinguish a word spoken by the cowboys. They were unconcernedlycooking and eating. She marked the absence of Stewart, and mentioned itto Castleton. Silently Castleton pointed almost straight down, and therein the gloom stood Stewart, with the two stag-hounds at his feet. 

Presently Nick Steele silenced the camp-fire circle by raising a warninghand. The cowboys bent their heads, listening. Madeline listened withall her might. She heard one of the hounds whine, then the faint beat ofhorse's hoofs. Nick spoke again and turned to his supper, and the othermen seemed to slacken in attention. The beat of hoofs grew louder, entered the grove, then the circle of light. The rider was Nels. Hedismounted, and the sound of his low voice just reached Madeline. 

"Gene, it's Nels. Somethin' doin', " Madeline heard one of the cowboyscall, softly. 

"Send him over, " replied Stewart. 

Nels stalked away from the fire. 

"See here, Nels, the boys are all right, but I don't want them to knoweverything about this mix-up, " said Stewart, as Nels came up. "Did youfind the girl?"

Madeline guessed that Stewart referred to the Mexican girl Bonita. 

"No. But I met"--Madeline did not catch the name--"an' he was wild. Hewas with a forest-ranger. An' they said Pat Hawe had trailed her an' wastakin' her down under arrest. "

Stewart muttered deep under his breath, evidently cursing. 

"Wonder why he didn't come on up here?" he queried, presently. "He cansee a trail. "

"Wal, Gene, Pat knowed you was here all right, fer thet ranger saidPat hed wind of the guerrillas, an' Pat said if Don Carlos didn't killyou--which he hoped he'd do--then it 'd be time enough to put you injail when you come down. "

"He's dead set to arrest me, Nels. "

"An' he'll do it, like the old lady who kept tavern out West. Gene, thereason thet red-faced coyote didn't trail you up here is because he'sscared. He allus was scared of you. But I reckon he's shore scared todeath of me an' Monty. "

"Well, we'll take Pat in his turn. The thing now is, when will thatGreaser stalk us, and what'll we do when he comes?"

"My boy, there's only one way to handle a Greaser. I shore told youthet. He means rough toward us. He'll come smilin' up, all soci'blelike, insinuatin' an' sweeter 'n a woman. But he's treacherous; he'swuss than an Indian. An', Gene, we know for a positive fact how his ganghev been operatin' between these hills an' Agua Prieta. They're no nervygang of outlaws like we used to hev. But they're plumb bad. They'veraided and murdered through the San Luis Pass an' Guadalupe Canyon. They've murdered women, an' wuss than thet, both north an' south of AguaPrieta. Mebbe the U. S. Cavalry don't know it, an' the good old States;but we, you an' me an' Monty an' Nick, we know it. We know jest aboutwhat thet rebel war down there amounts to. It's guerrilla war, an' shoresome harvest-time fer a lot of cheap thieves an' outcasts. "

"Oh, you're right, Nels. I'm not disputing that, " replied Stewart. "Ifit wasn't for Miss Hammond and the other women, I'd rather enjoy seeingyou and Monty open up on that bunch. I'm thinking I'd be glad to meetDon Carlos. But Miss Hammond! Why, Nels, such a woman as she is wouldnever recover from the sight of real gun-play, let alone any stuntswith a rope. These Eastern women are different. I'm not belittling ourWestern women. It's in the blood. Miss Hammond is--is--"

"Shore she is, " interrupted Nels; "but she's got a damn sight more spunkthan you think she has, Gene Stewart. I'm no thick-skulled cow. I'd hatesomethin' powerful to hev Miss Hammond see any rough work, let alone mean' Monty startin' somethin'. An' me an' Monty'll stick to you, Gene, aslong as seems reasonable. Mind, ole feller, beggin' your pardon, you'reshore stuck on Miss Hammond, an' over-tender not to hurt her feelin's ormake her sick by lettin' some blood. We're in bad here, an' mebbe we'llhev to fight. Sabe, senor? Wal, we do you can jest gamble thet MissHammond'll be game. An' I'll bet you a million pesos thet if you gotgoin' onct, an' she seen you as I've seen you--wal, I know what she'dthink of you. This old world ain't changed much. Some women may bewhite-skinned an' soft-eyed an' sweet-voiced an' high-souled, but theyall like to see a man! Gene, here's your game. Let Don Carlos comealong. Be civil. If he an' his gang are hungry, feed 'em. Take even alittle overbearin' Greaser talk. Be blind if he wants his gang to stealsomethin'. Let him think the women hev mosied down to the ranch. Butif he says you're lyin'--if he as much as looks round to see thewomen--jest jump him same as you jumped Pat Hawe. Me an' Monty'll hangback fer thet, an' if your strong bluff don't go through, if the Don'sgang even thinks of flashin' guns, then we'll open up. An' all I got tosay is if them Greasers stand fer real gun-play they'll be the fust Iever seen. "

"Nels, there are white men in that gang, " said Stewart. 

"Shore. But me an' Monty'll be thinkin' of thet. If they start anythin'it'll hev to be shore quick. "

"All right, Nels, old friend, and thanks, " replied Stewart. Nelsreturned to the camp-fire, and Stewart resumed his silent guard. 

Madeline led Castleton away from the brink of the wall. 

"By Jove! Cowboys are blooming strange folk!" he exclaimed. "They arenot what they pretend to be. "

"Indeed, you are right, " replied Madeline. "I cannot understand them. Come, let us tell the others that Nels and Monty were only talking anddo not intend to leave us. Dorothy, at least, will be less frightened ifshe knows. "

Dorothy was somewhat comforted. The others, however, complained of thecowboys' singular behavior. More than once the idea was advanced thatan elaborate trick had been concocted. Upon general discussion this ideagained ground. Madeline did not combat it, because she saw it tended toa less perturbed condition of mind among her guests. Castleton for onceproved that he was not absolutely obtuse, and helped along the idea. 

They sat talking in low voices until a late hour. The incident now beganto take on the nature of Helen's long-yearned-for adventure. Some of theparty even grew merry in a subdued way. Then, gradually, one by one theytired and went to bed. Helen vowed she could not sleep in a place wherethere were bats and crawling things. Madeline fancied, however, thatthey all went to sleep while she lay wide-eyed, staring up at the blackbulge of overhanging rock and beyond the starry sky. 

To keep from thinking of Stewart and the burning anger he had caused herto feel for herself, Madeline tried to keep her mind on other things. But thought of him recurred, and each time there was a hot commotionin her breast hard to stifle. Intelligent reasoning seemed out of herpower. In the daylight it had been possible for her to be oblivious toStewart's deceit after the moment of its realization. At night, however, in the strange silence and hovering shadows of gloom, with the speakingstars seeming to call to her, with the moan of the wind in the pines, and the melancholy mourn of coyotes in the distance, she was not able togovern her thought and emotion. The day was practical, cold; the nightwas strange and tense. In the darkness she had fancies wholly unknown toher in the bright light of the sun. She battled with a haunting thought. She had inadvertently heard Nels's conversation with Stewart; she hadlistened, hoping to hear some good news or to hear the worst; she hadlearned both, and, moreover, enlightenment on one point of Stewart'scomplex motives. He wished to spare her any sight that might offend, frighten, or disgust her. Yet this Stewart, who showed a fineness offeeling that might have been wanting even in Boyd Harvey, maintained asecret rendezvous with that pretty, abandoned Bonita. Here alwaysthe hot shame, like a live, stinging, internal fire, abruptly endedMadeline's thought. It was intolerable, and it was the more so becauseshe could neither control nor understand it. The hours wore on, and atlength, as the stars began to pale and there was no sound whatever, shefell asleep. 

She was called out of her slumber. Day had broken bright and cool. The sun was still below the eastern crags. Ambrose, with several othercowboys, had brought up buckets of spring-water, and hot coffee andcakes. Madeline's party appeared to be none the worse for the night'sexperience. Indeed, the meager breakfast might have been as merrilypartaken of as it was hungrily had not Ambrose enjoined silence. 

"They're expectin' company down below, " he said. 

This information and the summary manner in which the cowboys soon ledthe party higher up among the ruined shelves of rock caused a recurrenceof anxiety. Madeline insisted on not going beyond a projection ofcliff from which she could see directly down into the camp. As thevantage-point was one affording concealment, Ambrose consented, buthe placed the frightened Christine near Madeline and remained therehimself. 

"Ambrose, do you really think the guerrillas will come?" asked Madeline. 

"Sure. We know. Nels just rode in and said they were on their way up. Miss Hammond, can I trust you? You won't let out a squeal if there's afight down there? Stewart told me to hide you out of sight or keep youfrom lookin'. "

"I promise not to make any noise, " replied Madeline. Madeline arrangedher coat so that she could lie upon it, and settled down to waitdevelopments. There came a slight rattling of stones in the rear. Sheturned to see Helen sliding down a bank with a perplexed and troubledcowboy. Helen came stooping low to where Madeline lay and said: "I amgoing to see what happens, if I die in the attempt! I can stand itif you can. " She was pale and big-eyed. Ambrose promptly swore at thecowboy who had let her get away from him. "Take a half-hitch on heryourself an' see where you end up, " replied the fellow, and disappearedin the jumble of rocks. Ambrose, finding words useless, sternly andheroically prepared to carry Helen back to the others. He laid hold ofher. In a fury, with eyes blazing, Helen whispered:

"Let go of me! Majesty, what does this fool mean?"

Madeline laughed. She knew Helen, and had marked the whisper, whenordinarily Helen would have spoken imperiously, and not low. Madelineexplained to her the exigency of the situation. "I might run, but I'llnever scream, " said Helen. With that Ambrose had to be content to lether stay. However, he found her a place somewhat farther back fromMadeline's position, where he said there was less danger of her beingseen. Then he sternly bound her to silence, tarried a moment to comfortChristine, and returned to where Madeline lay concealed. He had beenthere scarcely a moment when he whispered:

"I hear hosses. The guerrillas are comin'. "

Madeline's hiding-place was well protected from possible discovery frombelow. She could peep over a kind of parapet, through an opening in thetips of the pines that reached up to the cliff, and obtain a commandingview of the camp circle and its immediate surroundings. She could not, however, see far either to right or left of the camp, owing to theobstructing foliage. Presently the sound of horses' hoofs quickened thebeat of her pulse and caused her to turn keener gaze upon the cowboysbelow. 

Although she had some inkling of the course Stewart and his men were topursue, she was not by any means prepared for the indifference she saw. Frank was asleep, or pretended to be. Three cowboys were lazily andunconcernedly attending to camp-fire duties, such as baking biscuits, watching the ovens, and washing tins and pots. The elaborate set ofaluminum plates, cups, etc. , together with the other camp fixtures thathad done service for Madeline's party, had disappeared. Nick Steelesat with his back to a log, smoking his pipe. Another cowboy had justbrought the horses closer into camp, where they stood waiting to besaddled. Nels appeared to be fussing over a pack. Stewart was rollinga cigarette. Monty had apparently nothing to do for the present exceptwhistle, which he was doing much more loudly than melodiously. The wholeensemble gave an impression of careless indifference. 

The sound of horses' hoofs grew louder and slowed its beat. One of thecowboys pointed down the trail, toward which several of his comradesturned their heads for a moment, then went on with their occupations. 

Presently a shaggy, dusty horse bearing a lean, ragged, dark rider rodeinto camp and halted. Another followed, and another. Horses with Mexicanriders came in single file and stopped behind the leader. 

The cowboys looked up, and the guerrillas looked down. "Buenos dias, senor, " ceremoniously said the foremost guerrilla. 

By straining her ears Madeline heard that voice, and she recognizedit as belonging to Don Carlos. His graceful bow to Stewart was alsofamiliar. Otherwise she would never have recognized the former elegantvaquero in this uncouth, roughly dressed Mexican. 

Stewart answered the greeting in Spanish, and, waving his hand towardthe camp-fire, added in English, "Get down and eat. "

The guerrillas were anything but slow in complying. They crowded tothe fire, then spread in a little circle and squatted upon the ground, laying their weapons beside them. In appearance they tallied with theband of guerrillas that had carried Madeline up into the foothills, onlythis band was larger and better armed. The men, moreover, were just ashungry and as wild and beggarly. The cowboys were not cordial in theirreception of this visit, but they were hospitable. The law of the deserthad always been to give food and drink to wayfaring men, whether lost orhunted or hunting. 

"There's twenty-three in that outfit, " whispered Ambrose, "includin'four white men. Pretty rummy outfit. "

"They appear to be friendly enough, " whispered Madeline. 

"Things down there ain't what they seem, " replied Ambrose. 

"Ambrose, tell me--explain to me. This is my opportunity. As long as youwill let me watch them, please let me know the--the real thing. "

"Sure. But recollect, Miss Hammond, that Gene'll give it to me good ifhe ever knows I let you look and told you what's what. Well, decent-likeGene is seen' them poor devils get a square meal. They're only a lot ofcalf-thieves in this country. Across the border they're bandits, some ofthem, the others just riffraff outlaws. That rebel bluff doesn't go downwith us. I'd have to see first before I'd believe them Greasers wouldfight. They're a lot of hard-ridin' thieves, and they'd steal a fellow'sblanket or tobacco. Gene thinks they're after you ladies--to carry youoff. But Gene--Oh, Gene's some highfalutin in his ideas lately. Most ofus boys think the guerrillas are out to rob--that's all. "

Whatever might have been the secret motive of Don Carlos and his men, they did not allow it to interfere with a hearty appreciation of agenerous amount of food. Plainly, each individual ate all that he wasable to eat at the time. They jabbered like a flock of parrots; somewere even merry, in a kind of wild way. Then, as each and every onebegan to roll and smoke the inevitable cigarette of the Mexican, therewas a subtle change in manner. They smoked and looked about the camp, off into the woods, up at the crags, and back at the leisurely cowboys. They had the air of men waiting for something. 

"Senor, " began Don Carlos, addressing Stewart. As he spoke he swept hissombrero to indicate the camp circle. 

Madeline could not distinguish his words, but his gesture plainlyindicated a question in regard to the rest of the camping party. Stewart's reply and the wave of his hand down the trail meant that hisparty had gone home. Stewart turned to some task, and the guerrillaleader quietly smoked. He looked cunning and thoughtful. His mengradually began to manifest a restlessness, noticeable in the absenceof former languor and slow puffing of cigarette smoke. Presently abig-boned man with a bullet head and a blistered red face of evilcoarseness got up and threw away his cigarette. He was an American. 

"Hey, cull, " he called in loud voice, "ain't ye goin' to cough up adrink?"

"My boys don't carry liquor on the trail, " replied Stewart. He turnednow to face the guerrillas. 

"Haw, haw! I heerd over in Rodeo thet ye was gittin' to be shore somefer temperance, " said this fellow. "I hate to drink water, but I guessI've gotter do it. "

He went to the spring, sprawled down to drink, and all of a sudden hethrust his arm down in the water to bring forth a basket. The cowboysin the hurry of packing had neglected to remove this basket; and itcontained bottles of wine and liquors for Madeline's guests. They hadbeen submerged in the spring to keep them cold. The guerrilla fumbledwith the lid, opened it, and then got up, uttering a loud roar ofdelight. 

Stewart made an almost imperceptible motion, as if to leap forward; buthe checked the impulse, and after a quick glance at Nels he said to theguerrilla:

"Guess my party forgot that. You're welcome to it. " Like bees theguerrillas swarmed around the lucky finder of the bottles. There wasa babel of voices. The drink did not last long, and it served only toliberate the spirit of recklessness. The several white outlaws began toprowl around the camp; some of the Mexicans did likewise; others waited, showing by their ill-concealed expectancy the nature of their thoughts. 

It was the demeanor of Stewart and his comrades that puzzled Madeline. Apparently they felt no anxiety or even particular interest. Don Carlos, who had been covertly watching them, now made his scrutiny open, evenaggressive. He looked from Stewart to Nels and Monty, and then to theother cowboys. While some of his men prowled around the others watchedhim, and the waiting attitude had taken on something sinister. Theguerrilla leader seemed undecided, but not in any sense puzzled. When heturned his cunning face upon Nels and Monty he had the manner of a manin whom decision was lacking. 

In her growing excitement Madeline had not clearly heard Ambrose's lowwhispers and she made an effort to distract some of her attention fromthose below to the cowboy crouching beside her. 

The quality, the note of Ambrose's whisper had changed. It had a slightsibilant sound. 

"Don't be mad if sudden-like I clap my hands over your eyes, MissHammond, " he was saying. "Somethin's brewin' below. I never seen Geneso cool. That's a dangerous sign in him. And look, see how the boys areworkin' together! Oh, it's slow and accident-like, but I know it's surenot accident. That foxy Greaser knows, too. But maybe his men don't. Ifthey are wise they haven't sense enough to care. The Don, though--he'sworried. He's not payin' so much attention to Gene, either. It's Nelsand Monty he's watchin'. And well he need do it! There, Nick and Frankhave settled down on that log with Booly. They don't seem to be packin'guns. But look how heavy their vests hang. A gun in each side! Thoseboys can pull a gun and flop over that log quicker than you can think. Do you notice how Nels and Monty and Gene are square between themguerrillas and the trail up here? It doesn't seem on purpose, but it is. Look at Nels and Monty. How quiet they are confabbin' together, payin'no attention to the guerrillas. I see Monty look at Gene, then I seeNels look at Gene. Well, it's up to Gene. And they're goin' to back him. I reckon, Miss Hammond, there'd be dead Greasers round that camp longago if Nels and Monty were foot-loose. They're beholdin' to Gene. That'splain. And, Lord! how it tickles me to watch them! Both packin' twoforty-fives, butts swingin' clear. There's twenty-four shots in themfour guns. And there's twenty-three guerrillas. If Nels and Monty everthrow guns at that close range, why, before you'd know what was upthere'd be a pile of Greasers. There! Stewart said something to the Don. I wonder what. I'll gamble it was something to get the Don's outfit allclose together. Sure! Greasers have no sense. But them white guerrillas, they're lookin' some dubious. Whatever's comin' off will come soon, youcan bet. I wish I was down there. But maybe it won't come to a scrap. Stewart's set on avoidin' that. He's a wonderful chap to get his way. Lord, though, I'd like to see him go after that overbearin' Greaser!See! the Don can't stand prosperity. All this strange behavior ofcowboys is beyond his pulque-soaked brains. Then he's a Greaser. IfGene doesn't knock him on the head presently he'll begin to get over hisscare, even of Nels and Monty. But Gene'll pick out the right time. AndI'm gettin' nervous. I want somethin' to start. Never saw Nels in butone fight, then he just shot a Greaser's arm off for tryin' to drawon him. But I've heard all about him. And Monty! Monty's the realold-fashioned gun-man. Why, none of them stories, them lies he told toentertain the Englishman, was a marker to what Monty has done. What Idon't understand is how Monty keeps so quiet and easy and peaceful-like. That's not his way, with such an outfit lookin' for trouble. O-ha! Nowfor the grand bluff. Looks like no fight at all!"

The guerrilla leader had ceased his restless steps and glances, andturned to Stewart with something of bold resolution in his aspect. 

"Gracias, senor, " he said. "Adios. " He swept his sombrero in thedirection of the trail leading down the mountain to the ranch; and as hecompleted the gesture a smile, crafty and jeering, crossed his swarthyface. 

Ambrose whispered so low that Madeline scarcely heard him. "If theGreaser goes that way he'll find our horses and get wise to the trick. Oh, he's wise now! But I'll gamble he never even starts on that trail. "

Neither hurriedly nor guardedly Stewart rose out of his leaning postureand took a couple of long strides toward Don Carlos. 

"Go back the way you came, " he fairly yelled; and his voice had the ringof a bugle. 

Ambrose nudged Madeline; his whisper was tense and rapid: "Don't missnothin'. Gene's called him. Whatever's comin' off will be here quick aslightnin'. See! I guess maybe that Greaser don't savvy good U. S. Lingo. Look at that dirty yaller face turn green. Put one eye on Nels andMonty! That's great--just to see 'em. Just as quiet and easy. Butoh, the difference! Bent and stiff--that means every muscle is like arawhide riata. They're watchin' with eyes that can see the workin's ofthem Greasers' minds. Now there ain't a hoss-hair between them Greasersand hell!"

Don Carlos gave Stewart one long malignant stare; then he threw back hishead, swept up the sombrero, and his evil smile showed gleaming teeth. 

"Senor--" he began. 

With magnificent bound Stewart was upon him. The guerrilla's cry wasthrottled in his throat. A fierce wrestling ensued, too swift to seeclearly; then heavy, sodden blows, and Don Carlos was beaten to theground. Stewart leaped back. Then, crouching with his hands on the buttsof guns at his hips, he yelled, he thundered at the guerrillas. He hadbeen quicker than a panther, and now his voice was so terrible thatit curdled Madeline's blood, and the menace of deadly violence in hiscrouching position made her shut her eyes. But she had to open them. Inthat single instant Nels and Monty had leaped to Stewart's side. Bothwere bent down, with hands on the butts of guns at their hips. Nels'spiercing yell seemed to divide Monty's roar of rage. Then they ceased, and echoes clapped from the crags. The silence of those three mencrouching like tigers about to leap was more menacing than thenerve-racking yells. 

Then the guerrillas wavered and broke and ran for their horses. DonCarlos rolled over, rose, and staggered away, to be helped upon hismount. He looked back, his pale and bloody face that of a thwarteddemon. The whole band got into action and were gone in a moment. 

"I knew it, " declared Ambrose. "Never seen a Greaser who could facegun-play. That was some warm. And Monty Price never flashed a gun! He'llnever get over that. I reckon, Miss Harnmond, we're some lucky to avoidtrouble. Gene had his way, as you seen. We'll be makin' tracks for theranch in about two shakes. "

"Why?" whispered Madeline, breathlessly. She became conscious that shewas weak and shaken. 

"Because the guerrillas sure will get their nerve back, and comesneakin' on our trail or try to head us off by ambushin', " repliedAmbrose. "That's their way. Otherwise three cowboys couldn't bluffa whole gang like that. Gene knows the nature of Greasers. They'rewhite-livered. But I reckon we're in more danger now than before, unlesswe get a good start down the mountain. There! Gene's callin'. Come!Hurry!"

Helen had slipped down from her vantage-point, and therefore had notseen the last act in that little camp-fire drama. It seemed, however, that her desire for excitement was satisfied, for her face was pale andshe trembled when she asked if the guerrillas were gone. 

"I didn't see the finish, but those horrible yells were enough for me. "

Ambrose hurried the three women over the rough rocks, down the cliff. The cowboys below were saddling horses in haste. Evidently all thehorses had been brought out of hiding. Swiftly, with regard only forlife and limb, Madeline, Helen, and Christine were lowered by lassoesand half carried down to the level. By the time they were safely downthe other members of the party appeared on the cliff above. They were inexcellent spirits, appearing to treat the matter as a huge joke. 

Ambrose put Christine on a horse and rode away through the pines;Frankie Slade did likewise with Helen. Stewart led Madeline's horse upto her, helped her to mount, and spoke one stern word, "Wait!" Then asfast as one of the women reached the level she was put upon a horse andtaken away by a cowboy escort. Few words were spoken. Haste seemed tobe the great essential. The horses were urged, and, once in the trail, spurred and led into a swift trot. One cowboy drove up four pack-horses, and these were hurriedly loaded with the party's baggage. Castletonand his companions mounted, and galloped off to catch the others in thelead. This left Madeline behind with Stewart and Nels and Monty. 

"They're goin' to switch off at the holler thet heads near the traila few miles down, " Nels was saying, as he tightened his saddle-girth. "Thet holler heads into a big canyon. Once in thet, it'll be every manfer hisself. I reckon there won't be anythin' wuss than a rough ride. "

Nels smiled reassuringly at Madeline, but he did not speak to her. Montytook her canteen and filled it at the spring and hung it over the pommelof her saddle. He put a couple of biscuits in the saddle-bag. 

"Don't fergit to take a drink an' a bite as you're ridin' along, " hesaid. "An' don't worry, Miss Majesty. Stewart'll be with you, an' me an'Nels hangin' on the back-trail. "

His somber and sullen face did not change in its strange intensity, butthe look in his eyes Madeline felt she would never forget. Left alonewith these three men, now stripped of all pretense, she realized howfortune had favored her and what peril still hung in the balance. Stewart swung astride his big black, spurred him, and whistled. At thewhistle Majesty jumped, and with swift canter followed Stewart. Madelinelooked back to see Nels already up and Monty handing him a rifle. Thenthe pines hid her view. 

Once in the trail, Stewart's horse broke into a gallop. Majesty changedhis gait and kept at the black's heels. Stewart called back a warning. The low, wide-spreading branches of trees might brush Madeline out ofthe saddle. Fast riding through the forest along a crooked, obstructedtrail called forth all her alertness. Likewise the stirring of herblood, always susceptible to the spirit and motion of a ride, let aloneone of peril, now began to throb and burn away the worry, the dread, thecoldness that had weighted her down. 

Before long Stewart wheeled at right angles off the trail and entered ahollow between two low bluffs. Madeline saw tracks in the open patchesof ground. Here Stewart's horse took to a brisk walk. The hollowdeepened, narrowed, became rocky, full of logs and brush. Madelineexerted all her keenness, and needed it, to keep close to Stewart. Shedid not think of him, nor her own safety, but of keeping Majesty closein the tracks of the black, of eluding the sharp spikes in the deadbrush, of avoiding the treacherous loose stones. 

At last Madeline was brought to a dead halt by Stewart and his horseblocking the trail. Looking up, she saw they were at the head of acanyon that yawned beneath and widened its gray-walled, green-patchedslopes down to a black forest of fir. The drab monotony of the foothillsmade contrast below the forest, and away in the distance, rosy andsmoky, lay the desert. Retracting her gaze, Madeline saw pack-horsescross an open space a mile below, and she thought she saw thestag-hounds. Stewart's dark eyes searched the slopes high up along thecraggy escarpments. Then he put the black to the descent. 

If there had been a trail left by the leading cowboys, Stewart didnot follow it. He led off to the right, zigzagging an intricate coursethrough the roughest ground Madeline had ever ridden over. He crashedthrough cedars, threaded a tortuous way among boulders, made his horseslide down slanting banks of soft earth, picked a slow and cautiousprogress across weathered slopes of loose rock. Madeline followed, finding in this ride a tax on strength and judgment. On an ordinaryhorse she never could have kept in Stewart's trail. It was dust andheat, a parching throat, that caused Madeline to think of time; and shewas amazed to see the sun sloping to the west. Stewart never stopped;he never looked back; he never spoke. He must have heard the horse closebehind him. Madeline remembered Monty's advice about drinking and eatingas she rode along. The worst of that rough travel came at the bottom ofthe canyon. Dead cedars and brush and logs were easy to pass comparedwith the miles, it seemed, of loose boulders. The horses slipped andstumbled. Stewart proceeded here with exceeding care. At last, when thecanyon opened into a level forest of firs, the sun was setting red inthe west. 

Stewart quickened the gait of his horse. After a mile or so of easytravel the ground again began to fall decidedly, sloping in numerousridges, with draws between. Soon night shadowed the deeper gullies. Madeline was refreshed by the cooling of the air. 

Stewart traveled slowly now. The barks of coyotes seemed to startlehim. Often he stopped to listen. And during one of those intervals thesilence was broken by sharp rifle-shots. Madeline could not tell whetherthey were near or far, to right or left, behind or before. EvidentlyStewart was both alarmed and baffled. He dismounted. He went cautiouslyforward to listen. Madeline fancied she heard a cry, low and far away. It was only that of a coyote, she convinced herself, yet it was sowailing, so human, that she shuddered. Stewart came back. He slipped thebridles of both horses, and he led them. Every few paces he stopped tolisten. He changed his direction several times, and the last time he gotamong rough, rocky ridges. The iron shoes of the horses cracked on therocks. That sound must have penetrated far into the forest. It perturbedStewart, for he searched for softer ground. Meanwhile the shadows mergedinto darkness. The stars shone. The wind rose. Madeline believed hourspassed. 

Stewart halted again. In the gloom Madeline discerned a log cabin, andbeyond it pear-pointed dark trees piercing the sky-line. She could justmake out Stewart's tall form as he leaned against his horse. Either hewas listening or debating what to do--perhaps both. Presently he wentinside the cabin. Madeline heard the scratching of a match; then she sawa faint light. The cabin appeared to be deserted. Probably it was one ofthe many habitations belonging to prospectors and foresters who lived inthe mountains. Stewart came out again. He walked around the horses, outinto the gloom, then back to Madeline. For a long moment he stood asstill as a statue and listened. Then she heard him mutter, "If we haveto start quick I can ride bareback. " With that he took the saddle andblanket off his horse and carried them into the cabin. 

"Get off, " he said, in a low voice, as he stepped out of the door. 

He helped her down and led her inside, where again he struck a match. Madeline caught a glimpse of a rude fireplace and rough-hewn logs. Stewart's blanket and saddle lay on the hard-packed earthen floor. 

"Rest a little, " he said. "I'm going into the woods a piece to listen. Gone only a minute or so. "

Madeline had to feel round in the dark to locate the saddle and blanket. When she lay down it was with a grateful sense of ease and relief. Asher body rested, however, her mind became the old thronging maze forsensation and thought. All day she had attended to the alert businessof helping her horse. Now, what had already happened, the night, thesilence, the proximity of Stewart and his strange, stern caution, thepossible happenings to her friends--all claimed their due share of herfeeling. She went over them all with lightning swiftness of thought. Shebelieved, and she was sure Stewart believed, that her friends, owing totheir quicker start down the mountain, had not been headed off in theirtravel by any of the things which had delayed Stewart. This convictionlifted the suddenly returning dread from her breast; and as for herself, somehow she had no fear. But she could not sleep; she did not try to. 

Stewart's soft steps sounded outside. His dark form loomed in the door. As he sat down Madeline heard the thump of a gun that he laid besidehim on the sill; then the thump of another as he put that down, too. The sounds thrilled her. Stewart's wide shoulders filled the door; hisfinely shaped head and strong, stern profile showed clearly in outlineagainst the sky; the wind waved his hair. He turned his ear to that windand listened. Motionless he sat for what to her seemed hours. 

Then the stirring memory of the day's adventure, the feeling ofthe beauty of the night, and a strange, deep-seated, sweetly vagueconsciousness of happiness portending, were all burned out in hot, pressing pain at the remembrance of Stewart's disgrace in her eyes. Something had changed within her so that what had been anger at herselfwas sorrow for him. He was such a splendid man. She could not feel thesame; she knew her debt to him, yet she could not thank him, could notspeak to him. She fought an unintelligible bitterness. 

Then she rested with closed eyes, and time seemed neither short norlong. When Stewart called her she opened her eyes to see the gray ofdawn. She rose and stepped outside. The horses whinnied. In a moment shewas in the saddle, aware of cramped muscles and a weariness of limbs. Stewart led off at a sharp trot into the fir forest. They came to atrail into which he turned. The horses traveled steadily; the descentgrew less steep; the firs thinned out; the gray gloom brightened. 

When Madeline rode out of the firs the sun had arisen and the foothillsrolled beneath her; and at their edge, where the gray of valley began, she saw a dark patch that she knew was the ranch-house. 

XX. The Sheriff of El Cajon

About the middle of the forenoon of that day Madeline reached the ranch. Her guests had all arrived there late the night before, and wanted onlyher presence and the assurance of her well-being to consider the last ofthe camping trip a rare adventure. Likewise, they voted it the cowboys'masterpiece of a trick. Madeline's delay, they averred, had been onlya clever coup to give a final effect. She did not correct theirimpression, nor think it needful to state that she had been escortedhome by only one cowboy. 

Her guests reported an arduous ride down the mountain, with only oneincident to lend excitement. On the descent they had fallen in withSheriff Hawe and several of his deputies, who were considerably underthe influence of drink and very greatly enraged by the escape of theMexican girl Bonita. Hawe had used insulting language to the ladiesand, according to Ambrose, would have inconvenienced the party on somepretext or other if he had not been sharply silenced by the cowboys. 

Madeline's guests were two days in recovering from the hard ride. On thethird day they leisurely began to prepare for departure. This period wasdoubly trying for Madeline. She had her own physical need of rest, and, moreover, had to face a mental conflict that could scarcely be postponedfurther. Her sister and friends were kindly and earnestly persistent intheir entreaties that she go back East with them. She desired to go. It was not going that mattered; it was how and when and under whatcircumstances she was to return that roused in her disturbing emotion. Before she went East she wanted to have fixed in mind her futurerelation to the ranch and the West. When the crucial hour arrived shefound that the West had not claimed her yet. These old friends hadwarmed cold ties. 

It turned out, however, that there need be no hurry about making thedecision. Madeline would have welcomed any excuse to procrastinate;but, as it happened, a letter from Alfred made her departure out of thequestion for the present. He wrote that his trip to California had beenvery profitable, that he had a proposition for Madeline from a largecattle company, and, particularly, that he wanted to marry Florence soonafter his arrival home and would bring a minister from Douglas for thatpurpose. 

Madeline went so far, however, as to promise Helen and her friends thatshe would go East soon, at the very latest by Thanksgiving. With thatpromise they were reluctantly content to say good-by to the ranch andto her. At the last moment there seemed a great likelihood of a hitchin plans for the first stage of that homeward journey. All of Madeline'sguests held up their hands, Western fashion, when Link Stevens appearedwith the big white car. Link protested innocently, solemnly, that hewould drive slowly and safely; but it was necessary for Madeline toguarantee Link's word and to accompany them before they would enter thecar. At the station good-bys were spoken and repeated, and Madeline'spromise was exacted for the hundredth time. 

Dorothy Coombs's last words were: "Give my love to Monty Price. Tell himI'm--I'm glad he kissed me!"

Helen's eyes had a sweet, grave, yet mocking light as she said:

"Majesty, bring Stewart with you when you come. He'll be the rage. "

Madeline treated the remark with the same merry lightness with which itwas received by the others; but after the train had pulled out andshe was on her way home she remembered Helen's words and looks withsomething almost amounting to a shock. Any mention of Stewart, anythought of him, displeased her. 

"What did Helen mean?" mused Madeline. And she pondered. That mockinglight in Helen's eyes had been simply an ironical glint, a cynical gleamfrom that worldly experience so suspicious and tolerant in its wisdom. The sweet gravity of Helen's look had been a deeper and more subtlething. Madeline wanted to understand it, to divine in it a new relationbetween Helen and herself, something fine and sisterly that might leadto love. The thought, however, revolving around a strange suggestion ofStewart, was poisoned at its inception, and she dismissed it. 

Upon the drive in to the ranch, as she was passing the lower lake, shesaw Stewart walking listlessly along the shore. When he became aware ofthe approach of the car he suddenly awakened from his aimless saunteringand disappeared quickly in the shade of the shrubbery. This was not byany means the first time Madeline had seen him avoid a possible meetingwith her. Somehow the act had pained her, though affording her a relief. She did not want to meet him face to face. 

It was annoying for her to guess that Stillwell had something to say inStewart's defense. The old cattleman was evidently distressed. Severaltimes he had tried to open a conversation with Madeline relating toStewart; she had evaded him until the last time, when his persistencehad brought a cold and final refusal to hear another word about theforeman. Stillwell had been crushed. 

As days passed Stewart remained at the ranch without his oldfaithfulness to his work. Madeline was not moved to a kinder frame ofmind to see him wandering dejectedly around. It hurt her, and becauseit hurt her she grew all the harder. Then she could not help hearingsnatches of conversation which strengthened her suspicions that Stewartwas losing his grip on himself, that he would soon take the downwardcourse again. Verification of her own suspicion made it a belief, andbelief brought about a sharp conflict between her generosity and somefeeling that she could not name. It was not a question of justiceor mercy or sympathy. If a single word could have saved Stewart fromsinking his splendid manhood into the brute she had recoiled from atChiricahua, she would not have spoken it. She could not restore him tohis former place in her regard; she really did not want him at theranch at all. Once, considering in wonder her knowledge of men, sheinterrogated herself to see just why she could not overlook Stewart'stransgression. She never wanted to speak to him again, or see him, orthink of him. In some way, through her interest in Stewart, she had cometo feel for herself an inexplicable thing close to scorn. 

A telegram from Douglas, heralding the coming of Alfred and a minister, put an end to Madeline's brooding, and she shared something of FlorenceKingsley's excitement. The cowboys were as eager and gossipy as girls. It was arranged to have the wedding ceremony performed in Madeline'sgreat hall-chamber, and the dinner in the cool, flower-scented patio. 

Alfred and his minister arrived at the ranch in the big white car. Theyappeared considerably wind-blown. In fact, the minister was breathless, almost sightless, and certainly hatless. Alfred, used as he was to windand speed, remarked that he did not wonder at Nels's aversion to ridinga fleeting cannon-ball. The imperturbable Link took off his cap andgoggles and, consulting his watch, made his usual apologetic report toMadeline, deploring the fact that a teamster and a few stray cattle onthe road had held him down to the manana time of only a mile a minute. 

Arrangements for the wedding brought Alfred's delighted approval. Whenhe had learned all Florence and Madeline would tell him he expresseda desire to have the cowboys attend; and then he went on to talk aboutCalifornia, where he was going take Florence on a short trip. He wascuriously interested to find out all about Madeline's guests and whathad happened to them. His keen glance at Madeline grew softer as shetalked. 

"I breathe again, " he said, and laughed. "I was afraid. Well, I musthave missed some sport. I can just fancy what Monty and Nels did to thatEnglishman. So you went up to the crags. That's a wild place. I'm notsurprised at guerrillas falling in with you up there. The crags werea famous rendezvous for Apaches--it's near the border--almostinaccessible--good water and grass. I wonder what the U. S. Cavalrywould think if they knew these guerrillas crossed the border right undertheir noses. Well, it's practically impossible to patrol some of thatborder-line. It's desert, mountain, and canyon, exceedingly wild andbroken. I'm sorry to say that there seems to be more trouble in sightwith these guerrillas than at any time heretofore. Orozco, the rebelleader, has failed to withstand Madero's army. The Federals areoccupying Chihuahua now, and are driving the rebels north. Orozco hasbroken up his army into guerrilla bands. They are moving north and west, intending to carry on guerrilla warfare in Sonora. I can't say just howthis will affect us here. But we're too close to the border for comfort. These guerrillas are night-riding hawks; they can cross the border, raidus here, and get back the same night. Fighting, I imagine, will notbe restricted to northern Mexico. With the revolution a failure theguerrillas will be more numerous, bolder, and hungrier. Unfortunately, we happen to be favorably situated for them down here in this wildernesscorner of the state. "

On the following day Alfred and Florence were married. Florence'ssister and several friends from El Cajon were present, besides Madeline, Stillwell, and his men. It was Alfred's express wish that Stewartattend the ceremony. Madeline was amused when she noticed the painfullysuppressed excitement of the cowboys. For them a wedding must havebeen an unusual and impressive event. She began to have a betterunderstanding of the nature of it when they cast off restraint andpressed forward to kiss the bride. In all her life Madeline had neverseen a bride kissed so much and so heartily, nor one so flushed anddisheveled and happy. This indeed was a joyful occasion. There wasnothing of the "effete East" about Alfred Hammond; he might have been aWesterner all his days. When Madeline managed to get through the pressof cowboys to offer her congratulations Alfred gave her a bear hug anda kiss. This appeared to fascinate the cowboys. With shining eyesand faces aglow, with smiling, boyish boldness, they made a rush atMadeline. For one instant her heart leaped to her throat. They lookedas if they could most shamelessly kiss and maul her. That little, ugly-faced, soft-eyed, rude, tender-hearted ruffian, Monty Price, wasin the lead. He resembled a dragon actuated by sentiment. All at onceMadeline's instinctive antagonism to being touched by strange hands orlips battled with a real, warm, and fun-loving desire to let the cowboyswork their will with her. But she saw Stewart hanging at the back of thecrowd, and something--some fierce, dark expression of pain--amazed her, while it froze her desire to be kind. Then she did not know what changemust have come to her face and bearing; but she saw Monty fall backsheepishly and the other cowboys draw aside to let her lead the way intothe patio. 

The dinner began quietly enough with the cowboys divided betweenembarrassment and voracious appetites that they evidently feared toindulge. Wine, however, loosened their tongues, and when Stillwell gotup to make the speech everybody seemed to expect of him they greeted himwith a roar. 

Stillwell was now one huge, mountainous smile. He was so happy that heappeared on the verge of tears. He rambled on ecstatically till he cameto raise his glass. 

"An' now, girls an' boys, let's all drink to the bride an' groom; totheir sincere an' lastin' love; to their happiness an' prosperity; totheir good health an' long life. Let's drink to the unitin' of the Eastwith the West. No man full of red blood an' the real breath of lifecould resist a Western girl an' a good hoss an' God's free hand--thatopen country out there. So we claim Al Hammond, an' may we be true tohim. An', friends, I think it fittin' that we drink to his sister an' toour hopes. Heah's to the lady we hope to make our Majesty! Heah's to theman who'll come ridin' out of the West, a fine, big-hearted man with afast hoss an' a strong rope, an' may he win an' hold her! Come, friends, drink. "

A heavy pound of horses' hoofs and a yell outside arrested Stillwell'svoice and halted his hand in midair. 

The patio became as silent as an unoccupied room. 

Through the open doors and windows of Madeline's chamber burst thesounds of horses stamping to a halt, then harsh speech of men, and a lowcry of a woman in pain. 

Rapid steps crossed the porch, entered Madeline's room. Nels appeared inthe doorway. Madeline was surprised to see that he had not been at thedinner-table. She was disturbed at sight of his face. 

"Stewart, you're wanted outdoors, " called Nels, bluntly. "Monty, youslope out here with me. You, Nick, an' Stillwell--I reckon the rest ofyou hed better shut the doors an' stay inside. "

Nels disappeared. Quick as a cat Monty glided out. Madeline heard hissoft, swift steps pass from her room into her office. He had lefthis guns there. Madeline trembled. She saw Stewart get up quietly andwithout any change of expression on his dark, sad face leave the patio. Nick Steele followed him. Stillwell dropped his wine-glass. As it broke, shivering the silence, his huge smile vanished. His face set into theold cragginess and the red slowly thickened into black. Stillwell wentout and closed the door behind him. 

Then there was a blank silence. The enjoyment of the moment had beenrudely disrupted. Madeline glanced down the lines of brown faces to seethe pleasure fade into the old familiar hardness. 

"What's wrong?" asked Alfred, rather stupidly. The change of mood hadbeen too rapid for him. Suddenly he awakened, thoroughly aroused atthe interruption. "I'm going to see who's butted in here to spoil ourdinner, " he said, and strode out. 

He returned before any one at the table had spoken or moved, and now thedull red of anger mottled his forehead. 

"It's the sheriff of El Cajon!" he exclaimed, contemptuously. "Pat Hawewith some of his tough deputies come to arrest Gene Stewart. They've gotthat poor little Mexican girl out there tied on a horse. Confound thatsheriff!"

Madeline calmly rose from the table, eluding Florence's entreatinghand, and started for the door. The cowboys jumped up. Alfred barred herprogress. 

"Alfred, I am going out, " she said. 

"No, I guess not, " he replied. "That's no place for you. "

"I am going. " She looked straight at him. 

"Madeline! Why, what is it? You look--Dear, there's pretty sure to betrouble outside. Maybe there'll be a fight. You can do nothing. You mustnot go. "

"Perhaps I can prevent trouble, " she replied. 

As she left the patio she was aware that Alfred, with Florence at hisside and the cowboys behind, were starting to follow her. When she gotout of her room upon the porch she heard several men in loud, angrydiscussion. Then, at sight of Bonita helplessly and cruelly bound upona horse, pale and disheveled and suffering, Madeline experienced thethrill that sight or mention of this girl always gave her. It yielded toa hot pang in her breast--that live pain which so shamed her. But almostinstantly, as a second glance showed an agony in Bonita's face, herbruised arms where the rope bit deep into the flesh, her littlebrown hands stained with blood, Madeline was overcome by pity for theunfortunate girl and a woman's righteous passion at such barbaroustreatment of one of her own sex. 

The man holding the bridle of the horse on which Bonita had been boundwas at once recognized by Madeline as the big-bodied, bullet-headedguerrilla who had found the basket of wine in the spring at camp. Redder of face, blacker of beard, coarser of aspect, evidently underthe influence of liquor, he was as fierce-looking as a gorilla and asrepulsive. Besides him there were three other men present, all mountedon weary horses. The one in the foreground, gaunt, sharp-featured, red-eyed, with a pointed beard, she recognized as the sheriff of ElCajon. 

Madeline hesitated, then stopped in the middle of the porch. Alfred, Florence, and several others followed her out; the rest of the cowboysand guests crowded the windows and doors. Stillwell saw Madeline, and, throwing up his hands, roared to be heard. This quieted thegesticulating, quarreling men. 

"Wal now, Pat Hawe, what's drivin' you like a locoed steer on therampage?" demanded Stillwell. 

"Keep in the traces, Bill, " replied Hawe. "You savvy what I come fer. I've been bidin' my time. But I'm ready now. I'm hyar to arrest acriminal. "

The huge frame of the old cattleman jerked as if he had been stabbed. His face turned purple. 

"What criminal?" he shouted, hoarsely. 

The sheriff flicked his quirt against his dirty boot, and he twisted histhin lips into a leer. The situation was agreeable to him. 

"Why, Bill, I knowed you hed a no-good outfit ridin' this range; but Iwasn't wise thet you hed more 'n one criminal. "

"Cut that talk! Which cowboy are you wantin' to arrest?"

Hawe's manner altered. 

"Gene Stewart, " he replied, curtly. 

"On what charge?"

"Fer killin' a Greaser one night last fall. "

"So you're still harpin' on that? Pat, you're on the wrong trail. Youcan't lay that killin' onto Stewart. The thing's ancient by now. Butif you insist on bringin' him to court, let the arrest go to-day--we'rehevin' some fiesta hyar--an' I'll fetch Gene in to El Cajon. "

"Nope. I reckon I'll take him when I got the chance, before he slopes. "

"I'm givin' you my word, " thundered Stillwell. 

"I reckon I don't hev to take your word, Bill, or anybody else's. "

Stillwell's great bulk quivered with his rage, yet he made a successfuleffort to control it. 

"See hyar, Pat Hawe, I know what's reasonable. Law is law. But in thiscountry there always has been an' is now a safe an' sane way to proceedwith the law. Mebbe you've forgot that. The law as invested in oneman in a wild country is liable, owin' to that man's weaknesses an'onlimited authority, to be disputed even by a decent ole cattleman likemyself. I'm a-goin' to give you a hunch. Pat, you're not overliked inthese parts. You've rid too much with a high hand. Some of your dealshev been shady, an' don't you overlook what I'm sayin'. But you're thesheriff, an' I'm respectin' your office. I'm respectin' it this much. Ifthe milk of human decency is so soured in your breast that you can't heva kind feelin', then try to avoid the onpleasantness that'll result fromany contrary move on your part to-day. Do you get that hunch?"

"Stillwell, you're threatenin' an officer, " replied Hawe, angrily. 

"Will you hit the trail quick out of hyar?" queried Stillwell, instrained voice. "I guarantee Stewart's appearance in El Cajon any dayyou say. "

"No. I come to arrest him, an' I'm goin' to. "

"So that's your game!" shouted Stillwell. "We-all are glad to get youstraight, Pat. Now listen, you cheap, red-eyed coyote of a sheriff! Youdon't care how many enemies you make. You know you'll never get officeagain in this county. What do you care now? It's amazin' strange howearnest you are to hunt down the man who killed that particular Greaser. I reckon there's been some dozen or more killin's of Greasers in thelast year. Why don't you take to trailin' some of them killin's? I'lltell you why. You're afraid to go near the border. An' your hate of GeneStewart makes you want to hound him an' put him where he's neverbeen yet--in jail. You want to spite his friends. Wal, listen, youlean-jawed, skunk-bitten coyote! Go ahead an' try to arrest him!"

Stillwell took one mighty stride off the porch. His last words had beencold. His rage appeared to have been transferred to Hawe. The sheriffhad begun to stutter and shake a lanky red hand at the cattleman whenStewart stepped out. 

"Here, you fellows, give me a chance to say a word. "

As Stewart appeared the Mexican girl suddenly seemed vitalized outof her stupor. She strained at her bonds, as if to lift her handsbeseechingly. A flush animated her haggard face, and her big dark eyeslighted. 

"Senor Gene!" she moaned. "Help me! I so seek. They beat me, rope me, 'mos' keel me. Oh, help me, Senor Gene!"

"Shut up, er I'll gag you, " said the man who held Bonita's horse. 

"Muzzle her, Sneed, if she blabs again, " called Hawe. Madeline feltsomething tense and strained working in the short silence. Was it only aphase of her thrilling excitement? Her swift glance showed the faces ofNels and Monty and Nick to be brooding, cold, watchful. She wondered whyStewart did not look toward Bonita. He, too, was now dark-faced, cool, quiet, with something ominous about him. 

"Hawe, I'll submit to arrest without any fuss, " he said, slowly, "ifyou'll take the ropes off that girl. "

"Nope, " replied the sheriff. "She got away from me onct. She's hawg-tiednow, an' she'll stay hawg-tied. "

Madeline thought she saw Stewart give a slight start. But anunaccountable dimness came over her eyes, at brief intervals obscuringher keen sight. Vaguely she was conscious of a clogged and beatingtumult in her breast. 

"All right, let's hurry out of here, " said Stewart. "You've madeannoyance enough. Ride down to the corral with me. I'll get my horse andgo with you. "

"Hold on!" yelled Hawe, as Stewart turned away. "Not so fast. Who'sdoin' this? You don't come no El Capitan stunts on me. You'll ride oneof my pack-horses, an' you'll go in irons. "

"You want to handcuff me?" queried Stewart, with sudden swift start ofpassion. 

"Want to? Haw, haw! Nope, Stewart, thet's jest my way with hoss-thieves, raiders, Greasers, murderers, an' sich. See hyar, you Sneed, git off an'put the irons on this man. "

The guerrilla called Sneed slid off his horse and began to fumble in hissaddle-bags. 

"You see, Bill, " went on Hawe, "I swore in a new depooty fer thisparticular job. Sneed is some handy. He rounded up thet little Mexicancat fer me. "

Stillwell did not hear the sheriff; he was gazing at Stewart in a kindof imploring amaze. 

"Gene, you ain't goin' to stand fer them handcuffs?" he pleaded. 

"Yes, " replied the cowboy. "Bill, old friend, I'm an outsider here. There's no call for Miss Hammond and--and her brother and Florence to beworried further about me. Their happy day has already been spoiled on myaccount. I want to get out quick. "

"Wal, you might be too damn considerate of Miss Hammond's sensitivefeelin's. " There was now no trace of the courteous, kindly old rancher. He looked harder than stone. "How about my feelin's? I want to knowif you're goin' to let this sneakin' coyote, this last gasp of the oldrum-guzzlin' frontier sheriffs, put you in irons an' hawg-tie you an'drive you off to jail?"

"Yes, " replied Stewart, steadily. 

"Wal, by Gawd! You, Gene Stewart! What's come over you? Why, man, go inthe house, an' I'll 'tend to this feller. Then to-morrow you can ride inan' give yourself up like a gentleman. "

"No. I'll go. Thanks, Bill, for the way you and the boys would stick tome. Hurry, Hawe, before my mind changes. "

His voice broke at the last, betraying the wonderful control he had keptover his passions. As he ceased speaking he seemed suddenly to becomespiritless. He dropped his head. 

Madeline saw in him then a semblance to the hopeless, shamed Stewart ofearlier days. The vague riot in her breast leaped into conscious fury--awoman's passionate repudiation of Stewart's broken spirit. It was notthat she would have him be a lawbreaker; it was that she could not bearto see him deny his manhood. Once she had entreated him to become herkind of a cowboy--a man in whom reason tempered passion. She had let himsee how painful and shocking any violence was to her. And the idea hadobsessed him, softened him, had grown like a stultifying lichen upon hiswill, had shorn him of a wild, bold spirit she now strangely longedto see him feel. When the man Sneed came forward, jingling the ironfetters, Madeline's blood turned to fire. She would have forgivenStewart then for lapsing into the kind of cowboy it had been her blindand sickly sentiment to abhor. This was a man's West--a man's game. What right had a woman reared in a softer mold to use her beauty andher influence to change a man who was bold and free and strong? At thatmoment, with her blood hot and racing, she would have gloried in theviolence which she had so deplored: she would have welcomed the actionthat had characterized Stewart's treatment of Don Carlos; she had in herthe sudden dawning temper of a woman who had been assimilating the lifeand nature around her and who would not have turned her eyes away from aharsh and bloody deed. 

But Stewart held forth his hands to be manacled. Then Madeline heard herown voice burst out in a ringing, imperious "Wait!"

In the time it took her to make the few steps to the edge of the porch, facing the men, she not only felt her anger and justice and pridesummoning forces to her command, but there was something else calling--adeep, passionate, mysterious thing not born of the moment. 

Sneed dropped the manacles. Stewart's face took on a chalky whiteness. Hawe, in a slow, stupid embarrassment beyond his control, removed hissombrero in a respect that seemed wrenched from him. 

"Mr. Hawe, I can prove to you that Stewart was not concerned in any waywhatever with the crime for which you want to arrest him. "

The sheriff's stare underwent a blinking change. He coughed, stammered, and tried to speak. Manifestly, he had been thrown completely off hisbalance. Astonishment slowly merged into discomfiture. 

"It was absolutely impossible for Stewart to have been connected withthat assault, " went on Madeline, swiftly, "for he was with me in thewaiting-room of the station at the moment the assault was made outside. I assure you I have a distinct and vivid recollection. The door wasopen. I heard the voices of quarreling men. They grew louder. Thelanguage was Spanish. Evidently these men had left the dance-hallopposite and were approaching the station. I heard a woman's voicemingling with the others. It, too, was Spanish, and I could notunderstand. But the tone was beseeching. Then I heard footsteps onthe gravel. I knew Stewart heard them. I could see from his face thatsomething dreadful was about to happen. Just outside the door then therewere hoarse, furious voices, a scuffle, a muffled shot, a woman's cry, the thud of a falling body, and rapid footsteps of a man running away. Next, the girl Bonita staggered into the door. She was white, trembling, terror-stricken. She recognized Stewart, appealed to him. Stewartsupported her and endeavored to calm her. He was excited. He asked herif Danny Mains had been shot, or if he had done the shooting. The girlsaid no. She told Stewart that she had danced a little, flirted a littlewith vaqueros, and they had quarreled over her. Then Stewart took heroutside and put her upon his horse. I saw the girl ride that horse downthe street to disappear in the darkness. "

While Madeline spoke another change appeared to be working in the manHawe. He was not long disconcerted, but his discomfiture wore to asullen fury, and his sharp features fixed in an expression of craft. 

"Thet's mighty interestin', Miss Hammond, 'most as interestin' as astory-book, " he said. "Now, since you're so obligin' a witness, I'd surelike to put a question or two. What time did you arrive at El Cajon thetnight?"

"It was after eleven o'clock, " replied Madeline. 

"Nobody there to meet you?"

"No. "

"The station agent an' operator both gone?"

"Yes. "

"Wal, how soon did this feller Stewart show up?" Hawe continued, with awry smile. 

"Very soon after my arrival. I think--perhaps fifteen minutes, possiblya little more. "

"Some dark an' lonesome around thet station, wasn't it?"

"Indeed yes. "

"An' what time was the Greaser shot?" queried Hawe, with his little eyesgleaming like coals. 

"Probably close to half past one. It was two o'clock when I looked at mywatch at Florence Kingsley's house. Directly after Stewart sent Bonitaaway he took me to Miss Kingsley's. So, allowing for the walk and a fewminutes' conversation with her, I can pretty definitely say the shootingtook place at about half past one. "

Stillwell heaved his big frame a step closer to the sheriff. "What 'reyou drivin' at?" he roared, his face black again. 

"Evidence, " snapped Hawe. 

Madeline marveled at this interruption; and as Stewart irresistibly drewher glance she saw him gray-faced as ashes, shaking, utterly unnerved. 

"I thank you, Miss Hammond, " he said, huskily. "But you needn't answerany more of Hawe's questions. He's--he's--It's not necessary. I'll gowith him now, under arrest. Bonita will corroborate your testimony incourt, and that will save me from this--this man's spite. "

Madeline, looking at Stewart, seeing a humility she at first took forcowardice, suddenly divined that it was not fear for himself which madehim dread further disclosures of that night, but fear for her--fear ofshame she might suffer through him. 

Pat Hawe cocked his head to one side, like a vulture about to strikewith his beak, and cunningly eyed Madeline. 

"Considered as testimony, what you've said is sure important an'conclusive. But I'm calculatin' thet the court will want to hevexplained why you stayed from eleven-thirty till one-thirty in thetwaitin'-room alone with Stewart. "

His deliberate speech met with what Madeline imagined a remarkablereception from Stewart, who gave a tigerish start; from Stillwell, whosebig hands tore at the neck of his shirt, as if he was choking; fromAlfred, who now strode hotly forward, to be stopped by the cold andsilent Nels; from Monty Price, who uttered a violent "Aw!" which wasboth a hiss and a roar. 

In the rush of her thought Madeline could not interpret the meaningof these things which seemed so strange at that moment. But they wereportentous. Even as she was forming a reply to Hawe's speech she felt achill creep over her. 

"Stewart detained me in the waiting-room, " she said, clear-voiced as abell. "But we were not alone--all the time. "

For a moment the only sound following her words was a gasp from Stewart. Hawe's face became transformed with a hideous amaze and joy. 

"Detained?" he whispered, craning his lean and corded neck. "How'sthet?"

"Stewart was drunk. He--"

With sudden passionate gesture of despair Stewart appealed to her:

"Oh, Miss Hammond, don't! don't! DON'T!. .. "

Then he seemed to sink down, head lowered upon his breast, in uttershame. Stillwell's great hand swept to the bowed shoulder, and he turnedto Madeline. 

"Miss Majesty, I reckon you'd be wise to tell all, " said the oldcattleman, gravely. "There ain't one of us who could misunderstand anymotive or act of yours. Mebbe a stroke of lightnin' might clear thismurky air. Whatever Gene Stewart did that onlucky night--you tell it. "

Madeline's dignity and self-possession had been disturbed by Stewart'simportunity. She broke into swift, disconnected speech:

"He came into the station--a few minutes after I got there. I asked-tobe shown to a hotel. He said there wasn't any that would accommodatemarried women. He grasped my hand--looked for a wedding-ring. Then I sawhe was--he was intoxicated. He told me he would go for a hotelporter. But he came back with a padre--Padre Marcos. The poor priestwas--terribly frightened. So was I. Stewart had turned into a devil. Hefired his gun at the padre's feet. He pushed me into a bench. Again heshot--right before my face. I--I nearly fainted. But I heard him cursingthe padre--heard the padre praying or chanting--I didn't know what. Stewart tried to make me say things in Spanish. All at once he asked myname. I told him. He jerked at my veil. I took it off. Then he threwhis gun down--pushed the padre out of the door. That was just before thevaqueros approached with Bonita. Padre Marcos must have seen them--musthave heard them. After that Stewart grew quickly sober. He wasmortified--distressed--stricken with shame. He told me he had beendrinking at a wedding--I remember, it was Ed Linton's wedding. Then heexplained--the boys were always gambling--he wagered he would marry thefirst girl who arrived at El Cajon. I happened to be the first one. Hetried to force me to marry him. The rest--relating to the assault on thevaquero--I have already told you. "

Madeline ended, out of breath and panting, with her hands pressed uponher heaving bosom. Revelation of that secret liberated emotion; thosehurried outspoken words had made her throb and tremble and burn. Strangely then she thought of Alfred and his wrath. But he stoodmotionless, as if dazed. Stillwell was trying to holster up the crushedStewart. 

Hawe rolled his red eyes and threw back his head. 

"Ho, ho, ho! Ho, ho, ho! Say, Sneed, you didn't miss any of it, did ye?Haw, haw! Best I ever heerd in all my born days. Ho, ho!"

Then he ceased laughing, and with glinting gaze upon Madeline, insolentand vicious and savage, he began to drawl:

"Wal now, my lady, I reckon your story, if it tallies with Bonita's an'Padre Marcos's, will clear Gene Stewart in the eyes of the court. "Here he grew slower, more biting, sharper and harder of face. "Butyou needn't expect Pat Hawe or the court to swaller thet part of yourstory--about bein' detained unwillin'!"

Madeline had not time to grasp the sense of his last words. Stewarthad convulsively sprung upward, white as chalk. As he leaped at HaweStillwell interposed his huge bulk and wrapped his arms around Stewart. There was a brief, whirling, wrestling struggle. Stewart appeared to bebesting the old cattleman. 

"Help, boys, help!" yelled Stillwell. "I can't hold him. Hurry, orthere's goin' to be blood spilled!"

Nick Steele and several cowboys leaped to Stillwell's assistance. Stewart, getting free, tossed one aside and then another. They closedin on him. For an instant a furious straining wrestle of powerful bodiesmade rasp and shock and blow. Once Stewart heaved them from him. Butthey plunged back upon him--conquered him. 

"Gene! Why, Gene!" panted the old cattleman. "Sure you're locoed--toact this way. Cool down! Cool down! Why, boy, it's all right. Jeststand still--give us a chance to talk to you. It's only ole Bill, youknow--your ole pal who's tried to be a daddy to you. He's only wantin'you to hev sense--to be cool--to wait. "

"Let me go! Let me go!" cried Stewart; and the poignancy of that crypierced Madeline's heart. "Let me go, Bill, if you're my friend. I savedyour life once--over in the desert. You swore you'd never forget. Boys, make him let me go! Oh, I don't care what Hawe's said or done to me! Itwas that about her! Are you all a lot of Greasers? How can you stand it?Damn you for a lot of cowards! There's a limit, I tell you. " Then hisvoice broke, fell to a whisper. "Bill, dear old Bill, let me go. I'llkill him! You know I'll kill him!"

"Gene, I know you'd kill him if you hed an even break, " repliedStillwell, soothingly. "But, Gene, why, you ain't even packin' a gun!An' there's Pat lookin' nasty, with his hand nervous-like. He seen youhed no gun. He'd jump at the chance to plug you now, an' then hollerabout opposition to the law. Cool down, son; it'll all come right. "

Suddenly Madeline was transfixed by a terrible sound. 

Her startled glance shifted from the anxious group round Stewart to seethat Monty Price had leaped off the porch. He crouched down with hisbands below his hips, where the big guns swung. From his distorted lipsissued that which was combined roar and bellow and Indian war-whoop, and, more than all, a horrible warning cry. He resembled a hunchbackabout to make the leap of a demon. He was quivering, vibrating. Hiseyes, black and hot, were fastened with most piercing intentness uponHawe and Sneed. 

"Git back, Bill, git back!" he roared. "Git 'em back!" With one lungeStillwell shoved Stewart and Nick and the other cowboys up on the porch. Then he crowded Madeline and Alfred and Florence to the wall, tried toforce them farther. His motions were rapid and stern. But failing to getthem through door and windows, he planted his wide person betweenthe women and danger. Madeline grasped his arm, held on, and peeredfearfully from behind his broad shoulder. 

"You, Hawe! You, Sneed!" called Monty, in that same wild voice. "Don'tyou move a finger or an eyelash!"

Madeline's faculties nerved to keen, thrilling divination. She graspedthe relation between Monty's terrible cry and the strange hunchedposture he had assumed. Stillwell's haste and silence, too, werepregnant of catastrophe. 

"Nels, git in this!" yelled Monty; and all the time he never shifted hisintent gaze as much as a hair's-breadth from Hawe and his deputy. "Nels, chase away them two fellers hangin' back there. Chase 'em, quick!"

These men, the two deputies who had remained in the background with thepack-horses, did not wait for Nels. They spurred their mounts, wheeled, and galloped away. 

"Now, Nels, cut the gurl loose, " ordered Monty. 

Nels ran forward, jerked the halter out of Sneed's hand, and pulledBonita's horse in close to the porch. As he slit the rope which boundher she fell into his arms. 

"Hawe, git down!" went on Monty. "Face front an' stiff!"

The sheriff swung his leg, and, never moving his hands, with his facenow a deathly, sickening white, he slid to the ground. 

"Line up there beside your guerrilla pard. There! You two make a damnfine pictoor, a damn fine team of pizened coyote an' a cross between awild mule an' a Greaser. Now listen!"

Monty made a long pause, in which his breathing was plainly audible. 

Madeline's eyes were riveted upon Monty. Her mind, swift as lightning, had gathered the subtleties in action and word succeeding his dominationof the men. Violence, terrible violence, the thing she had felt, thething she had feared, the thing she had sought to eliminate from amongher cowboys, was, after many months, about to be enacted beforeher eyes. It had come at last. She had softened Stillwell, she hadinfluenced Nels, she had changed Stewart; but this little black-faced, terrible Monty Price now rose, as it were, out of his past wild years, and no power on earth or in heaven could stay his hand. It was the hardlife of wild men in a wild country that was about to strike this blow ather. She did not shudder; she did not wish to blot out from sight thislittle man, terrible in his mood of wild justice. She suffered a flashof horror that Monty, blind and dead to her authority, cold as steeltoward her presence, understood the deeps of a woman's soul. For inthis moment of strife, of insult to her, of torture to the man shehad uplifted and then broken, the passion of her reached deep towardprimitive hate. With eyes slowly hazing red, she watched Monty Price;she listened with thrumming ears; she waited, slowly sagging againstStillwell. 

"Hawe, if you an' your dirty pard hev loved the sound of human voice, then listen an' listen hard, " said Monty. "Fer I've been goin' contraryto my ole style jest to hev a talk with you. You all but got away onyour nerve, didn't you? 'Cause why? You roll in here like a mad steeran' flash yer badge an' talk mean, then almost bluff away with it. You heerd all about Miss Hammond's cowboy outfit stoppin' drinkin' an'cussin' an' packin' guns. They've took on religion an' decent livin', an' sure they'll be easy to hobble an' drive to jail. Hawe, listen. There was a good an' noble an be-ootiful woman come out of the Eastsomewheres, an' she brought a lot of sunshine an' happiness an' newidees into the tough lives of cowboys. I reckon it's beyond you to knowwhat she come to mean to them. Wal, I'll tell you. They-all went cleanout of their heads. They-all got soft an' easy an' sweet-tempered. Theygot so they couldn't kill a coyote, a crippled calf in a mud-hole. Theytook to books, an' writin' home to mother an' sister, an' to savin'money, an' to gittin' married. Onct they was only a lot of poor cowboys, an' then sudden-like they was human bein's, livin' in a big worldthet hed somethin' sweet even fer them. Even fer me--an ole, worn-out, hobble-legged, burned-up cowman like me! Do you git thet? An' you, Mister Hawe, you come along, not satisfied with ropin' an' beatin', an'Gaw knows what else, of thet friendless little Bonita; you comealong an' face the lady we fellers honor an' love an' reverence, an'you--you--Hell's fire!"

With whistling breath, foaming at the mouth, Monty Price crouched lower, hands at his hips, and he edged inch by inch farther out from the porch, closer to Hawe and Sneed. Madeline saw them only in the blurred fringeof her sight. They resembled specters. She heard the shrill whistle of ahorse and recognized Majesty calling her from the corral. 

"Thet's all!" roared Monty, in a voice now strangling. Lower and lowerhe bent, a terrible figure of ferocity. "Now, both you armed ocifers ofthe law, come on! Flash your guns! Throw 'em, an' be quick! Monty Priceis done! There'll be daylight through you both before you fan a hammer!But I'm givin' you a chanst to sting me. You holler law, an' my way isthe ole law. "

His breath came quicker, his voice grew hoarser, and he crouched lower. All his body except his rigid arms quivered with a wonderful muscularconvulsion. 

"Dogs! Skunks! Buzzards! Flash them guns, er I'll flash mine! Aha!"

To Madeline it seemed the three stiff, crouching men leaped into instantand united action. She saw streaks of fire--streaks of smoke. Then acrashing volley deafened her. It ceased as quickly. Smoke veiled thescene. Slowly it drifted away to disclose three fallen men, one of whom, Monty, leaned on his left hand, a smoking gun in his right. He watchedfor a movement from the other two. It did not come. Then, with aterrible smile, he slid back and stretched out. 

XXI. Unbridled

In waking and sleeping hours Madeline Hammond could not release herselffrom the thralling memory of that tragedy. She was haunted by MontyPrice's terrible smile. Only in action of some kind could she escape;and to that end she worked, she walked and rode. She even overcamea strong feeling, which she feared was unreasonable disgust, for theMexican girl Bonita, who lay ill at the ranch, bruised and feverish, inneed of skilful nursing. 

Madeline felt there was something inscrutable changing her soul. Thatstrife--the struggle to decide her destiny for East or West--held stillfurther aloof. She was never spiritually alone. There was a step on hertrail. Indoors she was oppressed. She required the open--the light andwind, the sight of endless slope, the sounds of corral and pond andfield, physical things, natural things. 

One afternoon she rode down to the alfalfa-fields, round them, and backup to the spillway of the lower lake, where a group of mesquite-trees, owing to the water that seeped through the sand to their roots, hadtaken on bloom and beauty of renewed life. Under these trees there wasshade enough to make a pleasant place to linger. Madeline dismounted, desiring to rest a little. She liked this quiet, lonely spot. It wasreally the only secluded nook near the house. If she rode down into thevalley or out to the mesa or up on the foothills she could not go alone. Probably now Stillwell or Nels knew her whereabouts. But as she wascomparatively hidden here, she imagined a solitude that was not actuallyhers. 

Her horse, Majesty, tossed his head and flung his mane and switched histail at the flies. He would rather have been cutting the wind down thevalley slope. Madeline sat with her back against a tree, and took offher sombrero. The soft breeze, fanning her hot face, blowing strandsof her hair, was refreshingly cool. She heard the slow tramp of cattlegoing in to drink. That sound ceased, and the grove of mesquitesappeared to be lifeless, except for her and her horse. It was, however, only after moments of attention that she found the place was far frombeing dead. Keen eyes and ears brought reward. Desert quail, as gray asthe bare earth, were dusting themselves in a shady spot. A bee, swift aslight, hummed by. She saw a horned toad, the color of stone, squattinglow, hiding fearfully in the sand within reach of her whip. She extendedthe point of the whip, and the toad quivered and swelled and hissed. Itwas instinct with fight. The wind faintly stirred the thin foliage ofthe mesquites, making a mournful sigh. From far up in the foothills, barely distinguishable, came the scream of an eagle. The bray of a burrobrought a brief, discordant break. Then a brown bird darted down froman unseen perch and made a swift, irregular flight after a flutteringwinged insect. Madeline heard the sharp snapping of a merciless beak. Indeed, there was more than life in the shade of the mesquites. 

Suddenly Majesty picked up his long ears and snorted. Then Madelineheard a slow pad of hoofs. A horse was approaching from the directionof the lake. Madeline had learned to be wary, and, mounting Majesty, sheturned him toward the open. A moment later she felt glad of her caution, for, looking back between the trees, she saw Stewart leading a horseinto the grove. She would as lief have met a guerrilla as this cowboy. 

Majesty had broken into a trot when a shrill whistle rent the air. Thehorse leaped and, wheeling so swiftly that he nearly unseated Madeline, he charged back straight for the mesquites. Madeline spoke to him, criedangrily at him, pulled with all her strength upon the bridle, but washelplessly unable to stop him. He whistled a piercing blast. Madelinerealized then that Stewart, his old master, had called him and thatnothing could turn him. She gave up trying, and attended to the urgentneed of intercepting mesquite boughs that Majesty thrashed into motion. The horse thumped into an aisle between the trees and, stopping beforeStewart, whinnied eagerly. 

Madeline, not knowing what to expect, had not time for any feeling butamaze. A quick glance showed her Stewart in rough garb, dressed forthe trail, and leading a wiry horse, saddled and packed. When Stewart, without looking at her, put his arm around Majesty's neck and laid hisface against the flowing mane Madeline's heart suddenly began to beatwith unwonted quickness. Stewart seemed oblivious to her presence. His eyes were closed. His dark face softened, lost its hardness andfierceness and sadness, and for an instant became beautiful. 

Madeline instantly divined what his action meant. He was leaving theranch; this was his good-by to his horse. How strange, sad, fine wasthis love between man and beast! A dimness confused Madeline's eyes;she hurriedly brushed it away, and it came back wet and blurring. Sheaverted her face, ashamed of the tears Stewart might see. She was sorryfor him. He was going away, and this time, judging from the nature ofhis farewell to his horse, it was to be forever. Like a stab from acold blade a pain shot through Madeline's heart. The wonder of it, theincomprehensibility of it, the utter newness and strangeness of thissharp pain that now left behind a dull pang, made her forget Stewart, her surroundings, everything except to search her heart. Maybe here wasthe secret that had eluded her. She trembled on the brink of somethingunknown. In some strange way the emotion brought back her girlhood. Her mind revolved swift queries and replies; she was living, feeling, learning; happiness mocked at her from behind a barred door, and thebar of that door seemed to be an inexplicable pain. Then like lightningstrokes shot the questions: Why should pain hide her happiness? Whatwas her happiness? What relation had it to this man? Why should she feelstrangely about his departure? And the voices within her were silenced, stunned, unanswered. 

"I want to talk to you, " said Stewart. 

Madeline started, turned to him, and now she saw the earlier Stewart, the man who reminded her of their first meeting at El Cajon, of thatmemorable meeting at Chiricahua. 

"I want to ask you something, " he went on. "I've been wanting to knowsomething. That's why I've hung on here. You never spoke to me, nevernoticed me, never gave me a chance to ask you. But now I'm goingover--over the border. And I want to know. Why did you refuse to listento me?"

At his last words that hot shame, tenfold more stifling than when it hadbefore humiliated Madeline, rushed over her, sending the scarlet in awave to her temples. It seemed that his words made her realize she wasactually face to face with him, that somehow a shame she would ratherhave died than revealed was being liberated. Biting her lips to holdback speech, she jerked on Majesty's bridle, struck him with her whip, spurred him. Stewart's iron arm held the horse. Then Madeline, in aflash of passion, struck at Stewart's face, missed it, struck again, andhit. With one pull, almost drawing her from the saddle, he tore the whipfrom her hands. It was not that action on his part, or the sudden strongmasterfulness of his look, so much as the livid mark on his face wherethe whip had lashed that quieted, if it did not check, her fury. 

"That's nothing, " he said, with something of his old audacity. "That'snothing to how you've hurt me. "

Madeline battled with herself for control. This man would not be denied. Never before had the hardness of his face, the flinty hardness of thesedesert-bred men, so struck her with its revelation of the unbridledspirit. He looked stern, haggard, bitter. The dark shade was changing togray--the gray to ash-color of passion. About him now there was only theghost of that finer, gentler man she had helped to bring into being. Thepiercing dark eyes he bent upon her burned her, went through her asif he were looking into her soul. Then Madeline's quick sight caught afleeting doubt, a wistfulness, a surprised and saddened certainty in hiseyes, saw it shade and pass away. Her woman's intuition, as keen as hersight, told her Stewart in that moment had sustained a shock of bitter, final truth. 

For the third time he repeated his question to her. Madeline did notanswer; she could not speak. 

"You don't know I love you, do you?" he continued, passionately. "Thatever since you stood before me in that hole at Chiricahua I've lovedyou? You can't see I've been another man, loving you, working for you, living for you? You won't believe I've turned my back on the old wildlife, that I've been decent and honorable and happy and useful--yourkind of a cowboy? You couldn't tell, though I loved you, that I neverwanted you to know it, that I never dared to think of you except as myangel, my holy Virgin? What do you know of a man's heart and soul? Howcould you tell of the love, the salvation of a man who's lived hislife in the silence and loneliness? Who could teach you the actualtruth--that a wild cowboy, faithless to mother and sister, except inmemory, riding a hard, drunken trail straight to hell; had looked intothe face, the eyes of a beautiful woman infinitely beyond him, abovehim, and had so loved her that he was saved--that he became faithfulagain--that he saw her face in every flower and her eyes in the blueheaven? Who could tell you, when at night I stood alone under theseWestern stars, how deep in my soul I was glad just to be alive, to beable to do something for you, to be near you, to stand between you andworry, trouble, danger, to feel somehow that I was a part, just a littlepart of the West you had come to love?"

Madeline was mute. She heard her heart thundering in her ears. 

Stewart leaped at her. His powerful hand closed on her arm. Shetrembled. His action presaged the old instinctive violence. 

"No; but you think I kept Bonita up in the mountains, that I wentsecretly to meet her, that all the while I served you I was--Oh, I knowwhat you think! I know now. I never knew till I made you look at me. Now, say it! Speak!"

White-hot, blinded, utterly in the fiery grasp of passion, powerless tostem the rush of a word both shameful and revealing and fatal, Madelinecried:

"YES!"

He had wrenched that word from her, but he was not subtle enough, notversed in the mystery of woman's motive enough, to divine the deepsignificance of her reply. 

For him the word had only literal meaning confirming the dishonor inwhich she held him. Dropping her arm, he shrank back, a strange actionfor the savage and crude man she judged him to be. 

"But that day at Chiricahua you spoke of faith, " he burst out. "You saidthe greatest thing in the world was faith in human nature. You said thefinest men had been those who had fallen low and had risen. You said youhad faith in me! You made me have faith in myself!"

His reproach, without bitterness or scorn, was a lash to her oldegoistic belief in her fairness. She had preached a beautiful principlethat she had failed to live up to. She understood his rebuke, shewondered and wavered, but the affront to her pride had been too great, the tumult within her breast had been too startlingly fierce; she couldnot speak, the moment passed, and with it his brief, rugged splendor ofsimplicity. 

"You think I am vile, " he said. "You think that about Bonita! And allthe time I've been. .. I could make you ashamed--I could tell you--"

His passionate utterance ceased with a snap of his teeth. His lips setin a thin, bitter line. The agitation of his face preceded a convulsivewrestling of his shoulders. All this swift action denoted an innercombat, and it nearly overwhelmed him. 

"No, no!" he panted. Was it his answer to some mighty temptation? Then, like a bent sapling released, he sprang erect. "But I'll be the man--thedog--you think me!"

He laid hold of her arm with rude, powerful clutch. One pull drew hersliding half out of the saddle into his arms. She fell with her breastagainst his, not wholly free of stirrups or horse, and there she hung, utterly powerless. Maddened, writhing, she tore to release herself. Allshe could accomplish was to twist herself, raise herself high enough tosee his face. That almost paralyzed her. Did he mean to kill her? Thenhe wrapped his arms around her and crushed her tighter, closer to him. She felt the pound of his heart; her own seemed to have frozen. Then hepressed his burning lips to hers. It was a long, terrible kiss. She felthim shake. 

"Oh, Stewart! I--implore--you--let--me--go!" she whispered. 

His white face loomed over hers. She closed her eyes. He rained kissesupon her face, but no more upon her mouth. On her closed eyes, her hair, her cheeks, her neck he pressed swift lips--lips that lost their fireand grew cold. Then he released her, and, lifting and righting her inthe saddle, he still held her arm to keep her from falling. 

For a moment Madeline sat on her horse with shut eyes. She dreaded thelight. 

"Now you can't say you've never been kissed, " Stewart said. His voiceseemed a long way off. "But that was coming to you, so be game. Here!"

She felt something hard and cold and metallic thrust into her hand. Hemade her fingers close over it, hold it. The feel of the thing revivedher. She opened her eyes. Stewart had given her his gun. He stood withhis broad breast against her knee, and she looked up to see that oldmocking smile on his face. 

"Go ahead! Throw my gun on me! Be a thoroughbred!"

Madeline did not yet grasp his meaning. 

"You can put me down in that quiet place on the hill--beside MontyPrice. "

Madeline dropped the gun with a shuddering cry of horror. The senseof his words, the memory of Monty, the certainty that she wouldkill Stewart if she held the gun an instant longer, tortured theself-accusing cry from her. 

Stewart stooped to pick up the weapon. 

"You might have saved me a hell of a lot of trouble, " he said, withanother flash of the mocking smile. "You're beautiful and sweet andproud, but you're no thoroughbred! Majesty Hammond, adios!"

Stewart leaped for the saddle of his horse, and with the flying mountcrashed through the mesquites to disappear. 

XXII. The Secret Told

In the shaded seclusion of her room, buried face down deep among thesoft cushions on her couch, Madeline Hammond lay prostrate and quiveringunder the outrage she had suffered. 

The afternoon wore away; twilight fell; night came; and then Madelinerose to sit by the window to let the cool wind blow upon her hot face. She passed through hours of unintelligible shame and impotent rage andfutile striving to reason away her defilement. 

The train of brightening stars seemed to mock her with theirunattainable passionless serenity. She had loved them, and now sheimagined she hated them and everything connected with this wild, fateful, and abrupt West. 

She would go home. 

Edith Wayne had been right; the West was no place for Madeline Hammond. The decision to go home came easily, naturally, she thought, as theresult of events. It caused her no mental strife. Indeed, she fanciedshe felt relief. The great stars, blinking white and cold over the darkcrags, looked down upon her, and, as always, after she had watchedthem for a while they enthralled her. "Under Western stars, " she mused, thinking a little scornfully of the romantic destiny they had blazed forher idle sentiment. But they were beautiful; they were speaking; theywere mocking; they drew her. "Ah!" she sighed. "It will not be so veryeasy to leave them, after all. "

Madeline closed and darkened the window. She struck a light. It wasnecessary to tell the anxious servants who knocked that she was well andrequired nothing. A soft step on the walk outside arrested her. Who wasthere--Nels or Nick Steele or Stillwell? Who shared the guardianshipover her, now that Monty Price was dead and that other--that savage--?It was monstrous and unfathomable that she regretted him. 

The light annoyed her. Complete darkness fitted her strange mood. Sheretired and tried to compose herself to sleep. Sleep for her was not amatter of will. Her cheeks burned so hotly that she rose to bathethem. Cold water would not alleviate this burn, and then, despairingof forgetfulness, she lay down again with a shameful gratitude for thecloak of night. Stewart's kisses were there, scorching her lips, herclosed eyes, her swelling neck. They penetrated deeper and deeper intoher blood, into her heart, into her soul--the terrible farewell kissesof a passionate, hardened man. Despite his baseness, he had loved her. 

Late in the night Madeline fell asleep. In the morning she was pale andlanguid, but in a mental condition that promised composure. 

It was considerably after her regular hour that Madeline repaired to heroffice. The door was open, and just outside, tipped back in a chair, satStillwell. 

"Mawnin', Miss Majesty, " he said, as he rose to greet her with his usualcourtesy. There were signs of trouble in his lined face. Madeline shrankinwardly, fearing his old lamentations about Stewart. Then she saw adusty, ragged pony in the yard and a little burro drooping under a heavypack. Both animals bore evidence of long, arduous travel. 

"To whom do they belong?" asked Madeline. 

"Them critters? Why, Danny Mains, " replied Stillwell, with a cough thatbetrayed embarrassment. 

"Danny Mains?" echoed Madeline, wonderingly. 

"Wal, I said so. "

Stillwell was indeed not himself. 

"Is Danny Mains here?" she asked, in sudden curiosity. 

The old cattleman nodded gloomily. 

"Yep, he's hyar, all right. Sloped in from the hills, an' he hollered tosee Bonita. He's locoed, too, about that little black-eyed hussy. Why, he hardly said, 'Howdy, Bill, ' before he begun to ask wild an' eagerquestions. I took him in to see Bonita. He's been there more 'n ahalf-hour now. "

Evidently Stillwell's sensitive feelings had been ruffled. Madeline'scuriosity changed to blank astonishment, which left her with a thrillingpremonition. She caught her breath. A thousand thoughts seemed throngingfor clear conception in her mind. 

Rapid footsteps with an accompaniment of clinking spurs sounded in thehallway. Then a young man ran out upon the porch. He resembled a cowboyin his lithe build, his garb and action, in the way he wore his gun, buthis face, instead of being red, was clear brown tan. His eyes were blue;his hair was light and curly. He was a handsome, frank-faced boy. Atsight of Madeline he slammed down his sombrero and, leaping at her, hepossessed himself of her hands. His swift violence not only alarmed her, but painfully reminded her of something she wished to forget. 

This cowboy bent his head and kissed her hands and wrung them, and whenhe straightened up he was crying. 

"Miss Hammond, she's safe an' almost well, an' what I feared most ain'tso, thank God, " he cried. "Sure I'll never be able to pay you for allyou've done for her. She's told me how she was dragged down here, howGene tried to save her, how you spoke up for Gene an' her, too, howMonty at the last throwed his guns. Poor Monty! We were good friends, Monty an' I. But it wasn't friendship for me that made Monty stand inthere. He would have saved her, anyway. Monty Price was the whitest manI ever knew. There's Nels an' Nick an' Gene, he's been some friend tome; but Monty Price was--he was grand. He never knew, any more than youor Bill, here, or the boys, what Bonita was to me. "

Stillwell's kind and heavy hand fell upon the cowboy's shoulder. 

"Danny, what's all this queer gab?" he asked. "An' you're takin' someliberty with Miss Hammond, who never seen you before. Sure I'm makin'allowance fer amazin' strange talk. I see you're not drinkin'. Mebbeyou're plumb locoed. Come, ease up now an' talk sense. "

The cowboy's fine, frank face broke into a smile. He dashed the tearsfrom his eyes. Then he laughed. His laugh had a pleasant, boyish ring--ahappy ring. 

"Bill, old pal, stand bridle down a minute, will you?" Then he bowed toMadeline. "I beg your pardon, Miss Hammond, for seemin' rudeness. I'mDanny Mains. An' Bonita is my wife. I'm so crazy glad she's safe an'unharmed--so grateful to you that--why, sure it's a wonder I didn't kissyou outright. "

"Bonita's your wife!" ejaculated Stillwell. 

"Sure. We've been married for months, " replied Danny, happily. "GeneStewart did it. Good old Gene, he's hell on marryin'. I guess maybe Ihaven't come to pay him up for all he's done for me! You see, I've beenin love with Bonita for two years. An' Gene--you know, Bill, what a wayGene has with girls--he was--well, he was tryin' to get Bonita to haveme. "

Madeline's quick, varying emotions were swallowed up in a boundlessgladness. Something dark, deep, heavy, and somber was flooded from herheart. She had a sudden rich sense of gratitude toward this smiling, clean-faced cowboy whose blue eyes flashed through tears. 

"Danny Mains!" she said, tremulously and smilingly. "If you are as gladas your news has made me--if you really think I merit such a reward--youmay kiss me outright. "

With a bashful wonder, but with right hearty will, Danny Mains availedhimself of this gracious privilege. Stillwell snorted. The signs of hisphenomenal smile were manifest, otherwise Madeline would have thoughtthat snort an indication of furious disapproval. 

"Bill, straddle a chair, " said Danny. "You've gone back a heap theselast few months, frettin' over your bad boys, Danny an' Gene. You'llneed support under you while I'm throwin' my yarn. Story of my life, Bill. " He placed a chair for Madeline. "Miss Hammond, beggin' yourpardon again, I want you to listen, also. You've the face an' eyes of awoman who loves to hear of other people's happiness. Besides, somehow, it's easy for me to talk lookin' at you. "

His manner subtly changed then. Possibly it took on a little swagger;certainly he lost the dignity that he had shown under stress of feeling;he was now more like a cowboy about to boast or affect some stunningmaneuver. Walking off the porch, he stood before the weary horse andburro. 

"Played out!" he exclaimed. 

Then with the swift violence so characteristic of men of his class heslipped the pack from the burro and threw saddle and bridle from thehorse. 

"There! See 'em! Take a look at the last dog-gone weight you everpacked! You've been some faithful to Danny Mains. An' Danny Mains pays!Never a saddle again or a strap or a halter or a hobble so long as youlive! So long as you live nothin' but grass an' clover, an' cool waterin shady places, an' dusty swales to roll in an' rest an' sleep!"

Then he untied the pack and, taking a small, heavy sack from it, he cameback upon the porch. Deliberately he dumped the contents of the sack atStillwell's feet. Piece after piece of rock thumped upon the floor. Thepieces were sharp, ragged, evidently broken from a ledge; the bodyof them was white in color, with yellow veins and bars and streaks. Stillwell grasped up one rock after another, stared and stuttered, putthe rocks to his lips, dug into them with his shaking fingers; then helay back in his chair, head against the wall, and as he gaped at Dannythe old smile began to transform his face. 

"Lord, Danny if you hevn't been an' gone an' struck it rich!"

Danny regarded Stillwell with lofty condescension. 

"Some rich, " he said. "Now, Bill, what've we got here, say, offhand?"

"Oh, Lord, Danny! I'm afraid to say. Look, Miss Majesty, jest look atthe gold. I've lived among prospectors an' gold-mines fer thirty years, an' I never seen the beat of this. "

"The Lost Mine of the Padres!" cried Danny, in stentorian voice. "An' itbelongs to me!"

Stillwell made some incoherent sound as he sat up fascinated, quitebeside himself. 

"Bill, it was some long time ago since you saw me, " said Danny. "Factis, I know how you felt, because Gene kept me posted. I happened to runacross Bonita, an' I wasn't goin' to let her ride away alone, when shetold me she was in trouble. We hit the trail for the Peloncillos. Bonitahad Gene's horse, an' she was to meet him up on the trail. We got to themountains all right, an' nearly starved for a few days till Gene foundus. He had got in trouble himself an' couldn't fetch much with him. 

"We made for the crags an' built a cabin. I come down that day Gene senthis horse Majesty to you. Never saw Gene so broken-hearted. Well, afterhe sloped for the border Bonita an' I were hard put to it to keep alive. But we got along, an' I think it was then she began to care a little forme. Because I was decent. I killed cougars an' went down to Rodeo to getbounties for the skins, an' bought grub an' supplies I needed. OnceI went to El Cajon an' run plumb into Gene. He was back from therevolution an' cuttin' up some. But I got away from him after doin' allI could to drag him out of town. A long time after that Gene trailedup to the crags an' found us. Gene had stopped drinkin', he'd changedwonderful, was fine an' dandy. It was then he began to pester the lifeout of me to make me marry Bonita. I was happy, so was she, an' I wassome scared of spoilin' it. Bonita had been a little flirt, an' I wasafraid she'd get shy of a halter, so I bucked against Gene. But I wasall locoed, as it turned out. Gene would come up occasionally, packin'supplies for us, an' always he'd get after me to do the right thing byBonita. Gene's so dog-gone hard to buck against! I had to give in, an'I asked Bonita to marry me. Well, she wouldn't at first--said she wasn'tgood enough for me. But I saw the marriage idea was workin' deep, an'I just kept on bein' as decent as I knew how. So it was my wantin' tomarry Bonita--my bein' glad to marry her--that made her grow soft an'sweet an' pretty as--as a mountain quail. Gene fetched up Padre Marcos, an' he married us. "

Danny paused in his narrative, breathing hard, as if the memory of theincident described had stirred strong and thrilling feeling in him. Stillwell's smile was rapturous. Madeline leaned toward Danny with hereyes shining. 

"Miss Hammond, an' you, Bill Stillwell, now listen, for this is strangeI've got to tell you. The afternoon Bonita an' I were married, when Genean' the padre had gone, I was happy one minute an' low-hearted the next. I was miserable because I had a bad name. I couldn't buy even a decentdress for my pretty wife. Bonita heard me, an' she was some mysterious. She told me the story of the lost mine of the padres, an' she kissedme an made joyful over me in the strangest way. I knew marriage went towomen's heads, an' I thought even Bonita had a spell. 

"Well, she left me for a little, an' when she came back she wore somepretty yellow flowers in her hair. Her eyes were big an' black an'beautiful. She said some queer things about spirits rollin' rocks downthe canyon. Then she said she wanted to show me where she always sat an'waited an' watched for me when I was away. 

"She led me around under the crags to a long slope. It was some prettythere--clear an' open, with a long sweep, an' the desert yawnin' deepan' red. There were yellow flowers on that slope, the same kind she hadin her hair--the same kind that Apache girl wore hundreds of years agowhen she led the padre to the gold-mine. 

"When I thought of that, an' saw Bonita's eyes, an' then heard thestrange crack of rollin' rocks--heard them rattle down an' roll an'grow faint--I was some out of my head. But not for long. Them rocks wererollin' all right, only it was the weatherin' of the cliffs. 

"An' there under the crags was a gold pocket. 

"Then I was worse than locoed. I went gold-crazy. I worked likeseventeen burros. Bill, I dug a lot of goldbearin' quartz. Bonitawatched the trails for me, brought me water. That was how she come toget caught by Pat Hawe an' his guerrillas. Sure! Pat Hawe was so set ondoin' Gene dirt that he mixed up with Don Carlos. Bonita will tell yousome staggerin' news about that outfit. Just now my story is all gold. "

Danny Mains got up and kicked back his chair. Blue lightning gleamedfrom his eyes as he thrust a hand toward Stillwell. 

"Bill, old pal, put her there--give me your hand, " he said. "You werealways my friend. You had faith in me. Well, Danny Mains owes you, an' he owes Gene Stewart a good deal, an' Danny Mains pays. I want twopardners to help me work my gold-mine. You an' Gene. If there's anyranch hereabouts that takes your fancy I'll buy it. If Miss Hammond evergets tired of her range an stock an' home I'll buy them for Gene. Ifthere's any railroad or town round here that she likes I'll buy it. IfI see anythin' myself that I like I'll buy it. Go out; find Gene for me. I'm achin' to see him, to tell him. Go fetch him; an' right here inthis house, with my wife an' Miss Hammond as witnesses, we'll draw up apardnership. Go find him, Bill. I want to show him this gold, show himhow Danny Mains pays! An' the only bitter drop in my cup to-day is thatI can't ever pay Monty Price. "

 *****

Madeline's lips tremblingly formed to tell Danny Mains and Stillwellthat the cowboy they wanted so much had left the ranch; but the flameof fine loyalty that burned in Danny's eyes, the happiness that made theold cattleman's face at once amazing and beautiful, stiffened her lips. She watched the huge Stillwell and the little cowboy, both talkingwildly, as they walked off arm in arm to find Stewart. She imaginedsomething of what Danny's disappointment would be, of the elder man'sconsternation and grief, when he learned Stewart had left for theborder. At this juncture she looked up to see a strange, yet familiarfigure approaching. Padre Marcos! Certain it was that Madeline feltherself trembling. What did his presence mean on this day? He had alwaysavoided meeting her whenever possible. He had been exceedingly gratefulfor all she had done for his people, his church, and himself; but he hadnever thanked her in person. Perhaps he had come for that purpose now. But Madeline did not believe so. 

Mention of Padre Marcos, sight of him, had always occasioned Madelinea little indefinable shock; and now, as he stepped to the porch, ashrunken, stooped, and sad-faced man, she was startled. 

The padre bowed low to her. 

"Senora, will you grant me audience?" he asked, in perfect English, andhis voice was low-toned and grave. 

"Certainly, Padre Marcos, " replied Madeline; and she led him into heroffice. 

"May I beg to close the doors?" he asked. "It is a matter of greatmoment, which you might not care to have any one hear. "

Wonderingly Madeline inclined her head. The padre gently closed one doorand then the others. 

"Senora, I have come to disclose a secret--my own sinfulness in keepingit--and to implore your pardon. Do you remember that night Senor Stewartdragged me before you in the waiting-room at El Cajon?"

"Yes, " replied Madeline. 

"Senora, since that night you have been Senor Stewart's wife!"

Madeline became as motionless as stone. She seemed to feel nothing, onlyto hear. 

"You are Senor Stewart's wife. I have kept the secret under fear ofdeath. But I could keep it no longer. Senor Stewart may kill me now. Ah, Senora, it is very strange to you. You were so frightened that night, you knew not what happened. Senor Stewart threatened me. He forced you. He made me speak the service. He made you speak the Spanish yes. And I, Senora, knowing the deeds of these sinful cowboys, fearing worse thandisgrace to one so beautiful and so good as you, I could not do lessthan marry you truly. At least you should be his wife. So I married you, truly, in the service of my church. "

"My God!" cried Madeline, rising. 

"Hear me! I implore you, Senora, hear me out! Do not leave me! Do notlook so--so--Ah, Senora, let me speak a word for Senor Stewart. He wasdrunk that night. He did not know what he was about. In the morninghe came to me, made me swear by my cross that I would not reveal thedisgrace he had put upon you. If I did he would kill me. Life is nothingto the American vaquero, Senora. I promised to respect his command. But I did not tell him you were his wife. He did not dream I had trulymarried you. He went to fight for the freedom of my country--Senora, heis one splendid soldier--and I brooded over the sin of my secret. If hewere killed I need never tell you. But if he lived I knew that I mustsome day. 

"Strange indeed that Senor Stewart and Padre Marcos should both cometo this ranch together. The great change your goodness wrought in mybeloved people was no greater than the change in Senor Stewart. Senora, I feared you would go away one day, go back to your Eastern home, ignorant of the truth. The time came when I confessed to Stewart--saidI must tell you. Senor, the man went mad with joy. I have never seenso supreme a joy. He threatened no more to kill me. That strong, cruel vaquero begged me not to tell the secret--never to reveal it. Heconfessed his love for you--a love something like the desert storm. Heswore by all that was once sacred to him, and by my cross and mychurch, that he would be a good man, that he would be worthy to have yousecretly his wife for the little time life left him to worship at yourshrine. You needed never to know. So I held my tongue, half pitying him, half fearing him, and praying for some God-sent light. 

"Senora, it was a fool's paradise that Stewart lived in. I saw him, often. When he took me up into the mountains to have me marry thatwayward Bonita and her lover I came to have respect for a man whoseideas about nature and life and God were at a variance with mine. Butthe man is a worshiper of God in all material things. He is a part ofthe wind and sun and desert and mountain that have made him. I havenever heard more beautiful words than those in which he persuaded Bonitato accept Senor Mains, to forget her old lovers, and henceforth to behappy. He is their friend. I wish I could tell you what that means. It sounds so simple. It is really simple. All great things are so. ForSenor Stewart it was natural to be loyal to his friend, to have a finesense of the honor due to a woman who had loved and given, to bringabout their marriage, to succor them in their need and loneliness. Itwas natural for him never to speak of them. It would have been naturalfor him to give his life in their defense if peril menaced them. Senora, I want you to understand that to me the man has the same stability, thesame strength, the same elements which I am in the habit of attributingto the physical life around me in this wild and rugged desert. "

Madeline listened as one under a spell. It was not only that thissoft-voiced, eloquent priest knew how to move the heart, stir the soul;but his defense, his praise of Stewart, if they had been couched in thecrude speech of cowboys, would have been a glory to her. 

"Senora, I pray you, do not misunderstand my mission. Beyond myconfession to you I have only a duty to tell you of the man whose wifeyou are. But I am a priest and I can read the soul. The ways of God areinscrutable. I am only a humble instrument. You are a noble woman, andSenor Stewart is a man of desert iron forged anew in the crucible oflove. Quien sabe? Senor Stewart swore he would kill me if I betrayedhim. But he will not lift his hand against me. For the man bears you avery great and pure love, and it has changed him. I no longer fear histhreat, but I do fear his anger, should he ever know I spoke of hislove, of his fool's paradise. I have watched his dark face turned to thesun setting over the desert. I have watched him lift it to the lightof the stars. Think, my gracious and noble lady, think what is hisparadise? To love you above the spirit of the flesh; to know you are hiswife, his, never to be another's except by his sacrifice; to watch youwith a secret glory of joy and pride; to stand, while he might, betweenyou and evil; to find his happiness in service; to wait, with never adream of telling you, for the hour to come when to leave you free hemust go out and get himself shot! Senora, that is beautiful, it issublime, it is terrible. It has brought me to you with my confession. Irepeat, Senora, the ways of God are inscrutable. What is the meaning ofyour influence upon Senor Stewart? Once he was merely an animal, brutal, unquickened; now he is a man--I have not seen his like! So I beseech youin my humble office as priest, as a lover of mankind, before yousend Stewart to his death, to be sure there is here no mysteriousdispensation of God. Love, that mighty and blessed and unknown thing, might be at work. Senora, I have heard that somewhere in the richEastern cities you are a very great lady. I know you are good and noble. That is all I want to know. To me you are only a woman, the same asSenor Stewart is only a man. So I pray you, Senora, before you letStewart give you freedom at such cost be sure you do not want his love, lest you cast away something sweet and ennobling which you yourself havecreated. "

XXIII. The Light of Western Stars

Blinded, like a wild creature, Madeline Hammond ran to her room. Shefelt as if a stroke of lightning had shattered the shadowy substance ofthe dream she had made of real life. The wonder of Danny Mains's story, the strange regret with which she had realized her injustice to Stewart, the astounding secret as revealed by Padre Marcos--these were forgottenin the sudden consciousness of her own love. 

Madeline fled as if pursued. With trembling hands she locked the doors, drew the blinds of the windows that opened on the porch, pushed chairsaside so that she could pace the length of her room. She was now alone, and she walked with soft, hurried, uneven steps. She could be herselfhere; she needed no mask; the long habit of serenely hiding the truthfrom the world and from herself could be broken. The seclusion of herdarkened chamber made possible that betrayal of herself to which she wasimpelled. 

She paused in her swift pacing to and fro. She liberated the thoughtthat knocked at the gates of her mind. With quivering lips she whisperedit. Then she spoke aloud:

"I will say it--hear it. I--I love him!"

"I love him!" she repeated the astounding truth, but she doubted heridentity. 

"Am I still Madeline Hammond? What has happened? Who am I?" She stoodwhere the light from one unclosed window fell upon her image in themirror. "Who is this woman?"

She expected to see a familiar, dignified person, a quiet, unruffledfigure, a tranquil face with dark, proud eyes and calm, proud lips. No, she did not see Madeline Hammond. She did not see any one she knew. Wereher eyes, like her heart, playing her false? The figure before herwas instinct with pulsating life. The hands she saw, clasped together, pressed deep into a swelling bosom that heaved with each panting breath. The face she saw--white, rapt, strangely glowing, with parted, quiveringlips, with great, staring, tragic eyes--this could not be MadelineHammond's face. 

Yet as she looked she knew no fancy could really deceive her, that shewas only Madeline Hammond come at last to the end of brooding dreams. She swiftly realized the change in her, divined its cause and meaning, accepted it as inevitable, and straightway fell back again into the moodof bewildering amaze. 

Calmness was unattainable. The surprise absorbed her. She could not goback to count the innumerable, imperceptible steps of her undoing. Herold power of reflecting, analyzing, even thinking at all, seemed to havevanished in a pulse-stirring sense of one new emotion. She only feltall her instinctive outward action that was a physical relief, all herinvoluntary inner strife that was maddening, yet unutterably sweet; andthey seemed to be just one bewildering effect of surprise. 

In a nature like hers, where strength of feeling had long been inhibitedas a matter of training, such a transforming surprise as suddenconsciousness of passionate love required time for its awakening, timefor its sway. 

By and by that last enlightening moment came, and Madeline Hammond facednot only the love in her heart, but the thought of the man she loved. 

Suddenly, as she raged, something in her--this dauntless newpersonality--took arms against indictment of Gene Stewart. Her mindwhirled about him and his life. She saw him drunk, brutal; she saw himabandoned, lost. Then out of the picture she had of him thus slowly grewone of a different man--weak, sick, changed by shock, growing strong, strangely, spiritually altered, silent, lonely like an eagle, secretive, tireless, faithful, soft as a woman, hard as iron to endure, and at thelast noble. 

She softened. In a flash her complex mood changed to one wherein shethought of the truth, the beauty, the wonder of Stewart's uplifting. Humbly she trusted that she had helped him to climb. That influencehad been the best she had ever exerted. It had wrought magic in her owncharacter. By it she had reached some higher, nobler plane of trust inman. She had received infinitely more than she had given. 

Her swiftly flying memory seemed to assort a vast mine of treasuresof the past. Of that letter Stewart had written to her brother shesaw vivid words. But ah! she had known, and if it had not made anydifference then, now it made all in the world. She recalled how herloosened hair had blown across his lips that night he had ridden downfrom the mountains carrying her in his arms. She recalled the strangejoy of pride in Stewart's eyes when he had suddenly come upon herdressed to receive her Eastern guests in the white gown with the redroses at her breast. 

Swiftly as they had come these dreamful memories departed. There wasto be no rest for her mind. All she had thought and felt seemed only topresage a tumult. 

Heedless, desperate, she cast off the last remnant of self-control, turned from the old proud, pale, cold, self-contained ghost of herselfto face this strange, strong, passionate woman. Then, with hands pressedto her beating heart, with eyes shut, she listened to the ringingtrip-hammer voice of circumstance, of truth, of fatality. The wholestory was revealed, simple enough in the sum of its complicated details, strange and beautiful in part, remorseless in its proof of great loveon Stewart's side, in dreaming blindness on her own, and, from the firstfatal moment to the last, prophetic of tragedy. 

Madeline, like a prisoner in a cell, began again to pace to and fro. 

"Oh, it is all terrible!" she cried. "I am his wife. His wife! Thatmeeting with him--the marriage--then his fall, his love, his rise, his silence, his pride! And I can never be anything to him. Could I beanything to him? I, Madeline Hammond? But I am his wife, and I love him!His wife! I am the wife of a cowboy! That might be undone. Can my lovebe undone? Ah, do I want anything undone? He is gone. Gone! Could hehave meant--I will not, dare not think of that. He will come back. No, he never will come back. Oh, what shall I do?"

 *****

For Madeline Hammond the days following that storm of feeling wereleaden-footed, endless, hopeless--a long succession of weary hours, sleepless hours, passionate hours, all haunted by a fear slowly growinginto torture, a fear that Stewart had crossed the border to invite thebullet which would give her freedom. The day came when she knew thisto be true. The spiritual tidings reached her, not subtly as so manydivinations had come, but in a clear, vital flash of certainty. Then shesuffered. She burned inwardly, and the nature of that deep fire showedthrough her eyes. She kept to herself, waiting, waiting for her fears tobe confirmed. 

At times she broke out in wrath at the circumstances she had failed tocontrol, at herself, at Stewart. 

"He might have learned from Ambrose!" she exclaimed, sick with abitterness she knew was not consistent with her pride. She recalledChristine's trenchant exposition of Ambrose's wooing: "He tell me helove me; he kees me; he hug me; he put me on his horse; he ride awaywith me; he marry me. "

Then in the next breath Madeline denied this insistent clamoring ofa love that was gradually breaking her spirit. Like a somber shadowremorse followed her, shading blacker. She had been blind to a man'shonesty, manliness, uprightness, faith, and striving. She had been deadto love, to nobility that she had herself created. Padre Marcos's grave, wise words returned to haunt her. She fought her bitterness, scorned herintelligence, hated her pride, and, weakening, gave up more and more toa yearning, hopeless hope. 

She had shunned the light of the stars as she had violently dismissedevery hinting suggestive memory of Stewart's kisses. But one night shewent deliberately to her window. There they shone. Her stars! Beautiful, passionless as always, but strangely closer, warmer, speaking a kinderlanguage, helpful as they had never been, teaching her now that regretwas futile, revealing to her in their one grand, blazing task thesupreme duty of life--to be true. 

Those shining stars made her yield. She whispered to them that they hadclaimed her--the West claimed her--Stewart claimed her forever, whetherhe lived or died. She gave up to her love. And it was as if he was therein person, dark-faced, fire-eyed, violent in his action, crushing her tohis breast in that farewell moment, kissing her with one burning kiss ofpassion, then with cold, terrible lips of renunciation. 

"I am your wife!" she whispered to him. In that moment, throbbing, exalted, quivering in her first sweet, tumultuous surrender to love, shewould have given her all, her life, to be in his arms again, to meet hislips, to put forever out of his power any thought of wild sacrifice. 

 *****

And on the morning of the next day, when Madeline went out upon theporch, Stillwell, haggard and stern, with a husky, incoherent word, handed her a message from El Cajon. She read:

El Capitan Stewart captured by rebel soldiers in fight at Agua Prietayesterday. He was a sharpshooter in the Federal ranks. Sentenced todeath Thursday at sunset. 

XXIV. The Ride

"Stillwell!"

Madeline's cry was more than the utterance of a breaking heart. It wasfull of agony. But also it uttered the shattering of a structure builtof false pride, of old beliefs, of bloodless standards, of ignoranceof self. It betrayed the final conquest of her doubts, and out oftheir darkness blazed the unquenchable spirit of a woman who had foundherself, her love, her salvation, her duty to a man, and who would notbe cheated. 

The old cattleman stood mute before her, staring at her white face, ather eyes of flame. 

"Stillwell! I am Stewart's wife!"

"My Gawd, Miss Majesty!" he burst out. "I knowed somethin' turrible waswrong. Aw, sure it's a pity--"

"Do you think I'll let him be shot when I know him now, when I'm nolonger blind, when I love him?" she asked, with passionate swiftness. "I will save him. This is Wednesday morning. I have thirty-six hours tosave his life. Stillwell, send for Link and the car!"

She went into her office. Her mind worked with extraordinary rapidityand clearness. Her plan, born in one lightning-like flash of thought, necessitated the careful wording of telegrams to Washington, to NewYork, to San Antonio. These were to Senators, Representatives, men highin public and private life, men who would remember her and who wouldserve her to their utmost. Never before had her position meant anythingto her comparable with what it meant now. Never in all her life hadmoney seemed the power that it was then. If she had been poor! Ashuddering chill froze the thought at its inception. She dispelledheartbreaking thoughts. She had power. She had wealth. She would setinto operation all the unlimited means these gave her--the wiresand pulleys and strings underneath the surface of political andinternational life, the open, free, purchasing value of money or thedeep, underground, mysterious, incalculably powerful influence movedby gold. She could save Stewart. She must await results--deadlocked infeeling, strained perhaps almost beyond endurance, because the suspensewould be great; but she would allow no possibility of failure to enterher mind. 

When she went outside the car was there with Link, helmet in hand, acool, bright gleam in his eyes, and with Stillwell, losing his haggardmisery, beginning to respond to Madeline's spirit. 

"Link, drive Stillwell to El Cajon in time for him to catch the El Pasotrain, " she said. "Wait there for his return, and if any message comesfrom him, telephone it at once to me. "

Then she gave Stillwell the telegrams to send from El Cajon and draftsto cash in El Paso. She instructed him to go before the rebel junta, then stationed at Juarez, to explain the situation, to bid them expectcommunications from Washington officials requesting and advisingStewart's exchange as a prisoner of war, to offer to buy his releasefrom the rebel authorities. 

When Stillwell had heard her through his huge, bowed form straightened, a ghost of his old smile just moved his lips. He was no longer young, and hope could not at once drive away stern and grim realities. As hebent over her hand his manner appeared courtly and reverent. But eitherhe was speechless or felt the moment not one for him to break silence. 

He climbed to a seat beside Link, who pocketed the watch he had beenstudying and leaned over the wheel. There was a crack, a muffled soundbursting into a roar, and the big car jerked forward to bound over theedge of the slope, to leap down the long incline, to shoot out upon thelevel valley floor and disappear in moving dust. 

For the first time in days Madeline visited the gardens, the corrals, the lakes, the quarters of the cowboys. Though imagining she was calm, she feared she looked strange to Nels, to Nick, to Frankie Slade, tothose boys best known to her. The situation for them must have been oneof tormenting pain and bewilderment. They acted as if they wanted tosay something to her, but found themselves spellbound. She wondered--didthey know she was Stewart's wife? Stillwell had not had time to tellthem; besides, he would not have mentioned the fact. These cowboys onlyknew that Stewart was sentenced to be shot; they knew if Madeline hadnot been angry with him he would not have gone in desperate fightingmood across the border. She spoke of the weather, of the horses andcattle, asked Nels when he was to go on duty, and turned away from thewide, sunlit, adobe-arched porch where the cowboys stood silent andbareheaded. Then one of her subtle impulses checked her. 

"Nels, you and Nick need not go on duty to-day, " she said. "I may wantyou. I--I--"

She hesitated, paused, and stood lingering there. Her glance had fallenupon Stewart's big black horse prancing in a near-by corral. 

"I have sent Stillwell to El Paso, " she went on, in a low voice shefailed to hold steady. "He will save Stewart. I have to tell you--I amStewart's wife!"

She felt the stricken amaze that made these men silent and immovable. With level gaze averted she left them. Returning to the house and herroom, she prepared for something--for what? To wait!

Then a great invisible shadow seemed to hover behind her. She essayedmany tasks, to fail of attention, to find that her mind held onlyStewart and his fortunes. Why had he become a Federal? She reflectedthat he had won his title, El Capitan, fighting for Madero, the rebel. But Madero was now a Federal, and Stewart was true to him. In crossingthe border had Stewart any other motive than the one he had implied toMadeline in his mocking smile and scornful words, "You might have savedme a hell of a lot of trouble!" What trouble? She felt again the coldshock of contact with the gun she had dropped in horror. He meant thetrouble of getting himself shot in the only way a man could seek deathwithout cowardice. But had he any other motive? She recalled Don Carlosand his guerrillas. Then the thought leaped up in her mind with grippingpower that Stewart meant to hunt Don Carlos, to meet him, to kill him. It would be the deed of a silent, vengeful, implacable man driven bywild justice such as had been the deadly leaven in Monty Price. It wasa deed to expect of Nels or Nick Steel--and, aye, of Gene Stewart. Madeline felt regret that Stewart, as he had climbed so high, had notrisen above deliberate seeking to kill his enemy, however evil thatenemy. 

The local newspapers, which came regularly a day late from El Pasoand Douglas, had never won any particular interest from Madeline;now, however, she took up any copies she could find and read all theinformation pertaining to the revolution. Every word seemed vital toher, of moving significant force. 

AMERICANS ROBBED BY MEXICAN REBELS

MADERA, STATE OF CHIHUAHUA, MEXICO, July 17. --Having looted the MaderaLumber Company's storehouses of $25, 000 worth of goods and robbed scoresof foreigners of horses and saddles, the rebel command of Gen. AntonioRojas, comprising a thousand men, started westward to-day through thestate of Sonora for Agnaymas and Pacific coast points. 

The troops are headed for Dolores, where a mountain pass leads intothe state of Sonora. Their entrance will be opposed by 1, 000 Maderistavolunteers, who are reported to be waiting the rebel invasion. 

The railroad south of Madera is being destroyed and many Americans whowere traveling to Chihuahua from Juarez are marooned here. 

General Rojas executed five men while here for alleged offenses of atrivial character. Gen. Rosalio y Hernandez, Lieut. Cipriano Amador, andthree soldiers were the unfortunates. 

WASHINGTON, July 17. --Somewhere in Mexico Patrick Dunne, an Americancitizen, is in prison under sentence of death. This much and no morethe State Department learned through Representative Kinkaid of Nebraska. Consular officers in various sections of Mexico have been directed tomake every effort to locate Dunne and save his life. 

JUAREZ, MEXICO, July 31. --General Orozco, chief of the rebels, declaredto-day:

"If the United States will throw down the barriers and let us haveall the ammunition we can buy, I promise in sixty days to have peacerestored in Mexico and a stable government in charge. "

CASAS GRANDES, CHIHUAHUA, July 31. --Rebel soldiers looted many homesof Mormons near here yesterday. All the Mormon families have fled toEl Paso. Although General Salazar had two of his soldiers executedyesterday for robbing Mormons, he has not made any attempt to stop hismen looting the unprotected homes of Americans. 

Last night's and to-day's trains carried many Americans from Pearson, Madera, and other localities outside the Mormon settlements. Refugeesfrom Mexico continued to pour into El Paso. About one hundred came lastnight, the majority of whom were men. Heretofore few men came. 

Madeline read on in feverish absorption. It was not a real war, but astarving, robbing, burning, hopeless revolution. Five men executed foralleged offenses of a trivial nature! What chance had, then, a Federalprisoner, an enemy to be feared, an American cowboy in the clutches ofthose crazed rebels?

Madeline endured patiently, endured for long interminable hours whileholding to her hope with indomitable will. 

No message came. At sunset she went outdoors, suffering a tormentof accumulating suspense. She faced the desert, hoping, praying forstrength. The desert did not influence her as did the passionless, unchangeable stars that had soothed her spirit. It was red, mutable, shrouded in shadows, terrible like her mood. A dust-veiled sunsetcolored the vast, brooding, naked waste of rock and sand. The grimChiricahua frowned black and sinister. The dim blue domes of theGuadalupes seemed to whisper, to beckon to her. Beyond them somewherewas Stewart, awaiting the end of a few brief hours--hours that to herwere boundless, endless, insupportable. 

Night fell. But now the white, pitiless stars failed her. Then shesought the seclusion and darkness of her room, there to lie with wideeyes, waiting, waiting. She had always been susceptible to the somber, mystic unrealities of the night, and now her mind slowly revolved rounda vague and monstrous gloom. Nevertheless, she was acutely sensitive tooutside impressions. She heard the measured tread of a guard, the rustleof wind stirring the window-curtain, the remote, mournful wail of acoyote. By and by the dead silence of the night insulated her withleaden oppression. There was silent darkness for so long that when thewindow casements showed gray she believed it was only fancy and thatdawn would never come. She prayed for the sun not to rise, not to beginits short twelve-hour journey toward what might be a fatal setting forStewart. But the dawn did lighten, swiftly she thought, remorselessly. Daylight had broken, and this was Thursday!

Sharp ringing of the telephone bell startled her, roused her intoaction. She ran to answer the call. 

"Hello--hello--Miss Majesty!" came the hurried reply. "This is Linktalkin'. Messages for you. Favorable, the operator said. I'm to ride outwith them. I'll come a-hummin'. "

That was all. Madeline heard the bang of the receiver as Stevens threwit down. She passionately wanted to know more, but was immeasurablygrateful for so much! Favorable! Then Stillwell had been successful. Her heart leaped. Suddenly she became weak and her hands failed of theiraccustomed morning deftness. It took her what seemed a thousand years todress. Breakfast meant nothing to her except that it helped her to passdragging minutes. 

Finally a low hum, mounting swiftly to a roar and ending with a sharpreport, announced the arrival of the car. If her feet had kept pace withher heart she would have raced out to meet Link. She saw him, helmetthrown back, watch in hand, and he looked up at her with his cool, bright smile, with his familiar apologetic manner. 

"Fifty-three minutes, Miss Majesty, " he said, "but I hed to ride round aherd of steers an' bump a couple off the trail. "

He gave her a packet of telegrams. Madeline tore them open with shakingfingers, began to read with swift, dim eyes. Some were from Washington, assuring her of every possible service; some were from New York; otherswritten in Spanish were from El Paso, and these she could not whollytranslate in a brief glance. Would she never find Stillwell's message?It was the last. It was lengthy. It read:

Bought Stewart's release. Also arranged for his transfer as prisonerof war. Both matters official. He's safe if we can get notice to hiscaptors. Not sure I've reached them by wire. Afraid to trust it. You gowith Link to Agua Prieta. Take the messages sent you in Spanish. Theywill protect you and secure Stewart's freedom. Take Nels with you. Stopfor nothing. Tell Link all--trust him--let him drive that car. 

STILLWELL. 

 *****

The first few lines of Stillwell's message lifted Madeline to theheights of thanksgiving and happiness. Then, reading on, she experienceda check, a numb, icy, sickening pang. At the last line she flung offdoubt and dread, and in white, cold passion faced the issue. 

"Read, " she said, briefly, handing the telegram to Link. He scanned itand then looked blankly up at her. 

"Link, do you know the roads, the trails--the desert between here andAgua Prieta?" she asked. 

"Thet's sure my old stampin'-ground. An' I know Sonora, too. "

"We must reach Agua Prieta before sunset--long before, so if Stewart isin some near-by camp we can get to it in--in time. "

"Miss Majesty, it ain't possible!" he exclaimed. "Stillwell's crazy tosay thet. "

"Link, can an automobile be driven from here into northern Mexico?"

"Sure. But it 'd take time. "

"We must do it in little time, " she went on, in swift eagerness. "Otherwise Stewart may be--probably will be--be shot. "

Link Stevens appeared suddenly to grow lax, shriveled, to lose all hispeculiar pert brightness, to weaken and age. 

"I'm only a--a cowboy, Miss Majesty. " He almost faltered. It was asingular change in him. "Thet's an awful ride--down over the border. Ifby some luck I didn't smash the car I'd turn your hair gray. You'd neverbe no good after thet ride!"

"I am Stewart's wife, " she answered him and she looked at him, notconscious of any motive to persuade or allure, but just to let him knowthe greatness of her dependence upon him. 

He started violently--the old action of Stewart, the memorable action ofMonty Price. This man was of the same wild breed. 

Then Madeline's words flowed in a torrent. "I am Stewart's wife. I lovehim; I have been unjust to him; I must save him. Link, I have faith inyou. I beseech you to do your best for Stewart's sake--for my sake. I'llrisk the ride gladly--bravely. I'll not care where or how you drive. I'dfar rather plunge into a canyon--go to my death on the rocks--than nottry to save Stewart. "

How beautiful the response of this rude cowboy--to realize his absoluteunconsciousness of self, to see the haggard shade burn out of his face, the old, cool, devil-may-care spirit return to his eyes, and to feelsomething wonderful about him then! It was more than will or daring orsacrifice. A blood-tie might have existed between him and Madeline. Shesensed again that indefinable brother-like quality, so fine, so almostinvisible, which seemed to be an inalienable trait in these wildcowboys. 

"Miss Majesty, thet ride figgers impossible, but I'll do it!" hereplied. His cool, bright glance thrilled her. "I'll need mebbe half anhour to go over the car an' to pack on what I'll want. "

She could not thank him, and her reply was merely a request that he tellNels and other cowboys off duty to come up to the house. When Link hadgone Madeline gave a moment's thought to preparations for the ride. Sheplaced what money she had and the telegrams in a satchel. The gown shehad on was thin and white, not suitable for travel, but she would notrisk the losing of one moment in changing it. She put on a long coatand wound veils round her head and neck, arranging them in a hood soshe could cover her face when necessary. She remembered to take an extrapair of goggles for Nels's use, and then, drawing on her gloves, shewent out ready for the ride. 

A number of cowboys were waiting. She explained the situation and leftthem in charge of her home. With that she asked Nels to accompany herdown into the desert. He turned white to his lips, and this occasionedMadeline to remember his mortal dread of the car and Link's driving. 

"Nels, I'm sorry to ask you, " she added. "I know you hate the car. But Ineed you--may need you, oh! so much. "

"Why, Miss Majesty, thet's shore all a mistaken idee of yours about mehatin' the car, " he said, in his slow, soft drawl. "I was only jealousof Link; an' the boys, they made thet joke up on me about bein' scaredof ridin' fast. Shore I'm powerful proud to go. An' I reckon if youhedn't asked me my feelin's might hev been some hurt. Because if you'regoin' down among the Greasers you want me. "

His cool, easy speech, his familiar swagger, the smile with which heregarded her did not in the least deceive Madeline. The gray was stillin his face. Incomprehensible as it seemed, Nels had a dread, an uncannyfear, and it was of that huge white automobile. But he lied about it. Here again was that strange quality of faithfulness. 

Madeline heard the buzz of the car. Link appeared driving up the slope. He made a short, sliding turn and stopped before the porch. Link hadtied two long, heavy planks upon the car, one on each side, and in everyavailable space he had strapped extra tires. A huge cask occupied oneback seat, and another seat was full of tools and ropes. There wasjust room in this rear part of the car for Nels to squeeze in. Link putMadeline in front beside him, then bent over the wheel. Madeline wavedher hand at the silent cowboys on the porch. Not an audible good-by wasspoken. 

The car glided out of the yard, leaped from level to slope, and startedswiftly down the road, out into the open valley. Each stronger rush ofdry wind in Madeline's face marked the increase of speed. She took oneglance at the winding cattle-road, smooth, unobstructed, disappearingin the gray of distance. She took another at the leather-garbed, leather-helmeted driver beside her, and then she drew the hood of veilsover her face and fastened it round her neck so there was no possibilityof its blowing loose. 

Harder and stronger pressed the wind till it was like sheetedlead forcing her back in her seat. There was a ceaseless, intense, inconceivably rapid vibration under her; occasionally she felt a longswing, as if she were to be propelled aloft; but no jars disturbed theeasy celerity of the car. The buzz, the roar of wheels, of heavy bodyin flight, increased to a continuous droning hum. The wind became aninsupportable body moving toward her, crushing her breast, making thetask of breathing most difficult. To Madeline the time seemed tofly with the speed of miles. A moment came when she detected a faintdifference in hum and rush and vibration, in the ceaseless sweeping ofthe invisible weight against her. This difference became marked. Linkwas reducing speed. Then came swift change of all sensation, and sherealized the car had slowed to normal travel. 

Madeline removed her hood and goggles. It was a relief to breathefreely, to be able to use her eyes. To her right, not far distant, laythe little town of Chiricahua. Sight of it made her remember Stewart ina way strange to her constant thought of him. To the left inclined thegray valley. The red desert was hidden from view, but the GuadalupeMountains loomed close in the southwest. 

Opposite Chiricahua, where the road forked, Link Stevens headed the carstraight south and gradually increased speed. Madeline faced anotherendless gray incline. It was the San Bernardino Valley. The singing ofthe car, the stinging of the wind warned her to draw the hood securelydown over her face again, and then it was as if she was riding at night. The car lurched ahead, settled into that driving speed which wedgedMadeline back as in a vise. Again the moments went by fleet as themiles. Seemingly, there was an acceleration of the car till it reached acertain swiftness--a period of time in which it held that pace, and thena diminishing of all motion and sound which contributed to Madeline'sacute sensation. Uncovering her face, she saw Link was passing anothervillage. Could it be Bernardino? She asked Link--repeated the question. 

"Sure, " he replied. "Eighty miles. "

Link did not this time apologize for the work of his machine. Madelinemarked the omission with her first thrill of the ride. Leaning over, sheglanced at Link's watch, which he had fastened upon the wheel in frontof his eyes. A quarter to ten! Link had indeed made short work of thevalley miles. 

Beyond Bernardino Link sheered off the road and put the car to a long, low-rising slope. Here the valley appeared to run south under the darkbrows of the Guadalupes. Link was heading southwest. Madeline observedthat the grass began to fail as they climbed the ridge; bare, white, dusty spots appeared; there were patches of mesquite and cactus andscattering areas of broken rock. 

She might have been prepared for what she saw from the ridge-top. Beneath them the desert blazed. Seen from afar, it was striking enough, but riding down into its red jaws gave Madeline the first affront to herimperious confidence. All about her ranch had been desert, the valleyswere desert; but this was different. Here began the red desert, extending far into Mexico, far across Arizona and California to thePacific. She saw a bare, hummocky ridge, down which the car wasgliding, bounding, swinging, and this long slant seemed to merge into acorrugated world of rock and sand, patched by flats and basins, streakedwith canyons and ranges of ragged, saw-toothed stone. The distant SierraMadres were clearer, bluer, less smoky and suggestive of mirage than shehad ever seen them. Madeline's sustaining faith upheld her in theface of this appalling obstacle. Then the desert that had rolled itsimmensity beneath her gradually began to rise, to lose its distantmargins, to condense its varying lights and shades, at last to hide itsyawning depths and looming heights behind red ridges, which were onlylittle steps, little outposts, little landmarks at its gates. 

The bouncing of the huge car, throwing Madeline up, directed herattention and fastened it upon the way Link Stevens was driving and uponthe immediate foreground. Then she discovered that he was following anold wagon-road. At the foot of that long slope they struck into rougherground, and here Link took to a cautious zigzag course. The wagon-roaddisappeared and then presently reappeared. But Link did not always holdto it. He made cuts, detours, crosses, and all the time seemed to begetting deeper into a maze of low, red dunes, of flat canyon-beds linedby banks of gravel, of ridges mounting higher. Yet Link Stevens kept onand never turned back. He never headed into a place that he could notpass. Up to this point of travel he had not been compelled to back thecar, and Madeline began to realize that it was the cowboy's wonderfuljudgment of ground that made advance possible. He knew the country;he was never at a loss; after making a choice of direction, he neverhesitated. 

Then at the bottom of a wide canyon he entered a wash where the wheelsjust barely turned in dragging sand. The sun beat down white-hot, thedust arose, there was not a breath of wind; and no sound save theslide of a rock now and then down the weathered slopes and the laboredchugging of the machine. The snail pace, like the sand at the wheels, began to drag at Madeline's faith. Link gave over the wheel to Madeline, and, leaping out, he called Nels. When they untied the long planks andlaid them straight in front for the wheels to pass over Madeline sawhow wise had been Link's forethought. With the aid of those planks theyworked the car through sand and gravel otherwise impossible to pass. 

This canyon widened and opened into space affording an unobstructed viewfor miles. The desert sloped up in steps, and in the morning light, withthe sun bright on the mesas and escarpments, it was gray, drab, stone, slate, yellow, pink, and, dominating all, a dull rust-red. There waslevel ground ahead, a wind-swept floor as hard as rock. Link rushed thecar over this free distance. Madeline's ears filled with a droning humlike the sound of a monstrous, hungry bee and with a strange, incessantcrinkle which she at length guessed to be the spreading of sheets ofgravel from under the wheels. The giant car attained such a speed thatMadeline could only distinguish the colored landmarks to the fore, andthese faded as the wind stung her eyes. 

Then Link began the ascent of the first step, a long, sweeping, barrenwaste with dunes of wonderful violet and heliotrope hues. Here werewell-defined marks of an old wagon-road lately traversed by cattle. Thecar climbed steadily, surmounted the height, faced another long benchthat had been cleaned smooth by desert winds. The sky was an intense, light, steely blue, hard on the eyes. Madeline veiled her face, and didnot uncover it until Link had reduced the racing speed. From the summitof the next ridge she saw more red ruin of desert. 

A deep wash crossing the road caused Link Stevens to turn due south. There was a narrow space along the wash just wide enough for thecar. Link seemed oblivious to the fact that the outside wheels wereperilously close to the edge. Madeline heard the rattle of loosenedgravel and earth sliding into the gully. The wash widened and opened outinto a sandy flat. Link crossed this and turned up on the opposite side. Rocks impeded the progress of the car, and these had to be rolled outof the way. The shelves of silt, apparently ready to slide with theslightest weight, the little tributary washes, the boulder-strewnstretches of slope, the narrow spaces allowing no more than a foot forthe outside wheels, the spear-pointed cactus that had to be avoided--allthese obstacles were as nothing to the cowboy driver. He kept on, andwhen he came to the road again he made up for the lost time by speed. 

Another height was reached, and here Madeline fancied that Link haddriven the car to the summit of a high pass between two mountain ranges. The western slope of that pass appeared to be exceedingly rough andbroken. Below it spread out another gray valley, at the extreme end ofwhich glistened a white spot that Link grimly called Douglas. Partof that white spot was Agua Prieta, the sister town across the line. Madeline looked with eyes that would fain have pierced the interveningdistance. 

The descent of the pass began under difficulties. Sharp stones andcactus spikes penetrated the front tires, bursting them with rippingreports. It took time to replace them. The planks were called intorequisition to cross soft places. A jagged point of projecting rock hadto be broken with a sledge. At length a huge stone appeared to hinderany further advance. Madeline caught her breath. There was no room toturn the car. But Link Stevens had no intention of such a thing. Hebacked the car to a considerable distance, then walked forward. Heappeared to be busy around the boulder for a moment and returned downthe road on the run. A heavy explosion, a cloud of dust, and a rattle offalling fragments told Madeline that her indomitable driver had cleareda passage with dynamite. He seemed to be prepared for every emergency. Madeline looked to see what effect the discovery of Link carryingdynamite would have upon the silent Nels. 

"Shore, now, Miss Majesty, there ain't nothin' goin' to stop Link, " saidNels, with a reassuring smile. The significance of the incident hadnot dawned upon Nels, or else he was heedless of it. After all, he wasafraid only of the car and Link, and that fear was an idiosyncrasy. Madeline began to see her cowboy driver with clearer eyes and his spiritawoke something in her that made danger of no moment. Nels likewisesubtly responded, and, though he was gray-faced, tight-lipped, his eyestook on the cool, bright gleam of Link's. 

Cactus barred the way, rocks barred the way, gullies barred the way, andthese Nels addressed in the grim humor with which he was wont to viewtragic things. A mistake on Link's part, a slip of a wheel, a burstingof a tire at a critical moment, an instant of the bad luck which mighthappen a hundred times on a less perilous ride--any one of these mightspell disaster for the car, perhaps death to the occupants. Again andagain Link used the planks to cross washes in sand. Sometimes the wheelsran all the length of the planks, sometimes slipped off. PresentlyLink came to a ditch where water had worn deep into the road. Withouthesitation he placed them, measuring distance carefully, and thenstarted across. The danger was in ditching the machine. One of theplanks split, sagged a little, but Link made the crossing without aslip. 

The road led round under an overhanging cliff and was narrow, rocky, andslightly downhill. Bidding Madeline and Nels walk round this hazardouscorner, Link drove the car. Madeline expected to hear it crash downinto the canyon, but presently she saw Link waiting to take them aboardagain. Then came steeper parts of the road, places that Link could rundown if he had space below to control the car, and on the other handplaces where the little inclines ended in abrupt ledges upon one sideor a declivity upon the other. Here the cowboy, with ropes on the wheelsand half-hitches upon the spurs of rock, let the car slide down. 

Once at a particularly bad spot Madeline exclaimed involuntarily, "Oh, time is flying!" Link Stevens looked up at her as if he had beenreproved for his care. His eyes shone like the glint of steel onice. Perhaps that utterance of Madeline's was needed to liberate hisrecklessness to its utmost. Certainly he put the car to seeminglyimpossible feats. He rimmed gullies, he hurdled rising ground, he leapedlittle breaks in the even road. He made his machine cling like a goatto steep inclines; he rounded corners with the inside wheels higherthan the outside; he passed over banks of soft earth that caved in theinstant he crossed weak places. He kept on and on, threading tortuouspassages through rock-strewn patches, keeping to the old road where itwas clear, abandoning it for open spaces, and always going down. 

At length a mile of clean, brown slope, ridged and grooved like awashboard, led gently down to meet the floor of the valley, where thescant grama-grass struggled to give a tinge of gray. The road appearedto become more clearly defined, and could be seen striking straightacross the valley. 

To Madeline's dismay, that road led down to a deep, narrow wash. Itplunged on one side, ascended on the other at a still steeper angle. Thecrossing would have been laborsome for a horse; for an automobile it wasunpassable. Link turned the car to the right along the rim and drove asfar along the wash as the ground permitted. The gully widened, deepenedall the way. Then he took the other direction. When he made this turnMadeline observed that the sun had perceptibly begun its slant westward. It shone in her face, glaring and wrathful. Link drove back to the road, crossed it, and kept on down the line of the wash. It was a deep cut inred earth, worn straight down by swift water in the rainy seasons. Itnarrowed. In some places it was only five feet wide. Link studied thesepoints and looked up the slope, and seemed to be making deductions. Thevalley was level now, and there were nothing but little breaks in therim of the wash. Link drove mile after mile, looking for a place tocross, and there was none. Finally progress to the south was obstructedby impassable gullies where the wash plunged into the head of a canyon. It was necessary to back the car a distance before there was room toturn. Madeline looked at the imperturbable driver. His face revealed nomore than the same old hard, immutable character. When he reached thenarrowest points, which had so interested him, he got out of the car andwalked from place to place. Once with a little jump he cleared the wash. Then Madeline noted that the farther rim was somewhat lower. In a flashshe divined Link's intention. He was hunting a place to jump the carover the crack in the ground. 

Soon he found one that seemed to suit him, for he tied his red scarfupon a greasewood-bush. Then, returning to the car, he clambered in, and, muttering, broke his long silence: "This ain't no air-ship, butI've outfiggered thet damn wash. " He backed up the gentle slope andhalted just short of steeper ground. His red scarf waved in the wind. Hunching low over the wheel, he started, slowly at first, then faster, and then faster. The great car gave a spring like a huge tiger. Theimpact of suddenly formed wind almost tore Madeline out of her seat. Shefelt Nels's powerful hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes. Thejolting headway of the car gave place to a gliding rush. This was brokenby a slight jar, and then above the hum and roar rose a cowboy yell. Madeline waited with strained nerves for the expected crash. It did notcome. Opening her eyes, she saw the level valley floor without a break. She had not even noticed the instant when the car had shot over thewash. 

A strange breathlessness attacked her, and she attributed it to thecelerity with which she was being carried along. Pulling the hood downover her face, she sank low in the seat. The whir of the car now seemedto be a world-filling sound. Again the feeling of excitement, thepoignancy of emotional heights, the ever-present impending sense ofcatastrophe became held in abeyance to the sheer intensity of physicalsensations. There came a time when all her strength seemed to unite inan effort to lift her breast against the terrific force of the wind--todraw air into her flattened lungs. She became partly dazed. The darknessbefore her eyes was not all occasioned by the blood that pressed like astone mask on her face. She had a sense that she was floating, sailing, drifting, reeling, even while being borne swiftly as a thunderbolt. Herhands and arms were immovable under the weight of mountains. There wasa long, blank period from which she awakened to feel an arm supportingher. Then she rallied. The velocity of the car had been cut to the speedto which she was accustomed. Throwing back the hood, she breathed freelyagain, recovered fully. 

The car was bowling along a wide road upon the outskirts of a city. Madeline asked what place it could be. 

"Douglas, " replied Link. "An' jest around is Agua Prieta!"

That last name seemed to stun Madeline. She heard no more, and sawlittle until the car stopped. Nels spoke to some one. Then sight ofkhaki-clad soldiers quickened Madeline's faculties. She was on theboundary-line between the United States and Mexico, and Agua Prieta, with its white and blue walled houses, its brown-tiled roofs, lay beforeher. A soldier, evidently despatched by Nels, returned and said anofficer would come at once. Madeline's attention was centered in theforeground, upon the guard over the road, upon the dry, dusty townbeyond; but she was aware of noise and people in the rear. A cavalryofficer approached the car, stared, and removed his sombrero. 

"Can you tell me anything about Stewart, the American cowboy who wascaptured by rebels a few days ago?" asked Madeline. 

"Yes, " replied the officer. "There was a skirmish over the line betweena company of Federals and a large force of guerrillas and rebels. TheFederals were driven west along the line. Stewart is reported to havedone reckless fighting and was captured. He got a Mexican sentence. Heis known here along the border, and the news of his capture stirredup excitement. We did all we could to get his release. The guerrillasfeared to execute him here, and believed he might be aided to escape. Soa detachment departed with him for Mezquital. "

"He was sentenced to be shot Thursday at sunset--to-night?"

"Yes. It was rumored there was a personal resentment against Stewart. Iregret that I can't give you definite information. If you are friends ofStewart--relatives--I might find--"

"I am his wife, " interrupted Madeline. "Will you please read these. " Shehanded him the telegrams. "Advise me--help me, if you can?"

With a wondering glance at her the officer received the telegrams. Heread several, and whistled low in amaze. His manner became quick, alert, serious. 

"I can't read these written in Spanish, but I know the names signed. "Swiftly he ran through the others. 

"Why, these mean Stewart's release has been authorized. They explainmysterious rumors we have heard here. Greaser treachery! For somestrange reason messages from the rebel junta have failed to reach theirdestination. We heard reports of an exchange for Stewart, but nothingcame of it. No one departed for Mezquital with authority. What anoutrage! Come, I'll go with you to General Salazar, the rebel chief incommand. I know him. Perhaps we can find out something. "

Nels made room for the officer. Link sent the car whirring acrossthe line into Mexican territory. Madeline's sensibilities were nowexquisitely alive. The white road led into Agua Prieta, a town ofcolored walls and roofs. Goats and pigs and buzzards scattered beforethe roar of the machine. Native women wearing black mantles peepedthrough iron-barred windows. Men wearing huge sombreros, cotton shirtsand trousers, bright sashes round their waists, and sandals, stoodmotionless, watching the car go by. The road ended in an immense plaza, in the center of which was a circular structure that in some measureresembled a corral. It was a bull-ring, where the national sport ofbull-fighting was carried on. Just now it appeared to be quarters for aconsiderable army. Ragged, unkempt rebels were everywhere, and the wholesquare was littered with tents, packs, wagons, arms. There were horses, mules, burros, and oxen. 

The place was so crowded that Link was compelled to drive slowly upto the entrance to the bull-ring. Madeline caught a glimpse of tentsinside, then her view was obstructed by a curious, pressing throng. The cavalry officer leaped from the car and pushed his way into theentrance. 

"Link, do you know the road to this Mezquital?" asked Madeline. 

"Yes. I've been there. "

"How far is it?"

"Aw, not so very far, " he mumbled. 

"Link! How many miles?" she implored. 

"I reckon only a few. "

Madeline knew that he lied. She asked him no more; nor looked at him, nor at Nels. How stifling was this crowded, ill-smelling plaza! The sun, red and lowering, had sloped far down in the west, but still burnedwith furnace heat. A swarm of flies whirled over the car. The shadows oflow-sailing buzzards crossed Madeline's sight. Then she saw a row of thehuge, uncanny black birds sitting upon the tiled roof of a house. Theyhad neither an air of sleeping nor resting. They were waiting. Shefought off a horrible ghastly idea before its full realization. Theserebels and guerrillas--what lean, yellow, bearded wretches! Theycuriously watched Link as he went working over the car. No two werealike, and all were ragged. They had glittering eyes sunk deep in theirheads. They wore huge sombreros of brown and black felt, of straw, ofcloth. Every man wore a belt or sash into which was thrust some kind ofweapon. Some wore boots, some shoes, some moccasins, some sandals, andmany were barefooted. They were an excited, jabbering, gesticulatingmob. Madeline shuddered to think how a frenzy to spill blood could runthrough these poor revolutionists. If it was liberty they fought for, they did not show the intelligence in their faces. They were like wolvesupon a scent. They affronted her, shocked her. She wondered if theirofficers were men of the same class. What struck her at last and stirredpity in her was the fact that every man of the horde her swift glanceroamed over, however dirty and bedraggled he was, wore upon him someornament, some tassel or fringe or lace, some ensign, some band, bracelet, badge, or belt, some twist of scarf, something that betrayedthe vanity which was the poor jewel of their souls. It was in the race. 

Suddenly the crowd parted to let the cavalry officer and a rebel ofstriking presence get to the car. 

"Madam, it is as I suspected, " said the officer, quickly. "Themessages directing Stewart's release never reached Salazar. They wereintercepted. But even without them we might have secured Stewart'sexchange if it had not been for the fact that one of his captorswanted him shot. This guerrilla intercepted the orders, and then wasinstrumental in taking Stewart to Mezquital. It is exceedingly sad. Why, he should be a free man this instant. I regret--"

"Who did this--this thing?" cried Madeline, cold and sick. "Who is theguerrilla?"

"Senor Don Carlos Martinez. He has been a bandit, a man of influence inSonora. He is more of a secret agent in the affairs of the revolutionthan an active participator. But he has seen guerrilla service. "

"Don Carlos! Stewart in his power! O God!" Madeline sank down, almostovercome. Then two great hands, powerful, thrilling, clasped hershoulders, and Nels bent over her. 

"Miss Majesty, shore we're wastin' time here, " he said. His voice, likehis hands, was uplifting. She wheeled to him in trembling importunity. How cold, bright, blue the flash of his eyes! They told Madeline shemust not weaken. But she could not speak her thought to Nels--could onlylook at Link. 

"It figgers impossible, but I'll do it!" said Link Stevens, in answerto her voiceless query. The cold, grim, wild something about her cowboysblanched Madeline's face, steeled her nerve, called to the depths of herfor that last supreme courage of a woman. The spirit of the moment wasnature with Link and Nels; with her it must be passion. 

"Can I get a permit to go into the interior--to Mezquital?" askedMadeline of the officer. 

"You are going on? Madam, it's a forlorn hope. Mezquital is a hundredmiles away. But there's a chance--the barest chance if your man candrive this car. The Mexicans are either murderous or ceremonious intheir executions. The arrangements for Stewart's will be elaborate. But, barring unusual circumstances, it will take place precisely at the hourdesignated. You need no permit. Your messages are official papers. Butto save time, perhaps delay, I suggest you take this Mexican, SenorMontes, with you. He outranks Don Carlos and knows the captain of theMezquital detachment. "

"Ah! Then Don Carlos is not in command of the forces holding Stewart?"

"No. "

"I thank you, sir. I shall not forget your kindness, " concludedMadeline. 

She bowed to Senor Montes, and requested him to enter the car. Nelsstowed some of the paraphernalia away, making room in the rear seat. Link bent over the wheel. The start was so sudden, with such crack androar, that the crowd split in wild disorder. Out of the plaza the carran, gathering headway; down a street lined by white and blue walls;across a square where rebels were building barricades; along a railroadtrack full of iron flat-cars that carried mounted pieces of artillery;through the outlying guards, who waved to the officer, Montes. 

Madeline bound her glasses tightly over her eyes, and wound veils roundthe lower part of her face. She was all in a strange glow, she had begunto burn, to throb, to thrill, to expand, and she meant to see all thatwas possible. The sullen sun, red as fire, hung over the mountain rangein the west. How low it had sunk! Before her stretched a narrow, whiteroad, dusty, hard as stone--a highway that had been used for centuries. If it had been wide enough to permit passing a vehicle it would havebeen a magnificent course for automobiles. But the weeds and the dustyflowers and the mesquite boughs and arms of cactus brushed the car as itsped by. 

Faster, faster, faster! That old resistless weight began to pressMadeline back; the old incessant bellow of wind filled her ears. LinkStevens hunched low over the wheel. His eyes were hidden under leatherhelmet and goggles, but the lower part of his face was unprotected. Heresembled a demon, so dark and stone-hard and strangely grinning was he. All at once Madeline realized how matchless, how wonderful a driver wasthis cowboy. She divined that weakening could not have been possible toLink Stevens. He was a cowboy, and he really was riding that car, makingit answer to his will, as it had been born in him to master a horse. Hehad never driven to suit himself, had never reached an all-satisfyingspeed until now. Beyond that his motive was to save Stewart--tomake Madeline happy. Life was nothing to him. That fact gave himthe superhuman nerve to face the peril of this ride. Because of hisdisregard of self he was able to operate the machine, to choose thepower, the speed, the guidance, the going with the best judgment andhighest efficiency possible. Madeline knew he would get her to Mezquitalin time to save Stewart or he would kill her in the attempt. 

The white, narrow road flashed out of the foreground, slipped withinconceivable rapidity under the car. When she marked a clump of cactusfar ahead it seemed to shoot at her, to speed behind her even theinstant she noticed it. Nevertheless, Madeline knew Link was not puttingthe car to its limit. Swiftly as he was flying, he held something inreserve. But he took the turns of the road as if he knew the way wascleared before him. He trusted to a cowboy's luck. A wagon in one ofthose curves, a herd of cattle, even a frightened steer, meant a wreck. Madeline never closed her eyes at these fateful moments. If Link couldstake himself, the others, and her upon such chance, what could not shestake with her motive? So while the great car hummed and thrummed, and darted round the curves on two wheels, and sped on like a bullet, Madeline lived that ride, meant to feel it to the uttermost. 

But it was not all swift going. A stretch of softer ground delayedLink, made the car labor and pant and pound and grind through gravel. Moreover, the cactus plants assumed an alarming ability to impedeprogress. Long, slender arms of the ocotillo encroached upon the road;broad, round leaves did likewise; fluted columns, fallen like timbersin a forest, lay along the narrow margins; the bayonet cactus and thebisnagi leaned threateningly; clusters of maguey, shadowed by the huge, looming saguaro, infringed upon the highway to Mezquital. And everyleaf and blade and branch of cactus bore wicked thorns, any one of whichwould be fatal to a tire. 

It came at length, the bursting report. The car lurched, went on likea crippled thing, and halted, obedient to the master hand at the wheel. Swift as Link was in replacing the tire, he lost time. The red sun, moresullen, duskier as it neared the black, bold horizon, appeared to mockMadeline, to eye her in derision. 

Link leaped in, and the car sprang ahead. The road-bed changed, thetrees changed--all the surroundings changed except the cactus. Therewere miles of rolling ridges, rough in the hollows, and short rocky bitsof road, and washes to cross, and a low, sandy swale where mesquitesgrouped a forest along a trickling inch-deep sheet of water. Greenthings softened the hard, dry aspect of the desert. There were birds andparrots and deer and wild boars. All these Madeline remarked with cleareyes, with remarkable susceptibility of attention; but what she strainedto see, what she yearned for, prayed for, was straight, unobstructedroad. 

But the road began to wind up; it turned and twisted in tantalizinglazy curves; it was in no hurry to surmount a hill that began to assumeproportions of a mountain; it was leisurely, as were all things inMexico except strife. That was quick, fierce, bloody--it was Spanish. 

The descent from that elevation was difficult, extremely hazardous, yetLink Stevens drove fast. At the base of the hill rocks and sand all buthalted him for good. Then in taking an abrupt curve a grasping spearruined another tire. This time the car rasped across the road into thecactus, bursting the second front-wheel tire. Like demons indeed Linkand Nels worked. Shuddering, Madeline felt the declining heat of thesun, saw with gloomy eyes the shading of the red light over the desert. She did not look back to see how near the sun was to the horizon. Shewanted to ask Nels. Strange as anything on this terrible ride was theabsence of speech. As yet no word had been spoken. Madeline wanted toshriek to Link to hurry. But he was more than humanly swift in all hisactions. So with mute lips, with the fire in her beginning to chill, with a lifelessness menacing her spirit, she watched, hoped againsthope, prayed for a long, straight, smooth road. 

Quite suddenly she saw it, seemingly miles of clear, narrow lanedisappearing like a thin, white streak in distant green. Perhaps LinkStevens's heart leaped like Madeline's. The huge car with a roar and ajerk seemed to answer Madeline's call, a cry no less poignant because itwas silent. 

Faster, faster, faster! The roar became a whining hum. Then for Madelinesound ceased to be anything--she could not hear. The wind was now heavy, imponderable, no longer a swift, plastic thing, but solid, like anon-rushing wall. It bore down upon Madeline with such resistless weightthat she could not move. The green of desert plants along the roadmerged in two shapeless fences, sliding at her from the distance. Objects ahead began to blur the white road, to grow streaky, like raysof light, the sky to take on more of a reddening haze. 

Madeline, realizing her sight was failing her, turned for one more lookat Link Stevens. It had come to be his ride almost as much as it washers. He hunched lower than ever, rigid, strained to the last degree, aterrible, implacable driver. This was his hour, and he was great. If heso much as brushed a flying tire against one of the millions of spikesclutching out, striking out from the cactus, there would be a shock, a splitting wave of air--an end. Madeline thought she saw that Link'sbulging cheek and jaw were gray, that his tight-shut lips were white, that the smile was gone. Then he really was human--not a demon. She felta strange sense of brotherhood. He understood a woman's soul as MontyPrice had understood it. Link was the lightning-forged automaton, thedriving, relentless, unconquerable instrument of a woman's will. He wasa man whose force was directed by a woman's passion. He reached up toher height, felt her love, understood the nature of her agony. Thesemade him heroic. But it was the hard life, the wild years of danger onthe desert, the companionship of ruthless men, the elemental, that madepossible his physical achievement. Madeline loved his spirit then andgloried in the man. 

She had pictured upon her heart, never to be forgotten, this littlehunched, deformed figure of Link's hanging with dauntless, withdeathless grip over the wheel, his gray face like a marble mask. 

That was Madeline's last clear sensation upon the ride. Blinded, dazed, she succumbed to the demands upon her strength. She reeled, fell back, only vaguely aware of a helping hand. Confusion seized her senses. All about her was a dark chaos through which she was rushing, rushing, rushing under the wrathful red eye of a setting sun. Then, as there wasno more sound or sight for her, she felt there was no color. But therush never slackened--a rush through opaque, limitless space. For moments, hours, ages she was propelled with the velocity of ashooting-star. The earth seemed a huge automobile. And it sped withher down an endless white track through the universe. Looming, ghostly, ghastly, spectral forms of cacti plants, large as pine-trees, stabbedher with giant spikes. She became an unstable being in a shapeless, colorless, soundless cosmos of unrelated things, but always rushing, even to meet the darkness that haunted her and never reached her. 

But at an end of infinite time that rush ceased. Madeline lost the queerfeeling of being disembodied by a frightfully swift careening throughboundless distance. She distinguished voices, low at first, apparentlyfar away. Then she opened her eyes to blurred but conscious sight. 

The car had come to a stop. Link was lying face down over the wheel. Nels was rubbing her hands, calling to her. She saw a house with cleanwhitewashed wall and brown-tiled roof. Beyond, over a dark mountainrange, peeped the last red curve, the last beautiful ray of the settingsun. 

XXV. At the End of the Road

Madeline saw that the car was surrounded by armed Mexicans. Theypresented a contrast to the others she had seen that day; she wondered alittle at their silence, at their respectful front. 

Suddenly a sharp spoken order opened up the ranks next to the house. Senor Montes appeared in the break, coming swiftly. His dark face wore asmile; his manner was courteous, important, authoritative. 

"Senora, it is not too late!"

He spoke her language with an accent strange to her, so that it seemedto hinder understanding. 

"Senora, you got here in time, " he went on. "El Capitan Stewart will befree. "

"Free!" she whispered. 

She rose, reeling. 

"Come, " replied Montes, taking her arm. "Perdoneme, Senora. "

Without his assistance she would have fallen wholly upon Nels, whosupported her on the other side. They helped her alight from the car. For a moment the white walls, the hazy red sky, the dark figures of therebels, whirled before Madeline's eyes. She took a few steps, swayingbetween her escorts; then the confusion of her sight and mind passedaway. It was as if she quickened with a thousand vivifying currents, as if she could see and hear and feel everything in the world, as ifnothing could be overlooked, forgotten, neglected. 

She turned back, remembering Link. He was lurching from the car, helmetand goggles thrust back, the gray shade gone from his face, the cool, bright gleam of his eyes disappearing for something warmer. 

Senor Montes led Madeline and her cowboys through a hall to a patio, and on through a large room with flooring of rough, bare boards thatrattled, into a smaller room full of armed quiet rebels facing an openwindow. 

Madeline scanned the faces of these men, expecting to see Don Carlos. But he was not present. A soldier addressed her in Spanish too swiftlyuttered, too voluble for her to translate. But, like Senor Montes, hewas gracious and, despite his ragged garb and uncouth appearance, hebore the unmistakable stamp of authority. 

Montes directed Madeline's attention to a man by the window. A loosescarf of vivid red hung from his hand. 

"Senora, they were waiting for the sun to set when we arrived, " saidMontes. "The signal was about to be given for Senor Stewart's walk todeath. "

"Stewart's walk!" echoed Madeline. 

"Ah, Senora, let me tell you his sentence--the sentence I have had thehonor and happiness to revoke for you. "

Stewart had been court-martialed and sentenced according to a Mexicancustom observed in cases of brave soldiers to whom honorable and fittingexecutions were due. His hour had been set for Thursday when the sun hadsunk. Upon signal he was to be liberated and was free to walk out intothe road, to take any direction he pleased. He knew his sentence; knewthat death awaited him, that every possible avenue of escape was blockedby men with rifles ready. But he had not the slightest idea at whatmoment or from what direction the bullets were to come. 

"Senora, we have sent messengers to every squad of waiting soldiers--anorder that El Capitan is not to be shot. He is ignorant of his release. I shall give the signal for his freedom. "

Montes was ceremonious, gallant, emotional. Madeline saw his pride, anddivined that the situation was one which brought out the vanity, theostentation, as well as the cruelty of his race. He would keep her inan agony of suspense, let Stewart start upon that terrible walk inignorance of his freedom. It was the motive of a Spaniard. SuddenlyMadeline had a horrible quaking fear that Montes lied, that he meant herto be a witness of Stewart's execution. But no, the man was honest;he was only barbarous. He would satisfy certain instincts of hisnature--sentiment, romance, cruelty--by starting Stewart upon that walk, by watching Stewart's actions in the face of seeming death, by seeingMadeline's agony of doubt, fear, pity, love. Almost Madeline felt thatshe could not endure the situation. She was weak and tottering. 

"Senora! Ah, it will be one beautiful thing!" Montes caught the scarffrom the rebel's hand. He was glowing, passionate; his eyes had astrange, soft, cold flash; his voice was low, intense. He was livingsomething splendid to him. "I'll wave the scarf, Senora. That will bethe signal. It will be seen down at the other end of the road. SenorStewart's jailer will see the signal, take off Stewart's irons, releasehim, open the door for his walk. Stewart will be free. But he will notknow. He will expect death. As he is a brave man, he will face it. Hewill walk this way. Every step of that walk he will expect to be shotfrom some unknown quarter. But he will not be afraid. Senora, I haveseen El Captain fighting in the field. What is death to him? Ah, will itnot be magnificent to see him come forth--to walk down? Senora, you willsee what a man he is. All the way he will expect cold, swift death. Hereat this end of the road he will meet his beautiful lady!"

"Is there no--no possibility of a mistake?" faltered Madeline. 

"None. My order included unloading of rifles. "

"Don Carlos?"

"He is in irons, and must answer to General Salazar, " replied Montes. 

Madeline looked down the deserted road. How strange to see the lastruddy glow of the sun over the brow of the mountain range! The thoughtof that sunset had been torture for her. Yet it had passed, and now theafterlights were luminous, beautiful, prophetic. 

With a heart stricken by both joy and agony, she saw Montes wave thescarf. 

Then she waited. No change manifested itself down the length of thatlonely road. There was absolute silence in the room behind her. Howterribly, infinitely long seemed the waiting! Never in all her futurelife would she forget the quaint pink, blue, and white walled houseswith their colored roofs. That dusty bare road resembled one of theuncovered streets of Pompeii with its look of centuries of solitude. 

Suddenly a door opened and a tall man stepped out. 

Madeline recognized Stewart. She had to place both hands on thewindow-sill for support, while a storm of emotion swayed her. Likea retreating wave it rushed away. Stewart lived. He was free. He hadstepped out into the light. She had saved him. Life changed for her inthat instant of realization and became sweet, full, strange. 

Stewart shook hands with some one in the doorway. Then he looked upand down the road. The door closed behind him. Leisurely he rolled acigarette, stood close to the wall while he scratched a match. Even atthat distance Madeline's keen eyes caught the small flame, the firstlittle puff of smoke. 

Stewart then took to the middle of the road and leisurely began hiswalk. 

To Madeline he appeared natural, walked as unconcernedly as if he werestrolling for pleasure; but the absence of any other living thing, the silence, the red haze, the surcharged atmosphere--these were allunnatural. From time to time Stewart stopped to turn face forward towardhouses and corners. Only silence greeted these significant moves of his. Once he halted to roll and light another cigarette. After that his stepquickened. 

Madeline watched him, with pride, love, pain, glory combating for amastery over her. This walk of his seemingly took longer than all herhours of awakening, of strife, of remorse, longer than the ride tofind him. She felt that it would be impossible for her to wait till hereached the end of the road. Yet in the hurry and riot of her feelingsshe had fleeting panics. What could she say to him? How meet him? Wellshe remembered the tall, powerful form now growing close enough todistinguish its dress. Stewart's face was yet only a dark gleam. Soonshe would see it--long before he could know she was there. She wanted torun to meet him. Nevertheless, she stood rooted to her covert behind thewindow, living that terrible walk with him to the uttermost thought ofhome, sister, mother, sweetheart, wife, life itself--every thought thatcould come to a man stalking to meet his executioners. With allthat tumult in her mind and heart Madeline still fell prey to theincomprehensible variations of emotion possible to a woman. Every stepStewart took thrilled her. She had some strange, subtle intuition thathe was not unhappy, and that he believed beyond shadow of doubt that hewas walking to his death. His steps dragged a little, though they hadbegun to be swift. The old, hard, physical, wild nerve of the cowboy wasperhaps in conflict with spiritual growth of the finer man, realizingtoo late that life ought not to be sacrificed. 

Then the dark gleam that was his face took shape, grew sharper andclearer. He was stalking now, and there was a suggestion of impatiencein his stride. It took these hidden Mexicans a long time to kill him! Ata point in the middle of the road, even with the corner of a houseand opposite to Madeline's position, Stewart halted stock-still. Hepresented a fair, bold mark to his executioners, and he stood theremotionless a full moment. 

Only silence greeted him. Plain it was to Madeline, and she thought toall who had eyes to see, that to Stewart, since for some reason he hadbeen spared all along his walk, this was the moment when he ought to bemercifully shot. But as no shots came a rugged dignity left him for areckless scorn manifest in the way he strolled, across to the corner ofthe house, rolled yet another cigarette, and, presenting a broad breastto the window, smoked and waited. 

That wait was almost unendurable for Madeline. Perhaps it was only amoment, several moments at the longest, but the time seemed a year. Stewart's face was scornful, hard. Did he suspect treachery on the partof his captors, that they meant to play with him as a cat with amouse, to murder him at leisure? Madeline was sure she caught theold, inscrutable, mocking smile fleeting across his lips. He held thatposition for what must have been a reasonable time to his mind, thenwith a laugh and a shrug he threw the cigarette into the road. He shookhis head as if at the incomprehensible motives of men who could have nofair reasons now for delay. 

He made a sudden violent action that was more than a straightening ofhis powerful frame. It was the old instinctive violence. Then he facednorth. Madeline read his thought, knew he was thinking of her, callingher a last silent farewell. He would serve her to his last breath, leaveher free, keep his secret. That picture of him, dark-browed, fire-eyed, strangely sad and strong, sank indelibly into Madeline's heart ofhearts. 

The next instant he was striding forward, to force by bold and scornfulpresence a speedy fulfilment of his sentence. 

Madeline stepped into the door, crossed the threshold. Stewart staggeredas if indeed the bullets he expected had pierced him in mortal wound. His dark face turned white. His eyes had the rapt stare, the wild fearof a man who saw an apparition, yet who doubted his sight. Perhaps hehad called to her as the Mexicans called to their Virgin; perhapshe imagined sudden death had come unawares, and this was her imageappearing to him in some other life. 

"Who--are--you?" he whispered, hoarsely. 

She tried to lift her hands, failed, tried again, and held them out, trembling. 

"It is I. Majesty. Your wife!"