:TiHE*lsl!aii¥ :^viiHii ZS\2 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF Don Holbert UHDERGRA;'- ''J/'JE LIBRARY DATE DUE ffK Lj}£^ f^4Mft ST'-WJ^^Hiyi^ ^'V^'i ite --^yift^ ^90 'V'^H- GAVLORO Cornell University Library PS3513.R45L7 1914 The light of western stars, a romance, by 3 1924 012 925 321 [See p. 26 THE CLATTER OF HOOFS STOPPED BEFORE THE DOOR THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS A ROMANCE BY ZANE GREY AUTHOR OF HERITAGE OF THE DESERT DESERT GOLD, ETC. NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS Published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers URIS LIBRARY FEB 33 1961 COPYRIGHT. 1» I4. BY HABPE R ft BROTHERS PRINTED IN THE UNTTED STATES OP AMERICA 'PUBLISHED JANUARY. 1S14 . K-t ■X. ^"/^ -f a^ Oic'ikx^i The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924012925321 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS CONTENTS T » /-. '*'■ i- A Gentleman of the Range r II. A Secret Kept i5 in. Sister and Brother 29 rv. A Ride from Sunrise to Sunset 45 V. The Round-up 58 VI. A Gift and a Purchase 73 VII. Her Majesty's Rancho 89 VIII. El Capitan 104 IX. The New Foreman 118 X. Don Carlos's Vaqueros 130 XI. A Band of Guerrillas 152 XII. Friends from the East 169 XIII. Cowboy Golf 185 XIV. Bandits 207 XV. The Mountain Trail 226 XVI. The Crags 238 XVII. The Lost Mine of the Padres 259 XVIII. Bonita 273 XIX. Don Carlos 281 XX. The Sheriff of El Cajon 305 XXI. Unbridled 328 XXII. The Secret Told 336 XXIII. The Light of Western Stars 349 XXIV. The Ride 355 XXV. At thb End of the Road 383 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS I A GENTLEMAN OF THE RANGE WHEN Madeline Hammond stepped from the train at El Cajon, New Mexico, it was nearly midnight, and her first impression was of a huge dark space of cool, windy emptiness, strange and silent, stretching away tmder great bhnking white stars. "Miss, there's no one to meet you," said the con- ductor, rather anxiously. "I wired my brother," she replied. "The train being so late — perhaps he grew tired of waiting. He will be here presently. But, if he should not come — surely I can find a hotel?" "There's lodgings to be had. Get the station agent to show you. If you'll excuse me — this is no place for a lady Hke you to be alone at night. It's a rough Uttle town — mostly Mexicans, miners, cowboys. And they carouse a lot. Besides, the revolution across the border has stirred up some excitement along the hne. Miss, I guess It's safe enough, if you — " "Thank you. I am not in the least afraid." As the train started to glide away Miss Hammond walked toward the dimly lighted station. As she was THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS about to enter she encountered a Mexican with 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 he shuffled away into the shadow. She entered the empty waiting-room. An oil-lamp gave out a thick yellow light. The ticket window was open, and through it she saw there was neither agent nor operator in the Uttle compartment. A telegraph instru- ment clicked faintly. Madeline Hammond stood tapping a shapely foot on the floor, and with some amusement contrasted her re- ception in El Cajon with what it was when she left a train at the Grand Central. The only time she could remember ever having been alone Hke this was once when ehe had missed her maid and her train at a place outside of Versailles — an adventure that had been a novel and deUghtful break in the prescribed routine of her 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 few dim lights, and these blurred in her sight. As her eyes grew accustomed to 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 one Madeline had ever seen. The dim lights shone from low flat buildings. She made out the dark shapes of many horses, all standing motion- less with drooping heads. Through a hole in the window- glass came a cool breeze, and on it breathed a soimd that struck coarsely upon her ear — a discordant mingling of laughter and shout, and the tramp of boots to the hard music of a phonograph. "Western revelry," mused Miss Hammond, as she left the window. "Now, what to do? I'll wait here. Per- haps the station agent will letunx soon, or Alfred will come for me." A GENTLEMAN OF THE RANGE As she sat down to wait she reviewed the causes which accounted for the remarkable situation in which she found herself. That Madeline Hammond should be alone, at a late hour, in a dingy Httle Western railroad-station, was indeed extraordinary. The close of her debutante year had been marred by the only unhappy experience of her life — the disgrace of her brother and his leaving home. She dated the begin- ning of a certain thoughtfid habit of mind from that time, and a dissatisfaction with the brilliant Ufe society offered her. The change had been so gradual that it was per- manent before she realized it. For a while an active out- door life — golf, tennis, yachting — kept this realization from becoming morbid introspection. There came a time when even these lost charm for her, and then she believed she was indeed ill in mind. Travel did not help her. There had been months of unrest, of curiously painful wonderment that her position, her wealth, her poptilarity no longer suf&ced. She believed she had Uved through the dreams and fancies of a girl to become a woman of the world. And she had gone on as before, a part of the glittering show, but no longer blind to the truth — ^that there was nothing in her luxurious life to make it sig- nificant. Sometimes from the depths of her there flashed up at odd moments intimations of a future revolt. She remem- bered one evening at the opera when the curtain had risen upon a particularly well-done piece of stage sce- nery — a broad space of deep desolateness, reaching away under an infinitude of night sky, illumined by stars. The suggestion it brought of vast wastes of lonely, rugged earth, of a great, blue-arched vault of starry sky, pervaded her soul with a strange, sweet peace. When the scene was changed she lost this vague new sense of peace, and she turned away from the stage in irritation. She looked at the long, curved tier of glitter- ing boxes that represented her world. It was a distinr 3 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS i guished and splendid world — ^the wealth, fashion, culture, beauty, and blood of a nation. She, Madeline Ham- mond, was a part of it. She smiled, she Ustened, she talked to the men who from time to time strolled into the Ham- mond box, and she felt that there was not a moment when she was nattiral, true to herself. She wondered why these people could not somehow, some way be different; but she could not teU what she wanted them to be. If they had been different they would not have fitted the place; indeed, they would not have been there at all. Yet she thought wistfully that they lacked something for her. And suddenly realizing she would marry one of these men if she did not revolt, she had been assailed by a great weariness, an icy-sickening sense that Hfe had palled upon her. She was tired of fashionable society. She was tired of polished, imperturbable men who sought only to please her. She was tired of being f6ted, admired, loved, fol- lowed, 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 painted stage scenery she had caught a glimpse of something that stirred her sotil. The feeUng did not last. She could not call it back. She imagined that the very boldness of the scene had appealed to her; she divined that the man who painted it had found inspiration, joy, strength, serenity in rugged nature. And at last she knew what she needed — to be alone, to brood for long hours, to gaze out on lonely, silent, darkening stretches, 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 gone West to cast his fortune with the cattlemen. As it happened, she had friends who were on the eve of starting for California, and she made a quick decision to travel with them. When she calmly announced her in- tention of going out West her mother had exclaimed in consternation; and her father, surprised into pathetic memory of the black sheep of the family, had stared at 4 A GENTLEMAN OF THE RANGE her with glistening eyes. "Why, Madeline! You want to see that wild boy !" Then he had reverted to the anger he still felt for his wayward son, and he had forbidden Madeline to go. Her mother forgot her haughty poise and dignity. Madeline, however, had exhibited a will she had never before been known to possess. She stood her ground even to reminding them that she was twenty-four and her own mistress. In the end she had prevailed, and that without betraying the real state of her mind. Her decision to visit her brother had been too hurriedly made and acted upon for her to write him about it, and so she had telegraphed him from New York, and also, a day later, from Chicago, where her traveling friends had been delayed by illness. Nothing coxild have turned her back then. Madeline had planned to arrive in El Cajon on October 3d, her brother's birthday, and she had suc- ceeded, though her arrival occurred at the twenty-fotuth hour. Her train had been several hours late. Whether or not the message had reached Alfred's hands she had no means of telling, and the thing which concerned her now was the fact that she had arrived and he was not there to meet her. It did not take long for thought of the past to give way wholly to the reality of the present. "I hope nothing has happened to Alfred," she said to herself. "He was well, doing splendidly, the last time he wrote. To be sure, that was a good wMle ago ; but, then, he never wrote often. He's all right. Pretty soon he'll come, and how glad I'll be! I wonder if he has changed." As Madeline sat waiting in the yeUow gloom she heard the faint, intermittent chck of the telegraph instrument, the low hum of wires, the occasional stamp of an iron-shod hoof, and a distant vacant laugh rising above the sounds of the dance. These commonplace things were new to her. She became conscious of a slight quickening of her pulse. Madeline had only a limited knowledge of the West. Like all of her class, she had traveled Europe and 5 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS had neglected America. A few letters from her brother had confused her already vague ideas of plains and moun- tains, as well as of cowboys and cattle. She had been astounded at the interminable distance she had traveled, and if there had been anything attractive to look at in all that journey she had passed it in the night. And here she sat in a dingy little station, with telegraph wires moan- ing a lonely song in the wind. A faint sound like the rattling of thin chains diverted Madeline's attention. At first she imagined it was made by the telegraph wires. Then she heard a step. The door swung wide; a taU man entered, and with him came the chnking rattle. She reahzed then that the sound came from his spurs. The man was a cowboy, and his entrance recalled vividly to her that of Dustin Pamimi in the first act of "The Virginian." " WiU you please direct me to a hotel?" asked Madeline, rising. The cowboy removed his sombrero, and the sweep he made with it and the accompanying 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 to overlook critical exactions natural to her breeding. She kept silence, and she imagined it was just as well that her veil hid her face at the moment. She had been prepared to find cowboys rather striking, and she had been warned not to laugh at them. This gentleman of the range deliberately reached down and took up her left hand. Before she recovered from her start of amaze he had stripped off her glove. " Fine spark, but no wedding ring," he drawled. " Lady, I'm glad to see you're not married." He released her hand and returned the glove. "You see, the only ho-tel in this here town is against boarding married women." 6 A GENTLEMAN OF THE RANGE "Indeed?" said Madeline, trying to adjust her wits to the situation. "It sure is," he went on. "Bad business for ho-tels to have married women. Keeps the boys away. You see, this isn't Reno." Then he laughed rather boyishly, and from that, and the way he slouched on his sombrero, Madeline realized he was half drunk. As she instinctively recoiled she not only gave him a keener glance, but stepped into a position where a better light shone on his face. It was like red bronze, bold, raw, sharp. He laughed again, as if good- naturedly amused with himself, and the laugh scarcely changed the hard set of his feattires. Like that of aU women whose beauty and charm had brought them much before the world, Miss Hammond's intuition had been developed until she had a delicate and exquisitely sensi- tive perception of the nature of men and of her effect upon them. This crude cowboy, tmder the influence of drink, had affronted her; nevertheless, whatever was in his mind, he meant no insult. "I shall be greatly obhged if you will show me to the hotel," she said. "Lady, you wait here," he replied, slowly, as if his thought did not come swiftly. "I'U go fetch the porter." She thanked him, and as he went out, closing the door, she sat down in considerable relief. It occurred to her that she should have mentioned her brother's name. Then she fell to wondering what living with such vmcouth 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 of her family had ever beUeved in any latent good in Alfred Hammond, and her faith had scarcely survived the two years of silence. Waiting there, she again found herself listening to the moan of the wind through the wires. The horse outside began to pound with heavy hoofs, and once he whinnied. 7 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Then Madeline heard a rapid pattering, low at first and growing louder, which presently she recognized as the galloping of horses. She went to the window, thinking, hoping her brother had arrived. But as the clatter in- creased to a roar, shadows sped by — ^lean horses, flying manes and tails, sombreroed riders, aU strange and wild in her sight. Recalling what the conductor had said, she was at some pains to quell her uneasiness. Dust- clouds shrouded the dim Hghts 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 Hghter ones dragging along, and then suddenly the door rasped open, jarring the whole room. The cowboy entered, pulUng a disheveled figure — that of a priest, a padre, whose mantle had manifestly been disarranged by the rude grasp of his captor. Plain it was that the padre was extremely ter- rified. Madeline Hammond gazed in bewilderment at the lit- tle man, so pale and shaken, and a protest trembled upon her lips; but it was never uttered, for this half -drunken cowboy now appeared to be a cool, grim-smihng devil; and stretching out a long arm, he grasped her and swung her back to the bench. "You stay there I" he ordered. His voice, though neither brutal nor harsh nor cruel, had the unaccountable effect of making her feel powerless to move. No man had ever before addressed her in such a tone. It was the woman in her that obeyed — ^not the personality of proud Madehne Hammond. The padre Ufted his clasped hands as if supplicating for his life, and began to speak hurriedly in Spanish. Made- line did not understand the language. The cowboy pulled out a huge gun and brandished it in the priest's face. Then he lowered it, apparently to point it at the priest's feet. There was a red flash, and then a thundering re- port that stimned Madeline. The room filled with smok» i A GENTLEMAN OF THE RANGE and the smell of powder. Madeline did not faint or even shut her eyes, but she felt as if she were fast in a cold vise. When she could see distinctly through the smoke she experienced a sensation of immeasurable relief that the cowboy had not shot the padre. But he was still waving the gun, and now appeared to be dragging his victim toward her. What possibly could be the drunken fool's intention? This must be — this surely was a cow- boy trick. She had a vague, swiftly flashing recollection of Alfred's first letters descriptive of the extravagant fun of cowboys. Then she vividly remembered a moving picture she had seen — cowboys playing a monstrous joke on a lone school-teacher. Madeline no sooner thought of it than she made certain her brother was introducing her to a little wild West amusement. She could scarcely be- lieve it, yet it must be true. Alfred's old love of teasing her might have extended even to this outrage. Probably he stood just outside the door or window laughing at her embarrassment . Anger checked her panic. She straightened up with what composure this surprise had left her and started for the door. But the cowboy barred her passage — grasped her arms. Then Madeline divined that her brother could not have any knowledge of this indignity. It was no trick. It was something that was happening, that was real, that threatened she knew not what. She tried to wrench free, feeling hot all over at being handled by this drunken brute. Poise, dignity, culture — all the acquired habits of character — ^fied before the instinct to fight. She was athletic. She fought. She struggled desperately. But he forced her back with hands of iron. She had never known a man could be so strong. And then it was the man's coolly smiling face, the paralyzing strangeness of his manner, more than his strength, that - weakened Madeline tantil she sank trembling against the bench. "What — do you — mean?" she panted. 2 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "Dearie, ease up a little on the bridle," he replied, gaily. Madeline thought she must be dreaming. She could not think cleariy. It had all been too swift, too terrible for her to grasp. Yet she not only saw this man, but also felt his powerful presence. And the shaking priest, the haze of blue smoke, the smeU of powder — ^these were not unreal. Then close before her eyes burst another blinding red flash, and close at her ears bellowed another report. Unable to stand, Madeline slipped down into the bench. Her drifting faculties refused clearly to record what transpired during the next few moments ; presently, how- ever, as her mind steadied somewhat, she heard, though as in a dream, the voice of the padre hunying over strange words. It ceased, and then the cowboy's voice stirred her. "Lady, say Si — Si. Say it — quick! Say it — Si!" From sheer suggestion, a force irresistible at this mo- ment when her will was 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 a mind somewhat befogged. He leaned back unsteadily. Madeline heard the expulsion of his breath, a kind of hard puff, not unusual in drunken men. "What name?" he demanded. "Madeline Hammond. I am Alfred Hammond's sister." He put his hand up and brushed.at an imaginary some- thing before his eyes. Then he loomed over her, and that hand, now shaking a little, reached out for her veil. Before he could touch it, however, she swept it back, re- vealing her face. "You're — ^not — Majesty Hammond?" lO A GENTLEMAN OF THE RANGE How strange — stranger than anjrthing that had ever happened to her before — ^was it to hear that name on the lips of this cowboy! It was a name by which she was familiarly known, though only those nearest and dearest to her had the privilege of using it. And now it revived her dulled faculties, and by an effort she regained con- trol of herself. " You are Majesty Hammond," he replied; and this time he affirmed wonderingly rather than questioned. MadeHne 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 get married." "Oh! . . . You— you! . . ." Words failed her. This appeared to galvanize the cowboy into action. He grasped the padre and led him toward the door, curs- ing an,d threatening, no doubt enjoining secrecy. Then he pushed him across the threshold and stood there breathing hard and wrestling with himself. "Here— wait — ^wait a minute, Miss — Miss Hammond," he said, huskily. "You could fall into worse company than mine — though I reckon you sure think not. I'm pretty drunk, but I'm — ^aU right otherwise. Just wait — a minute." She stood quivering and blazing with wrath, and watched this savage fight his dnmkenness. He acted like a man who had been suddenly shocked into a rational state of mind, and he was now battling with himself to hold on to it. Madeline saw the dark, damp hair Uft from his brows as he held it up to the cool wind. Above him she saw the white stars in the deep-blue sky, and they seemed as unreal to her as any other thing in this etrange night. They were cold, brilliant, aloof, distant; THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS and looking 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," belabored. "There was a fiesta — and a wedding. I do fool things when I'm drunk. I made a fool bet I'd marry the first girl who came to town. ... If you hadn't worn that veil — ^the fel- lows were joshing me — ^and Ed Linton was getting mar- ried — ^and everybody 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 had not raised his eyes to her face. The cool audacity had vanished in what was either excessive emo- tion or the maudlin condition peculiar to some men when drunk. He could not stand still; perspiration collected in beads upon his forehead; he kept wiping his face with his scarf, and he breathed like a man after violent exertions. "You see — I was pretty — " he began. "Explanations are not necessary," she interrupted. "I am very tired — distressed. The hour is late. Have you the slightest idea what it means 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 town to-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 outside had attracted his attention. Made- line listened. Low voices of men, the softer liquid tones of a woman, drifted in through the open door. They spoke in Spanish, and the voices grew louder. Evidently the speakers were approaching the station. Footsteps A GENTLEMAN OF THE RANGE crunching on gravel attested to this, and quicker steps, coming with deep tones of men in anger, told of a quarrel. Then the woman's voice, hurried and broken, rising higher, was eloquent of vain appeal. The cowboy's demeanor startled Madeline into an- ticipation of something dread ftJ. She was not deceived. From outside came the sound of a scuffle — a muffled shot, a groan, the thud of a falling body, a woman's low cry, and footsteps padding away in rapid retreat. Madeline Hammond leaned weakly back in her seat, cold and sick, and for a moment her ears throbbed to the tramp of the dancers across the way and the rhythm of the cheap music. Then into the open door-place flashed a girl's tragic face, lighted by dark eyes and framed by dusky hair. The girl reached a shm brown hand round the side of the door and held on as if to support herself. A long black scarf accentuated her gaudy attire. "Senor — Gene!" she exclaimed; and breathless glad recognition made a sudden 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's money for the boys — I was afraid. . . . Say, Bonita, but you'll get in trouble. Who was with you? What did you do ?" "Senor Gene — ^they Don Carlos vacqueros — they quarrel over me. I only dance a leetle, smile a leetle, and they quarrel. I beg they be good — 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 hate me Uke he hate Senor Gene." 13 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "Pat Hawe won't put you in jail. Take my horse and hit the Peloncillo trail. 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 potina- ing of hoofs, a pattering of gravel. Then Madeline saw a big, dark horse run into the wide space. She caught a glimpse of wind-swept scarf and hair, a little form low down in the saddle. The horse was outHned in black against the line of dim Hghts. 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 bad goings-on. And there's a train due." She hurried into the open air, not daring to look back or to either side. Her guide strode swiftly. She had almost to run to keep up with him. Many conflicting emotions confused her. She had a strange sense of this stalking giant beside her, silent except for his jangling sptu-s. 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 and shut? 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 she fancied it would always haunt her. Suddenly aware that she had been led beyond the line of houses, she spoke: "^ "Where are you taking me?" "To Florence Kingsley," he rephed. "Who is she?" "I reckon she's your brother's best friend out hera" Madeline kept pace with the cowboy for a few moments 14 A GENTLEMAN OF THE RANGE longer, and then she stopped. It was as much from necessity to catch her breath as it was from recurring fear. All at once she realized what little use her train- ing had been for such an experience as this. The cowboy, missing her, came back the few intervening steps. Then he waited, stiU silent, looming beside her. "It's so dark, so lonely," she faltered. "How do I know . . . what warrant can you give me that you — that no harm will befall me if I go farther?" "None, Miss Hammond, except that I've seen yova face." n A SECRET KEPT BECAUSE of that singular reply Madeline found faith to go farther with the cowboy. But at the moment she really did not think about what he had said. Any answer to her would have served if it had been kind. His silence had augmented her nervousness, compelling her to voice her fear. Still, even if he had not replied at all she would have gone on with him. She shuddered at the idea of returning to the station, where she believed there had been murder; she could hardly have forced herself to go back to those dim lights in the street; she did not want to wander around alone in the dark. And as she walked on into the windy darkness, much relieved that he had answered 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 revival of pride that made her feel that she ought to scorn to think at all about such a man. But Madeline Hammond dis- covered that thought was involuntary, that there were feelings in her never dreamed of before this night. Presently Madeline's guide turned off the walk and rapped at a door of a low-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 heard a woman exclaim: "Gene! here when there's a dance in town! Something wrong 16 A SECRET KEPT out on the range." A light flared up and shone bright through a window. In another moment there came a patter of soft steps, and the door 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 alarm and love in the woman's voice, and the other of unutterable relief to be safe with a friend of her brother's. "It's Al's sister — came on to-night's train," the cow- boy was saying. "I happened 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. She nearly dropped the lamp, and she looked and looked, astoimded beyond belief. "Yes, I am really she," replied Madeline. "My train was late, and for some reason Alfred did not meet me. Mr. — Mr. Stewart saw fit to bring me to 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 your coming." " He starely could not have received my messages," said Madeline, as she entered. The cowboy, who came in with her satchel, had to stoop to enter the door, and, once in, he seemed to fill the room. Florence set the lamp down upon the table. Madeline saw a young woman with a smiling, friendly face, 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 a sheet. You must be tired. What a long wait you had at the station! I heard the train come in hours ago as I was going to bed. That station is lonely at night. If I had known you were coming! Indeed, you are very pale. Are you ill?" 17 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "No. Only I am very tired. Traveling so far by rail is harder than I imagined. 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 then took a long, significant look at the silent Stewart. With that she deliberately and qmetly 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 happM£d," replied Madeline. "I shall tell Alfred, however, ^t I would rather have met a hostile Apache than a cowboy." "Please don't tell Al that!" cried Florence. Then she grasped Stewart and 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 learn decency? Aren't you ever going to stop drinking? You'll lose all yoiir friends. Stillwell has stuck to you. Al's been your best friend. Molly and I have pleaded with you, and now you've gone and done — God knows what!" "What do women want to wear veils for?" he growled. "I'd have known her but for that veil." "And you wouldn't have insulted her. But you would the next girl who came along. Gene, you are hopeless. Now, you get out of here and don't ever come back." "Flo!" he entreated. "I mean it." "I reckon then I'll come back to-morrow and take my medicine," he replied. "Don't you dare!" she cried. Stewart went out and closed the door. "Miss Hammond, you — ^you don't know how this hurts i8 A SECRET KEPT me," said Florence. "What you must think of us! It's so unlucky that you should have had this happen right at first. Now, maybe you won't have the heart to stay. Oh, I've known more than one Eastern girl to go home without ever learning what we really are out here. Miss Hammond, Gene Stewart is a fiend when he's drunk. All the same I know, whatever he did, he meant no shame to you. Come now, don't think about it again to- night." She took up the lamp and led Madeline into a Uttle room. "This is out West," she went on, smiling, as she indicated the few furnishings; "but you can rest. You're perfectly safe. Won't you let me help you un- dress — can't I do 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'U rest. Just forget what happened and think how fine a surprise you're to give your brother to-morrow." With that she sUpped out and softly shut the door. As MadeUne laid her watch on the bureau she noticed that the time was past two o'clock. It seemed long since she had gotten ofE the train. When she had turned out the lamp and crept wearily into bed she knew what it was to be utterly spent. She was too tired to move a finger. But her brain whirled. She had at first no control over it, and a thousand thronging sensations came and went and rectirred with little logical relation. There were the roar of the train; the feeling of being lost; the sound of poimding hoofs; a picture of her brother's face as she had last seen it five years before ; a long, dim line of lights ; the jingle of silver spurs; night, wind, darkness, stars. Then the gloomy station, the shadowy blanketed Mexican, the empty room, the dim lights across the square, the tramp of the dancers and vacant laughs and discordant music, the door flung wide and the entrance of the cowboy. She did not recall how he had looked or what he had done. 19 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS And the next instant she saw him cool, smiling, devilish — saw him in violence; the next his bigness, his apparel, his physical being were vague as outUnes in a dream. The white face of the padre flashed along in the train of thought, and it brought the same dull, half-bHnd, inde- finable state of mind subsequent to that last nerve- breaking pistol-shot. That passed, and then clear and vivid rose memories of the rest that had happened — strange voices betraying fury of men, a deadened report, a moan of mortal pain, a woman's poignant cry. And Madeline saw the girl's great tragic eyes and the wild flight of the big horse into the blackness, and the dark, stalking figure of the silent cowboy, and the white stars that seemed to look down remorselessly. This tide of memory rolled over Madeline again and again, and gradually lost its power and faded. All dis- tress left her, and she felt herself drifting. How black the room was — ^as black with her eyes open as it was when they were shut! And the silence — ^it was like a cloak. There was absolutely no soiind. She was in another world from that which she knew. She thought of this fair- haired Florence and of Alfred; and, wondering about them, she dropped to sleep. When she awakened the room was bright with sunlight. A cool wind blowing across the bed caused her to put her hands under the blanket. She was. lazily and dreamily contemplating the mud walls of this Uttle room when she remembered where she was and how she had come there. How great a shock she had been subjected to was mani- fest in a sensation of disgust that overwhelmed her. She even shut her eyes to try and blot out the recollection. She felt that she had been contaminated. Presently Madeline Hammond again awoke to the fact she had learned the preceding night — ^that there were emotions to which she had heretofore been a stranger. She did not try to analyze them, but she exercised her self- 20 A SECRET KEPT control to such good purpose that by the time she had dressed she was outwardly her usual self. She scarcely remembered when she had found it necessary to control her emotions. There had been no trouble, no excitement, no unpleasantness in her life. It had been ordered for her — tranquil, luxurious, brilliant, varied, yet always the same. She was not surprised to find the hour late, and was going out to make inquiry about her brother when a voice arrested her. She recognized Miss Kingsley's voice ad- dressing some one outside, and it had a sharpness she had not noted before. "So you came back, did you? Well, you don't look very proud of yourself this 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 skioll is as thick as an old cow's. Al will never know an3rthing about what you did to his sister unless you tell him. And if you do that he'U shoot you. She won't give you away. She's a thoroughbred. Why, she was SD white last night I> thought she'd drop at my feet, but fhe never blinked an eyelash. I'm a woman. Gene Stewart, and if I couldn't feel like Miss Hammond I know how awful an ordeal she must have had. Why, she's one of the most beautiful, the most sought after, the most exclusive women in New York City. There's a crowd of millionaires and lords and dukes after her. How terrible it 'd be for a woman Hke her to be kissed by a drunken cow-puncher! 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 on the watch and pretty drunk. When 21 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS she came — weVL, I got Padre Marcos and tried to bully her into marrjdng me." "Oh, Lord!" Florence gasped. "It's worse than I feared. . . . Gene, Al will kiU you." "That 'U be a good thing," replied the cowboy, de- jectedly. "Gene Stewart, it certainly would, unless you turn over a new leaf," retorted Florence. "But don't be a fool." And here she became earnest and appealing. "Goaway, Gene. Go join the rebels across the border — ^you're al- ways threatening that. Anyhow, don't stay here and run any chance of stirring Al up. He'd kill you just the same as you would kill 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 MadeUne. She was distressed because she could not avoid hearing what was not meant for her ears. She made an efiEort not to listen, and it was futile. "Flo, you can't see this a man's way," he replied, quiet- ly. "I'll stay and 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 you last night. He doesn't like you. I'm afraid he'll tell Al. For Heaven's sake, man, go down-town and shut hitn up and yourself, too." Then MadeUne heard her come into the house, and pres- ently rap on the door 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 out now. We'U have breakfast, and then you may expect to meet your brother any 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 the parlor a moment?" 22 A SECRET KEPT "Yes," replied Florence, quickly; and as she turned at the door she flashed at Madeline a woman's meaning glance. "Make him keep his mouth shut!" Presently there were slow, reluctant steps outside the front door, then a pause, and the door opened. Stewart stood bareheaded in the sunlight. Madeline remem- bered with a kind of shudder the tall form, the embroidered buckskin vest, the red scarf, the bright leather wrist- bands, the wide silver-buckled belt and chaps.^ Her glance seemed to run over him swift as lightning. But as she saw his face now she did not recognize it. The man's presence roused in her a revolt. Yet something in her, the incomprehensible side of her nature, thrilled in the look of this splendid dark-faced barbarian. "Mr. Stewart, will you please come in?" she asked, after that long pause. "I reckon not," he said. The hopelessness of his tone meant that he knew he was not fit to enter a room with her, and did not care or cared too much. Madeline went to the door. The man's face was hard, yet it was sad, too. And it touched her. "I shall not teU my brother of your — your rudeness to me," she began. It was impossible for her to keep the chiU out of her voice, to speak with other than the pride and aloofness of her class. Nevertheless, despite her loathing, when she had spoken so far it seemed that kindness and pity followed involuntarily. "I choose to overlook what you did because you were not whoUy accountable, and because there must be no trouble between Alfred and you. May I rely on you to keep silence and to seal the lips of that priest? And you know, there was a man killed or injured there last night. I want to forget that dreadful thing. I don't want 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 yovir friend — the little Mexican girl." A slow scarlet wave overspread his face, and his shame 23 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS was painful to see. That fixed in Madeline's mind a con- viction that if he was a heathen he was not wholly bad. And it made so much difference that she smiled down at him. " You will spare me further distress, will you not, please ?" His hoarse reply was incoherent, but she needed only to see his working face to know his remorse and gratitude. Madeline went back to her room ; and presently Florence came for her, and directly they were sitting at breakfast. Madeline Hammond's impression of her brother's friend had to be reconstructed in the morning Ught. She felt a wholesome, frank, sweet natiire. She Hked the slow Southern drawl. And she was puzzled to know whether Florence Kingsley was pretty or striking or unusual. She had a youthful glow and flush, the clear tan of out- doors, a face that lacked the soft curves and Unes of Eastern women, and her eyes were light gray, Hke crystal, steady, almost piercing, and her hair was a beautiful bright, waving mass. Florence's sister was the elder of the two, a stout woman with a strong face and quiet eyes. It was a sim- ple fare and service they gave to their guest; but they made no apologies for that. Indeed, Madeline felt their simplicity to be restful. She was sated with respect, sick of admiration, tired of adulation; and it was good to see that these Western women treated her as very likely they would have treated any other visitor. They were sweet, kind; and what MadeUne had at first thought was a lack of expression or vitality she soon discovered to be the natural reserve of women who did not Hve superficial lives. Florence was breezy and frank, her sister quaint and not given much to speech. Madeline thought she would Uke to have these women near her if she. were ill or in trouble. And she reproached herself for a fastidi- oiisness, a hypercritical sense of refinement that could not help distinguishing what these women lacked. "Can you ride?" Florence was asking. "That's what 24 A SECRET KEPT a Westerner always asks 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 some fine horses out here. I reckon when Al comes we'll go out to Bill StillweU's ranch. We'll have to go whether we want to or not, for when Bill learns you are here he'll just pack us all off. You'll love old BiU. His ranch is run down, but the range and the rides up in the moun- tains — they are beautiful. We'll himt and chmb, and most of all we'll ride. I love a horse — I love the wind in my face, and a wide stretch with the mountains beckon- ing. You must have the best horse on the ranges. And that means a scrap between Al and Bill and aU the cow- boys. We don't all agree about horses, except in case of Gene Stewart'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 flight of Stewart's big dark steed and rider. "Yes, and that's all he does own," replied Florence. "Gene can't keep even a quirt. But he sure loves that horse and calls him — " At this juncture a sharp knock on the parlor door in- terrupted the conversation. Florence's sister went to open it. She returned presently, and said: "It's Gene. He's been dawdlin' out there on the front porch, and he knocked to let us know Miss Hammond's brother is comin'." Florence hurried into the parlor, followed by Madeline. The door stood open, and disclosed Stewart sitting on the porch steps. From down the road came a clatter of hoofs. Madeline looked out over Florence's shoulder and saw a cloud of dust approaching, and in it she distinguished out- lines of horses and riders. A warmth spread over her, a little tingle of gladness, and the feeling recalled her girlish love for her brother. What would he be like after long years? 3 25 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "Gene, has Jack kept his mouth shut?" queried Flor- ence; and again Madeline 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 Jack hates 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 push Madeline gently back into the parlor. Madeline's glow of warmth changed to a blank dismay. Was she to see her brother act with the violence she now associated with cowboys? The clatter of hoofs stopped before the door. Looking out, Madeline saw a bunch of dusty, wiry horses pawing the gravel and tossing lean heads. Her swift glance ran over- the lithe horsemen, trying to pick out the one who was her brother. But she could not. Her glance, however, caught the same rough dress and hard aspect that characterized the cowboy Stewart. Then one rider threw his bridle, leaped from the saddle, and came botmding up the porch steps. Florence met him at the door. "Hello, Flo. Where is she?" he called, eagerly. With that he looked over her shoulder to espy Madeline. He actually jumped at her. She hardly knew the tail form and the bronzed face, but the warm flash of blue eyes was 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 off and looked searchingly at her. "Well, sister," he began, when Florence turned hur- riedly from the door and interrupted him. " Al, I think you'd better stop the wrangling out there." He stared at her, appeared suddenly to hear the loud voices from the street, and then, releasing Madeline, he said: " By George ! I forgot, Flo. There is a little business 26 A SECRET KEPT to see to. Keep my sister 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 you fellows to come here. But as you would come, you've got to shut up. This is my busi- ness." 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 alarmed MadeKne. 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, I was — pretty drunk," repHed Stewart. It was a kind of cool speech that showed the cowboy in control of himself and master of the situation — ^not an easy speech to follow up with 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 station and — and insulted her. Jack's got it in for you, so have these other boys. But it's my affair. Understand, I didn't fetch them here. They can see you square yourself, or else — Gene, you've been on the wrong trail for some time, drinking and aU that. You're going to the bad. But BiU thinks, and I think, you're still a man. We never knew you to he. Now what have you to say for yourself?" "Nobody is insinuating that I am a Har?" drawled Stewart. "No." "Well, I'm glad to hear that. You see, Al, I was pretty drunk last night, but not drunk enough to forget the 27 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS least thing I did. I told Pat Hawe so this morning when he was curious. And that's pohte for me to be to Pat. Well, I found Miss Hammond waiting alone at the station. She wore a veU, but I knew she was a lady, of course. I imagine, now that I think of it, that Miss Hammond found my gallantry rather startling, and — " At this point Madeline, answering to unconsidered im- pulse, eluded Florence and walked out upon the porch. Sombreros flashed down and the lean horses jumped. "Gentlemen," said Madeline, rather breathlessly; and it did not add to her calmness to feel a hot flush in her cheeks, "I am very new to Western ways, but I think you are laboring under a mistake, which, in justice to Mr. Stewart, I want to correct. Indeed, he was rather^ — rather abrupt and strange when he came up to me last night; but as I understand him now, I can attribute that to his gallantry. He was somewhat wild and sudden and — sentimental in his demand to protect me — ^and it was not clear whether he meant his protection for last night or forever; but I am happy to say he offered me no word that was not honorable. And he saw me safely here to Miss Kingsley's home." Ill SISTER AND BROTHER THEN Madeline returned to the little parlor with the brother whom she had hardly recognized. "Majesty!" he exclaimed. "To think of your being here!" The warmth stole back along her veins. She remem- bered how that pet name had soimded 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 being at the train to welcome her, were not so memorable of him as the way he clasped her, for he had held her that way the day he left home, and she had not forgotten. But now he was so much taller and bigger, so dusty and strange and different and forceful, that she could scarcely think him the same man. She even had a hvmiorous thought that here was another cowboy bully- ing her, and this time it was her brother. "Dear old girl," he said, more calmly, as he let her go, "you haven't changed at all, except to grow lovelier. Only you're a woman now, and you've fulfilled the name I gave you. God, how sight of you brings back home! It seems a hundred years since I left. I missed you more than all the rest." Madehne seemed to feel with his every word that she was remembering him. She was so amazed at the change in him that she could not believe her eyes. She saw a bronzed, strong-jawed, eagle-eyed man, stalwart, superb 29 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS of height, and, like the cowboys, belted, booted spurred. And there was something hard as iron in his face that quivered with his words. It seemed that only in those moments when the hard lines broke and softened could she see resemblance to the face she remembered. It was his manner, the tone of his voice, and the tricks of speech that proved to her he was really Alfred. She had bidden good -by to a disgraced, disinherited, dissolute boy. Well she remembered the handsome pale face with its weakness and shadows and careless smile, with the ever- 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 Madeline Hammond felt a strong, passionate gladness and gratefulness, and a direct check to her suddenly inspired hatred of the West. "Majesty, it was good of you to come. I'm all broken up. How did you ever do it? But never mind that now, TeU me about that brother of mine." Aad Madeline told him, and then about their sister Helen. Question after question he fired at her; and she told him of her mother; of Aunt Grace, who had died a year ago; of his old friends, married, scattered, vanished. But she did not teU him of his father, for he did not ask. Quite suddenly the rapid-fire questioning ceased; he choked, was silent a 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 her more to hear him. And in the succeeding few moments she grew closer to him than she had ever been in the past. Had her father and mother done right by him? Her ptilse stirred with unwonted quickness. She did not speak, but she kissed him, which, for her, was an indication of unusual feeUng. And when he recovered command over his emotions he made no reference-to his breakdown, nor did she. But that scene struck deep into Madeline Hammond's heart. Through it she saw what he had lost and gained. 30 SISTER AND BROTHER "Alfred, why did you not answer my last letters?" asked Madeline. "I had not heard from you for two years." "So long? How time flies! Well, things went bad with me about the last time I heard from you. I al- ways intended to write some day, but I never did." "Things went wrong? Tell me." " Majesty, you mustn't worry yourself with my troubles. I want you to enjoy your stay and not be bothered with ihy difficulties." "Please tell me. I suspected something had gone wrong. That is partly why I decided to come out." "All right; if you must know," he began; anditseemed, to Madehne that there was a gladness in his decision to unburden himself. "You remember all about my little ranch, and that for a while I did well raising stock? I wrote you all that. Majesty, a man makes enemies any- where. Perhaps an Eastern man in the West can make, if not so many, certainly more 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. That gave me a back-set. Pat Hawe, the sheriff here, has been instrumental in hurting my business. He's not so much of a rancher, but he has influence at Santa Fe and El Paso and Douglas. I made an enemy of him. I never did anjrthing to him. He hates Gene Stewart, and upon one occasion I spoiled a little plot of his to get Gene ia his clutches. The real reason for his animosity toward me is that he loves Florence, and Florence is going to marry me." "Alfred!" "What's the matter. Majesty? Didn't Florence im- press you favorably?" he asked, with a keen glance. "Why — yes, indeed. I like her. But I did not think of her in relation to you — that way. I am greatly surprised. Alfred, is she well bom ? What connec- tions?" 31 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "Florence is just a girl of ordinary people. She was bom in Kentucky, was brought up in Texas. My aristo- cratic and wealthy family would scorn — " "Alfred, you are still a Hammond," said Madeline, with upUfted head. Alfred laughed. "We won't quarrel. Majesty. I re- member you, and in spite of your pride you've got a heart. If you stay here a month you'll love Florence Kingsley. I want you to know she's had a great deal to do with straightening me up. . . . WeU, to go on with my story. There's Don Carlos, a Mexican rancher, and he's my worst enemy. For that matter, he's as bad an enemy of Bill StillweU and other ranchers. StiUweU, by the way, is my friend and one of the fiaest men on earth. I got in debt to Don Carlos before I knew he was so mean. In the first place I lost money at faro — I gambled some when I came West — and then I made unwise cattle deals. Don Carlos is a wily Greaser, he knows the ranges, he has the water, and he is dishonest. So he outfigured me. And now I am practically ruined. He has not gotten possession of my ranch, but that's only a matter of time, pending law-suits at Santa Fe. At present I have a few hundred cattle running on StillweU's range, and I am his foreman." "Foreman?" queried Madeline. "I am simply boss of StillweU's cowboys, and right gladof my job." Madeline was conscious of an inward burning. It re- quired an effort for her to retain her outward tranquilUty. Anno3dng consciousness she had also of the returning sense of new distmbing emotions. She began to see just how walled in from imusual thought-provoking incident and sensation had been her exclusive Hfe. "Cannot your property be reclaimed?" she asked. "How much do you owe?" "Ten thousand doUars would clear me and give me another start. But, Majesty, in this coimtry that's a 32 SISTER AND BROTHER good deal of money, and I haven't been able to raise it. Stillwell's in worse shape than I am." Madeline went over to Alfred and put her hands on his shotilders. "We must not be in debt." He stared at her as if her words had recalled some- thing long forgotten. Then he smiled. "How imperious you are! I'd forgotten just who my beautiful sister really is. Majesty, you're not going to ask me to take money from you?" "I am." "Well, I'U not do it. I never did, even when I was in college, and then there wasn't much beyond me." "Listen, Alfred," she went on, earnestly, "this is en- tirely different. I had only an allowance then. You had no way to know that since I last wrote 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 if you'll consent. Alfred, I'm so — so amazed at the change in you. I'm so happy. You must never take a backward step from now on. What is ten thousand dollars to me? Sometimes I spend that in a month. I throw -money away. If you let me help you it wiU be doing me good as well as you. Please, Alfred." He kissed her, evidently surprised at her earnestness. And indeed Madeline was stuprised herself. Once started, her speech had flowed. "You always were the best of fellows. Majesty. And if you really care — ^if you reaUy want to help me I'll be only too glad to accept. It will be fine. Florence will go wild. And that Greaser won't harass me any more. Majesty, pretty soon some titled fellow will be spending your money; I may as well take a httle before he gets it all," he finished, jokingly. "What do you know about me?" she asked, lightly. 33 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "More than you think. Even if we are lost out here in the woolly West we get news. Everybody knows about Anglesbury. And that Dago duke who chased you all over Europe, that Lord Castleton has the running now and seems about to win. How about it, Majesty?" Madeline detected a hint that suggested scorn in his gay speech. And deep in his searching glance she saw a flame. She became thoughtful. She had forgotten Castleton, New York, society. "Alfred," she began, seriously, "I don't believe any titled gentleman wiU ever spend my money, as you ele- gantly express it." "I don't care for that. It's you!" he cried, passion- ately, and he grasped her with a violence that startled her. He was white; his eyes were now Hke fire. "You are so splendid — so wonderful. People called you the American Beauty, but you're more than that. You're the American Girl! 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 men of your own country." "Alfred, I'm afraid there are not always real men and real love for American girls in international marriages. But Helen knows this. It '11 be her choice. She'U be miserable if she marries Anglesbiu-y." "It '11 serve her just right," declared her brother. "Helen was always crazy for glitter, adulation, fame. I'll gamble she never saw more of Anglesbury than the gold and ribbons on his breast." "I am sorry. Anglesbury is a gentleman; but it is the money he wanted, I think. Alfred, tell me how you came to know about me, way out here? You may be assured I was astonished to find that Miss Kingsley knew me as Majesty Hammond." "I imagine it was a surprise," he replied, with a laugh. "I told Florence about you — gave her a picture of you. And, of course, being a woman, she showed the picture 34 SISTER AND BROTHER and talked. She's in love with you. Then, my dear sister, we do get New York papers out here occasionally, and we can see and read. You may not be aware that you and your society friends are objects of intense in- terest in the U. S. in general, and the West in particular. The papers are full of you, and perhaps a lot of things you never 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 he did. He got hold of one of those newspaper pictures of you — the one in the Times; he took it away from here, and in spite of Florence he wouldn't fetch it back. It was a picture of you in riding-habit with your blue-ribbon horse. White Stockings — remember? It was taken at Newport. Well, Stewart tacked the picture up in his bunk-house, and named his beautiful horse Majesty. All the cowboys knew it. They would see the picture and tease him im- mercifuUy. But he didn't care. One day I happened to drop in on him and fotmd him just recovering from a carouse. I saw the picture, too, and I said to him: 'Gene, if my sister knew you were a drunkard she'd not be proud of having her picture stuck up in your room.' Majesty, he did not touch a drop for a month, and when he did 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. She simply could not adjust herself to these queer free Western ways. Her brother had eloquently pleaded for her to keep herself above a sordid and bril- liant marriage, yet he not only allowed a cowboy to keep her pictiore in his room, but actually spoke of her and used her name in a temperance lecture. MadeUne just escaped feeling disgust. She was saved from this, how- ever, by nothing less than her brother's naive gladness 35 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS that through subtle suggestion Stewart had been per- suaded to be good for a month. Something made up of Stewart's affrontery to her; of Florence Kingsley meeting her, frankly as it were, as an equal; of the elder sister's slow, quiet, easy acceptance of this visitor who had been honored at the courts of royalty; of that faint hint of scorn in Alfred's voice, and his amused statement in re- gard to her picture and the name Majesty — something made up of all these stung Madeline Hammond's pride, alienated her for an instant, and then stimulated her intelligence, excited her interest, and made her resolve to learn a little 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 and bring Stillwell with me. You'll Uke him. Give me the check for your trunk." She went into the little bedroom, and, taking up her bag, she got out a number of checks. "Six! Six trunks!" he exclaimed. "Well, I'm very glad you intend to stay awhile. Say, Majesty, it will take me as long to realize who you really are as it '11 take to break you of being a tenderfoot. I hope you packed a riding-suit. If not you'll have to wear trousers ! You'll have to do that anyway when we go up in the moim- tains." "No!" "You sure will, as Florence says." "We shall see about that. I don't know what's in the trunks. I never pack 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 look after 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 36 SISTER AND BROTHER you let him stand that way 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 each other 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 'U go out of their heads." "You are pleased to be facetious, Alfred. I think I have had quite enough of cowboys, and I haven't been here twenty-four hours." "Don't think too much of first impressions. That was my mistake when I arrived 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 running when the rider slipped his leg over the saddle. Madeline watched him in admiration. He seemed to be loosely fitted to the saddle, moving with the horse. "I suppose that's a cowboy's style. It pleases me," she said. ' ' How different from the seat of Eastern riders !" Then Madeline sat upon the porch and fell to interested observation of her sturounding. Near at hand it was de- cidedly not prepossessing. The street was deep in dust, and the cool wind whipped up little puffs. The houses along this street were aU low, square, flat-roofed structures made of some kind of red cement. It occurred to her suddenly that this building-material must be the adobe she had read about. There was no person in sight. The long street appeared to have no end, though the line of houses did not extend far. Once she heard a horse trot- ting at some distance, and several times the ringing of a locomotive bell. Where were the moimtains, wondered Madeline. Soon low over the house-roofs she saw a dim, dark-blue, rugged outline. It seemed to charm her eyes 37 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS and fix her gaze. She knew the Adirondacks, she had seen the Alps from the summit of Motmt Blanc, and had stood under the ^eat black, white-tipped shadow of the Himalayas. But 'they had not drawn her as these re- mote Rockies. This dim horizon hne boldly cutting the blue sky fascinated her. Florence Kingsley's expression ' ' beckoning mountains ' ' returned to Madeline . She could not see or feel so much as that. Her impression was rather that these mountains were aloof, unattainable, that if approached they would recede or vanish Hke the desert mirage. Madeline went to her room, intending tovrest awhile, and she fell asleep. She was aroused by Florence's knock and call. "Miss Hammond, yotu: brother has come back with StillweU." "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 the cattlemen. He has lived in Texas and here all his Hfe." Madeline accompanied Florence to the porch. Her brother, who was sitting near the door, jumped up and said: "Hello, Majesty!" And as he put his arm aroimd her he turned toward a massive man whose broad, craggy face began to ripple and wrinkle. "I want to introduce my friend StillweU 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," replied StillweU, in a booming voice. He extended a huge hand. " Miss — Miss Majesty, sight of you is as welcome as the rain an' the flowers to an old desert cattleman." Madeline greeted him, and it was all she could do to repress a cry at the way he crunched her hand in a grasp of iron. He was old, white-haired, weather-beaten, witi 38 SISTER AND BROTHER long furrows down his cheeks and with gray eyes almost hidden in wrinkles. If he was smiling she fancied it a most extraordinary smile. The next instant she realized that it had been a smile, for his face appeared to stop rippHng, the light died, and suddenly it was Hke rudely chiseled stone. The quality of hardness she had 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 on hand to meet you," StiUwell said. "Me an' Al stepped into the P.O. an' said a few mild an' cheerftil things. Them messages ought to hev been sent out to the ranch. ' I'm sure afraid it was a bit unpleasant fer you last night at the station." "I was rather anxious at first and perhaps frightened," replied Madeline. " Wal, I'm some glad to teU you thet there's no man in these parts except yovu brother thet I'd as Uef hev met you as Gene Stewart." "Indeed?" "Yes, an' thet's takin' into consideration Gene's weak- ness, too. I'm alius 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 of the cowboys. Sure, he's yotmg, but he's the last of the old style — ^the picturesque — ^an' chivalrous, too, I make bold to say. Miss Majesty, as well as the old hard-ridin' kind. Folks are down on Stewart. An' I'm only sayin' a good word for him because he is down, an' mebbe last night he might hev scared you, you bein' fresh from the East." Madeline Hked the old fellow for his loyalty to the cow- boy he evidently cared for; but, as there did not seem anjrthing for her to say, she remained silent. "Miss Majesty, the day of the cattleman is about over. An' the day of the cowboy, such as Gene Stewart, is over. There's no place for Gene. If these weren't modem days he'd come near bein' a gun-man, same as we had in Texaa 39 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS when I ranched there in the seventies. But he can't fit nowhere now; he can't hold a job, an' he's goin' down." "I am sorry to hear it," mvirmxired Madeline. "But, Mr. Stillwell, aren't these modem days out here just a little wild — ^yet? The conductor on my train told me of rebels, bandits, raiders. Then I have had other impres- sions of — ^well, that were wild enough for me." "Wal, it's some more pleasant an' excitin' these days than for many years," replied Stillwell. "The boys hev took to packin' gtms again. But thet's owin' to the revo- lution in Mexico. There's goin' to be trouble along the border. I reckon people in the East don't know there is a revolution. Wal, Madero will oust Diaz, an' then some other rebel wiU oust 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's al- ready been holdups on the railroads an' raids along the Rio Grande valley. An' these little towns are full of Greasers, all disturbed by the fightin' down in Mexico. We've been hevin' shootin'-scrapes an' knifin'-scrapes, an' some cattle-raidin'. I hev been losin' a few cattle right along. Reminds me of old times; an' pretty soon, if it doesn't stop, I'll take the old-time way to stop it." "Yes, indeed. Majesty," put in Alfred, "you have hit upon an interesting time to visit us." "Wal, thet sure 'pears, to be so," rejoined Stillwell. "Stewart got in trouble down heah to-day, an' I'm more than sorry to hev to teU you thet your name figgered in it. But I couldn't blame him, fer I sure would 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 at her consternation, there was morti- fication in his face. It required no great perspicuity, Madeline thought, to see that Stillwell loved to talk, and the way he squared 40. SISTER AND BROTHER himself and spread his huge hands over his knees sug- gested that he meant to do this opportunity justice. "Miss Majesty, I reckon bein' as you're in the West now thet you must take things as they come, an' mind each thing a little less than the one before. 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 we started in with a bimch of cattle I sent one of my cowboys, Danny Mains, along ahead carryin' money I hed to pay off hands an' my bills, an' I wanted 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 latety, an' mebbe they knew about the money comin'. "Wal, when I arrived with the cattle I was some put to it to make ends meet. An' to-day I wasn't in no an- gelic humor. When I hed my business all done I went around poldn' my nose heah an' there, tryin' to get scent of thet money. An' I happened in at a hall we hev thet does duty fer jail an' hospital an' election-post an' what- not. Wal, just then it was doin' duty as a hospital. Last night was fiesta night — ^these Greasers hev a fiesta every week or so — an' one Greaser who hed been bad hurt was layin' in the hall, where he hed been fetched from the station. Somebody hed sent off to Douglas fer a doctor, but he hedn't come yet. I've hed some experience with gun-shot wounds, an' I looked this feller over. He wasn't shot up much, but I thought there was danger of blood- poisonin'. Anyway, I did all I could. "The hall was full of cowboys, ranchers, Greasers, miners, an' town folks, along with some strangers. I was about to get started up this way when Pat Hawe come in. "Pat, he's the sheriff. I reckon. Miss Majesty, thet sheriffs are new to you, an' fer sake of the West I'll ex- plain to you thet we don't hev many of the real thing any more. Garrett, who killed BUly the Kid an' was 4 41 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS killed himself near a year or so ago — ^he was the kind of sheriff thet helps to make a self-respectin' country. But this Pat Hawe— wal, I reckon there's no good in me sayin' what I think of him. He come into the hall, an' he was roarin' about things. He was goin' to arrest Danny Mains on sight. Wal, I jest polite-like told Pat thet the money was mine, an' he needn't get riled about it. An' if I wanted to trail the thief I 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 was daid set to arrest the first man he could find excuse to. "Then he cooled down a bit an' was asldn' questions about the wounded Greaser when Gene Stewart come in. Whenever Pat an' Gene come together it reminds me of the early days back in the seventies. Jest naturally everybody shut up. Per Pat hates Gene, an' I reckon Gene ain't very sweet on Pat. They're jest natural foes in the first place, an' then the course of events here in El Cajon has been aggravatin'. '"Hullo, Stewart, you're the feller I'm lookin' fer,' said Pat. "Stewart eyed him an' said mighty cool an' sarcastic: 'Hawe, you look a good 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 a lot of thet roan horse of your'n, 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 going's-on last night thet you know somethin' about. Danny Mains robbed — Still well's nioney gone — your roan horse gone — thet little hussy Bonita gone — an' this Greaser near gone, too. Now, seein' thet you was up late an' prowlin' round the station where this Greaser was found, it aia't onrea- 42 SISTER AND BROTHER sonable to think you might know how he got plugged — is it?' "Stewart laughed kind of cold, an' he rolled a cigarette, all the time eyin' Pat, an' then he said if he'd plugged the Greaser it 'd never hev been sich a bunglin' job. "'I can arrest you on suspicion, Stewart, but before I go thet far I want some evidence. I want to round up Danny Mains an' thet little Greaser girl. I want to find out what's become of your hoss. You've never lent him since you hed him, an' there ain't enough raiders across the 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 botmds, an' he stamped around an' swore. Then he had an idea. It jest stuck out all over him, an' he shook his 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, qtiiet an' menacin' Uke. "'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 grand dame some questions, an' if she's as close-mouthed as you are I'll arrest her!' "Gene Stewart turned white. I fer one expected to see him jump Hke Hghtnin', as he does when he's riled sudden. But he was calm an' he was thinkin' hard. Presently he said : " ' Pat, thet's a fool idee, an' if you do the trick it 'U hurt you all the rest of your life. There's absolutely no reason to frighten Miss Hammond. An' tryin' to arrest her would be such a damned outrage as won'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 of way. Don't take your spite out on us by insultin' 43 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS a lady who has come hyar to hev a little visit. We're bad enough without bein' low-down as Greasers.' "It was a long talk for Gene, an' I was as surprised as the rest of the fellers. Think of Gene Stewart talkin' soft an' sweet to thet red-eyed coyote of a sheriff! An' Pat, he looked so devilishly gleeful thet if somethin' about Gene hedn't held me tight I'd hev got in the game my- self. It was plain to me an' others who spoke of it after- wards thet Pat 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 thet any one could hev heerd a clock tick a mile off. Stewart seemed kind of chokin', an' he seemed to hev been bewildered by the idee of Hawe's confrontin' you. "An' finally he burst out: 'But, man, think who it is! It's Miss Hammond! If you seen her, even if you was locoed or drunk, you — ^you couldn'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. This Hammond woman — ' "Suddenly Hawe shut up, an' with his red mug tvimin' green he went for his gun." Stillwell paused in his narrative to get breath, and he wiped his moist brow. And now his face began to lose its cragginess. It changed, it softened, it rippled and wrinkled, and aU that strange mobility focused and shone in a wonderful smile. "An' then. Miss Majesty, then there was somethin' happened. Stewart took Pat's gun away from him and throwed it on the floor. An' what followed was beauti- ful. Sure it was the beautifulest sight I ever seen. Only it was over so soon! A Httle while after, when the doctor came, he hed another patient besides the wounded Greaser, an' he said thet this new one would require about four months to be up an' around cheerful-like again. An' Gene Stewart hed hit the trail for the border." w A RIDE FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET NEXT morning, when Madeline was aroused by her brother, it was not yet daybreak; the air chilled her, and in the gray gloom she had to feel around for matches and lamp. Her usual languid manner vanished at a touch of the cold water. Presently, when Alfred knocked on her door and said he was leaving a pitcher of hot water outside, she replied, with chattering teeth: "Th- thank y-you, b-but I d-don't ne-need any now." She found it necessary, however, to warm her numb fingers before she could fasten hooks and buttons. And when she was dressed she marked in the dim mirror 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 be in the air. From the back of the house sounded the tramp of boots and voices of men, and from outside came a dull thump of hoofs, the rattle of 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 to the ranch. The fall round-up begins to-morrow. You wiU ride in the buck- board with Florence and Still well. I'U ride on ahead with the boys and fix up a little for you at the ranch. Yo-ur baggage will follow, but won't get there tUl to-mor- 45 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS row some time. It's a long ride out — ^nearly fifty miles by wagon-road. Flo, don't forget a couple of robes. Wrap her up well. And hustle getting ready. We're waiting." A little later, when Madeline went out with Florence, the gray gloom was lightening. Horses were champing bits and poiinding gravel. "Mawnin', Miss Majesty," said StiUwell, gruffly, from the front seat of a high vehicle. Alfred bundled her up into the back seat, and Florence after her, and wrapped them with robes. Then he mount- ed his horse and started ofE. " Gid-eb !" growled StUlwell, and with a crack of his whip the team jumped into a trot. Florence whispered into Madeline's ear: "Bill's grouchy early in the mawnin'. He'll thaw out soon as it gets warm." It was still so gray that Madeline could not distinguish objects at any considerable distance, and she left El Cajon without knowing what the town really looked Uke. She did know that she was glad to get out if it, 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 behind Alfred, and gradually they drew ahead, to disappear from sight. While Madeline watched them the gray gloom Ughtened into dawn. All about her was bare and dark; the horizon seemed close; not a hill nor a tree broke the monotony. The ground appeared to be flat, but the road went up and down over little ridges. MadeUne glanced backward in the direction of El Cajon and the mountains she had seen the day before, and she saw only bare and dark ground, like that which roUed before. A puff of cold wind struck her face and she shivered. Florence noticed her and pulled up the second robe and tucked it closely round her up to her chin. "If we have a little wind you'll sure feel it," said the Western girl. 46 A RIDE Madeline replied that she already felt it. The wind appeared to penetrate the robes. It was cold, pure, nipping. It was so thin she had to breathe as fast as if she were under ordinary exertion. It hiurt her nose 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 imgloved hands on the out- side of the robe she evidently did not need to draw up around her. Madeline thought she had never seen such a clear-eyed, healthy, splendid girl. "Do you hke to see the sun rise?" asked Florence. "Yes, I think I do," replied Madeline, thoughtfully. "Frankly, I have not seen it for years." "We have beautiful sunrises, and sunsets from the ranch are gloriou^ " Long lines of pink fire ran level with the eastern hori- zon, which appeared to recede as day brightened. A bank of thin, fleecy clouds was turning rose. To the south and west the sky was dark; but every moment it changed, the blue turning bluer. The eastern sky was opalescent. Then in one place gathered a golden Hght, and slowly concentrated till it was like fire. The rosy bank of cloud turned to silver and pearl, and behind it shot up a great circle of gold. Above the dark horizon gleamed an intensely bright disk. It was the sun. It rose swiftly, blazing out the darkness between the ridges and giving color and distance to the sweep of land. "Wal, wal," drawled Stillwell, and stretched his huge arms as if he had just awakened, "thet's somethin' hke." Florence nudged Madeline and winked at her. "Fine mawnin', girls," went on old Bill, cracking his whip. "Miss Majesty, it '11 be some oninterestin' ride all mawnin'. But when we get up a bit you'U stu-e hke it. There! Look to the southwest, jest over thet farthest ridge." 47 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Madeline swept her gaze along the gray, sloping horizon line to where dark -blue spires rose far beyond the ridge. "Peloncillo Mountains," said StUlwell. "Thet's home, when we get there. We won't see no more of them till afternoon, when they rise up sudden-Uke." Peloncillo! Madeline murmured the melodious name. Where had she heard it? Then she remembered. The cowboy Stewart had told the little Mexican girl Bonita to "hit the PeloncilJo trail." Probably the girl had rid- den the big, dark horse over this very road at night, alone. Madeline had a little shiver that was not oc- casioned 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 its ears were enormous. ' It appeared to be impudently tame, and the horses kicked dust over it as they trotted by. From then on old Bill and Florence vied with each other in calling Madehne's attention to many things along the way. Coyotes stealing away into the brush; buzzards flapping over the carcass of a cow that had been mired in a wash; queer little lizards run- ning swiftly across the road; cattle grazing in the hollows; adobe huts of Mexican herders; wild, shaggy horses, with heads high, watching from the gray ridges — all these things MadeUne looked at, indifferently at first, because indifference had become habitual with her, and then with an interest that flourished up and insensibly grew as she rode on. It grew until sight of a Uttle ragged Mexican boy astride the most diminutive burro she had ever seen awakened her to the truth. She became conscious of faint, tmmistakable awakening of long-dead feelings — enthusiasm and deUght. When she realized that, she breathed deep of the cold, sharp air and experienced an inward joy. And she divined then, though she did not know why, that henceforth there was to be something new in her life, something she had never felt before, some- 48 A RIDE thing 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 horses held tirelessly to their steady trot, and mile after mile of rolling land slipped by. From the top of a ridge Madeline saw down into a hol- low where a few of the cowboys had stopped and were sitting round a fire, evidently busy at the noonday meal. Their horses were feeding on the long, gray grass. "Wal, smell of thet bumin' greasewood makes my mouth water," said StUlwell. "I'm sure hungry. We'll noon hyar an' let the bosses rest. It's a long pull to the ranch." He halted near the camp-fire, and, clambering down, began to unharness the team. Florence leaped out and turned to help Madeline. "Walk round a little," she said. "You must be cramped from sitting stUl so long. I'll get lunch ready." Madeline got down, glad to stretch her limbs, and be- gan to stroU about. She heard Stillwell throw the har- ness 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 succeeded on the fourth try, and then heaved up with a satisfied snort and shook off the dust and gravel. The other one failed to roU over, and gave it up, half rose to his feet, and then lay down on the other side. "He's sure going to feel the groimd," said Florence, smiling at Madeline. "Miss Hammond, I suppose that prize horse of yours — ^White Stockings — would spoil his coat if he were heah to roll in this greasewood and cactus." During limch-time Madeline observed that she was an object of manifestly great interest to the three cowboys. She t-etumed the compliment, and was amused to see that a glance their way caused them painful embarrassment. 49 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS They were grown men — one of whom had white hair — yet they acted like boys caught in the act of steaUng a forbidden look at a pretty girl. "Cowboys are sure all flirts," said Florence, as if stating an uninteresting fact. But Ma.deline detected a merry twinkle in her clear eyes. The cowboys heard, and the effect upon them was magical. They fell to shamed con- fusion and to hurried useless tasks. Madeline found it difficult to see where they had been bold, though evi- dently they were stricken with conscious guilt. She re- called appraising looks of critical English eyes, impudent French stares, burning Spanish glances — ^gantlets which any American girl had to run abroad. Compared to for- eign eyes the eyes of these cowboys were those of smiling, eager babies. "Haw, haw!" roared Stillwell. "Florence, you jest hit the nail on the haid. Cowboys are all plumb flirts. I was wonderin' why them boys nooned hyar. This ain't no place to noon. Ain't no grazin' or wood wuth bumin' or nuthin'. Them boys jest held up, throwed the packs, an' waited fer us. It ain't so siirprisin' fer Booly an' Ned — ^they're young an' coltish— but Nels there, why, he's old enough to be the paw of both you girls. It sure is amazin' strange." A silence ensued. The white-haired cowboy, Nels, fussed aimlessly over the camp-fire, and then straight- ened up with a very red face. "Bin, you're a dog-gone liar," he said. "I reckon I won't stand to be classed with Booly an' Ned. There ain't no cowboy on this range thet's more appreciatin' of the ladies than me, but I shore ain't ridin' out of my way. I reckon I hev enough ridin' to do. Now, Bill, if you've sich dog-gone good eyes mebbe you seen somethin' on the way out?" "Nels, I hevn't seen nothin'," he replied, bluntly. His levity disappeared, and the red wrinkles narrowed round his searching eyes. SO A RIDE "Jest take a squint at these hoss-tracks," said Nels, and he drew Stillwell a few paces aside and pointed to large hoof -prints 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, and he dropped heavily to his knees and began to scrutinize the tracks. "My eyes are sure pore; but, Nels, they ain't fresh." "I reckon them tracks was made early yesterday momin'." "Wal, what if they was?" Stillwell looked at his cow- boy. "It's sure as thet red nose of your'n Gene wasn't ridin' the roan." "Who's sayin' he was? BiU, it's more'n your eyes that's gittin' old. Jest foUer 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 again flopped to his knees. Then he crawled about, evidently examining horse tracks. "Nels, whoever was straddlin' Stewart's hoss met somebody. An' they haiiled up a bit, but didn't git down." "Tolerable good for you. Bill, thet reasonia'," replied the cowboy. StUlweU presently got up and walked swiftly to the left for some rods, halted and faced toward the south- west, then retraced his steps. He looked at the imper- turbable cowboy. "Nels, I don't like this a Httle," he growled. "Them tracks make straight fer the Peloncillo trail." "Shore," replied Nels. "Wal?" went on StillweU, impatiently. " I reckon you know what hoss made the other tracks?" "I'm thinkin' hard, but I ain't svtre." "It was Danny Mains's bronch." "How do you know thet?" demanded StillweU, sharply. "Bill, the left front foot of thet little hoss always wears SI THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS a shoe thet sets crooked. Any of the boys can tell you. I'd know thet track if I was bUnd." StillweU'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 Pelon- cillo trail. But I ain'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 Httle hussy, Bonita?" "Bill, he shore was sweet on Bonita, same as Gene was, an' Ed Linton before he got engaged, an' all the boys. She's shore chain-Ughtnin', that Uttle 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 got drunk. But he'll show up soon." "Wal, mebbe you an' the boys are right. I beheve you are. Nels, there ain't no doubt on earth about who was ridin' Stewart's hoss?" " Thet's as plain as the boss's tracks." "Wal, it's aU amazin' strange. It beats me. I wish the boys would ease up on drinkin'. I was pretty fond of Danny an' Gene. I'm afraid Gene's done fer, sure. If he crosses the border where he can fight it won't take long fer him to get plugged. I guess I'm gettin' old. I don't stand things like I used to." "Bill, I reckon I'd better hit the PelonciUo trail. Mebbe I can find Danny." "I reckon you had, Nels," replied Stillwell. "But don't take more'n a couple of days. We can't do much on the round-up without you. I'm short of boys." That ended the conversation. Stillwell immediately began to hitch up his team, and the cowboys went out to fetch their strayed horses. Madeline had been curi- ously interested, and she saw that Florence knew it. "Things happen. Miss Hammond," she said, soberlyp almost sadly. 52 A RIDE Madeline thought. And then straightway Florence began brightly to hum a tune and to busy herself repack- ing what was left of the lunch. MadeUne suddenly con- ceived a strong Uking and respect for this Western girl. She adnnired the consideration or delicacy or wisdom — whatever it was — ^which kept Florence from asking her what she knew or thought or felt about the events that had taken place. Soon they were once more bowUng along the road down a gradual incUne, and then they began to climb a long ridge that had for hours hidden what lay beyond. That climb was rather tiresome, owing to the sim and the dust and the restricted view. When they reached the summit Madeline gave a little gasp of pleasure. A deep, gray, smooth valley opened below and sloped up on the other side in Httle ridges like waves, and these led to the foothills, dotted with clumps of brush or trees, and beyond rose dark moimtains, pine- fringed and crag-spired. "Wal, Miss Majesty, now we're gettin' somewhere," said Still well, cracking his whip. "Ten miles across this vaUey an' we'll be in the foothills where the Apaches used to run." "Ten miles!" exclaimed Madeline. "It looks no more than half a mile to me." "Wal, young woman, before you go to ridin' off alone you want to get yovii eyes corrected to Western distance. Now, what 'd you call them black things off there on the slope?" "Horsemen. No, cattle," rephed Madeline, doubtfully. " Nope. Jest plain, every-day cactus. An' over hyar — look down the valley. Somethin' of a pretty forest, ain't thet?" he asked, pointing. Madeline saw a beautiful forest in the center of the valley toward the south. "Wal, Miss Majesty, thet's jest this deceivin' air. There's no forest. It's a mirage." S3 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "Indeed! How beautiful it is!" Madeline strained her gaze on the dark blot, and it seemed to float in the atmosphere, to have no clearly defined margins, to waver and shimmer, and then it faded and vanished. The mountains dropped down again behind the hori- zon, and presently the road began once more to slope up. The horses slowed to a walk. There was a mile of rolling ridge, and then came the foothills. The road ascended through winding valleys. Trees and brush and rocks began to appear in the dry ravines. There was no water, yet all along the sandy washes were indications of floods at some periods. The heat and the dust stifled Madeline, and she had already become tired. Still she looked with all her eyes and saw birds, and beautiful quail -with crests, and rabbits, and once she saw a deer. "Miss Majesty," said StiUwell, "in the early days the Indians made this coimtry a bad one to Uve in. I reckon you never heerd much about them times. Surely you was hardly bom then. I'll hev to teU you some day how I fought Comanches in the Panhandle — ^thet was north- ern Texas — ^an' I had some mighty hair-raisin' scares in this country with Apaches." He told her about Cochise, chief of the , Chiricahua Apaches, the most savage and bloodthirsty tribe that ever made life a horror for the pioneer. Cochise befriend- ed the whites once; but he was the victim of that friend- liness, and he became the most implacable of foes. Then Geronimo, another Apache chief, had, as late as 1885, gone on the war-path, and had left a bloody trail down the New Mexico and Arizona line almost to the border. Lone ranchmen and cowboys had been killed, and mothers had shot their children and then themselves at the ap- proach of the Apache. The name Apache curdled the blood of any woman of the Southwest in those days. Madeline shuddered, and was glad when the old fron- tiersman changed the subject and began to talk of the settling of that country by the Spaniards, the legends of S4 A RIDE lost gold-mines handed down to the Mexicans, and strange stories of heroism and mystery and religion. The Mexi- cans had not advanced much in spite of the spread of civilization to the Southwest. They were stiU super- stitious, and believed the legends of treasures hidden in the walls of their missions, and that unseen hands rolled rocks down the gullies upon the heads of prospectors who dared to hunt for the lost mines of the padres. "Up in the mountains back of my ranch there's a lost mine," said Stillwell. "Mebbe it's only a legend. But somehow I believe it's there. Other lost mines hev been found. An' as fer the roUin' stones, I sure know thet's true, as any one can find out if he goes trailin' up the gulch. Mebbe thet's only the weatherin' of the cliffs. It's a sleepy, strange country, this Southwest, an'. Miss Majesty, you're a-goin' to love it. You'll call it ro- mantic. Wal, I reckon ro-mantic is correct. A feUer gets lazy out hyar an' dreamy, an' he wants to put off work till to-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 eddicated lady like you. Miss Majesty. Wal, she said it's a land where it's always afternoon. I liked thet. I always get up sore in the mawnin's, an' don't feel good till noon. But in the afternoon I get sorta warm an' like tilings. An' sunset is my time. I reckon I don't want nothin' any finer than sunset from my ranch. You look out over a valley that spreads wide between Guadalupe Mountains an' the Chiricahuas, down across the red Arizona desert clear to the Sierra Madres in Mexico. Two hundred miles. Miss Majesty-. An' all as clear as print ! An' the sun sets behind all thet! When my time comes' to die I'd like it to be on my porch smokin' my pipe an' facin' the west." So the old cattleman talked on while Madeline listened, and Florence dozed in her seat, and the sun began to wane, and the horses climbed steadily. Presently, at the foot 5S THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS of a steep ascent, Still well got out and walked, leading the team. During this long cUmb fatigue claimed Made- line, and she drowsily closed her eyes, to find when she opened them again that the glaring white sky had changed to a steel-blue. The sim had sunk behind the foothills and the air was growing chilly. Stillwell had rettuned to the driving-seat and was chuckling to the horses. Shadows crept up out of the hollows. "Wal, Flo," said StiUwell, "I reckon we'd better hev the rest of thet there lunch before dark." "You didn't leave much of it," laughed Florence, as she produced the basket from under the seat. While they ate, the short twUight shaded and gloom filled the hoUows. Madeline saw the first star, a faint, winking point of Ught. The sky had now changed to a hazy gray. Madeline saw it gradually clear and darken, to show other faint stars. After that there was percepti- ble deepening of the gray and an enlarging of the stars and a brightening of new-bom ones. Night seemed to come on the cold wind. Madeline was glad to have the robes close around her and to lean against Florence. The hollows were now black, but the tops of the foothills gleamed pale in a soft light. The steady tramp of the horses went on, and the creak of wheels and crunching of gravel. MadeUne grew so sleepy that she could not keep her weary eyelids from falling. There were drowsier speUs in which she lost a feeUng of where she was, and these were disturbed by the jolt of wheels over a rough place. Then came a blank interval, short or long, which ended in a more violent lurch of the buckboard. Made- Une awoke to find her head on Florence's shoulder. She sat up laughing and apologizing for her laziness. Florence assured her they would „soon reach the ranch. Madeline observed then that the horses were once more trotting. The wind was colder, the night darker, the foothills flatter. And the sky was now a wonderftd 56 A RIDE deep velvet-blue blazing with millions of stars. Some of them were magnificent. How strangely white and alive! Again Madeline felt the insistence of familiar yet baffling associations. These white stars called strange- ly to her or haunted her. THE ROUND-UP IT was a crackling and roaring of fire tiiat awakened Madesline next morning, and the first thing she saw- was a huge stone fireplace in which lay a bundle of blazing sticks. Some one had kindled a fire while she slept. For a moment the curious sensation of being lost returned to her. She just dimly remembered reaching the ranch and being taken into a huge- house and a huge, dimly lighted room. And it seemed to her that she had gone to sleep at once, and had awakened without remembering how she had gotten to bed. But she-Was wide awake in an instant. The bed stood near one end of an enormous chamber. The adobe walls resembled a hall in an ancient feudal castle, stone-floored, stone-walled, with great darkened rafters running across the ceihng. The few articles of furniture were worn out and sadly dilapidated. Light flooded into the room from two windows on the right of the fireplace and two on the left, and another large window near the bedstead. Look- ing out from where she lay Madeline saw a dark, slow up-sweep of mountain. Her eyes returned to the cheery, snapping fiire, and she watched it while gathering cour- age to get up. The room was cold. When she did slip her bare feet out upon the stone floor she very quickly put them back tmder the warm blankets. And she was still in bed trying to pluck up her courage when, with a knock on the door and a cheerful greeting, Florence en- tered carrying steaming hot water. S8 THE ROUND-UP "Good mawnin', Miss Hammond. Hope you slept well. You sure were tired last mght. I imagine you'll find this old rancho house as cold as a bam. It '11 warm up directly. Al's gone with the boys and Bill. We're to ride down on the range after a while when your bag- gage comes." Florence wore a woolen blouse with a scarf round her neck, a short corduroy divided skirt, and boots; and while she talked she energetically heaped up the btiming wood in the fireplace, and laid Madeline's clothes at the foot of the bed, and heated a rug and put that on the floor by the bedside. And lastly, with a sweet, direct smile, she said: " Al told me — ^and I stu-e saw myself — ^that you weren't used to being without your maid. Will you let me help you?" "Thank you, I am going to be my own maid for a while. I expect I do appear a very helpless individual, but really I do not feel so. Perhaps I have had just a httle too much waiting on." "AH right. Breakfast will be ready soc.x,iand after that we'll look about the place." Madeline was charmed with the old Spanish house, and the more she saw of it the more she thought what a delightful home it could be made. All the doors opened into a courtyard, or patio, as Florence called it. The house was low, in the shape of a rectangle, and so im- mense in size that Madeline wondered if it had been a Spanish barracks. Many of the rooms were dark, with- out windows, and they were empty. Others were fuU of ranchers' implements and sacks of grain and bales of hay. Florence called these last alfalfa. The house itself ap- peared strong and well preserved, and it was very pic- turesque. But in the living-rooms were only the barest necessities, and these were worn out and comfortless. However, when Madeline went outdoors she forgot the cheerless, bare interior. Florence led the way out on a 59 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS porch and waved a hand at a vast, colored void. " That's what Bill Ukes," she said. At first Madeline could not tell what was sky and what was land. The immensity of the scene stmmed her facul- ties of conception. She sat down in one of the old rocking- chairs and looked and looked, and knew that she was not grasping the reaUty of what stretched wondrously before her. "We're up at the edge of the foothills," Florence said. "You remember we rode around the northern end of the mountain range? Well, that's behind us now, and you look down across the line into Arizona and Mexico. That long slope of gr^y is the head of the San Bernardino Valley. Straight across you see the black Chiricahua Mountains, and away down to the south the Guadalupe Motmtains. That awful red gulf between is the desert, and far, far beyond the dim, blue peaks are the Sierra Madre in Mexico." Madeline hstened and gazed with straining eyes, and wondered if this was only a stupendous mirage, and why it seemed so different from all else that she had seen, and so endless, so baffling, so grand. "It 'II sure take you a Uttle while to get used to being up high and seeing 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't it somehow rest you? Well, it will. Now see those specks in the valley. They are stations, little towns. The railroad goes down that way. The largest speck is Chiricahua. It's over forty miles by trail. Here round to 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 about half-way between here and Don Carlos — that's Al's ranch. Just below us are the adobe houses of the Mexi- cans. There's a church, too. And here to the left you see Stillwell's corrals and bunk-houses and his stables all falling to pieces. The ranch has gone to ruin. AH the 60 THE ROUND-UP ranches are going to ruin. But most of them are little one-horse affairs. And here — see that cloud of dust down in the valley? It's the round-up. The boys are there, and the cattle. Wait, I'll get the glasses." By their aid Madeline saw in the foreground a great, dense herd of cattle with dark, thick streams and dotted lines of cattle leading in every direction. She saw streaks and clouds of dust, running horses, and a band of horses grazing; and she descried horsemen standing stiU Hke sen- tinels, and others in action. "The round-up! I want to know all about it — ^to see it," declared Madeline. "Please teU me what it means, what it's for, and then take me down there." "It's sure a sight. Miss Hammond. I'll be glad to take you down, but I fancy you'll not want to go close. Few Eastern people who regularly eat their choice cuts of roast beef and porterhouse have any idea of the open range and the struggle cattle have to live and the hard hfe of cowboys. It '11 sure open your eyes. Miss Ham- mond. I'm glad you care to know. Your brother would have made a big success in this cattle business if it hadn't been for crooked work by rival ranchers. He'U make it yet, in spite of them." "Indeed he shall," repUed Madeline. "But tell me, please, all about the round-up." "Well, in the first place, every cattleman has to have a brand to identify 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. Some day I hope we'U be rich enough to fence a range. The different herds graze together. Every calf has to be caught, if possible, and branded with the mark of its mother. That's no easy job. A maverick is an tuibrand- ed calf that has been weaned and shifts for itself. The maverick then belongs to the man who finds it and brands it. These little calves that lose their mothers sure have 6i THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS a cruel time of it. Many of them die. Then the coyotes and wolves and lions prey on them. Every year we have two big round-ups, but the boys do some branding all the year. A calf should be branded as soon as it's found. This is a safeguard against cattle-thieves. We don't have the rustHng of herds and bunches of cattle Kke we used to. But there's always the calf-thief, and always will be as long as there's cattle-raising. The thieves have a good many cunning tricks. They kUl the calf's mother or slit the calf's tongue so it can't suck and so loses its mother. They steal and hide a calf and watch it tiU 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 and water, and all the riding stock as well as the cattle are in fine shape. The cattlemen in the val- ley meet with their cowboys and drive in aU the cattle they can find. Then they brand and cut out each man's herd and drive it toward home. Then they go on up or down the valley, make another camp, and drive in more cattle. It takes weeks. There are so many Greasers with little bands of stock, and they are crafty and greedy. Bill says he knows Greaser cowboys, vaqueros, who never owned a steer or a cow, and now they've got growing herds. The same might be said of more than one white cowboy. But there's not as much of that as there used to be." "And the horses? I want to know about them," said Madeline, when Florence paused. "Oh, the cow-ponies! WeU, they sure are interesting. Bronchos, the boys call them. Wild ! they're wilder than the steers they have to chase. Bill's got bronchos heah that never have been broken and never wiU be. And not every boy can ride them, either. The vaqueros have the finest horses. Don Carlos has a black that I'd give any- thing to own. And he has other fine stock. Gene Stewart's big roan is a Mexican horse, the swiftest and proudest I ever saw. I was up on him once and — oh, he 62 THE ROUND-UP can run! He likes a woman, too, and that's sure some- thing I want in a horse. I heard Al and Bill talking at breakfast about a horse for you. They were wrangling. Bill wanted you to have one and Al another. It was ftmny to hear them. Finally they left the choice to me, until the round-up is over. Then I suppose every cow- boy on the range will offer you his best mount. Come, let's go out to the corrals and look over the few horses left." For Madeline the morning hours flew by, with a goodly part of the time spent on the porch gazing out over that ever-changing vista. At noon a teamster drove up with her trunks. Then while Florence helped the Mexican woman get lunch Madeline unpacked part of her effects and got out things for which she would have immediate need. After lunch she changed her dress for a riding- habit and, going outside, found Florence waiting with the horses. The Western girl's clear eyes seemed to take stock of Madeline's appearance in one swift, inquisitive glance, and then shone with pleasure. "You sure look — you're a picture. Miss Hammond. That riding-outfit is a new one. What it 'd look Uke on me or another woman I csji't imagine, but on you it's — it's stunning. Bill won't let you go within a mile of the cowboys. If they see you that '11 be the finish of the rotmd-up." While they rode down the slope Florence talked about the open ranges of New Mesdco and Arizona. "Water is scarce," she said. "If Bill could afford to pipe water down from 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 in summer. 'Warm, sunshiny days prevailed nearly all the year rotmd. Some summers it rained, and occasionally there would be a dry year, the dreaded ano seco of the Mexicans. Rain was always expected and 63 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS prayed for in the midsummer months, and when it came the grama -grass sprang up, making the valleys green from mountain to mountain. The intersecting valleys, ranging between the long slope of foothills, afforded the best pasture for cattle, and these were jealously sought by the Mexicans who had only small herds to look after. Stillwell's cowboys were always chasing these vaqueros off land that belonged to StillweU. He owned twenty thousand acres of unfenced land adjoining the open range. Don Carlos possessed more acreage than that, and his cattle were always mingling with Stillwell's. And in ttim Don Carlos's vaqueros were always chasing Stillwell's cattle away from the Mexican's watering-place. Bad feeling had been manifested for years, and now rela- tions were strained to the breaking-point. As Madeline rode along she made good use of her eyes. The soil was sandy and porous, and she understood why the rain and water from the few springs disappeared so quickly. At a little distance the grama-grass appeared thick, but near at hand it was seen to be sparse. Bimches of greasewood and cactus plants were interspersed here and there in the grass. What surprised Madeline was the fact that, though she and Florence had seemed to be riding qtdte a while, they had apparently not drawn any closer to the round-up. The slope of the valley was noticeable only after some miles had been traversed. Looking forward, Madeline imagined the valley only a few miles wide. She would have been sure she could walk her horse across it in an hour. Yet that black, bold range of Chiricahua Mountains was distant a long day's journey for even a hard-riding cowboy. It was only by looking back that MadeUne could grasp the true relation of things; she could not be deceived by distance she had covered. Gradually the black dots enlarged and assumed shape of cattle and horses moving round a great dusty patch. In another half-hoitr MadeUne rode behind Florence to the outskirts of the scene of action. They drew rein near 64 THE ROUND-UP a huge wagon in the neighborhood of which were more than a hundred horses grazing and whistling and trot- ting about and lifting heads to watch the new-comers. Pour cowboys stood mounted guard over this drove of horses. Perhaps a quarter of a mile farther out was a dusty m^ee. A roar of tramping hoofs filled MadeUne's ears. The lines of marching cattle had merged into a great, moving herd half obscured by dust. "I can make Httle of what is going on," said Madeline. "I want to go closer." They trotted across half the intervening distance, and when Florence halted again Madeline was still not satis- fied and asked to be taken nearer. This time, before they reined in again, Al Hammond saw them and wheeled his horse in their direction. He yeUed something which |,Madeline did not imderstand, 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 do you think of that bunch of cattle?" Madeline could scarcely reply what she thought, for the noise and dust and ceaseless action confused her. "They're milling, Al," said Florence. ' ' We just rounded them up. They're milling, and that's bad. The vaguer os are hard drivers. They beat us all hollow, and we drove some, too." He was 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 her back to the wagon. I'll tell Bill you're here, and run in whenever I get a minute." The bawling and bellowing, the crackHng of horns and pounding of hoofs, the dusty whirl of cattle, and the flying cowboys disconcerted Madeline and frightened her a Httle; but she was intensely interested and meant to stay there until she saw for herself what that strife of sotind and action meant. When she tried to take in the whole 65 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS scene she did not make out anything clearly and she determined to see it little by little. "Will you stay longer?" asked Florence; and, receiving an afiirmative reply, she warned Madeline : " If a runaway steer or angry cow comes this way let your horse go. He'll get out of lie way." That lent the situation excitement, and MadeUne be- came absorbed. The great mass of cattle seemed to be eddying Hke a whirlpool, and from that Madeline under- stood the significance of the range word "milling." But when MadeUne looked at one end of the herd she saw cattle standing still, facing outward, and calves cringing dose in fear. The motion of the cattle slowed from the inside of the herd to the outside and gradually ceased. The roar and tramp of hoofs and crack of horns and thump of heads also ceased in degree, but the bawling and bellow- ing continued. While she watched, the herd spread, grew less dense, and stragglers appeared to, lae about to bolt through the line of moimted cowboys. From that moment so many things happened, and so swiftly, that Madeline could not see a tenth of what was going on within eyesight. It seemed horsemen darted into the herd and drove out cattle. Madeline pinned her gaze on one cowboy who rode a white horse and was chasing a steer. He whirled a lasso around his head and threw it; the rope streaked out and the loop caught the leg of the steer. The white horse stopped with wonder- ful suddenness, and the steer slid in the dust. Quick as a flash the cowboy was out of the saddle, and, grasping the legs of the steer before it could'rise, he tied them with a rope. It had all been done almost as quickly as thought. Another man came with what Madeline divined was a laranding-iron. He applied it to the flank of the steer. Then it seemed the steer was up with a jump, wildly looking for some way to run, and the cowboy was circling his lasso. Madeline saw fires in the background, with a a man in charge, evidently heating the irons. Then this 66 THE ROUND-UP same cxDwboy roped a heifer which bawled lustily wheiv the hot iron seared its hide. Madeline saw the smoka. rising from the touch of the iron, and the sight made her shrink and want to turn away, but she resolutely fought her sensitiveness. She had never been able to bear the vsight of any animal suffering. The rough work in men's lives was as a sealed book to her; and now, for some reason beyond her knowledge, she wanted to see and hear and learn some of the every-day duties that made up those lives. "Ivook, Miss Hammond, there's Don Carlos!" said Florence. " Look at that black horse !" Madeline saw a dark-faced Mexican riding by. He was too far away for her to distinguish his features, but he reminded her of an Italian brigand. He bestrode a mag- nificent horse. StiUwell 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 bumin' 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 mamas. Sometimes, though, we hev t© hurt one jest to find which is his mama." "I want to know how you tell what brand to put on those calves that are separated from their mothers," asked Madeline. "Thet's decided by the round-up bosses. I've one boss an' Don Carlos has one. They decide everything, an' they hev to be obeyed. There's Nick Steele, 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 the cuttin' out an' the brandin'. We try to divide up the mavericks as near as possible." At this juncttu-e Madeline's brother joined the group, evidently in search of StiUwell. 67 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "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' the boys are gettin' wise. See thet sun of a gun Ambrose cuttin' capers all around. He'U sure do his prettiest. Ambrose is a ladies' man, he thinks." The two men and Florence joined in a little pleasant teasing of Madeline, and 'drew her attention to what appeared to be really unnecessary feats of horsemanship aU made in her vicinity. The cowboys evinced their in- terest in covert glances while recoihng a lasso or while passing to and fro. It was all too serious for Madeline to be amused at that moment. She did not care to talk. She sat her horse and watched. The Uthe, dark vaqueros fascinated her. They were here, there, everywhere, with lariats flying, horses plung- ing back, jerking calves and yearlings to the grass. They were cruel to their mounts, cruel to their cattle. Made- line winced as the great silver rowels of the spurs went plowing into the flanks of their horses. She saw these spurs stained with blood, choked with hair. She saw the vaqueros break the legs of calves and let them. He till a white cowboy came along and shot them. Calves were jerked down and dragged many yards; steers were piiUed by one leg. These vaqueros were the most superb horse- men Madeline had ever seen, and she had seen the Cos- sacks and Tartars of the Russian Steppes. They were swift, graceful, daring; they never failed to catch a run- ning steer, and the lassoes always went true. What sharp dashes the horses made, and wheelings here and there, and sudden stops, and how they braced themselves to withstand the shock ! The cowboys, likewise, showed wonderful horsemanship, and, reckless as they were, Madeline imagined she saw 68 THE ROUND-UP consideration for steed and cattle that was wanting in the vaqueros. They changed mounts oftener than the Mexican riders, and the horses they unsaddled for fresh ones were not so spent, so wet, so covered with lather. It was only after an hour or more of observation that Madeline began to reahze the exceedingly toilsome and dangerous work cowboys had to perform. There was Uttle or no rest for them. They were continually among wild and vicious and wide-homed steers. In many in- stances they owed their lives to their horses. The danger came mostly when the cowboy leaped off to tie and brand a calf he had thrown. Some of the cows charged with lowered, twisting horns. Time and again Madeline's heart leaped to her throat for fear a man would be gored. One cowboy roped a calf that bawled loudly. Its mother dashed in and just missed the kneeling cowboy as he roUed over. Then he had to run, and he could not run very fast. He was bow-legged and appeared awkward. Madeline saw another cowboy thrown and nearly run over by a plunging steer. His horse bolted as if it in- tended 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 his horse began to rear and prance and suddenly to lower his head close to the groimd and kick high. He ran round in a circle, the fallen steer on the taut lasso acting as a pivot. The cowboy loosed the rope from the steer, and then was dragged about on the grass. It was almost frightfid for Madeline to see that cowboy go at his horse. But she recognized the mastery and skill. Then two horses came into collision on the run. One horse went down; the rider of the other was unseated and was kicked before he could get up. This fellow limped to his mount and struck at him, while the horse showed his teeth in a vicious attempt to bite. ^ *A11 the while this ceaseless activity was going on there was a strange uproar — ^bawl and bellow, the shock of 69 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS heavy bodies meeting and falling, the shrill jabbering of the vaqtieros, and the shouts and banterings of the cow- boys. They took sharp orders and replied in jest. They went about this stem toil as if it were a game to be played in good humor. One sang 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 cowboys could not be distinguished from vaqueros except by the difEerence in dress. 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 stifled by the odor. But that made her aU the more determined to stay there. Florence urged her to come away, or at least move back out of the worst of it. StiUweU seconded Florence. Madeline, however, smil- ingly refused. Then her brother said: "Here, this is making you sick. You're pale." And she repHed that she intended to stay until the day's work ended. Al gave her a strange look, and made no more comment. The kindly StillweU then began to talk. "Miss Majesty, you're seein' the life of the cattleman an' cowboy — the real 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 the old- fashioned, open-range round-up. It looks cruel to you, I can see thet. 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 reckon all the strenuous work you've seen to-day ain't any tougher than most any day of a cowboy's Hfe. Long hours on hossback, poor grub, sleepin' on the ground, lonesome watches, dust an' sun an' wind an' thirst, day in an' day out all the year round — ^thet's what a cowboy has. "Look at Nels there. See, what little hair he has is 70 THE ROUND-UP snow-white. He's red 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. Nels can't pick up a pin. He can't hardly button his shirt or untie a knot in his 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' the work of a cowman. He's seen ridin' at Canon Diablo an' the Verdi an' Tonto Basin. He knows every mile of Aravaipa Valley an' the Pinaleno country. He's ranged from Tombstone to Douglas. He hed shot bad white men an' bad Greasers before he was twenty- one. He's seen some life, Nels has. My sixty years ain't nothin'; my early days in the Staked Plains an' 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 say he's stone an' fire an' silence an' cactus an' force. He's a man, Miss Majesty, a wonder- ful man. Rough he'll seem to you. Wal, I'U show yoa pieces of quartz from the mountain back of my ranch, an' they're thet rough they'd cut your hands. But there's pure gold in them. An' so it is with Nels an' many of these cowboys. "An' there's Price, Monty Price. Monty stands fer Montana, where he hails from. Take a good look at him, Miss Majesty. He's been hurt, I reckon. Thet accounts fer him bein' without hoss or rope; an' thet Ump. Wal, he's been ripped a little. It's sure rare an' seldom thet a cowboy gets foul of one of them thousands of sharp horns; but it does happen." Madeline saw a very short, weazened Uttle man, ludi- crously bow-legged, with a face the color and hardness of a burnt-out cinder. He was hobbHng by toward the wagon, and one of his short, crooked legs dragged. " Not much to look at, is he?" went on Stillwell. "Wal; I know it's natural thet we're all best pleased by good 71 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS looks in any one, even a man. It hedn't ought to be that way. Monty Price looks like heU. But appear- ances are sure deceivin'. Monty saw years of ridin' along the Missouri bottoms, the big prairies, where there's high grass an' sometimes &es. In Montana they have blizzards thet freeze cattle standin' in their tracks. An' bosses freeze to death. They tell me thet a drivin' sleet in the face with the mercury forty below is somethin' to ride against. You can't get Monty to say much about cold. All you hev to do is to watch him, how he hunts the stm. It never gets too hot fer Monty. Wal, I reckon he was a little more prepossessin' once. The story thet come to us about Monty is this: He got caught out in a prairie fire an' could hev saved himself easy, but there was a lone ranch right in the line of fire, an' Monty knowed the rancher was away, an' his wife an' baby was home. He knowed, too, the way the wind was, thet the ranch-house would bum. It was a long chance he was takin'. But he went over, put the woman up behind him, wrapped the baby an' his boss's haid in 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 boss. An' Monty ran an' walked an' crawled through the fire with thet baby, an' he saved it. Monty was never much good as a cowboy after thet. He couldn't hold no jobs. Wal, he'll have one with me as long as I have a steer left." VI A GIFT AND A PURCHASE FOR a week the scene of the roimd-up lay within rid- ing distance of the ranch-house; and Madeline passed most of this time in the saddle, watching the strenuous labors of the vaqtieros and cowboys. She overestimated her strength, and more than once had to be lifted from her horse. StillweU's pleasure in her attendance gave place to concern. He tried to persuade her to stay away from the round-up, and Florence grew even more soUcitous. Madeline, however, was not moved by their entreaties. She grasped only dimly the truth of what it was she was learning — something infinitely more than the roimding up of cattle by cowboys, and she was loath to lose an hour of her opportunity. Her brother looked out for her as much as his duties permitted; but for several days he never once mentioned her growing fatigue and the strain of excitement, or sug- gested that she had better go back to the house with Florence. Many times she felt the drawing power of bis keen, blue eyes on her face. And at these moments she sensed more than brotherly regard. He was watching her, studying her, weighing her, and the conviction was vaguely disturbing. It was disquieting for Madeline to think that Alfred might have guessed her trouble. From time to time he brought cowboys to her and introduced them, and laughed and jested, trjang to make the ordeal less embarrassing for these men so little used to women. Before the week was out, however, Alfred found oc- 6 73 / • THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS casion to tell her that it would be wiser for her to let the round-up go on without gracing it further with her pres- ence. He said it Imighingly; nevertheless, he was serious. And when Madeline turned to him in surprise, he said, bluntly : "I don't like the way Don Carlos follows you around. Bill's afraid that Nels or Ambrose or one of the cowboys will take a fall out of the Mexican. They're itching for the chance. Of course, dear, it's absurd to you, but it's true." Absurd it certainly was, yet it served to show Madeline how intensely occupied she had been with her own feel- ings, roused by the tumult and toil of the round-up. She recalled that Don Carlos had been presented to her, and that she had not hked his dark, striking face with its bold, prominent, gHttering eyes and sinister lines; and she had not hked his suave, sweet, insinuating voice or his subtle manner, with its slow bows and gestures. She had thought he looked handsome and dashing on the magnificent black horse. However, now that Alfred's words made her think, she recalled that wherever she had been in the field the noble horse, with his silver-mounted saddle and his dark rider, had been always in her vicinity. " Don Carlos has been after Florence for a long time," said Alfred. "He's not a young man by any means. He's fifty. Bill says; but you can seldom tell a Mexican's age from his looks. Don Carlos is well educated and a man we know very little about. Mexicans of his stamp don't regard women as we white men do. Now, my dear, beautiful sister from New York, I haven't much use for Don Carlos; but I don't want Nels or Ambrose to make a wild throw with a rope and pull the Don off his horse. So you had better 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 cowboys would upon the slightest provocation treat Don Carlos with less ceremony 74 A GIFT AND A PURCHASE and gentleness than a roped steer. Old Bill Stillwell came up to be importtined by Alfred regarding the conduct of cowboys on occasion, and he not only corroborated the assertion, but added emphasis and evidence of 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 before now." Madeline had been wavering between sobriety and laughter until Stillwell's mention of his ideal of cowboy chivalry decided in favor of the laughter. ' ' I am not convinced, but I surrender, ' ' she said. ' ' You have only some occult motive for driving me away. I am sure that handsome Don Carlos is being tmjustly sus- pected. But as I have seen a little of cowboys' singular imagination and gallantry, I am rather inclined to fear their possibilities. 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 attributed more to the strange work- ing of her :mind than to riding and sitting her horse. Morn- ing, however, found her in no disposition to rest. It was not activity that she craved, or excitement, or pleasure. An unerring instinct, rising clear from the thronging sensations of the last few days, told her that she had missed something in life. It could not have been love, for she loved brother, sister, parents, friends; it could not have been consideration for the poor, the unfortunate, the helpless; she had expressed her sympathy for these by giving freely; it cotdd not have been pleasure, culture, travel, society, wealth, position, fame, for these had been hers all her hfe. Whatever this something was, she had baffling intimations of it, hopes that faded on the verge of realizations, haunting prondses that were unfulfilled. Whatever it was, it had remained hidden and imknown at home, and here in the West it began to allure and drive her to discovery. Therefore she cotild not rest ; she wanted to go and see; she was no longer chasing phantoms; it 75 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS was a hunt for treasure that held aloof, as intangible as the substance of dreams. That morning she spoke a desire to visit the Mexican quarters lying at the base of the foothills. Florence pro- tested that this was no place to take Madeline. But Made- line insisted, and it required only a few words and a per- suading smile to win Florence over. From the porch the cluster of adobe houses added a picturesque touch of color and contrast to the waste of gray valley. Near at hand they proved the enchantment lent by distance. They were old, crumbling, broken down, squaUd. A few goats chmbed around upon them; a few mangy dogs barked announcement of visitors; and then a troop of half-naked, dirty, ragged children ran out. They were very shy, and at first retreated in affright. But kind words and smiles gained their confidence, and then they followed in a body, gathering a quota of new children at each house. Madehne at once conceived the idea of doing something to better the condition of these poor Mexicans, and with this in mind she decided to have a look indoors. She fancied she might have been an apparition, judging from the effect her presence had upon the first woman she encountered. While Florence exercised what Uttle Spanish she had command of, trying to get the women to talk, MadeUne looked about the miser- able little rooms. And there grew upon her a feeling of sickness, which increased as she passed from one house to another. She had not beheved such squalor could exist anywhere in America. The huts reeked with filth; ver- min crawled over the dirt floors. There was absolutely no evidence of water, and she believed what Florence told her — that these people never bathed. There was httle evidence of labor. Idle men and women smoking cigar- ettes lolled about, some silent, others jabbering. They did not resent the visit of the American women, nor did they show hospitality. They appeared stupid. Disease was rampant in these houses; when the doors were shut 76 A GIFT AND A PURCHASE there was no ventilation, and even with the doors open Madeline felt choked and stifled. A powerful penetrat- ing odor pervaded the rooms that were less stifling than others, and this odor Florence explained came from a liquor the Mexicans distilled from a cactus plant. Here drunkenness was manifest, a terrible inert drunkenness that made its victims death-Uke. Madeline could not extend her visit to the httle mis- sion house. She saw a padre, a starved, sad-faced man who, she instinctively felt, was good. She managed to mount her horse and ride up to the house; but, once there, she weakened, and Florence had almost to carry her in- doors. She fought off a faintness, only to succumb to it when alone in her room. Still, she did not entirely lose consciousness, and soon recovered to the extent that she did not require assistance. Upon the morning after the end of the roimd-up, when she went out on the porch, her brother and Still- well appeared to be arguing about the identity of a horse. "Wal, I reckon it's my old roan," said Stillwell, shading his eyes with his hand. "BiU, if that isn't Stewart's horse my eyes are going back on me," repUed Al. "It's not the color or shape— the distance is too far to judge 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 Madehne tried to discover the object of attention. Presently far up the gray hollow along a foothill she saw dust, and then the dark, moving figure of a horse. She was watching 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 cHp without a rider. It's arciazin' 77 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS strange, an' some in keepin' with other things concemin' Gene." "Give me the glass," said Al. "Yes, I was right. Bill, the horse is not frightened. 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. Take a look with the glasses up the hollow. See anybody?" "No." "Swing up over the foothills — ^where the trail leads. Higher — along thet ridge where the rocks begin. See any- body?" "By Jove! Bill — ^two horses! But I can't make out much for dust. They are climbing 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 unobstructed view, and less than half a mile distant Madeline saw the riderless horse coming along the white trail at a rapid canter. She watched him, recalling the circumstances under -which she had &st seen him, and then his wild flight through the dimly lighted streets of El Cajon out into the black night. She thrilled again and believed she would never think of that starry night's adventure without a thrill. She watched the horse and felt more than curiosity. A shrill, piercing whistle pealed in. "Wal, he's seen us, thet's sure," said BUI. The horse neared the corrals, disappeared into a lane, and then, breaking his gait again, thundered into the in- closure and pounded to a halt some twenty yards from where Still well waited for him. One look at him at close range in the dear light of day was enough for Madeline to award him a blue ribbon over ■78 A GIFT AND A PURCHASE all horses, even her prize-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 poUshed glass in the sun. Evidently, he had been care- fully dressed down for this occasion, for there was no dust on him, nor a kink in his beautiful mane, nor a mark on his glossy hide. "Come hyar, you son of a gun," said StiUwell. The horse dropped his head, snorted, and came obedient- ly up. He was neither shy nor wild. He poked a friendly nose at StillweU, and then looked at Al and the women. Unhooking the stirrups from the pommel, Still well let them fall and began to search the saddle for something which he evidently expected to find. Presently from somewhere among the trappings he produced a folded bit of paper, and after scrutinizing it handed it to Al. "Addressed to you; an' I'll bet you two bits I know what's in it," he said. Alfred unfolded the letter, read it, and then looked at StillweU. "Bill, you're a pretty good guesser. Gene's made for the border. He sent the horse by somebody, no names mraitioned, and wants my sister to have him 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 a close-mouthed cuss. So he's sure hittin' for Mexico. Wonder if Danny's goin', too? Wal, there's two of the best cowmen I ever seen gone to hell, an' I'm sorry." With that he bowed his head and, grumbling to him- self, went into the house. Alfred Ufted the reins over the head of the horse and, leading him to Madeline, slipped the knot over her arm and placed the letter in her hand. "Majesty, I'd accept the horse," he said. "Stewart is 79 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS only a cowboy now, and as tough as any I've known. But he comes of a good family. He was a college man and a gentleman once. He went to the bad out here, like so many fellows go, like I nearly did. Then he had told me about his sister and mother. He cared a good deal for them. I think he has been a source of tmhappiness to them. It was mostly when he was reminded of this in some way that he'd get drunk. I have always stuck to him, and I would do so yet if I had the chance. You can see Bill is heartbroken about Danny Mains and Stewart. I think he rather hoped to get good news. There's not much chance of them coming back now, at least not in the case of Stewart. This giving up his horse means he's going to join the rebel forces across the border. What wouldn't I give to see that cowboy break loose 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 him pretty well before he thrashed that coyote of a sheriff, Pat Hawe, and afterward I guess I liked him more. You read the letter, sister, and accept 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 and haven't the nerve to take him where he'd get hurt or fall into strange hands. If you think it's all right, why, give him to your sister with my respects. 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 I never showed it. And, Al, my horse has never felt a quirt or a spur, and I'd like to think you'd never hurt him. I'm hoping your sister will take him. 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 have a picture in mind of how she'll look up on my horse, why, man, it's not going to make any difference to you. She needn't ever know it. Between you and me, Al, don't let her or Flo ride alone over 80 A GIFT AND A PURCHASE Don Carlos's way. If I had time I could tell you something about that slick Greaser. And tell your sister, if there's ever any reason for her to run away from anybody when she's up on that roan, just let her lean over and yell in his ear. She'll find herself riding the wind. So long, Gene Stewart. Madeline thoughtfully folded the letter and murmured: "How he must love his horse!" "Well, I should say so," replied Alfred. "Flo will tell you. She's the only person Gene ever let ride that horse, tmless, as Bill thinks, the little 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, I think, that Mr. Stewart named him after me — saw my nickname in the New York paper?" "Yes." "Well, I will not change his name. But, Al, how shall I ever climb up on him? He's taller than I am. What a giant of a horse ! Oh, look at him — he's nosing my hand. I really believe he imderstood what I said. Al, did you ever see such a splendid head and such beautiful eyes? They are so large and dark and soft-— and human. Oh, I am a fickle woman, for I 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 to mount. "Come, Majesty — how strange that sotmds! — we must get acquainted. You have now a new owner, a very severe young woman who will demand loyalty from you and obedience, and some day, after a decent period, she will expect love." Madeline led the horse to and fro, and was delighted with his gentleness. She discovered that he did not need to be led. He came at her call, followed her like a pet 8i THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS dog, rubbed his black muzzle against her. Sometimes, at the turns in their walk, he lifted his head and with ears forward looked up the trail by which he had come, and beyond the foothills. He was looking over the range. Some one was calling to him, perhaps, from beyond the mountains. Madeline Uked him the better for that memory, and pitied the wayward cowboy who had parted with his only possession for very love of it. That afternoon when Alfred Ufted Madeline to the back of the big roan she felt high in the air. "We'll have a run out to the mesa," said h^ 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 you disappear on the horizon." He trotted out of the yard, down by the corrals, to come out on the edge of a gray, open flat that stretched several miles to the slope of a mesa. Florence led, and Madeline saw that she rode like a cowboy. Alfred drew on to her side, leaving Madeline in the rear. Then the leading horses broke into a gallop. They wanted to run, and Madeline felt with a thrill that she would hardly be able to keep Majesty from running, even if she wanted to. He sawed on the tight bridle as the others drew away, and broke from pace to gallop. Then Florence put her horse into a run. Alfred turned and called to MadeUne to come along. "This will never do. They are running away from us," said MadeUne, and she eased up her hold on the bridle. Something happened beneath her just then; she did not know at first exactly what. As much as she had been on horseback she had never ridden at a running gait. In New York it was not decorous or safe. So when Majesty lowered and stretched and changed the stiff, jolting gallop for a wonderful, smooth, gliding nm it required Madeline some moments to realize what was happening. It did not take long for her to see the dis- 82 A GIFT AND A PURCHASE tance diminishing between her and her companions. Still they had gotten a goodly start and were far advanced. She felt the steady, even n:ish of the wind. It amazed her to find how easily, comfortably she kept to the saddle. The experience was new. The one fatdt she had hereto- fore found with riding was the violent shaking-up. In this instance she experienced nothing of that kind, no strain, no necessity to hold on with a desperate aware- ness of work. She had never felt the wind in her face, the whip of a horse's mane, the buoyant, level spring of a running gait. It thrilled her, exhilarated her, fired her blood. Suddenly she found herself alive, throbbing; and, inspired by she knew not what, she loosened the bridle and, leaning far forward, she cried, "Oh, you splendid fellow, run!" She heard from vmder her a sudden quick clattering roar of hoofs, and she 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 gray plain swept by on each side, and in front seemed to be waving toward her. In her blurred sight Florence and Alfred appeared to be coming back. But she saw presently, upon nearer view, that Majesty was overhauling the other horses, was going to pass them. Indeed, he did pass 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 of the mesa, where he slowed down and stopped. "Glorious!" exclaimed Madeline. She was all in a blaze, and every muscle and nerve of her body tingled and quivered. Her hands, as she endeavored to put up the loosened strands of hair, trembled and failed of their ac- customed dexterity. Then she faced about and waited for her companions. Alfred reached her first, laughing, delighted, yet also a little anxious. "Holy smoke! But can't he run? Did he bolt on you?" 83 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "No, I called in his ear," replied Madeline. "So that was it. That's the woman of you and for- bidden fruit. Flo said she'd do it the minute she was on him. Majesty, you can ride. See if Flo doesn't say so." The Western girl came up then with her pleasure bright in her face. "It was just giseat to see you. How your hair burned in the wind! Al, she sure 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 the world." "Well, I've thought of that myself," he replied. " The only trouble would be — 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 too sublime and terrible for her gaze. The im- mensity of this red-ridged, deep-gulfed world descending by incalculable distances refused to be grasped, and awed her, shocked her. " Once, Majesty, when I first came out West I was down and out — detennined to end it all," said Alfred. "And I happened to climb up here looking for a lonely place to die. When I saw that I changed my mind." Madeline was sUent. She remained so during the ride around the rim of the mesa and down the steep trail. This time Alfred and Florence failed to tempt her into a race. She had been awe-struck; she had been exalted; she had been confounded; and she recovered slowly without divining exactly what had come to her. She reached the ranch-house far behind her compan- ions, and at supper-time was unusually thoughtful. Later, when they assembled on the porch to watch the sunset, 84 A GIFT AND A PURCHASE Stillwell's humorous complainings inspired the inception of an idea which flashed up in her mind swift as lightning. And then by listening sympathetically she encotiraged him to recite the troubles of a poor cattleman. They were many and long and interesting, and rather numb- ing to the Ufe of her inspired idea. "Mr. Stillwell, could ranching here .on a large scale, with up-to-date methods, be iriade — well, not profitable exactly, but to pay — to run without loss?" she asked, determined to kill her new-bom idea at birth or else give it breath and hope of Ufe. "Wal, I reckon it could," he repUed, with a short laugh. "It 'd sure be a money-maker. Why, with all my bad luck an' poor equipment I've lived pretty well an' paid my debts an' haven't really lost any money except the original outlay. I reckon thet's simk f er good. ' ' "Would you seU — if some one would pay your price?" "Miss Majesty, I'd jump at the chance. Yet some- how I'd hate to leave hyar. I'd jest be fool enough to go sink the money in another ranch." "WoTold Don Carlos and these other Mexicans sell?" "They sure would. The Don has been after me fer years, wantin' to sell thet old rancho of his; an' these herders in the vaUey with their stray cattle, they'd fall daid at sight of a little money." "Please tell me, Mr. Stillwell, exactly what you would do here if you had unlimited means?" went on MadeUne. "Good Lud!" ejaculated the rancher, and started so he dropped his pipe. Then with his cltunsy huge fingers he refilled it, relighted it, took a few long pulls, puffed great clouds of smoke, and, squaring roimd, hands on his knees, he looked at Madeline with piercing intentness. His hard face began to relax and soften and wrinkle into a smile. "Wal, Miss Majesty, it jest makes my old heart warm up to think of sich a thing. I dreamed a lot when I first come hyar. What would I do if I hed unlimited money? 8S THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Listen. I'd buy out Don Carlos an' the Greasefs. I'd give a job to every good cowman in this country. I'd make them prosper as I prospered myself. I'd buy all the good horses on the ranges. I'd fence twenty thousand acres of the best grazin'. I'd drill fer water in the valley. I'd pipe water down from the mountains. I'd dam up thet draw out there. A mile-long dam from hiU to hiU would give me a big lake, an' hevin' an eye fer beauty, I'd plant cottonwoods around it. I'd jSU that lake full of fish. I'd put in the biggest field of alfalfa in the South- west. I'd plant fruit trees an' garden. I'd tear down them old corrals an' bams an' bunk-houses to build new ones. I'd make this old rancho some comfortable an' fine. I'd put in grass an' flowers aU 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 the cattle stringin' in fer water an' stragglin' back into the valley. An' I see the cowboys ridin' easy an' heah them singin' in their bimks. An' thet red sun out there wouldn't set on a happier man in the world than Bill Stillwell, last of the old cattlemen." Madeline thanked the rancher, and then rather abrupt- ly retired to her room, where she felt no restraint to hide the force of that wonderful idea, now full-grown and tenacious and alluring. Upon the next day, late in the afternoon, she asked Alfred if it would be 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 quick glance, then turned away. "Go ahead. I think it's safe. I'll make it safe by sitting here with my glass and keeping an eye on you. Be careful coming down the trail. Let the horse pick his way. That's all." She rode Majesty across the wide flat, up the zigzag trail, across the beautiful grassy level to the far rim of 86 A GIFT AND A PURCHASE the mesa, and not till then did she lift her eyes to face the southwest. Madeline looked from the gray valley at her feet to thfe blue Sierra Madres, gold-tipped in the setting sun. Her vision embraced in that glance distance and depth and glory hitherto unrevealed to her. The gray valley sloped and widened to the black sentinel Chiricahuas, and beyond was lost in a vast corrugated sweep of earth, reddening down to the west, where a golden blaze lifted the dark, rugged mountains into bold relief. 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 some- thing ilHmitable. Madeline saw the hollow of a stupen- dous hand; she felt a mighty hold upon her heart. Out of the endless space, out of silence and desolation and mystery and age, came slow-changing colored shadows^ phantoms of peace, and they whispered to Madeline. They whispered that it was a great, grim, immutable earth; that time was eternity; that life was fleeting. They whispered for her to be a woman; to love some one before it was too late; to love any one, every one; to realize the need of work, and in doing it to find happiness. She rode back across the mesa and down the trail, and, once more upon the flat, she called to the horse and made him run. His spirit seemed to race with hers. The wind of his speed blew her hair from its fastenings. When he thundered to a halt at the porch steps Madeline, breath- less and disheveled, alighted with the mass of her hair tumbling around her. Alfred met her, and his exclamation, and Florence's rapt eyes shining on her face, and StUlweU'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 know what I think." 87 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Madeline strove to attain calmness. " My [hat — and my combs — went on the wind. I thought — my hair would go, too. . . . There is the even- ing star. ... I think I am very hungry." And then she gave up trying to be calm, and likewise to fasten up her hair, which fell again in a golden mass. "Mr. StUlwell," she began, and paused, strangely aware of a hurried note, a deeper ring in her voice. ' ' Mr. StiUwell, I want to buy your ranch — ^to engage you as my superin- tendent. I want to buy Don Carlos's ranch and other property to the extent, say, of fifty thousand acres. I want you to buy horses and cattle — ^in short, to make all those improvements which you said you had so long dreamed of. Then I have ideas of my own, in the de- velopment of which I must have your advice and Alfred's. I intend to better the condition of those poor Mexicans in the valley. I intend to make Hfe a Uttle more worth Hving for them and for the cowboys of this range. To- morrow we shall talk it aU over, plan all the business details." Madeline tvimed from the huge, ever-widening smile that beamed down upon her and held out her hands to her brother. "Alfred, strange, is it not, my coming out to you? Nay, don't smile. I hope I have found myself — ^my work; my happiness — ^here under the hght of that western star." VII HER majesty's RANCHO FIVE months brought all that Stillwell had dreamed' of, and so many more changes and improvements and innovations that it was as if a magic touch had trans- formed the old ranch. Madeline and Alfred and Florence had talked over a fitting name, and had decided on one chosen by Madeline. But this instance was the only one in the course of developments in which Madeline's wishes were not complied with. The cowboys named the new ranch " Her Majesty's Rancho." Stillwell said the names cowboys bestowed were felicitous, and as imchangeable as the everlasting hills; Florence went over to the enemy; and Alfred, laughing at Madeline's protest, declared the cowboys had elected her queen of the ranges, and that there was no help for it. So the name stood "Her Maj- esty's Rancho." The April sun shone down upon a slow-rising green knoll that nestled in the lea of the foothills, and seemed to center bright rays upon the long ranch-house, which gleamed snow-white from the level summit. The grounds around the house bore no semblance to Eastern lawns or parks; there had been no landscape-gardening; Stillwell had just brought water and grass and flowers and plants to the knoU-top, and there had left them, as it were, to follow nature. His idea may have been crude, but the result was beautiful. Under that hot sun and bahny air, with cool water daily soaking into the rich soil, a green covering sprang into life, and everywhere upon it, as if 7 89 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS by magic, many colored flowers rose in the sweet air. Pale wild flowers, lavender daisies, fragile bluebells, white fotir-petaled lilies, Hke Eastern Mayflowers, and golden poppies, deep sunset gold, color of the West, bloomed in happy confusion. California roses, crimson as blood, nodded heavy heads and trembled with the weight of bees. Low down in bare places, isolated, open to the full power of the sun, blazed the vermilion and magenta blos- soms of cactus plants. Green slopes led aU the way down to where new adobe bams and sheds had been erected, and wide corrals stretched high-barred fences down to the great squares of alfalfa gently incHning to the gray of the valley. The bottom of a dammed-up hollow shone brightly with its slowly increasing acreage of water, upon which thousands of migratory wild fowl whirred and splashed and squawked^ as if reluctant to leave this cool, wet surprise so new in the long desert journey to the northland. Quarters for the cowboys — comfortable, roomy adobe houses that not even the lamest cowboy dared designate as crampy bimks — stood in a row upon a long bench of ground above the lake. And down to the edge of the valley the cluster of Mexican habitations and the little chturch showed the touch of the same renewing hand. All that had been left of the old Spanish house, which had been StiUweU's home for so long, was the bare, mas- sive structure, and some of this had been cut away for new doors and windows. Every modem convenience, even to hot and cold running water and acetylene light, had been installed; and the whole interior painted and carpentered and furnished. The ideal sought had not been luxury, but comfort. Every door into 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 comprised four in nimiber, all opening out upon the 90 HER MAJESTY'S RANCHO long porch. There was a small room for her maid, an- other which she used as an office, then her sleeping apart- ment; and, lastly, the great light chamber which she had liked so well upon first sight, and which now, simply yet beautifully furnished and containing her favorite books and pictures, she had come to love as she had never loved any room at home. In the morning the fragrant, balmy air blew the white curtains of the open windows; at noon the drowsy, sultry quiet seemed to creep in for the siesta that was characteristic of the country; in the afternoon the westering sun peeped under the porch -roof and painted the waUs with gold bars that slowly changed to red. Madeline Hammond cherished a fancy that the trans- formation she had wrought in the old Spanish house and in the people with whom she had surrotinded herself, great as that transformation had been, was as nothing compared to the one wrought in herself. She had found an object in life. She was busy, she worked with her hands as weU as mind, yet she seemed to have more time to read and think and study and idle and dream than ever before. She had seen her brother through his diffi- culties, on the road to all the success and prosperity that he cared for. Madeline had been a conscientious student of ranching and an apt pupil of StiUwell. The old cattle- man, in his simplicity, gave her the place in his heart that was meant for the daughter he had never had. His pride in her, Madeline thought, was beyond reason or be- lief or words to tell. Under his guidance, sometimes ac- companied by Alfred and Florence, Madeline had ridden the ranges and had studied the life and work of the cow- boys. She had camped on the open range, slept under the blinking stars, ridden forty nules a day in the face of dust and wind. She had taken two wonderful trips down into the desert — one trip to Chiricahua, and from there across the waste of sand and rock and alkali and cactus to the Mexican border-line; and the other through the 91 THE LIGHT^OF WESTERN STARS Aravaipa Valley, with its deep, red-walled canons Mid wild fastnesses. This breaking-in, this training into Western ways, though she had been a so-caUed outdoor girl, had required great effort and severe pain; but the education, now past its primary grades, had become a labor of love. She had perfect health, abounding spirits. She was so active that she had to train herself into taking the midday siesta, a custom of the country and imperative dtuing the hot summer months. Sometimes she looked in her mir- ror and laughed with sheer joy at sight of the lithe, au- dacious, brown-faced, flashing-eyed creature reflected there. It was not so much joy in her beauty as sheer joy of Hfe. Eastern critics had been wont to call her beautiful in those days when she had been pale and slender and proud and cold. She laughed. If they could only see her now! Prom the tip of her golden head to her feet she was alive, pulsating, on fire., ..'Sometimes she thought of her parents, sister, friends, of how they had persistently refused to believe she could or would stay in the West. They were always asking her to come home. And when she wrote, which was dutifully aften, the last thing under the sun that she was likely to mention was the change in her. She wrote that she would return to her old home sometime, of course, for a visit; and letters such as this brought returns that amused Madeline, sometimes saddened her. She meant to 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. Once home, she would have to make explanations, and these would not be understood. Her father's business had been such that he could not leave it for the time reqtiired for a Western trip, or else, accord- ing to his letter, he would have come for her. Mrs. Ham- HKmd could not have been driven to cross the Hudson River; her un-American idea of the wilderness westward was that Indians still chased btiffalo on the outskirts of 92 HER MAJESTY'S RANCHO Chicago. Madeline's sister Helen had long been eager to come, as much from curiosity, MadeUne thought, as from sisterly regard. And at length MadeUne concluded that the proof of her breaking permanent ties might better be seen by visiting relatives and friends before she went back East. With that in mind she invited Helen to visit her during the summer, and bring as many friends as she liked. No slight task indeed was it to oversee the many busi- ness details of Her Majesty's Rancho and to keep a record of them. Madeline fotmd the course of business training upon which her father had insisted to be invaluable to her now. It helped her to assimilate and arrange the practical details of cattle-raising as put forth by the blunt StillweU. She split up the great stock of cattle into difi ferent herds, and when any of these were out running upon the open range she had them closely watched. Part of the time each herd was kept in an inclosed range, fed and watered, and carefully handled by a big force of cowboys. She employed three cowboy scouts whose sole duty was to ride the ranges searching for stray, sick, or crippled cattle or motherless calves, and to bring these in to be treated and nursed. There were two cowboys whose business was to master a pack of Russian stag- hounds and to hunt down the coyotes, wolves, and Uons that preyed upon the herds. The better and tamer rmlch cows were separated from the ranging herds and kept in a pasture adjoining the dairy. All branding was done in corrals, and calves were weaned from mother-cows at the proper time to benefit both. The old method of branding and classing, that had so shocked Madeline, had been abandoned, and one had been inaugurated whereby cattle and cowboys and horses were spared brutaUty and injury. Madeline established an extensive vegetable farm, and she planted orchards. The climate was superior to that of California, and, with abundant water, trees and plants 93 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS and gardens flourished and bloomed in a way wonderful to behold. It was with ever-increasing pleasure that Madeline walked through acres of ground once bare, now green and bright and fragrant. There were poultry-yards and pig-pens and marshy quarters for ducks and geese. Here in the farming section of the ranch Madeline found emplo5mient for the little colony of Mexicans. Their lives had been as hard and barren as the dry vaUey where they had Uved. But as the valley had been transformed by the soft, rich touch of water, so their lives had been transformed by help and sympathy and work. The chil- dren were wretched no more, and many that had been blind could now see, and Madeline had become to them a new and blessed virgin. Madeline looked abroad over these lands and likened the change ia them and those who lived by them to the change in her heart. It may have been fancy, but the sun seemed to be brighter, the sky bluer, the wind sweeter. Certain it was that the deep green of grass and garden was not fancy, nor the white and pink of blossom, nor the blaze and perfume of flower, nor the sheen of lake and the fluttering of new-bom leaves. Where there had been monotonous gray there was now vivid and changing color. Formerly there had been silence both day and night; now during the sunny hours there was music. The whistle of prancing stallions pealed in from the grassy ridges. Innumerable birds had come and, like the northward- journeying ducks, they had tarried to stay. The song of meadow-lark and blackbird and robin, familiar to Made- line from childhood, mingled with the new and strange heart-throbbing song of mocking-bird and the piercing blast of the desert eagle and the melancholy moan of turtle-dove. One April morning Madeline sat in her ofiSce wrestling with a problem. She had problems to solve every day. The majority of these were concerned with the manage- ment of twenty-seven incomprehensible cowboys. This 94 HER MAJESTY'S RANCHO particular problem involved Ambrose Mills, who had eloped with her French maid, Christine. StillweU faced Madeline with a smile almost as huge as his bulk. "Wal, Miss Majesty, we ketched them; but not before Padre Marcos had married them. All thet speedin' in the autoomoobUe was jest a-scarin' of me to death fer nothin'. I tell you Link Stevens is crazy about runnin' thet car. Link never hed no sense even with a hoss. He ain't afraid of the devil hisself. If my hair hedn't been white it 'd be white now. 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." "StillweU, what shall I say to Ambrose? How shall I punish him? He has done wrong to deceive me. I never was so siuprised in my life. Christine did not seem to care any more for Ambrose than for any of the other cow- boys. What does my authority amount to? I must do something. StiUwell, you must help me." Whenever Madeline feU into a quandary she had to call upon the old cattleman. No man ever held a position with greater pride than StillweU, but he had been put to tests that steeped him in humiUty. Here he scratched his head in great perplexity. "Dog-gone the luck! What's this elopin' bizness to do with cattle - raisin' ? I don't know nothin' but cattle. Miss Majesty, it's amazin' strange what these cowboys hev come to. I never seen no cowboys Kke these we've got hyar now. I don't know them any more. They dress sweU 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're jest the finest bunch of cow-pimchers I ever seen or dreamed of. But managin' them now is beyond me. When cowboys begin to play thet game gol-lof an' run off with French maids I reckon Bill Still= well has got to resign." 95 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "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 '11 do thet. I'll run 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 bunch of cowboys." "You've tried half a dozen foremen. Try more until you find the man who meets your requirements," said Madeline. "Never mind that now. Tell me how to impress Ambrose — to make him an example, so to speak. I must have another maid. And I do not want a new one carried oflf in this summary manner." "Wal, if you fetch pretty maids out hyar you can't expect nothin' else. Why, thet black-eyed Httle French girl, with her white skin an' pretty airs an' smiles an' shrugs, she had the cowboys crazy. It '11 be wuss with 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 '11 fix Ambrose, an' mebbe scare the other boys fer a spell." "Very well, Stillwell, bring Ambrose in to see me, and tell Christine to wait in my room." It was a handsome, debonair, bright-eyed cowboy that came tramping into Madeline's presence. His accus- tomed shyness and awkwardness had disappeared in an fexcited maimer. He was a happy boy. He looked straight into Madehne's face as if he expected her to wish him joy. And Madeline actually found that expression trembUng to her lips. She held it back until she could be severe. But Madeline feared she would fail of much severity. Something warm and sweet, like a fragrance, had entered the room with Ambrose. "Ambrose, what have you done?" she asked. *' Miss Hammond, I've been and gone and got married," 96 HER MAJESTY'S RANCHO replied Ambrose, his words tumbling over one another. His eyes snapped, and there was a kind of glow upon his clean-shaven brown cheek. "I've stole a march on the other 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 made eyes at Christine! So I wasn't goin' to take any chances. I just packed her 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 tmder her clear gaze, dropped his head, and fumbled with his new sombrero, and there was a catch in his breath. Madeline saw his powerful brown hand tremble. It affected her strangely that this stalwart cowboy, who could rope and throw and tie a wild steer in less than one minute, should tremble at a mere question. Suddenly he raised his head, and at the beautiful blaze of his eyes MadeUne turned her own away. "Yes, Miss Hammond, I love her," he said. "I think I love her in the way you're askin' about. I know the first time I saw her I thought how wonderful it 'd be to have a girl like that for my wife. It's all been so strange — her comin' an' how she made me feel. Sure I never knew many girls, 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 Padre Marcos's blessin'." "Ambrose, have you nothing to say to me?" asked MadeUne. "I'm svire sorry I didn't have time to tell you. But I was in some hurry." "What did you intend to do? Where were you going when Still well found you?" "We'd just been married. I hadn't thought of any- thing afta: that. Suppose I'd have rustled back to 97 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS my job. I'll sure have to work now and save my money." " Oh, well, Ambrose, I am glad you realize your respon- sibilities. Do you earn enough — ^is your pay suffident to keep a wife?" "Sure it is! Why, Miss Hammond, I never before earned half the salary I'm gettin' now. It's some fine to work for you. I'm goin' to fire the boys out of my bunk-house and fix it up for Christine and me. Say, won't they be jealous?" "Ambrose, I — I congratulate you. I wish you joy," said Madeline. "I — I shall make Christine a little wed- ding-present. I want to talk to her for a few moments. You roay go now." It would have been impossible for Madeline to say one severe word to that happy cowboy. She experienced difficulty in hiding her own happiness at the turn of events. Curiosity and interest mingled with her pleasure when she called to Christine. "Mrs. Ambrose Mills, please come in." No sound came from the other room. "I should Uke 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 httle whirlwind of flying feet and entreating hands and beseeching eyes blew ia upon Made- Une. Christine was small, graceful, plimip, with very white skin and very dark hair. She had been Made- hne's favorite maid for years, and there was sincere affection between the two. Whatever had been the bliss- ful ignorance of Ambrose, it was manifestly certain that Christine knew how she had transgressed. Her fear and remorse and appeal for forgiveness were poured out in an incoherent storm. Plain it was that the little French maid had been overwhelmed. It was only after Madeline had taken the emotional girl in her arms and had for- 98 HER MAJESTY'S RANCHO given and soothed her that her part in the elopement became clear. Christine was in a maze. But gradually, as she talked and saw that she was forgiven, calmness came ia some degree, and with it a story which amused, yet shocked Madeline. The unmistakable, shy, marvel- ing love, scarcely realized by Christine, gave Madeline rehef and joy. If Christine loved Ambrose there was no harm done. Watching the girl's eyes, wonderful with their changes of thought, listening to her attempts to explain what it was evident she did not understand, Madeline gathered that if ever a cave-man had taken unto himself a wife, if ever a barbarian had carried off a Sabine woman, then Ambrose MUls had acted with the violence of such ancient forebears. Just how it all hap- pened seemed to be beyond Christine. "He say he love me," repeated the girl, in a kind of rapt awe. "He ask me to marry him — he kees me — ^he hug me — he lift me on ze horse — ^he ride with me all night — ^he marry me." And she exhibited a ring on the third finger of her left hand. Madeline saw that, whatever had been the state of Christine's feeling for Ambrose before this marriage, she loved him now. She had been taken forcibly, but she was won. After Christine had gone, comforted and betraying her shy eagerness to get back to Ambrose, Madeline was haimted by the look in the girl's eyes, and her words. Assuredly the spell of romance was on this sunny land. For Madeline there was a nameless charm, a nameless thriU combating her sense of the violence and unfitness of Ambrose's wooing. Something, she knew not what, took arms against her intellectual arraignment of the cow- boy's method of getting himself a wife. He had said straight out that he loved the girl — ^he had asked her to marry him — ^he kissed her — he hugged her — he lifted her upon his horse — he rode away with her through the night — ^and he married her. In whatever light Madeline re- 99 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS viewed this thing she always came back to her first natural impression; it thrilled her, charmed her. It went against all the precepts of her training; nevertheless, it was somehow splendid and beautiful. She imagined it stripped another artificial scale from her over-sophisti- cated eyes. Scarcely had she settled again to the task on her desk when StillweU's heavy tread across the porch interrupted her. This time when he entered he wore a look that bor- dered upon the hysterical; it was difficult to tell whether he was trying to suppress grief or glee. "Miss Majesty, there's another amazin' strange thing sprung on me. Hyar's Jim Bell come to see you, an' when I taxed him, SELyin' you was tolerable busy, he up an' says he was hungry an' he ain't a-goin' to eat any more bread made in a wash-basin! Says he'U starve first. Says Nels hed the gang over to his bunk an' feasted them on bread you taught him how to make in some new-fangled bucket- machine with a crank. Jim says thet bread beat any cake he ever eat, an' he wants you to show him how to make some. Now, Miss Majesty, as superintendent of this ranch I ought to know what's goin' on. Mebbe Jim is jest a-joshin' me. Mebbe he's gone clean dotty. Mebbe I hev. An' beggin' your pardon, I want to know if there's any truth in what Jim says Nels says." Whereupon it became necessary for Madeline to stifle her mirth and to inform the sadly perplexed old cattle- man that she had received from the East a patent bread- mixer, and in view of the fact that her household women had taken fright at the contrivance, she had essayed to operate it herself. This had turned out to be so simple, so saving of time and energy and flour, so much more cleanly than the old method of mixing dough with the hands, and particularly it had resulted in such good bread, that Madeline had been pleased. Immediately she or- dered more of the bread-mixers. One day she had hap- pened upon Nels making biscuit dough in his wash-basin, lOO HER MAJESTY'S RANCHO and she had delicately and considerately introduced to him the idea of her new method. Nels, it appeared, had a great reputation as a bread-maker, and he was proud of it. Moreover, he was skeptical of any clap-trap thingi with wheels and cranks. He consented, however, to let her show how the thing worked and to sample some of the bread. To that end she had him come up to the house, where she won him over. StiUwell laughed loud and long. "Wal, wal, wal!" he exclaimed, at length. "Thet's fine, an' it's powerful ftmny. Mebbe you don't see how funny? Wal, Nels has jest been lordin' it over the boys about how you showed him, an' now you'll hev to show every last cowboy on the place the same thing. Cowboys are the jealousest kind of fellers. They're all crazy about you, anjrway. Take Jim out hyar. Why, thet lazy cow- puncher jest never would make bread. He's notorious fer shirkin' his share of the grub deal. I've knowed Jim to trade off washin' the pots an' pans fer a lonely watch on a rainy night. All he wants is to see you show him the same as Nels is crowin' over. Then he'll crow over his bvmlde, Frank Slade, an' then Frank '11 get lonely to know all about this wonderful bread-machine. Cowboys are amazin' strange critters. Miss Majesty. An' now thet you've begun with them this way, you'll hev to keep it up. I will say I never seen such a bunch to work. You've sure put heart in them." "Indeed, Stillwell, I am glad to hear that," rephed MadeUne. "And I shall be pleased to teach them' all. But may I not have them all up here at 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. Miss Majesty, is to let 'em come one by one, an' make each cowboy think you're takin' more especial pleasure in showin' him than the feller who came before him. Then mebbe we can go on with cattle-raisin'." lOI THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Madeline protested, and Still well held inexorably to what he said was wisdpm. Several times Madeline had gone against his advice, to her utter discomfiture and rout. She dared not risk it again, and resigned herself grace- fully and with subdued merriment to her task. Jim Bell was ushered into the great, light, spotless kitchen, where presently Madeline appeared to put on an apron and roll up her sleeves. She explained the use of the several pieces of aluminum that made up the bread-mixer and fastened the bucket to the table-shelf. Jim's life might have depended upon this lesson, judging from his ab- sorbed manner and his desire to have things explained over and over, especially the turning of the crank. When Madeline had to take Jim's hand three times to show him the simple mechanism and then he did not tmderstand, she began to have faint misgivings as to his absolute sin- cerity. She guessed that as long as she touched Jim's hand he never would understand. Then as she began to measure out flour and milk and lard and salt and yeast she saw with despair that Jim was not looking at the in- gredients, was not paying the slightest attention to them. His eyes were covertly upon her. "Jim, I am not sure about you," said Madeline, severely. "How can you learn 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 rejoic- ing with the bread-mixer under his arm. Next morning, true to Stillwell's prophecy, Frank Blade, Jim's btuik- mate, presented himself cheerfully to Madeline and un- bosomed himself of a long-deferred and persistent desire to relieve his overworked comrade of some of the house- keeping in their bunk. "Miss Hammond," said Frank, "Jim's orful kind want- in' to do it all hisself. 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." I02 HER MAJESTY'S RANCHO For a whole week Madeline held clinics where she ex- pounded the scientific method of modem bread-making. She got a good deal of enjoyment out of her lectures. What boys these great hulking fellows were! She saw through their simple ruses. Some of them were grave as deacons; others wore expressions important enough to have fitted the faces of statesmen signing government treaties. These cowboys were children; they needed to be governed; but in order to govern them they had to be humored. A more light-hearted, fun-loving crowd of boys could not have been found. And they were grown men. StiUwell explained that the exuberance of spirits lay in the difference in their fortunes. Twenty-seven cowboys, in relays of nine, worked eight hours a day. That had never been heard of before in the West. StiU- well declared that cowboys from all points cf the compass would head their horses toward Her Majesty's Rancho. VIII EL CAPITAN STILLWELL'S interest in the revolution ao-oss the Mexican line had manifestly increased with the news that Gene Stewart had achieved distinction with the rebel forces. Thereafter the old cattleman sent for El Paso and Douglas newspapers, wrote to ranchmen he knew on the big bend of the Rio Grande, and he wotild talk indefinitely to any one who would listen to him. There was not any possibility of StiUwell's friends at the ranch forgetting his favorite cowboy. StiUweU always prefaced his eulogy with an apologetic statement that Stewart had gone to the bad. Madeline liked to Usten to him, though she was not always sure which news was authentic and which imagination. There appeared to be no doubt, however, that the cow- boy had performed some daring feats for the rebels. Madeline found his name mentioned in several of the border papers. When the rebels under Madero stormed and captured the city of Juarez, Stewart did fighting that won him the name of El Capitan. This battle ap- parently ended the revolution. The capitulation of President Diaz followed shortly, and there was a feeling of reUef among ranchers on the border from Texas to California. Nothing more was heard of Gene Stewart until April, when a report reached Stillwell that the cow- boy had arrived in El Cajon, evidently hunting trouble. The old cattleman saddled a horse and started post-haste for town. In two d^ys he returned depressed in spirit. 104 EL CAPITAN Madeline happened to be present when StiUwell talked to Alfred. "I got there too late, Al," said the cattleman. "Gene was gone. An' what do you think of this? Danny Mains hed jest left with a couple of burros packed. I couldn't find what way he went, but I'm bettin' he hit the Peloncillo trail." ' ' Daimy will show up some day, ' ' replied Alfred. ' ' What did you learn about Stewart? Maybe he left with Danny." ' ' Not much, ' ' said Stillwell, shortly. ' ' Gene's hell-bent fer election! No mountains far him." "Well, tell us about him." Stillwell wiped his sweaty brow and squared himself to talk. "Wal, it's sure amazin' strange about Gene. It's got me locoed. He arrived in El Cajon a week or so ago. He was trained down like as if he'd been ridin' the range all winter. He hed plenty of money — Mex, they said. An' all the Greasers was crazy about him. Called him El Capitan. He got drunk an' went roarin' round fer Pat Hawe. You remember that Greaser 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 lay thet killin' onto Gene. I reckon thet's jest talk, though Pat is mean enough to do it, if he hed the nerve. Anjnvay, if he was in El Cajon he kept mighty much to hisself. Gene walked up an' down, up an' down, all day 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 good lickin'. Wal, then Gene met Danny an' tried to get Danny drunk. An' he couldn't! What do you think of that? Danny hedn't been drinkin' — wouldn't touch a drop. I'm sure glad of thet, but it's 8 105 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS so amazin' strange. Why, Danny was a fish fer red liquor. I guess he an' Gene had some pretty hard words, though I'm not sure about thet. Anyway, Gene went down to the railroad an' he got on an engine, an' he was in the engine when it pulled out. Lord, I hope he doesn't hold up the train! If he gets gay over in Arizona he'll go to the pen at Yuma. An' thet pen is a graveyard fer cowboys. I wired to agents along the railroad to look out 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 brightening somewhat, he turned to Madeline. "I jest hed an idee, Miss Majesty. If I can get him, Gene Stewart is the cowboy I want fer my foreman. He can manage this bunch of cow-punchers thet are drivin' me dotty. What's more, siace he's fought fer the rebels an' got that name El Capitan all the Greasers in the cotmtry will kneel to hitn. Now, Miss Majesty, we hevn't got rid of Don Carlos an' his vaqueros yet. To be sure, he sold you his house an' ranch an' stock. But you remember nothin' was put in black and white about when he should get out. An' Don Carlos ain't gettin' out. I don't like the looks of things a little bit. I'U teU you 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 with the rebels. I'm wiUin' to gamble thet when he does get out he an' his vaqueros will make another one of the bands of guerrillas thet are harassin' the border. This revolution ain't over yet. It's jest commenced. An' all these gangs of outlaws are goin' to take advantage of it. We'll see some old times, mebbe. Wal, I need Gene Stewart. I need him bad. Will you let me hire him. Miss Majesty, if I can get him straightened up?" The old cattleman ended huskily. "Stillwell, by all means find Stewart, and do not wait io6 EL CAPITAN to straighten him up. Bring him to the ranch," replied Madeline. Thanking her, Stillwell led his horse away. "Strange how he loves that cowboy!" murmured Made- line. "Not so strange, Majesty," replied her brother. "Not when you know. Stewart has been with Stillwell on some hard trips into the desert alone. There's no middle course of feeling between men facing death in the desert. Either they hate each other or love each other. I don't know, but I imagine Stewart did something for Stillwell. Saved his Ufe, perhaps. Besides, Stewart's a lovable chap when he's going straight. I hope StUlwell brings him back. We do need him. Majesty. He's a bom leader. Once I saw him ride into a bunch of Mexicans whom we sus- pected of rustling. It was fine to see him. Well, I'm sorry to tell you that we are worried about Don Carlos. Some of his vaqueros came into my yard the other day when I had left Flo alone. She had a bad scare. These vaqueros have been different since Don Carlos sold the ranch. For that matter, I never would have trusted a white woman alone with them. But they are bolder now. Something's in the wind. They've got assurance. They can ride 'off any night and cross the border." During the succeeding week Madeline discovered that a good deal of her sympathy for Stillwell in his hunt for the reckless Stewart had insensibly grown to be sympathy for the cowboy. It was rather a paradox, she thought, that opposed to the continual reports of Stewart's wUd- ness as he caroused from town to town were the con- tinual expressions of good will and faith and hope tmi- versaUy given out by those near her at the ranch. StUl- well loved the cowboy; Florence was fond of him; Alfred liked and admired hiim, pitied him; the cowboys swore their regard for him the more he disgraced himself. The Mexicans called him el grande Capitan. Madeline's per- sonal opinion of Stewart had not changed in the least 107 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS since the night it had been formed. But certain attri- butes of his, not clearly defined in her mind, and the gift of his beautiful horse, his valor with the fighting rebels, and aU this strange regard for him, espedaUy that of her brother, made her exceedingly regret the cowboy's present behavior. Meanwhile Stillwell was so earnest and zealous that one not familiar with the situation would have believed he was trjdng to find and reclaim his own son. He made several trips to little stations in the vaUey, and from these he returned with a gloomy face. MadeUne got the details from Alfred. Stewart was going from bad to worse — drunk, disorderly, savage, sure to land in the penitentiary. Then came a report that hurried Stillwell off to Rodeo. He returned on the third day, a crushed man. He had been so bitterly hurt that no one, not even Madeline, could get out of him what had happened. He admitted finding Stewart, failing to influence him; and when the old cattleman got so far he turned purple in the face and talked to himself, as if dazed: "But Gene was drunk. He was drunk, or he couldn't hev treated old BiU Ukethet!" MadeUne was stirred with an anger toward the brutal cowboy that was as strong as her sorrow for the loyal old cattleman. And it was when Stillwell gave up that she resolved to take a hand. The persistent faith of Still- well, his pathetic excuses in the face of what must have been Stewart's violence, perhaps baseness, actuated her powerfully, gave her new insight into human nature. She honored a faith that remained unshaken. And the strange thought came to her that Stewart must somehow be worthy of such a faith, or he never could have inspired it. , MadeUne discovered that she wanted to beUeve that somewhere deep down in the most depraved and sinful wretch upon earth there was some grain of good. She yearned to have the faith in human nature that StiUwell had in Stewart. io8 EL CAPITAN She sent Nels, mounted upon his own horse, and lead- ing Majesty, to Rodeo in search of Stewart. Nels had instructions to bring Stewart back to the ranch. In due time Nels returned, leading the roan without a rider. "Yep, I shore found him," replied Nels, when ques- tioned. "Found him half sobered up. He'd been in a scrap, an' somebody hed put him to sleep, I guess. Wal» when he seen thet roan hoss he let out a yell an' grabbed him round the neck. The hoss knowed him, all right. Then Gene hugged the hoss an' cried — cried Uke — I never seen no one who cried like he did. I waited awhile, an' was jest goin' to say somethin' to him when he turned on me red-eyed, mad as fire. ' Nels,' he said, ' I care a hell of a lot fer thet hoss, an' I Uked you pretty well, but if you don't take him away qtiick I'll shoot you both.' Wal, I lit out. I didn't even git to say howdy to him." " Nels, you think it useless — any attempt to see him — persuade him?" asked Madeline. "I shore do, Miss Hammond," repUed Nels, gravely. "I've seen a few sun-bHnded an' locoed an' snake-poisoned an' iskunk - bitten cow-punchers in my day, but Gene Stewart beats 'em all. He's shore runnin' wild fer the divide." Madeline dismissed Nels, but before he got out of ear- shot she heard him speak to'StiUweU, who awaited him on the porch. " BiU, put this in your pipe an' smoke it — ^none of them scraps Gene has hed was over a woman! It used to be thet -when he was drunk he'd scrap over every pretty Greaser girl he'd run across. Thet's why Pat Hawe think? Gene plugged the strange vaquero who was with little Bonita thet night last fall. Wal, Gene's scrappin' now jest to git shot up hisseH, for some reason thet only God Almighty knows." Nels's story of how Stewart wept over his horse in- fluenced Madeline powerfully. Her next move was to persuade Alfred to see if he cotild not do better with this 109 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS doggedly bent cowboy. Alfred needed only a word of persuasion, for he said he had considered going to Rodeo of his own accord. He went, and returned alone. "Majesty, I can't explain Stewart's singular actions," said Alfred. "I saw him, talked with him. He knew me, but nothing I said appeared to get to him. He has changed terribly. I fancy his once magnificent strength is breaking. It — ^it actually hurt me to look at him. I couldn't have fetched him back here — not as he is now. I heard all about him, and if he isn't downright out of his mind he's heU-bent, as BiU says, on getting killed. Some of his escapades are — are not for yotu- ears. Bill did all any man could do for another. We've all done our best for Stewart. If you'd been given a chance per- haps 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 forgotten or surrendered, she felt that she would have been relinquishing infinitely more than hope to aid one ruined man. But she was at a loss to know what further steps to take. Days passed, and each one brought additional gossip of Stewart's headlong career toward the Yuma penitentiary. For he had crossed the line into Cochise County, Arizona, where sheriffs kept a stricter observance of law. Finally a letter came from a friend of Nels's in Chiricahua saying that Stewart had been hurt in a brawl there. His hurt was not serious, but it wotdd probably keep him quiet long enough to get sober, and this opportunity, Nels's informant said, would be a good one for Stewart's friends to take him home before he got locked up. This epistle inclosed a letter to Stewart from his sister. Evidently, it had been found upon him. It told a story of illness and made an appeal for aid. Nels's friend, forwarded this letter without Stewart's knowledge, thinking StillweU might care to help Stewart's family. Stewart had no money, he said. The sister's letter found its way to Madeline. She EL CAPITAN read it, tears in her eyes. It told Madeline much more than its brief story of illness and poverty, and wonder why Gene had not written home for so long. It told of motherly love, sisterly love, brotherly love— dear family ties that had not been broken. It spoke of pride in this El Capitan brother who had become famous. It was signed "your loving sister Letty." Not improbably, Madeline revolved in mind, this letter was one reason for Stewart's headstrong, long-continued abasement. It had been received too late — ^after he had squandered the money that would have meant so much to mother and sister. Be that as it might, MadeUne im- mediately sent a bank-draft to Stewart's sister with a letter explaining that the money was drawn in advance on Stewart's salary. This done,'?she impulsively deter- mined to go to Chiricahua herself. The horseback-rides Madehne had taken to this little Arizona hamlet had tried her endurance to the utmost; but the jotimey by automobUe, except for some rocky bits of road and sandy stretches, was comfortable, and a matter of only a few hours. The big touring-car was still a kind of seventh wonder to the Mexicans and cowboys; not that automobiles were very new and strange, but be- cause this one was such an enormous machine and capa- ble of greater speed than an express-train. The chauffeur who had arrived with the car found his situation among the jealous cowboys somewhat far removed from a bed of roses. He had been induced to remain long enough to teach the operating and mechanical technique of the car. And choice feU upon Link Stevens, for the simple reason that of aU the cowboys he was the only one with any knack for mechanics. Now Link had been a hard- riding, hard-driving cowboy, and that winter he had sus- tained an injury to his leg, caused by a bad fall, and was unable to sit his horse. This had been gall and worm- wood to him. But when the big white automobile came and he was elected to drive it, life was once more worth THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS living for him. But all the other cowboys regarded Link and his machine as some correllated species of demon. They were deathly afraid of both. It was for this reason that Nels, when Madeline asked him to accompany her to Chiricahua, replied reluctantly that he would rather follow on his horse. However, she prevailed over his hesitancy, and with Florence also in the car they set out. For miles and miles the vaUey road was smooth, hard -packed, and slightly downhill. And when speeding was perfectly safe, Madeline was not averse to it. The grassy plain sailed backward in gray sheets, and the little dot in the valley grew larger and larger. From time to time Link glanced round at un- happy Nels, whose eyes were wild and whose hands clutched his seat. While the car was crossing the sandy and rocky places, going slowly, Nels appeared to breathe easier. And when it stopped in the wide, dusty street of Chiricahua Nels gladly tumbled out. "Nels, we shall wait here in the car while you find Stewart," said Madeline. "Miss Hammond, I reckon Gene '11 run when he sees us, if he's able to run," replied Nels. "Wal, I'U go find him an' make up my mind then what we'd better do." Nels crossed the railroad track and disappeared behind the low, flat houses. 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 Flor- ence—" "Nels, I want to see him myself. Why not? What did he say when you told him 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 me who was with me, an' I told him Link an' some friends. I said I'd fetch 112 EL CAPITAN them in. He hollered at that. But I went, anyway. Now, if you really mill see him, Miss Hammond, it's a good chance. But shore it's a touchy matter, an' you'll be some sick at sight of him. He's layin' in a Greaser hole over here. Likely the Greasers hev been kind to him. But they're shore a poor lot." Madeline did not hesitate a moment. "Thank you, Nels. Take me at once. Come, Flor- ence." They left the car, now surrounded by gaping-eyed Mexican children, and crossed the dusty space to a nar- row lane between red adobe walls. Passing by several houses, Nels stopped at the door of what appeared to be an alleyway leading back. It was filthy. "He's in there, around thet &st comer. It's a patio, open an' sunny. An', Miss Hammond, if you don't mind, I'll wait here for you. I reckon Gene woiddn't hke 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 aU to what Stewart might feel when suddenly surprised by her presence. "Florence, you wait also," said Madeline, at the door- way, and turned in alone. And she had stepped into a broken-down patio Uttered with alfalfa straw and 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 had not heard her. The place was not qtiite so filthy and stifling as the passages Madeline had come through to get there. Then she saw that it had 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. Made- line did not recognize Stewart. The side of his face exposed to her gaze was black, bruised, bearded. His clothes were ragged and soiled. There were bits of al- falfa in his hair. His shoulders sagged. He made a 113 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS wretched and hopeless figure sitting there. Madeline divined something of 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 to stone. She repeated her greeting. His body jerked. He moved violently as if instinctively to turn and face this intruder; but a more violent move- ment checked him. Madeline waited. How singular that this ruined cow- boy had pride which kept 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 she corrected herself, became deliberate and cool, for she saw that she might fail to be even heard by this man. "I have come to help you. Will you 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 her tongue, for she had not meant to betray her knowledge of Letty. He groaned, and, staggering up to the broken wall, he leaned there with his face hidden. Madeline reflected that perhaps the slip of speech had been well. "Stewart, please let me say what I have to say?" He was silent. And she gathered courage and inspira- tion. "Stillwell is deeply hurt, deeply grieved that he cotild not turn you back from this — ^this fatal course. My brother is also. They wanted to help you. And so do I. I have come, thinking somehow I might succeed where they have failed. Nels brought your sister's letter. I — 114 EL CAPITAN I read it. I was only the more determined to try to help you, and indirectly help your mother and Letty. Stewart, we want you to come to the ranch. StiUwell needs you for his foreman. The position is open to you, and you can name your salary. Both Al and StiUwell are worried about Don Carlos, the vaqueros, and the raids down along the border. My cowboys are without a capable leader. Will you come?" "No," he answered. "But StUlweU wants you so badly." "No." "Stewart, I want you to come." "No." His replies had been hoarse, loud, furious. They dis- concerted Madeline, and she paused, tr}dng to think of a way to proceed. Stewart staggered away from the wall, and, falling upon the bench, he hid his face in his hands. All his motions, like his speech, had been violent. "WUl you please go away?" he asked. "Stewart, certainly I cannot remain here longer if you insist upon my going. 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 you were. Stewart, come away, come back with us to the ranch. You are in a bad con- dition now. Ever5rthing looks black to you. But that wiU pass. When you are among friends again you will get well. You will be your old self. The very fact that you were once a gentleman, that you come of good family, makes you owe so much more to yourself. Why, Stew- art, think how 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's too late." IIS THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "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 sviUen, and now he was grim. Madeline aU but lost power to resist his strange, deadly, cold finality. No doubt he knew he was doomed. Yet something halted her — ^held her even as she took a backward step. And she became conscious of a subtle change in her own feeling. She had come into that squalid hole, MadeUne Hammond, earnest enough, kind enough in her own intentions; but she had been almost imperious — a woman habitually, proudly used to being obeyed. She divined that all the pride, blue blood, wealth, culture, distinction, all the impersonal condescending persuasion, the fatuous philanthropy on earth would not avail to turn this man a single hair's breath from his downward career to destruction. Her coming had ter- ribly augmented his bitter hate of himself. She was going to fail to help him. She experienced a sensation of impotence that amotmted almost to distress. The situation assumed a tragic keenness. She had set forth to reverse the tide of a wild cowboy's fortunes ; she faced the swift wasting of his life, the damnation of his soul. The subtle consciousness of change in her was the birth of that faith she had revered in Stillwell. And all at once 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. Under the light touch he appeared to sink. "Look at me," she repeated. But he could not lift his head. He was abject, crushed. He dared not show his swoUen, blackened face. His fierce, cramped posture revealed more than his features might have shown; it betrayed the tortiiring shame of ii6 EL CAPITAN a man of pride and passion, a man who had been con- fronted in his degradation by the woman he had dared to enshrine in his heart. It betrayed his love. "Listen, then," went on Madeline; and her voice was unsteady. "Listen to me, Stewart. The greatest men are those who have fallen deepest into the mire, sinned most, suffered most, and then have fought their evil natures and conquered. I think you can shake off this desperate mood and be 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 Ufe is faith in human nature. I have faith in 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 warmth suffusing her body as she saw the first sign of his softening. "Will you come 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 my faith 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 and terrible thing. The physical brutalizing marks were there, and at that instant all that appeared human to MadeHne was the dawning in dead, furnace-like eyes of a beautiful Ught. "I'll come," he whispered, huskily. "Give me a few days to straighten up, then I'll come." 117 IX THE NEW FOREMAN TOWARD the end of the week Stillwell infonned Madeline that Stewart had arrived 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 Uttle liqour would straighten him up now. But Nels can't force him to drink a drop, an' has hed to sneak some liquor in his cofiEee. Wal, I think we'll pull Gene through. He's for- gotten a lot. I was goin' to tell him what he did to me up at Rodeo. But I know if he'd beUeve it he'd be 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 Made- line his most sympathetic listener, unburdened himself daily of his hopes and fears and conjectures. Stewart was really ill. It became necessary to send Link Stevens for a physician. Then Stewart began slow- ly to mend and presently was able to get up and about. Stillwell said the cowboy lacked interest and seemed to be a broken man. This statement, however, the old cattleman modified as Stewart continued to improve. Then presently it was a good augury of Stewart's prog- ress that the cowboys once more took up the teasing rela- tion which had been characteristic of them before his illness. A cowboy was indeed out of sorts when he could not vent his peculiar himior on somebody or some- ii8 THE NEW FOREMAN thing. Stewart had evidently become a broad target for their badinage. "Wal, the boys are sure after Gene," said Stillwell, with his huge smile. "Joshin' him all the time about how he sits around an' hangs around an' loafs aroimd jest to get a glimpse of you, Miss Majesty. Sure all the boys hev a pretty bad case over their pretty boss, but none of them is a marker to Gene. He's got it so bad. Miss Majesty, thet he actooly don't know they are joshin' him. It's the amazinest strange thing 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 to talk, an' there was a certain liinit no feUer cared to cross with him. Now he takes every word an' smiles dreamy like, an' jest looks an' looks. Why, he's begin- nin' to make me tired. He'll never run thet bunch of cowboys if he doesn't wake up quick." Madeline smiled her amusement and expressed a belief that Stillwell wanted too much in such short time from a man who had done body and mind a grievous injury. It had been impossible for Madeline to fail to observe Stewart's singular behavior. She never went out to take her customary walks and rides without seeing him some- where in the distance. She was aware that he watched for her and avoided meeting her. When she sat on the porch during the afternoon or at simset Stewart could always be descried at some point near. He idled list- lessly in the sun, lounged on the porch of his bunk-house, sat whittling the top bar of the corral fence, and always it seemed to Madeline he was watching her. Once, while going the rounds with her gardener, she encountered Stewart and greeted him kindly. He said little, but he was not embarrassed. She did not recognize in his face any feature that she remembered. In fact, on each of the few occasions when she had met Stewart he had looked so different that she had no consistent idea of his facial appearance. He was now pale, haggard, drawn. His 119 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS eyes held a shadow through which shone a soft, subdued Ught ; and, once having observed this, Madeline fancied it was Hke the light in Majesty's eyes, in the dumb, wor- shiping eyes of her favorite stag-hound. She told Stew- art that she hoped he would soon be in the saddle again, and passed on her way. That Stewart loved her Madeline could not help but see. She endeavored to think of him as one of the many who, she was glad to know, liked her. But she could not regulate her thoughts to fit the order her intelligence prescribed. Thought of Stewart dissociated itself from thought of the other cowboys. When she discovered this she felt a little surprise and annoyance. Then she interrogated herself, and concluded that it was not that Stewart was so different from his comrades, but that cir- cumstances made him stand out from them. She recalled her meeting 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 actions seemed to hinge on events. Lastly, the fact standing clear of aU others in its relation to her interest was that he had been almost ruined, ahnost lost, and she had saved him. That alone was sufiScient to explain why she thought of him differently. She had befriended, uplifted the other cowboys; she had saved Stewart's life. To be sure, he had been a ruffian, but a woman could not save the life of even a rufSan without remembering it with gladness. Madeline at length decided her interest in Stewart was natural, and that her deeper feeling was pity. Perhaps the interest had been forced from her; however, she gave the pity as she gave ever3rthing. Stewart recovered his strength, though not in time to ride at the spring round-up; and Stillwell discussed with Madeline the advisability of making the cowboy his fore- man. "Wal, Gene seems to be gettin' along," said Stillwell. I20 THE NEW FOREMAN "But he ain't like 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 wait longer now, as the slack season is on. All the same, if those vaqueros of Don Carlos's don't lay low I'U send Gene over there. Thet '11 wake him up." A few days afterward Stillwell came to Madeline, rub- bing his big hands in 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. Them Greasers down on our slope hev been gettin' prosperous. They're growin' like bad weeds. An' they got a new padre — the little old feller from El Cajon, Padre Marcos. Wal, this was all right, all the boys thought, except Gene. An' he got blacker'n thunder an' roared round like a dehorned bull. I was sure glad to see he cotild get mad again. Then Gene haids down the slope fer the church. Nels an' me follered him, thinldn' he might hev been took sudden with a crazy spell or somethin'. He hasn't never been jest right yet since he left off drinkin'. Wal, we run into him comin' out of the church. We never was so dtam- founded in our lives. Gene was crazy all right — ^he sure hed a spell. But it was the kind of a spell he hed thet paralyzed us. He ran past us like a streak, an' we fol- lered. We couldn't ketch him. We heerd him laugh — the strangest laugh I ever heerd! You'd thought the feller was suddenly made a king. He was like thet feller who was tied in a btuyin'-sack an' throwed into the sea, an' cut his way out, an' swam to the island where the treasures was, an' stood up yellin': 'The world is mine!' Wal, when we got up to his 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 fer liquor an' thet was his finish. Nels was some worried. An' I was sick. 9 121 The light of western stars "Wal, this mawnin' I went over to Nels's bunk. Some of the fellers was there, all speculatin' about Gene. Then big as life Gene struts round the comer. He wasn't the same Gene. His face was pale an' his eyes burned like fire. He hed thet old mockin', cool smile, an' somethin' besides thet I couldn't londerstand. Frankie Slade up an' made a remark — no wuss than he'd been maldn' fer days — an' Gene tumbled him out of his chair, punched him good, walked all over him. Frankie wasn't hurt so much as he was bewildered. 'Gene,' he says, 'what the hell struck you?' An' Gene says, kind of sweet like, ' Frankie, you may be a nice feUer 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, Miss Majesty, it's beyond me what to al- low for Gene's sudden change. First off, 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 thet Gene was the last of the cowboys. Perhaps I should hev said he's the last of my kind of cowboys. Wal, Miss Majesty, you'll be appreciatin' of what I meant from now on." It was also beyond Madeline to account for Gene Stewart's antics, and, making allowance for the old cattle- man's fancy, she did not weigh his remarks very heavily. She guessed why Scewart might have been angry at the presence of Padre Marcos. Madeline supposed that it was rather an unusual circumstance for a cowboy to be converted to religious belief. But it was possible. And she knew that religious fervor often manifested itself in extremes of feeling and action. Most likely, in Stew- art's case, his real manner had been both misunderstood and exaggerated. However, Madeline had a curious desire, which she did not wholly admit to herself, to see the cowboy and make her own deductions. The opportunity did not present itself for nearly two THE NEW FOREMAN weeks. Stewart had taken up his duties as foreman, and his activities were ceaseless. He was absent most of the time, ranging down toward the Mexican line. When he returned Stillwell sent for him. This was late in the afternoon of a day in the middle of April. Alfred and Florence were with Madeline on the porch. They saw the cowboy turn his horse over to one of the Mexican boys at the corral and then come with 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 it and bowed to the women. Madeline saw the man she remembered, but with a singularly different aspect. His skin was brown; his eyes were piercing and dark and steady, he carried him- self erect; he seemed preoccupied, and there was not a trace of embarrassment in his manner. "Wal, Gene, I'm sure glad to see you," Stillwell was saying. "Where do you hail from?" "Guadalupe Canon," repHed the cowboy. Stillwell whistled. "Way down there ! You don't mean you follered them boss tracks thet far?" "All the way from Don Carlos's rancho across the Mexican Hne. I took Nick Steele with me. Nick is the best tracker in the outfit. This trail we were on led along the foothill valleys. First we thought whoever made it 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 of burros that came down the mountain trail. The burros were heavily loaded. Horse and burro tracks struck south from Seaton's to the old CaUfomia emigrant road. We followed the trail through Guadalupe Canon and across the border. On the way back we stopped at Slaughter's ranch, where the United .States Cavalry are camping. There we met foresters from the Peloncillo forest reserve. If these fel- 123 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS lows knew anything they kept it 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 StillweU, grufHy. "Miss Hammond can't be 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 vaqueros. Some of these cattle are driven across the valley, others up iato the foothills. So far as I can find out no cattle are being driven south. So this raiding is a bUnd to fool the cowboys. Don Carlos is a Mexican rebel. He located his rancho here a few years ago and pretended to raise cattle. All that time he has been smuggling arms and ammunition across the border. He was for Madero against Diaz. Now he is against Madero because he and all the rebels think Madero failed to keep his promises. There will be another revolution. And all the arms go from the States across the border. Those burros I told about were packed with contraband goods." "That's a matter for the United States Cavalry. They are patrolling the border," said Alfred. "They can't stop the smuggling of arms, not down in that wild comer," 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 in Stillwell. "Thet's my bizness an' Stewart's. But I jest wanted you to know. There might be some trouble follerin' my orders." "Your orders?" "I want to send Stewart over to fire Don Carlos an' his vaqueros off the range. They've got to go. Don Carlos is breakin' the law of the United States, an' doin' 124 THE NEW FOREMAN it on our property an' with our bosses. Hev I your per- mission, Miss Hammond?" "Why, assuredly you have. Stillwell, you know what to do. Alfred, what do you think best?" "If 11 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 the range to ourselves then. But, StillweU, if you drive those vaqueros off, won't they hang around in the foothills? I declare they are a bad lot." Stillwell's mind was not at ease. He paced the porch with a frown clouding his brow. "Gene, I reckon you got this Greaser deal figgered better'n me," said Stillwell. "Now what do you say?" "He'U have to be forced off," replied Stewart, quietly. "The Don's pretty sUck, but his vaqueros are bad actors. It's just this way. Nels said the other day to me : ' Gene, I haven't packed a gun for years until lately, and it feels good whenever I meet any of those strange Greasers.' You see, Stillwell, Don Carlos has vaqueros coming and going all the time. They're guerrilla bands, that's all. And they're getting uglier. There have been several shooting scrapes lately. A rancher named White, who lives up the valley, was badly hurt. It's only a matter of time till something stirs up the boys here. Stillwell, you know Nels and Monty and Nick." "Sure, I know 'em. An' you're not mentionin' one more particular cowboy in my outfit," said StiUweU, with a dry chuckle and a glance at Stewart. Madeline divined the covert meaning, and a slight chiU passed over her, as if a cold wind had blown in from the hiUs. "Stewart, I see you carry a gun," she said, pointing to a black handle protruding from a sheath swinging low along his leather chaps. "Yes, ma'am." "Why do you carry it?" she asked. 125 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "Well," he said, "it's not a pretty gun — and it's heavy." She caught the inference. The gun was not an orna- ment. His keen, steady, dark gaze caused her vague alarm. What had once seemed cool and audacious about this cowboy was now cold and powerful and mystical. Both her instinct and her intelligence realized the steel fiber of the man's nature. As she was his employer, she had the right to demand that he should not do what was so chillingly manifest that he might do. But Madeline could not demand. She felt curiously young and weak, and the five months of Western Ufe were as if they had never been. She now had to do with a question involving human life. And the value she placed upon human life and its spiritual significance was a matter far from her cowboy's thoughts. A strange idea flashed up. Did she place too much value upon all human hfe? She checked that, wondering, almost horrified at herself. And then her intuition told her that she possessed a far stronger power to move these primitive men than any woman's stem rule or order. "Stewart, I do not fully understand what you hint that Nels and his comrades might do. Please be frank with me. Do you mean Nels would shoot upon little provocation?" "Miss Hammond, as far as Nels is concerned, shooting is now just a matter of his meeting Don Carlos's vaqueros. It's wonderful what Nels has stood from them, consider- ing 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 bor- der. He likes peace as well as any man. But a few years of that doesn't change what the early days made of him. As for Nick Steele and Monty, they're just bad men, and looking for trouble." "How about yourself, Stewart? Stillwell's remark was not lost upon me," said Madeline, prompted by curiosity. 126 THE NEW FOREMAN Stewart did not reply. He looked at her in respectftil silence. In her keen earnestness Madeline saw beneath his cool exterior and was all the more baf&ed. Was there a slight inscrutable mocking light in his eyes, or was it only her imagination? However, the cowboy's face was as hard as flint. "Stewart, I have come to love my ranch," said Made- line, slowly, "and I care a great deal for my — my cow- boys. It would be dreadful if they were to kiU anybody, or especially if one of them should be killed." "Miss Hammond, you've changed things considerable out here, but you can't change these men. All that's needed to start them is a little trouble. And this Mexican revolution is bound to make rough times along some 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 rough time. And some of my cowboys cannot be checked much longer. But, Stewart, whatever you have been in the past, you have changed." She smiled at him, and her voice was singularly sweet and rich. "Still well has so often referred to you as the last of his kind of cowboy. I have just a faint idea of what a wild life you have led. Perhaps that fits you to be a leader of such rough men. I am no judge of what a leader should do in this crisis. My cowboys are entaiUng risk in my employ; my property is not safe; perhaps my life even might be endangered. I want to rely upon you, since StiUweU believes, and I, too, that you are the man for this place. I shall give you no orders. But is it too much to ask that you be my kind of a cowboy?" Madeline remembered Stewart's former brutality and shame and abject worship, and she measured the great change in him by the contrast afforded now in his dark, changeless, intent face. "Miss Hammond, what kind of a cowboy is that?" ha asked. 127 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS ' "I — I don't exactly know. It is that kind which I feel you might be. But I do know that in the problem at hand I want your actions to be governed by reason, not passion. Human life is not for any man to sacrifice un- less in self-defense or in protecting those dependent upon him. What StillweU and you hinted makes me afraid of Nels and Nick Steele and Monty. Cannot they be controlled? I want to feel that they will not go gunning for Don Carlos's men. I want to avoid aU violence. And yet when my guefets come I want to feel that they will be safe from danger or fright or even annoyance. May I not rely wholly upon you, Stewart? Just trust you to manage these obstreperous cowboys and protect my prop- erty and Alfred's, and take care of us — of me, tmtil this revolution is ended? I have never had a day's worry since I bought the ranch. It is not that I want to shirk my responsibilities; it is that I like being happy. 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 con- sciousness of responsibility. He waited a moment, and then, as neither Stillwell nor Madeline offered further speech, he bowed and turned down the path, his long sptirs cHnking in the gravel. "Wal, wal," exclaimed Stillwell, "thet's no little job you give him. Miss Majesty." "It was a woman's cunning, StiUwell," said Alfred. "My sister used to be a wonder at getting her own way when we were kids. Just a smile or two, a few sweet words or turns of thought, and she had what she wanted." "Al, what a character to give me!" protested Made- line. "Indeed, I was deeply in earnest with Stewart. I do not understand just why, but I trust him. He seems hke iron and steel. Then I was a httle frightened at the prospect of trouble with the vaqueros. Both you and Still- well have influenced me to look upon Stewart as invalu- 128 THE NEW FOREMAN able. I thought it best to confess my utter helplessness and to look to him for support." "Majesty, whatever actuated you, it was a stroke of diplomacy," repUed her brother. "Stewart has got good stufE in him. He was down and out. Well, he's made a game fight, and it looks as if he'd win. Trusting him, giving him responsibility, rel}dng upon him was the surest way to strengthen his hold upon himself. Then that lit- tle touch of sentiment about being your kind of cowboy -and protecting you — well, if Gene Stewart doesn't de- velop into an Argus-eyed knight I'U say I don't know cow- boys. But, Majesty, remember, he's a composite of tiger-breed and forked lightning, and don't imagine he has failed you if he gets into a fight." "I'U sure tell you what Gene Stewart wiU do," said Plorence. "Don't I know cowboys? Why, they used to take me up on their horses when I was a baby. Gene Stewart will be the kind of cowboy your sister said he might be, whatever that is. She may not know and we may not guess, but he knows." " Wal, Flo, there you hit plumb center," replied the old cattleman. " Au' I couldn't be gladder if he was my own son." X DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS EARLY the following morning Stewart, with a com- pany of cowboys, departed for Don Carlos's rancho. As the day wore on without any report from him, Stillwell appeared to grow more at ease; and at nightfall he told Madeline that he guessed there was now no reason for concern. "Wal, though it's sure amazin' strange," he continued, "I've been worryin' some about how we was goin' to fire Don Carlos. But Gene has a way of doin' things." Next day Stillwell and Alfred decided to ride over to Don Carlos's place, taking Madeline and Florence with them, and upon the return trip to stop at Alfred's ranch. They started in the cool, gray dawn, and after three hours' riding, as the sun began to get bright, they entered a mesquite grove surrounding corrals and bams, and a mmiber of low, squat buildings and a huge, rambling structure, all built of adobe and mostly crumbling to ruin. Only one green spot relieved the bald red of grounds and walls; and this evidently was made by the spring which had given both value and fame to Don Carlos's range. The approach to the house was through a wide courtyard, bare, stony, hard-packed, with hitching-rails and watering-troughs in front of a long porch. Several dusty, tired horses stood with drooping heads and bridles down, their wet flanks attesting to travel just ended. "Wal, dog-gone it, Al, if there ain't Pat Hawe's hoss I'll eat it," exclaimed Stillwell. 130 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS "What's Pat want here, anyhow?" growled Alfred. No one was in sight; but Madeline heard loud voices coming from the house. 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're so mysterious and creepy. Just watch now! There'll be dark-skinned, beady-eyed, soft- footed Greasers sUp right up out of the ground ! There'll be an ugly face in every door and window and crack." "It's hke a huge bam with its characteristic odor per- meated by tobacco smoke," repHed Madeline, sitting down beside Florence. " I don't think very much of this end of my purchase. Florence, isn't that Don Carlos's black horse over there in the corral?" "It sure is. Then the Don's heah yet. I wish we hadn't been in such a hurry to come over. There! that doesn't sound encoioraging." From the corridor came the rattling of spurs, tramping of boots, and loud voices. Madeline detected Alfred's qtiick notes when he was annoyed: "We'll rustle back home, then," he said. The answer came : "No!" Made- line recognized Stewart's voice, and she quickly straight- ened up. "I won't have 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 Still- well's big voice, "now that we've butted 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, and Madeline's quick glance saw that Nels had undergone some indescribable change. The grinning, brilliant-eyed Don Carlos came jostling out beside a gaunt, sharp-featured man wearing a silver shield. This no doubt was Pat Hawe. In the backgrotmd behind Stillwell and Alfred stood Nick Steele, 131 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS head and shoulders over a number of vaqueros and cow- boys. "Miss Hammond, I'm sorry you came," said Stewart, bltmtly. "We're in a muddle here. I've insisted that you and Flo be kept close to us. I'll explain later. If you can't stop your ears I beg you to overlook rough talk." With that he ttimed to the men behind him: "Nick, take Booly, go back to Monty and the boys. Fetch out that stuff. All of it. Rustle, now!" StUlwell and Alfred disengaged themselves from the crowd to take up positions in front of Madeline and Flor- ence. Pat Hawe leaned against a post and insolently ogled Madeline and then Florence. Don Carlos pressed forward. His whole figure filled Madeline's reluctant but fascinated eyes. He wore tight velveteen breeches, with a heavyfold down the outside seam, which was ornamented with silver buttons. Round his waist was a sash, and a belt with fringed holster, from which protruded a pearl- handled gun. A vest or waistcoat, richly embroidered, partly concealed a blouse of silk, and wholly revealed a silken scarf round his neck. His swarthy face showed dark lines, like cords, under the surface. His Httle eyes were exceedingly prominent and glittering. To Made- line his face seemed to be a bold, handsome mask through which his eyes piercingly betrayed the evil nature of the man. He bowed low with elaborate and sinuous grace. His smile revealed brilliant teeth, enhanced the briUiance of his eyes. He slowly spread deprecatory hands. "Senoritas, I beg a thousand pardons," he said. How strange it was for Madeline to hear English spoken in a soft, whiningly sweet accent! "The gracious 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. 132 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS Cowboys appeared staggering out of the corridor with long boxes. These they placed side by side upon the floor of the porch. "Now, Hawe, we'll proceed with our business," said Stewart. "You see these boxes, don't you?" "I reckon I see a good many things round hyar," re- plied 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 come by express an' all accoimted 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 Booly handle 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 not significant of friendliness or trust. "Stewart, you're dead wrong to bust open them boxes. Thet's agin the law," protested Hawe, trying to in- terfere. Stewart pushed him back. Then Don Carlos, who had been stunned by the appearance of the boxes, suddenly became active in speech and person. Stewart thrust him back also. The Mexican's excitement increased. He wildly gesticulated; he exclaimed shrilly in Spanish. When, however, the lids were wrenched open and an in- side packing torn away he grew rigid and silent. Made- line raised herself behind Stillwell to see that the boxes were full of rifles and ammunition. "There, Hawe! What did I tell you?" demanded 133 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Stewart. "I came over here to take charge of this ranch. I found these boxes hidden in an unused room. I sus- pected what they were. Contraband goods!" "Wal, supposin' they are? I don't see any call fer sech all-fired fuss as you're makin'. Stewart, I calkilate you're some stuck on your new job an' want to make a big show before—" "Hawe, stop slinging that kind of talk," interrupted Stewart. "You got too free with your mouth once be- fore ! Now here, I'm supposed to be consulting an officer of the law. Will you take charge of these contraband goods?" " Say, you're holdin' on high an' mighty," replied Hawe, in astonishment that was plainly pretended. "What 're you drivin' at?" Stewart muttered an imprecation. He took several swift strides across the porch; he held out his hands to Stillwell as if to indicate the hopelessness of inteUigent and reasonable arbitration; he looked at MadeUne with a glance eloquent of his regret that he could not handle the situation to please her. Then as he wheeled he came face to face with Nels, who had sHpped forward out of the crowd. Madeline gathered serious import from the steel-blue meaning flash of eyes whereby Nels communicated some- thing to Stewart. Whatever that something was, it dis- pelled Stewart's impatience. A slight movement of his hand brought Monty Price forward with a jump. In these sudden jumps of Monty's there was a suggestion of restrained ferocity. Then Nels and Monty Hned up behind Stewart. It was a deliberate action, even to Madeline, unmistakably formidable. Pat Hawe's face took on an ugly look; his eyes had a reddish gleam. Don Carlos added a pale face and extreme nervousness to his former expressions of agitation. The cowboys edged away from the vaqiieros, and the bronzed, bearded horse- men who were evidently Hawe's assistants. 134 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS "I'm driving at this," spoke up Stewart, presently; and now he was slow and caustic. "Here's contraband of war! Hawe, do you get that? Arms and ammunition for the rebels across the border ! I charge you as an officer to confiscate these goods and to arrest the smuggler — Don Carlos." These words of Stewart's precipitated a riot among Don Carlos and his followers, and they surged wildly around the sheriff. There was an upflinging of brown, clenching hands, a shrill, jabbering babel of Mexican voices. The crowd arotmd Don Carlos grew louder and denser with the addition of armed vaqueros and bare- footed stable-boys and dusty-booted herdsmen and blanketed Mexicans, the last^^f whom suddenly slipped from doors and windows and Tound comers. It was a motley assemblage. The laced, fringed, ornamented vaqueros presented a sharp contrast to the bare-legged, sandal-footed boys and the ragged herders. Shrill cries, evidently from Don Carlos, somewhat quieted the com- motion. Then Don Carlos could be heard addressing Sheriff Hawe in an exhortation of mingled English and Spanish. He denied, he avowed, he proclaimed, and all in rapid, passionate utterance. He tossed his black hair in his vehemence; he, waved his fists and stamped the floor; he rolled his glittering eyes; he twisted his thin lips into a hundred different shapes, and Hke a cornered wolf showed snarling white teeth. It seemed to Madehne that Don Carlos denied knowl- edge of the boxes of contraband goods, then knowledge of their real contents, then knowledge of their destination, and, finally, everything except that they were there in sight, damning witnesses to somebody's complicity in the breaking of neutrality laws. Passionate as had been his denial of all this, it was as nothing compared to his de- nunciation of Stewart. "Seiior Stewart, he keel my vaquero!" shouted Don Carlos, as, sweating and spent, he concluded his arraign- 13s THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS ment of the cowboy. "Him you must arrest! Senor Stewart a bad man! He keel my vaguer o!" "Do you hear thet?" yelled Hawe. "The Don's got you figgered fer thet little job at El Cajon last fall." The clamor burst into a roar. Hawe began shaking^ his finger in Stewart's face and hoarsely shouting. Then a lithe -young vaquero, swift as an Indian, gUded under Hawe's upUfted arm. Whatever the action he intended, he was too late for its execution. Stewart lunged out, struck the vaquero, and knocked him off the porch. As he fell a dagger glittered in the sunlight and roUed clink- ing over the stones. The man went down hard and did not move. With the same abrupt violence, and a manner of contempt, Stewart threw Hawe off the porch, then Don Carlos, who, being less supple, fell heavily. Then the mob backed before Stewart's rush until all were down in the courtyard. The sh\ifHing of feet ceased, the clanking of spurs, and the shouting. Nels and Monty, now reinforced by Nick Steele, were as shadows of Stewart, so closely did they foUow him. Stewart waved them back and stepped down into the yard. He was absolutely fearless; but what struck Madeline so keenly was his magnificent dis- dain. Manifestly, he knew the nature of the men with whom he was dealing. From the look of him it was natural for Madeline to expect them to give way before him, which they did, even Hawe and his attendants sullenly retreating. Don Carlos got up to confront Stewart. The prostrate vaquero stirred and moaned, but did not rise. "You needn't jibber Spanish to me," said Stewart. "You can talk American, and you can understand Ameri- can. If you start a rough-house here you and your Greasers will be cleaned up. You've got to leave this ranch. 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 dealing more than square 136 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS with you. You're lying about these boxes of gtms and cartridges. You're breaking the laws of my country, and you're doing it on property in my charge. If I let smug- gling go on here I'd be implicated myself. Now, you get off the range. If you don't I'll have the United States Cavalry here in six hours, and you can gamble they'll get what my cowboys leave of you." Don Carlos was either a capital actor and gratefully relieved at Stewart's leniency, or else he was thoroughly cowed by reference to the troops. "Si, Senor! Gracias, Sefior!" he exclaimed; and then, turning away, he called to his men. They hurried after him, while the fallen vaquero got to his feet with Stewart's help and staggered across the courtyard. In a moment they were gone, leaving Hawe and his several comrades behind. Hawe was spitefully ejecting a wad of tobacco from his mouth and swearing ia an undertone about "white-livered Greasers. ' ' He cocked his red eye speculatively at Stewart. "Wal, I reckon as you're so hell-bent on doin' it up brown, thet you'll try 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 pohtely inviting you and your deputy sheriffs to leave." "We'U go; but we're comin' back one of these days, an' when we do we'U put you in irons." "Hawe, if you've got it in that bad for me, come over here in the corral and let's fight it out." "I'm an officer, an' I don't fight outlaws an' sich except when I hev to make arrests." "Officer! You're a disgrace to the county. If you ever did get irons on me you'd take me some place out of sight, shoot me, and then swear you killed me in self- defense. It wotddn't be the first time you pulled that trick, Pat Hawe." "Ho, ho!" laughed Hawe, derisively. Then he started toward the horses. 10 137 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Stewart's long ann shot out, Ms hand clapped on Hawe's .shoulder, spinning him round Uke a top. "You're leaving, Pat, but before you leave you'll come out with your play, or you'll crawl," said Stewart. "You've .got it in for me, man to man. Speak up now, and prove you're not the cowardly skunk I've always thought 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 decent job tiU you was mixed up with thet Hammond woman — " Stewart's hand flashed out and hit -Hawe's face in a Tinging slap. The sheriff's head jerked back, his som- brero fell to the ground. As he bent over 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 pleas- .ant, yet had a deadly undemote. Hawe did a moment's battle with strangling fury, -which he conquered in some measure. "I said you was a low-down, drunlcen cow-puncher, a tough as damn near a desperado as we ever hed on the bor- der," went on Hawe, deliberately. His speech appeared to be addressed to Stewart, although his flame-pointed eyes were riveted upon Monty Price. "I know you plugged that vaquero last fall, an' when I git my proof I'm comin' after you." "That's aU right, Hawe. You can call me what you like, and you can come after me when you like," replied Stewart. "But you're going to get in bad with me. You'.re in bad now with Monty and Nels. Pretty soon you'll queer yourself with all the cowboys and the ranchers, Ttoo. If that don't put sense into you — Here, listen to 138 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS this. You knew what these boxes contained. You know Don Carlos has been smuggling arms and ammunition across the border. You know he is hand and glove with the rebels. You've been wearing blinders, and it has been to your interest. Take a himch from me. That's all. Light out now, and the less we see of your handsome mug the better we'U like you." Muttering, cursing, pallid of face, Hawe climbed astride his horse. His comrades followed suit. Certain it ap- peared that the sheriff was contending with more than fear and wrath. He must have had an irresistible im- pulse to fling more invective and threat upon Stewart, but he was speechless. Savagely he spurred his horse, and as it snorted and leaped he turned in his saddle, shaking his fist. His comrades led the way, with their horses clattering into a canter. They disappeared through the gate. When, later in the day, Madeline and Florence, accom- panied by Alfred and Stillwell, left Don Carlos's ranch . it was not any too soon for Madeline. The inside of the Mexican's home was more unprepossessing and uncom- fortable than the outside. The halls were dark, the rooms huge, empty, and musty; and there was an air of silence and secrecy and mystery about them most fitting to the character Florence had bestowed upon the place. On the other hand, Alfred's ranch-house, where the party halted to spend the night, was picturesquely lo- cated, small and cozy, camp-like in its arrangement, and altogether agreeable to Madeline. The day's long rides and the exciting events had wearied her. She rested while Florence and the two men got supper. During the meal Stillwell expressed satis- faction over the good riddance of the vaqueros, and with his usual optimism trusted he had seen the last of them. Alfred, too, took a decidedly favorable view of the day's proceedings. However, it was not lost upon Madeline 139 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS that Florence appeaxed unusually quiet and thoughtful. Madeline wondered a little at the cause. She remembered that Stewart had wanted to come with them, or detail a few cowboys to accompany them, but Alfred had laughed at the idea and would have none of it. After supper Alfred monopohzed the conversation by describing what he wanted 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 poimding upon the wall, and then 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 anjrthing wrong?" added Madeline, sitting up. The room was dark as pitch, but a faint glow seemed to mark the position of the window. "Oh, nothing much," replied Alfred. "Only Don Carlos's rancho going up in smoke." "Fire!" cried Florence, sharply. "You'll think so when you see it. Hurry out. Maj- esty, old girl, now you won't have to tear down that heap of adobe, as you threatened. I don't believe a wall wiU stand after that fire." ' ' Well, I'm glad of it, " sajd Madeline. ' ' A good healthy fire will purify the atmosphere over there and save me expense. Ugh, that haxmted rancho got on my nerves! Florence, I do believe you've appropriated part of my riding-habit. Doesn't Alfred have lights in this house?" Florence laughingly helped Madeline to dress. Then they hurriedly stumbled over chairs, and, passing through the dining-room, went out upon the porch. Away to the westward, low down along the horizon, 140 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS she saw leaping red flames and wind-swept columns of smoke. Stillwell appeared greatly perturbed. "Al, I'm lookin' fer that ammunition to blow up," he said. "There was enough of it to blow the roof off the rancho." "Bill, surely the cowboys would get that stuff out the first thing," repUed Alfred, anxiously. "I reckon so. But all the same, I'm worryin'. Mebbe there wasn't time. Supposin' that powder went off as the boys was goin' fer it or carrjdn' it out ! We'U know soon. If the explosion doesn't come quick now we can figger the boys got the boxes out." For the next few moments there was a silence of sus- tained and painful suspense. Florence gripped Made- line's arm. MadeUne felt a fullness in her throat and a rapid beating of her heart. Presently she was reheved with the others when StUlweU declared, the danger of an explosion needed 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 the moon, and the wind blew vmusually strong. The brightness of the fire seemed subdued. It was like a huge bonfire smothered by some great covering, penetrated by different, widely separated points of flame. These comers of fiame flew up, curUng in the wind, and then died down. Thus the scene was constantly changing from dtdl light to dark. There came a moment when a blacker shade overspread the wide area of flickering gleams and then obliterated them. Night enfolded the scene. The moon peeped a curved yellow rim from under broken clouds. To all appearances the fire had burned itself out. But suddenly a pinpoint of Hght showed where all had been dense black. It grew and became long and sharp. It moved. It had life. It leaped up. Its color warmed from white to red. Then from aU about it burst flame on flame, to leap into a great changing pillar of fire that 141 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS climbed high and higher. Huge funnels of 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 of alfalfa we was figgerin' on," remarked Stillwell. f"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 of good feed for the stock." "It's lost, an' no mistake. The fire's dyin' as quick as she flared up. 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's jest been dragged out of a bumin' stable an' runs back sure locoed. There! She's smolderin' down now. Reckon we -all might jest as well turn in again. It's only three o'clock." "I wonder how the fire originated?" remarked Alfred. "Some careless cowboy's cigarette, I'll bet." Stillwell rolled out his laugh. "Al, you sure are a free-hearted, trustin' feller. I'm some doubtin' the cigarette idee; but you can gamble if it was a cigarette it belonged to a cunnin' vaquero, an' wasn't dropped accident-like." "Now, BUI, you don't mean Don Carlos burned the rancho?" ejaculated Alfred, in mingled amaze and anger. Again the old cattleman laughed. "Powerful strange to say, my friend, ole Bill means jest that." "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 Greasers are 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 black horse of Don Carlos's. He wants that horse for himself, and feared the Don would steal or shoot him. And you. Bill Stillwell, you're as bad as Al. You 142 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS never distrust anybody till it's too late. You've been singing ever since Stewart ordered the vaqueros off the range. But you sure haven't been thinldng." "Wal, now, Flo, you needn't pitch into me jest because I hev a natural Christian spirit," replied Stillwell, much aggrieved. "I reckon I've hed enough trouble in my life so's not to go lookin' fer more. Wal, I'm sorry about the hay bumin'. But mebbe the boys saved the stock. An' as fer that ole adobe house of dark holes an' under- ground passages, so long's Miss Majesty doesn't mind, I'm dam glad it burned. Come, let's all turn in again. Somebody '11 ride over early an' teU us what's what." Madehne awakened early, but not so early as the others,, who were up and had breakfast ready when she went into- the dining-room. Stillwell was not in an amiable frame of mind. The furrows of worry lined his broad brow, and he continually glanced at his watch, and growled because the cowboys were so late in riding over with the news. He gulped his breakfast, and while Madeline and the others ate theirs he tramped up and down the porch. Madeline noted that Alfred grew nervous and restless. Presently he left the table to join Stillwell outside. "They'll slope ofE to Don Carlos's rancho and leave us to ride home alone," observed Florence. "Do you mind?" questioned Madeline. "No, I don't exactly mind; we've got the fastest horses in this country. I'd Uke to run that big black devil off his legs. No, I don't mind; but I've no hankering for a situation Gene Stewart thinks — " Florence began disconnectedly, and she ended evasively. MadeKne did not press the point, although she had some sense of misgiving. Stillwell tramped 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 Don Carlos's way. Miss Majesty, it '11 be jest as well fer you an' Flo to hit the home trail. We 143 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS can telephone over an' see that the boys know you're coniu»'." Alfred, standing in the door, swept the gray valley with his field-glass. "BUI, I see running stock-horses or cattle; I can't make out which. I guess we'd better rustle over there." Both men hurried out, and while the horses were being 'brought up and saddled Madeline and Florence put away the breakfast dishes, then speedily donned spurs, som- breros, and gauntlets. "Here are the horses ready," called Alfred. "Flo, that black Mexican horse is a prince." The girls went out in time to hear StiUweU's good-by as he mounted and spurred away. Alfred went through the motions of assisting MadeHne and Florence 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 must not 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. "Better have a care for yourself, going off over there to mix in goodness knows what." Alfred said good-by, spurred his horse, and rode away. "If BiU didn't forget to telephone!" exclaimed Florence. "I declare he and Al were sure rattled." Florence dismoimted and went into the house. She left the door open. Madehne had some difficulty in hold- ing Majesty. It struck Madeline that Florence stayed rather long indoors. Presently she came out with sober face and rather tight lips. "I couldn't get anybody on the 'phone. No answer. I tried a dozen times." "Why, Florence!" Madeline was more concerned by the girl's looks than by the information she imparted. "The wire's been cut," said Florence. Her gray glance swept swiftly after Alfred, who was now far out of earshot. 144 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS "I don't like this a little bit. Heah's where I've got to 'figger,' as Bill says." She pondered a moment, then hurried into the house, to return presently with the field-glass that Alfred had used. With this she took a survey of the valley, particu- larly 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 us till we can see what's aliead." "Florence, what — ^what do you expect?" asked Made- line, nervously. "I don't know. There's never any teUing about Greasers. I wish Bill and Al hadn|t left us. StiU, come to think of that, they couldn't help us much in case of a chase. We'd run right away from them. Besides, they'd shoot. I guess I'm as well satisfied that we've got the job of getting home on our own hands. We don't dare foUow Al toward Don Carlos's ranch. We know there's trouble over there. So all that's left is to hit the trail for home. Come, let's ride. You stick like a Spanish needle to me." A heavy growth of mesquite covered the top of the first ridge, and the trail 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 the ridge to a bare, wide, grassy hollow, and onward to more roUing land, thick with cactus and mesquite. Florence appeared cautious, deliberate, yet she lost no time. She was ominously silent. Madeline's misgivings took definite shape in the fear of vaqueros in ambush. Upon the ascent of the third ridge, which Madeline remembered was the last uneven ground between the point she had reached and home, Florence exercised even more guarded care in advancing. Before she reached I4S THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS the top of this ridge she dismounted, looped her bridle round a dead snag, and, motioning Madeline to wait, she slipped ahead through the mesqmte out of sight. Made- line waited, anxiously listening and watching. Certain it was that she could not see or hear anything alarming. The sun began to have a touch of heat ; the morning breeze rustled the thin mesquite foliage; the deep magenta of a cactus flower caught her eye; a long-tailed, cruel-beaked, brown bird sailed so close to her she could have touched it with her whip. But she was only vaguely aware of these things. She was watching for Florence, hstening for some sound fraught with untoward meaning. All of a sudden she saw Majesty's ears were held straight up. Then Florence's face, now strangely white, showed round the turn of the trail. '"S-s-s-sh!" whispered Florence, holding up a warning finger. She reached the black horse and petted him, evidently to still an uneasiness he manifested. "We're in for it," she went on. "A whole bunch of vaqueros hid- ing among the mesquite over the ridge! They've not seen or heard us yet. We'd better risk riding ahead, cut off the trail, and beat them 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 we do?" "There's danger. Madeline, I wouldn't deceive you," went on Florence, in an earnest whisper. "Things have turned out just as Gene Stewart hinted. Oh, we should — Al should have listened to Gene! I believe — I'm afraid Gene knew!" "Knew what?" asked Madeline. " Never mind now. Listen. We daren't take the back trail. We'll go on. I've a scheme to fool that grinning Don Carlos. Get down, Madeline — dhurry." Madeline dismoimted. "Give me your white sweater. Take it off — And that white hat! Hurry, Madeline." 146 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS "Florence, what on earth do you mean?" cried Made- line. "Not so loud," whispered the other. Her gray eyes snapped. She had divested 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 ride Majesty. Rustle now, Madeline. This is no time to talk." "But, dear, why — why do you want — ? Ah! You're going to make the vaqueros take you for me !" "You guessed it. Will you — " "I shall not allow you to do anything of the kind," re- turned Madeline. It was then that Florence's face, changing, took on the hard, stem sharpness so typical of a cowboy's. Made- line had caught gUmpses of that expression in Alfred's face, and on Stewart's when he was silent, and on Still- well's always. It was a look of iron and fire — unchange- able, unquenchable will. There was even much of vio- lence in the swift action whereby Florence compelled MadeUne 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 after you — yoti, Miss Madeline Hammond! He wouldn't ambush a trail for any one else. He's not MlHng cowboys these days. He wants you for some rea- son. So Gene thought, and now I believe him. Well, we'U know for sure in five minutes. You ride the black; I'll ride Majesty. We'll slip round through the brush, out of sight and sound, till we can break out into the open. Then we'll split. You make straight for the ranch. I'll cut loose for the valley where Gene said positively the cowboys were with the cattle. The vaqueros will take me for you. They all know those striking white things you wear. They'll chase me. They'll never get anywhere near me. And you'll be on a fast horse. He can take you home ahead of any vaqueros. But you won't be chased. 147 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS I'm staking all on that. Trust me, Madeline. If it were only my calculation maybe I'd — It's because I remem- ber Stewart. That cowboy knows things. Come, this heah's the safest and smartest way to fool Don Carlos." Madeline felt herself more forced than persuaded into acquiescence. She mounted the black and took up the bridle. In another moment she was guiding her horse ofE the trail in the tracks of Majesty. Florence led off at right angles, threading a slow passage through the mes- quite. She favored sandy patches and open aisles be- tween the trees, and was careful not to break a branch. Often she stopped to listen. This detour of perhaps half a mile brought Madeline to where she could see open ground, the ranch-house only a few miles off, and the cattle dotting the valley. She had not lost her courage, but it was certain that these familiar sights somewhat light- ened the pressure upon her breast. Excitement gripped her. The shriU whistle of a horse made both the black and Majesty jump. Florence quickened the gait down the slope. Soon Madeline saw the edge of the brush, the gra3^-bleached grass and level ground. Florence waited at the opening between the low trees. She gave MadeUne a quick, bright glance. "AH over but the ride! That '11 sure be easy. Bolt now and keep your nerve!" When Florence wheeled the fiery roan and screamed in his ear Madeline seemed suddenly to grow lax and help- less. The big horse leaped into thundering action. This was memorable of Bonita of the fl5dng dark hai^ and the wild night ride. Florence's hair streamed on the wind and shone gold in the sunlight. Yet Madeline saw her with the same thrill with which she had seen the wild- riding Bonita. Then hoarse shouts undamped Made- line's power of movement, and she spurred the black into the open. He wanted to run, and he was swift. Madeline loosened the reins — ^laid them loose upon his neck. His action was 148 DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS strange to her. He was hard to ride. But he was fast, and she cared for nothing else. MadeHne knew horses well enough to reahze that the black had found he was free and carrying a light weight. A few times she took up the bridle and pulled to right or left, trying to guide him. He kept a straight course, however, and crashed through small patches of mesquite and jimiped the cracks and washes. Uneven ground offered no perceptible ob- stacle to his running. To Madeline there was now a thrilling difEerence in the lash of wind and the flash of the gray ground underneath. She was running away from something; what that was she did not know. But she remembered Florence, and she wanted to look back, yet hated to do so for fear of the nameless danger Florence had mentioned. Madeline Hstened for the poimding of purstiing hoofs in her rear. Involuntarily she glanced back. On the mile or more of gray level between her and the ridge there was not a horse, a man, or anything living. She wheeled to look back on the other side, down the valley slope. The sight of Florence riding Majesty in zigzag ffight be- fore a whole troop of vaqueros blanched Madeline's cheek and made her grip the pommel of her saddle in terror. That strange gait of her roan was not his wonderful stride. Could Majesty be running wild? Madeline saw one vaquero draw closer, whirUng his lasso rotind his head, but he did not get near enough to throw. So it seemed to Madeline. Another vaqtiero swept across in front of the first one. Then, when Madeline gasped in breathless expectancy, the roan swerved to elude the at- tack. It flashed over MadeHne that Florence was put- ting the horse to some such awkward ffight as might have been expected of an Eastern girl frightened out of her wits. Madeline made sure of this when, after looking again, she saw that Florence, in spite of the horse's break- ing gait and the irregular course, was drawing slowly and surely down the valley. 149 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Madeline had not lost her head to the extent of for- getting her own mount and the nature of the ground in front. When, presently, she turned again to watch Florence, uncertainty ceased in her mind. The strange features of that race between girl and vaqueros were no longer in evidence. Majesty was in his beautiful, wonder- ful stride, low down along the ground, stretching, with his nose level and straight for the valley. Between him and the lean horses in ptirsuit lay an ever-increasing space. He was nmning away from the vaqueros. Florence was indeed "riding the wind," as Stewart had aptly expressed his idea of flight upon the fleet roan. A dimness came over Madeline's eyes, and it was not all owing to the sting of the wind. She rubbed it away, seeing Florence as a fl5dng dot in a strange blur. What a daring, intrepid girl ! This kind of strength — ^and aye, splendid thought for a weaker sister — ^was what the West inculcated in a woman. The next time Madeline looked back Florence was far ahead of her pursuers and going out of sight behind a low knoll. Assured of Florence's safety, Madeline put her mind to her own ride and the possibilities awaiting at the ranch. She remembered the failure to get any of her ser- vants or cowboys on the telephone. To be sure, a wind- storm had once broken the wire. But she had little real hope of such being the case in this instance. She rode on, pulling the black as she neared the ranch. Her approach was from the south and off the usual trail, so that she went up the long slope of the knoll toward the back of the house. Under these circumstances she could not consider it out of the ordinary that she did not see any one about the grounds. It was perhaps fortunate for her, she thought, that the climb up the slope cut the black's speed so she could manage him. He was not very hard to stop. The mo- ment she dismounted, however, he jumped and trotted off. At the edge of the slope, facing the corrals, he halted ISO DON CARLOS'S VAQUEROS to lift his head and shoot up his ears. Then he let out a piercing whistle and dashed down the lane. Madeline, prepared by that warning whistle, tried to fortify herself for a new and unexpected situation; but as she espied an unfamiliar company of horsemen rapidly riding down a hollow leadin? from the foothills she felt the return of fears grippit'^ at her like cold hands, and she fled precipitously into tHe house. XI A BAND OF GUERRILLAS MADELINE bolted the door, and, flying into the kitchen, she told the scared servants to shut them- selves in. Then she ran to her own rooms. It was only a matter of a few moments for her to close and bar the heavy shutters, yet even as she was fastening the last one in the room she used as an office a clattering roar of hoofs seemed to swell up to the front of the house. She caught a glimpse of wild, shaggy horses and ragged, dusty men. She had never seen any vaqueros that resembled these horsemen, yag^eroi had grace and style; they were fond of lace and gHtter and fringe; they dressed their horses in silvered trappings. But the riders now trampUng into the driveway were uncouth, lean, savage. They were guerrillas, a band of the raiders who had been harassing the border since the beginning of the revolution. A sec- ond glimpse assured MadeUne that they were not all Mexicans. The presence of outlaws in that band brought home to Madeline her real danger. She remembered what Still- well had told her about recent outlaw raids along the Rio Grande. These flying bands, operating under the excite- ment of the revolution, appeared here and there, every- where, in remote places, and were gone as quickly as they came. Mostly they wanted money and arms, but they would steal anything, and unprotected women had suffered at their hands. Madeline, hurriedly collecting her securities and the 152 A BAND OF GUERRILLAS considerable money she had in her desk, ran out, closed and locked the door, crossed the patio to the opposite side of the house, and, entering again, went down a long corridor, trying to decide which of the many unused rooms would be best to hide in. And before she made up her mind she came to the last room. Just then a batter- ing on door or window in the direction of the kitchen and shrill screams from the servant women increased Madeline's alarm. She entered the last room. There was no lock or bar upon the door. But the room was large and dark, and it was half full of bales of alfalfa hay. Probably it was the safest place in the house; at least, time would be neces- sary to find any one hidden there. She dropped her valu- ables in a dark comer and covered them with loose hay. That done, she felt her way down a narrow aisle between the piled-up bales and presently crouched in a niche. With the necessity of action over for the immediate present, Madeline became conscious that she was quivering and almost breathless. Her skin felt tight and cold. There was a weight on her chest ; her mouth was dry, and she had a strange tendency to swaUow. Her listening faculty seemed most acute. Dull sounds came from parts of the house remote from her. In the intervals of silence between these sounds she heard the squeaking and rust- ling of mice in the hay. A mouse ran over her hand. She listened, waiting, hoping yet dreading to hear the clattering approach of her cowboys. There would be fighting — blood — ^men injured, perhaps killed. Even the thought of violence of any kind hurt her. But perhaps 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 she knew of Nels, of Monty, of Nick Steele; and she experienced a sensation that left her somewhat chilled and sick. Then she thought of the dark-browed, fire-eyed Stewart. She felt a thrill drive away the cold nausea. And her excitement augmented. 11 153 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Waiting, listening increased all her emotions. Noth- ing appeared to be happening. Yet hours seemed to pass while she crouched there. Had Florence been over- taken? Could any of those lean horses outrun Majesty? She doubted it; she knew it could not be true. Never- theless, the strain of uncertainty was torturing. Suddenly the bang of the corridor door pierced her through and through with the dread of uncertainty. Some of the guerrillas had entered the east wing of the house. She heard a babel of jabbering voices, the shuf- fling of boots and clinking of spurs, the slamming of doors and ransacking of rooms. Madeline lost faith in her hiding-place. Moreover, she found it impossible to take the chance. The idea of being caught in that dark room by those ruffians filled her with horror. She must get out into the light. Swift- ly she rose and went to the window. It was rather more of a door than window, being a large aperture closed by two wooden doors on hinges. The iron hook yielded readily to her grasp, and one door stuck fast while the other opened a few inches. She looked out upon a green slope covered with flowers and bunches of sage and bushes. Neither man nor horse showed in the narrow field of her vision. She beHeved she would be safer hid- den out there in the shrubbery than in the house. The jump from the window would be easy for her. And with her quick decision came 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 hot and bruised, she heard a louder, closer approach of the invaders of her home. Fear, wrath, and impotence contested for su- premacy over her and drove her to desperation. She was alone here, and she must rely on herself. And as she strained every muscle to move that obstinate door and heard the quick, harsh voices of men and the sounds of 154 A BAND OF GUERRILLAS a hurried search she suddenly felt sure that they were hunting for her. She knew it. She did not wonder at it. But she wondered if she were really Madeline Ham- mond, and if it were possible that brutal men woiild harm her. Then the tramping of heavy feet on the floor of the adjoining room lent her the last strength of fear. Pushing with hands and shoulders, she moved the door far enough to permit the passage of her body. Then she stepped up on the sill and slipped through the aperture. She saw no one. Lightly she jumped down and ran in among the bushes. But these did not afford her the cover she needed. She stole from one clump to another, finding too late that she had chosen with poor judgment. The position of the bushes had drawn her closer to the front of the house rather than away from it, and just before her were horses, and beyond a group of excited men. With her heart in her throat Madeline crouched down. A shriU yell, followed by running and mounting guer- rillas, roused her hope. They had sighted the cowboys and were in flight. Rapid thximping of boots on the porch told of men htirrying from the house. Several horses dashed past her, not ten feet distant. One rider saw her, for he turned to shout back. This drove Madeline into a panic. Hardly knowing what she did, she began to run away from the house. Her feet seemed leaden. She felt the same horrible powerlessness that sometimes came over her when she dreamed of being pursued. Horses with shouting riders streaked past her in the shrubbery. There was a thunder of hoofs behind her. She turned aside, but the thundering grew nearer. She was being run down. As Madeline shut her eyes, and, staggering, was about to fall, apparently right under pounding hoofs, a rude, powerful hand clapped round her waist, clutched deep and strong, and swung her aloft. She felt a heavy blow when the shotilder of the horse struck her, and then a wrenching of her arm as she was dragged up. A sudden blighting pain made sight and feeling fade from her. 155 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS But she did not become unconscious to the extent that she lost the sense of 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 no longer vio- lent. For a few moments she could not determine her position. Apparently she was upside down. Then she saw that she was facing the ground, 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. Then she 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. AJEter what seemed a thousand weary hours some one lifted her from the horse and laid her upon the grotmd, where, gradually, as the blood left her head and she could see, she began to get the right relation of things. She lay in a sparse grove of firs, and the shadows told of late afternoon. She smelled wood smoke, and she heard the sharp crunch of horses' teeth nipping grass. Voices caused her to turn her face. A group of men stood and sat roimd a camp-fire eating like wolves. The looks of her captors made Madeline close her eyes, and the fascination, the fear they roused in her made her open them again. Mostly they were thin-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 were scattered cartridges. Only a few had guns, and these were of diverse patterns. Made- line could see no packs, no blankets, and only a few cook- ing-utensils, aU battered and' blackened. Her eyes fast- ened upon men she believed were white men; but it was from their features and not their color that she judged. Once she had seen a band of nomad robbers in the Sahara, IS6 A BAND OF GUERRILLAS and somehow was reminded of them by this motley out- law troop. They divided attention between the satisf jdng of raven- ous appetites and a vigilant watching down the forest aisles. They expected some one, MadeHne thought, and, manifestly, if it were a pursuing posse, they did not show anxiety. She could not understand more than a word here and there that they uttered. Presently, however, the name of Don Carlos revived keen curiosity in her, and realization of her situation, and then once more dread possessed her breast. A low exclamation and a sweep of arm from one of the guerrillas caused the whole band to wheel and concentrate their attention in the opposite direction. They heard something. They saw some one. Grimy hands sought weapons, and then every man stiffened. Madeline saw what himted men looked like at the moment of discovery, and the sight was terrible. She closed her eyes, sick with what she saw, fearful of the moment when the guns would leap out. There were muttered curses, a short period of silence followed by whisperings, and then a clear voice rang out, "EI Capitan!" A strong shock vibrated through Madeline, and her eyeKds swept open. Instantly she associated the name El Capitan with Stewart and experienced a sensation of strange regret. It was not ptu"suit or rescue she thought of then, but death. These men would kill Stewart. But surely he had not come alone. The lean, dark faces, corded and rigid, told her in 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 she recognized Majesty, and she knew it was really Stewart who rode the roan. When doubt was no longer possible she felt a suffocating sense of gladness and fear and wonder. 157 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Many of the guerrillas leaped up with drawn weapons. Still Stewart approached with his hands high, and he rode right into the camp-fire circle. Then a guerrilla, evidently the chief, waved down the threatening men and strode up to Stewart. He greeted him. There was amaze and pleasure and respect in the greeting. Made- line could tell that, though she did not know what was said. At the moment Stewart appeared to her as cool and careless as if he were dismounting at her porch steps. But when he got down she saw that his face was white. He shook hands with the guerrilla, and then his glittering eyes roved over the men and aroimd the glade until they rested upon Madehne. Without moving from his tracks he seemed to leap, as if a powerful current had shocked him. Madeline tried to smile to assure him she was alive and well; but the intent in his eyes, the power of his con- trolled spirit telUng her of her peril and his, froze the smile on her lips. With that he faced the chief and spoke rapidly in the Mexican jargon Madeline had always found so difficult to translate. The chief answered, spreading wide his hands, one of which indicated Madeline as she lay there. Stewart drew the fellow a little aside and said something for his ear alone. The chief's hands swept up in a gesture of surprise and acquiescence. Again Stewart spoke swift- ly. His hearer then turned to address the band. Made- line caught the words " Don Carlos" and "pesos." There was a brief miittering protest which the chief thundered down. Madeline guessed her release had been given by this guerrilla and bought from the others of the band. Stewart strode to her side, leading the roan. Majesty reared and snorted when he saw his mistress prostrate. Stewart knelt, stUl holding the bridle. "Are you aU 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 158 A BAND OF GUERRILLAS lightning shot from his eyes. She felt his hands, like steel tongs, loosening the bonds round her anldes. With- out a word he lifted her upright and then upon Majesty. Madeline reeled a little in the saddle, held hard to the pommel with 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 it surprised her to see the guerrillas riding away. Putting the two facts together, Madeline formed an idea that neither Stewart nor the others desired to meet with some one evidently due shortly in the glade. Stewart guided the roan off to the right and walked beside Made- Hne, steadying her in the saddle. At first Madeline was so weak and dizzy that she could scarcely retain her seat. The dizziness left her presently, and then she made an effort to ride without help. Her weakness, however, and a pain in her wrenched arm made the task laborsome. Stewart had struck off the trail, if there were one, and was keeping to denser parts of the forest. The stm sank low, and the shafts of gold fell with a long slant among the firs. Majesty's hoofs made no sound on the soft ground, and Stewart strode on without speaking. Neither his hurry nor vigilance relaxed until at least two miles had been covered. Then he held to a straighter course and did not send so many glances into the darkening woods. The level of the forest began to be cut up by little hollows, all of which sloped and widened. Present- ly the soft ground gave place to bare, rocky soil. The horse snorted and tossed his head. A sotmd of splashing water broke the silence. The hollow opened into a wider one through which a little brook murmured its way over the stones. 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 1 59 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS parted she felt something moist and warm. Blood was running down her arm and into the palm of her hand. "I'm — bleeding," she said, a httle xmsteadily. "Oh I remember. My arm was hurt." She held it out, the blood making her conscious of her weakness. Stewart's fingers felt so firm and sure. Swift- ly he ripped the wet sleeve. Her forearm had been cut or scratched. He washed off the blood. "Why, Stewart, it's nothing. I was only a Httle ner- vous. I guess that's the first time I ever saw my own blood." He made no reply as he tore her handkerchief into strips and bound her arm. His swift motions and his silence gave her a hint of how he might meet a more seri- ous emergency. She felt safe. And because of that im- pression, when he Hfted his head and she saw that he was pale and shaking, she was surprised. He • stood before her folding his scarf, which was stiU wet, and from which he made no effort to remove the red stains. "Miss Hammond," he said, hoarsely, "it was a man's hands — a Greaser's finger-nails that cut your arm. I know who he was. I cotild have killed him. But I mightn't have got your freedom. You understand.? I didn't dare." Madehne gazed at Stewart, astounded more by his speech than his excessive emotion. "My dear boy!" she exclaimed. And then she paused. She could not find words. He was making an apology to her for not killing a man who had laid a rough hand upon her person. He was ashamed and seemed to be in -a torture that she would not understand why he had not killed the man. There seemed to be something of passionate scorn in him that he had not been able 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. i6o A BAND OF GUERRILLAS She had heard many stories of this man's cool indifference to peril and death. He had always seemed as hard as granite. Why should the sight of a little blood upon her arm pale his cheek and shake his hand and thicken his voice? What was there in his nature to make him im- plore her to see the only reason he could not kiU an out- law? The answer to the first question was that he loved her. It was beyond her to answer the second. But the secret of it lay in the same strength from which his love sprang — an intensity of feeUng which seemed character- istic of these Western men of simple, lonely, elemental Hves. All at once over Madehne rushed a tide of realiza- tion of how greatly it was possible for such a man as Stewart to love her. The thought came to her in all its singular power. All her Eastern lovers who had the graces that made them her equals in the sight of the world were without the only great essential that a lonely hard life had given to Stewart. Nature here struck a just balance. Something deep and dim in the future, an un- known voice called to Madeline and disturbed her. And because it was not a voice to her intelligence she dead- ened the ears of her warm and throbbing life and decided never to listen. "Is it safe to rest a httle?" she asked. "I am so tired. Perhaps I'U be stronger if I rest." "We're aU right now," he said. "The horse will be better, too. I ran him out. And uphill, at that." "Where are we?" "Up in the mountains ten miles and more from the ranch. There's a trail just below here. I can get you home by midnight. They'U be some worried down 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. We were dead beat. But we got to the ranch before any damage was done. i6i THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS We sure had trouble in finding a trace of you. Nick spotted the prints of your 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. I didn'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 Nick promised to stay and hold him till morning. That was the best I could do. I was sure lucky to come up with the band so soon. I had figured right. I knew that guerrilla chief. He's a bandit in Mexico. It's a business with him. But he fought for Madero, and I was with him a good deal. He may be a Greaser, but he's white." "How did you effect my release?" "I offered them money. That's what the rebels aU 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'U 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 a strange thing to happen to me! I wonder what Dad wotdd say to that ? Stewart, I'm afraid he'd say two thousand dollars is more than I'm worth. 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. I reminded 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." 162 A BAND OF GUERRILLAS Her companion did not offer a reply to this, and Made- line did not press the point. "I heard Don Carlos's name several times. That in- terests me. What have Don Carlos and his vaqueros to do with this?" "That Greaser has all to do with it," rephed Stewart, grimly. "He burned his ranch and corrals to keep us from getting them. But he also did it to draw all the boys away from yoiu: home. They had a deep plot, aU right. I left orders for some one to stay with you. But Al and Stillwell, who're both hot-headed, rode off this morning. Then the guerrillas came down." "Well, what was the idea — the plot — ^as you call it?" "To get you," he said, blimtly. "Me! Stewart, you do not mean my capture — ^what- ever you call it — was anything more than mere acci- dent?" " I do mean that. But Stillwell and your brother think the guerrillas wanted money and arms, and they just happened to make off with you because you ran imder a horse's nose." "You do not incline to that point of view?" "I don't. Neither does Nels or Nick Steele. And we know Don Carlos and the 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 ought to know," protested Madeline. "What reason have Nels and Nick to suspect Don Carlos of plotting to abduct me ?" " I suppose they've no reason you'd take. Once I heard Nels say he'd seen the Greaser look at you, and if he ever saw him do it again he'd shoot him." "Why, Stewart, that is ridiculous. To shoot a man for looking at a woman! This is a civilized country." "WeU, maybe it would be ridiculous in a civilized 163 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS country. There's some things about civilization I don't care for." "What, for instance?" "For one thing, I can't stand for the way men let other men treat women." "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 to see. Suddenly he lifted his head, and she felt scorched by flaming eyes. "Suppose I was drunk. Suppose I had met some ordi- nary girl. Suppose I had really made her marry me. Don't you think I would have stopped being a drunkard and have been good to her?" "Stewart, I do not know what to think about you," replied Madeline. Then followed a short silence. MadeHne saw the last bright rays of the setting sim ghde up over a distant crag. Stewart rebridled the horse and looked at the saddle- girths. "I got off the trail. About Don Carlos I'll say right out, not what Nels and Nick think, but what I know. Don Carlos hoped to make off with you for himself, the same as if you had been a poor peon slave-girl down in Sonora. Maybe he had a deeper plot than my rebel friend told me. Maybe he 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 welcome inter- vention. 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 to repay." "I've done the service. Only don't mention pay to me. But there's one thing I'd hke 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 164 A BAND OF GUERRILLAS and friends 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 this God-forsaken country, imless she meant to forget herself. But as you did come, and as you were dragged away by those devUs, I want you to know that all your wealth and position and in- fluence — all that power behind you — ^would never have saved you from hell to-night. Only such a man as Nels or Nick Steele or I could have done that." Madehne Hammond felt the great leveling force of the truth. Whatever the difference between her and Stewart, or whatever the imagined difference set up by false stand- ards of class and cvilture, the truth was that here on this wild mountainside she was only a woman and he was simply a man. It was a man that she needed, and if her choice could have been considered in this extremity it would have fallen upon him who had just 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 a large rock. "Come." Madeline's will greatly exceeded her strength. For the first time she acknowledged to herself that she had been hurt. Still, she did not feel much pain except when she moved her shoulder. Once in the saddle, where Stewart hfted her, she drooped weakly. The way was rough; every step the horse took hurt her; and the slope of the ground threw her forward on the pommel. Presently, as the slope grew rockier and her discomfort increased, she forgot everjdihing 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 support would have fallen from the saddle. She heard him swear tinder his breath. "Here, this won't do," he said. "Throw yotir leg over the pommel. The other one — there." Then, mounting, he slipped behind her and lifted and turned her, and then held her with his left arm so that i6s THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS she lay across the saddle and his knees, her head against his shoulder. As the horse started into a rapid walk Madeline grad- ually lost all pain and discomfort when she relaxed her muscles. Presently she let herself go and lay inert, greatly to her relief. For a little while she seemed to be half drunk with the gentle swaying of a hammock. Her mind became at once dreamy and active, as if it thought- fully recorded the slow, soft impressions pouring in from all her senses. A red glow faded in the west. She could see out over the foothills, where twilight was settUng gray on the crests, dark in the hollows. Cedar and pinon trees lined the trail, and there were no more firs. At intervals huge drab-colored rocks loomed over her. The sky was clear and steely. A faint star twinkled. And lastly, close to her, she saw Stewart's face, once more dark and impas- sive, with the inscrutable eyes fixed on the trail. His arm, like a band of iron, held her, yet it was flexible and jaelded her to the motion of the horse. One instant she felt the brawn, the bone, heavy and powerful; the next the stretch and ripple, the elasticity of muscles. He held her as easily as if she were a child. The rough- ness of his flannel shirt rubbed her cheek, and beneath that she felt the dampness of the scarf he had used to bathe her arm, and deeper still the regular poimd of his heart. Against her ear, filling it with strong, vibrant beat, his heart seemed a mighty engine deep within a great cavern. Her head had never before rested on a man's breast, and she had no liking for it there; but she felt more than the physical contact. The position was mys- terious and fascinating, and something natural in it made her think of Me. Then as the cool wind blew down from the heights, loosening her tumbled hair, she was com- pelled to see strands of it curl softly into Stewart's face, before his eyes, across his Ups. She was unable to reach it with her free hand, and therefore could not refasten 1 66 A BAND OF GUERRILLAS it. And when she shut her eyes she felt those loosened strands playing against his cheeks. In the keener press of such sensations she caught the smell of dust and a faint, wUd, sweet tang on the air. There was a low, rustling sigh of wind in the brush along the trail. Suddenly the silence ripped apart to the 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 Made- line. Otherwise it would have seemed Uke a dream. Even so it was hard to believe. Again she wondered if this woman who had begun to think and feel so much was Madeline Hammond. Nothing had ever happened to her. And here, playing about her Hke her hair played about Stewart's face, was adventure, perhaps death, and stirely life. She could not believe the evidence of the day's happenings. Would any of her people, her friends, ever believe it? Could she tell it? How impossible to think that a cunning Mexican might have used her to further the interests of a forlorn revolution ! She remem- bered the ghouHsh visages of those starved rebels, and marveled at her blessed fortune in escaping them. She was safe, and now self-preservation had some meaning for her. Stewart's arrival in the glade, the courage with which he had faced the outlawed men, grew as real to her now as the iron arm that clasped her. Had it been an instinc,t which had importimed her to save this man when he lay HI and hopeless in the shack at Chiricahua? In helping him had she hedged round her forces that had just operated to save her Hfe, or if not that, more than life was to her? She beheved so. MadeHne opened her eyes after a while and found that night had fallen. The sky was a dark, velvety blue blaz- ing with white stars. The cool wind tugged at her hair, and through waving strands she saw Stewart's profile, bold and sharp against the sky. 167 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Then, as her mind succumbed to her bodily fatigue, again her situation became unreal and wild. A heavy- languor, like a blanket, began to steal upon her. She wavered and drifted. With the last half-conscious sense of a muffled throb at her ear, a something intangibly sweet, deep-toned, and strange, like a distant calling bell, she fell asleep with her head on Stewart's breast. XII FRIENDS PROM THE EAST THREE days after her return to the ranch Madeline could not discover any physical discomfort as a re- minder of her adventurous experiences. This surprised her, but not nearly so much as the fact that after a few weeks she found she scarcely remembered the adventures at all. If it had not been for the quiet and perdstent guardianship of her cowboys she might almost have for- gotten Don Carlos and the raiders. Madeline was as- sured of the splendid physical fitness to which this ranch life had developed her; and that she was assimilating something of the Western disregard of danger. A hard ride, an accident, a day in the sun and dust, an adventure with outlaws — ^these might once have been matters of large import, but now for Madeline they were in order with all the rest of her changed Ufe. There was never a day that something interesting was not brought to her notice. StillweU, who had ceaselessly reproached himself for riding away the morning Madeline was captured, grew more like an anxious parent than a faithful superintendent. He was never at ease regarding her tualess he was near the ranch or had left Stewart there, or else Nels and Nick Steele. Naturally, he trusted more to Stewart than to any one else. "Miss Majesty, it's sure amazin' strange about Gene," said the old cattleman, as he tramped into Madeline's oflSce. "What's the matter now?" she inquired. 12 169 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "Wal, Gene has rustled oflE into the mountains again." "Again? I did not know he had gone. I gave him money for that band of guerrillas. Perhaps he went to take it to them." "No. He took that a day or so after he fetched you back home. Then in about 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, saw him meet somebody that looked like Padre Marcos. Wal, I went down to the church, and, sure enough, Padre Marcos is gone. What do you think of that, Miss Majesty?" "Maybe Stewart is getting religious," laughed Madeline. "You told me so once." Stillwell puffed and wiped his red face. "If you'd heerd him cuss Monty this mawnin' you'd never guess it was religion. 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 you kidnapped. Sture they're goin' to break soon, an' then we'll hev a couple of wild Texas steers ridin' the range. I've a heap to worry me." "Lret Stewart take his mysterious trips into the moun- tains. Here, StiUweU, 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, is coming out to visit me. They are society folk, and one of them is an Eng- hsh lord." "Wal, Miss Majesty, I reckon we'll all be glad to see them," said Stillwell. "Onless they pack you off back East." "That isn't likely," replied MadeUne, thoughtftilly. "I must go back sometime, though. Well, let me read you a few extracts from my mail." Madeline took up her sister's letter with a strange sensation of how easily sight of a crested monogram and scent of delicately perfumed paper cotild recall the bril- 170 FRIENDS FROM THE EAST liant life she had given up. She scanned the pages of beautiful handwriting. Helen's letter was in turn gay and brilliant and lazy, just as she was herself; but Madeline detected more of curiosity in it than of real longing to see the sister and brother in the Far West. Much of what Helen wrote was enthusiastic anticipation of the fun she expected to have with bashful cowboys. Helen seldom wrote letters, and she never read anything, not even popular novels of the day. She was as abso- lutely ignorant of the West as the Englishman who, she said, expected to hunt buffalo and fight Indians. More- over, there was a satiric note in the letter that Madeline did not like, and which roused her spirit. Manifestly, Helen was reveling in the prospect of new sensation. When she finished reading aloud a few paragraphs the old cattleman snorted, and his face grew redder. " Did yoiir sister write that?" he asked. "Yes." "Wal, I — I beg pawdin. Miss Majesty. But it doesn't seem like you. Does she think we're a lot of wild men from Borneo?" "Evidently she does. I rather thinl< she is in for a sur- prise. Now, Stillwell, you are clever, and you can see the situation. I want my guests to enjoy their stay here, but I do not want that to be at the expense of the feelings of all of us, or even any one. Helen will bring a lively crowd. They'll crave excitement — the unusual. Let us see that they are not disappointed. You take the boys into your confidence. Tell them what to expect, and tell them how to meet it. I shall help you in that. I want the boys to be on dress-parade when they are off duty. I want them to be on their most elegant behavior. I do not care what they do, what measures they take to pro- tect themselves, what tricks they contrive, so long as they do not overstep the limit of kindness and courtesy. I want them to play their parts seriously, naturally, as if they had lived no other way. My guests expect to have 171 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS fun. Let us meet them with fun. Now, what do yoa 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 Maddine. "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 cowboy fun is. Perhaps — " "Don't you go back on that idee," interrupted StUl- well. He was assuring and bland, but his hurry to con- vince Madeline betrayed him. "Leave the boys to me. Why, don't they aU swear by you, same as the Mexicans do to the Virgin? They won't disgrace you, Miss Maj- esty. They'll be simply immense. It '11 beat any show you ever seen." "I believe it wiU," repHed Madeline. She was still doubtful of her plan, but the enthusiasm of the old cattle- man was infectious and irresistible. "Very well, we will consider it settled. My guests wiU arrive on May ninth. Meanwhile let us get Her Majesty's Rancho in shape for this invaaon." On ihe afternoon of the ninth of May, perhaps half an hour after Madeline had received a telephone message from link Stevens annotmcing the arrival of her guests at El Cajon, Florence caUed her out upon the porch. Stillwell was there with his face wrinkled by his wonder- ful smile and his eagle eyes riveted upon the distant vaUey. Par away, perhaps twenty nules, a thin streak of white dust rose from the valley floor and slanted skj^ward. "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 tele- phoned saying the party had just arrived." 172 FRIENDS FROM THE EAST "Take a look with the glasses," said Florence. One glance through the powerful binoculars convinced Madeline that Florence was right. And another glance at Stillwell told her that he was speechless with deUght. She remembered a Httle conversation she had had with Link Stevens a short while previous. "Stevens, I hope the car is in good shape," she had said. "Now, Miss Hammond, she's as right as the best-trained hoss I ever rode," he had repUed. "The valley road is perfect," she had gone on, musing- ly. "I never saw such a beautiftd 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 brightening eyes. "An' safe, Miss Hammond." "My sister used to hke fast riding. If I remember correctly, all of my guests were a httle afflicted with the speed mania. It is a common disease with New-Yorkers. I hope, Stevens, that you wiU not give them reason to think we are altogether steeped in the slow, dreamy manana languor of the Southwest." Link doubtfully eyed her, and then his bronze face changed its dark aspect and seemed to shine. "Beggin' your pardon. Miss Hammond, thet's shore tall talk fer Link Stevens to savvy. You mean — as long as I drive careful an' safe I can run away from my dust, so to say, an' get here in somethin' less than the Greaser's to-morrow?" Madehne had laughed her assent. And now, as she watched the thin streak of dust, at that distance moving with snail pace, she reproached herself. 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 herself she wotdd have had no anxiety. But, imag- ining what Stevens would do on forty miles and more of that desert road, Madehne suffered a prick of con- science. 173 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "Oh, Stillwell!" she exclaimed. "I am afraid I will go back on my wonderful idea. What made me do it?" "Your sister wanted the real thing, didn't she? Said they aJl wanted it. Wal, I reckon they've begun gettin' it," replied Stillwell. That statement from the cattleman allayed MadeHne's pangs of conscience. She understood just what she felt, though she could not have put it in words. She was hungry for a sight of weU-remembered faces; she longed to hear the soft laughter and gay repartee of old friends; she was eager for gossipy first-hand news of her old world. Nevertheless, something in her sister's letter, in messages from the others who were coming, had touched MadeHne's pride. In one sense the expected guests were hostile, inasmuch as they were scornful and curious about the West that had claimed her. She imagined what they would expect in a Western ranch. They would surely get the real thing, too, as Stillwell said; and in that cer- tainty was satisfaction for a small grain of something within Madeline which approached resentment. She wistfully wondered, however, if her sister or friends would come to see the West even a little as she saw it. That, perhaps, woxild be hoping too much. She resolved once for all to do her best to give them the sensation their senses craved, and equally to show them the sweetness and beauty and wholesomeness and strength of life in the Southwest. "Wal, as Nels says, I wovildn't be in that there ottomo- bile right now for a million pesos," remarked Stillwell. "Why? Is Stevens driving fast?" "Good Lord! Fast? Miss Majesty, there hain't ever been anythin' except a streak of lightnin' run so fast in this country. I'll bet Link for once is in heaven. I can jest see him now, the grim, crooked-legged Uttle devil, hunchin' down over that wheel as if it was a boss's neck." "I told him not to let the ride be hot or dusty," re- marked Madeline. 174 FRIENDS FROM THE EAST "Haw, haw!" roared StiUwell. "Wal, I'U be goin'. I reckon I'd like to be hyar when Link drives up, but I want to be with the boys down by the bunks. It '11 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 htirried a shipment of cattle to CaJifomia; and it was Madeline's supposition that he had welcomed the opportunity to absent himself from the ranch. " I am soiTy he wouldn't stay," repUed Florence. "But Al's all business now. And he's doing finely. It's just as well, perhaps." "Surely. That was my pride speaking. I would like to have aU my family and all my old friends see what a man Al has become. Well, Link Stevens is running like the wind. The car wUl be here before we know it. Flor- ence, we've only a few moments to dress. But first I want to order many and various and exceedingly cold re- freshments for that approaching party." Less than a half-hour later Madeline went again to the porch and found Florence there. "Oh, you look just lovely!" exclaimed Florence, im- pulsively, as she gazed wide-eyed up at Madeline. "And somehow so different!" Madeline smiled a little sadly. Perhaps when she had put on that exquisite white gown something had come to her of the manner which befitted the wearing of it. She could not resist the desire to look fair once more in the eyes of these hypercritical friends. The sad smile had been for the days that were gone. For she knew that what society had once been pleased to call her beauty had trebled since it had last been seen in a drawing-room. Madeline wore no jewels, but at her waist she had pinned two great crimson roses. Against the dead-white they had the life and fire and redness of the desert. "Link's hit the old round-up trail," said Florence, "and, oh, isn't he riding that car!" I7S THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS 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 vaUey. It was now headed almost straight for the ranch. Madeline watched it growing larger moment by moment, and her pleasurable emotion grew accord- ingly. 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 an important mission, and his duty had taken him to the international boundary line. His presence home long before he was expected was particularly grati- fying to Madeline, for it meant that his mission had been brought to a successful issue. Once more, for the hun- dredth time, the man's reliability struck Madeline. He was a doer of things. The black horse halted wearily without the usual pound of hoofs on the gravel, and the dusty rider dismounted wearily. Both horse and rider showed the heat and dust and wind of many miles. Madeline advanced to the porch steps. And Stewart, after taking a parcel of 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 to rise 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 her Eastern guests, he checked his advance with a violent action which recalled to Madeline the one he had made on the night she had met him, when she dis- closed her identity. It was not fear nor embarrassment nor awkwardness. And it was only momentary. Yet slight as had been his pause, Madehne received from it an impression of some strong halting force. A man struck by a bullet might have had an instant jerk of muscular control such as convulsed Stewart. In that instant, as 176 FRIENDS FROM THE EAST her keen gaze searched his dust-caked face, she met the full, free look of his eyes. Her own did not fall, though she felt a warmth steal to her cheeks. Madeline very sel- dom blushed. And now, conscious of her sudden color, a genuine blush flamed on her face. It was irritating be- cause it was incomprehensible. She received the papers from Stewart and thanked him. He bowed, then led the black down the path toward the corrals. "When Stewart looks Uke that he's been riding," said Florence. "But when his horse looks Hke that he's sure been burning the wind." Madeline watched the weary horse and rider hmp down the path. What had made her thoughtfxil? Mostly it was something new or sudden or inexpUcable that stirred her mind to quick analysis. In this instance the thing that had struck Madeline was Stewart's glance. He had looked at her, and the old burning, inscrutable fire, the darkness, had left his eyes. Suddenly they had been beautiful. The look had not been one of surprise or ad- miration; nor had it been one of love. She was familiar, too familiar with all three. It had not been a gaze of passion, for there was nothing beautiful in that. Made- line pondered. And presently she realized that Stewart's eyes had expressed a strange joy of pride. That expres- sion Madeline had never before encountered in the look of any man. Probably its strangeness had made her notice it and accoimted for her blushing. The longer she lived among these Outdoor men the more they surprised her. Particularly, how incomprehensible was this cowboy Stewart! Why should he have pride or joy at sight of her? Florence's exclamation made MadeUne once more at- tend to the approaching automobile. It was in the slope now, some miles down the long gradual slant. Two yellow funnel-shaped clouds of dust seemed to shoot out from behind the car and roll aloft to join the column that stretched down the valley. 177 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "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 have appeared to be sailing in the air. Its motion was steadily forward, holding to the road as if on rails. And its velocity was astoimding. Long, gray veUs, like pennants, streamed in the wind. A low rushing sound became perceptible, and it grew louder, became a roar. The car shot Uke an arrow past the alfalfa-field, by the bunk-houses, where the cowboys waved and cheered. The horses and burros in the corrals began to snort and tramp and race in fright. At the base of the long slope of the foothill Link cut the speed more than half. Yet the car roared up, roUing the dust, fl3ang capes and veils and ulsters, and crashed and cracked to a halt in the yard before the porch. Madeline descried a gray, disheveled mass of humanity packed inside the car. Besides the driver there were seven occupants, and for a moment they appeared to be coming to life, moving and exclaiming under the veils and wraps and dust-shields. Link Stevens stepped out and, removing helmet and goggles, coolly looked at his watch. "An hour an' a quarter. Miss Hammond," he said. "It's sixty-three miles by the valley road, an' you know there's a couple of bad hills. I reckon we made fair time, considerin' you wanted me to drive slow an' safe." From the mass of dusty-veiled humanity in the car came low exclamations and plaintive feminine wails. Madeline stepped to the front of the porch. Then the deep voices of men and softer voices of women united in one glad outburst, as much a thanksgiving as a greeting, "Majesty!" Helen Hammond was three years younger than Made- line, and a slender, pretty girl. She did not resemble her 178 FRIENDS FROM THE EAST sister, except in whiteness and fineness of sldn, being more of a brown-eyed, brown-haired type. Having recovered her breath soon after Madeline took her to her room, she began to talk. "Majesty, old girl, I'm here; but you can bet I would never have gotten here if I had known about that ride from the railroad. You never wrote that you had a car. I thought this was out West — stage-coach, and all that sort of thing. Such a tremendous car! And the road! And that terrible little man with the leather trousers! What kind of a chauffeur is he?" "He's a cowboy. He was crippled by falling under his horse, so I had him instructed to run the car. He can drive, don't you think?" "Drive? Good gracious! He scared us to death, ex- cept Castleton. Nothing could scare that cold-blooded little Englishman. I am dizzy yet. Do you know, Majesty, I was delighted when I saw the car. Then your cowboy driver met us at the platform. What a queer- looking individual ! He had a 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 beside him, whether I liked it or not. I was fool enough to tell him I loved to travel fast. What do you think he said? Well, he eyed me in a rather cool and speculative way and said, with a smile: 'Miss, I reckon anything you love an' want bad will be coming to you out here !' I didn't know whether it was delightful candor or impudence. Then he said to all of us: 'Shore you had better wrap up in the veils an' dusters. It's a long, slow, hot, dusty ride to the ranch, an' Miss Hammond's order was to drive safe.' He got our baggage checks and gave them to a man with a huge wagon and a four-horse team. Then he cranked the car, jumped in, wrapped his arms rotmd the wheel, and sunk down low in his seat. There was a crack, a jerk, a kind of flash around us, and that dirty Uttle town was somewhere on the map behind. For about five 179 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS minutes I had a lovely time. Then the wind began to tear me to pieces. I couldn't hear anything but the rush of wind and roar of the car. I could see only straight ahead. What a road! I never saw a road in my life tiU to-day. Miles and nnles and miles ahead, with not even a post or tree. That big car 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 wind went through me, and I expected to be dis- robed by it any minute. I was afraid I couldn't hold any clothes on. Presently aU I could see was a flashing gray wall with a white Hne in the middle. Then my eyes blurred. My face burned. My ears grew f uU of a hun- dred thousand howling devils. I was about ready to die when the car stopped. I looked and looked, and when I could see, there you stood!" "Helen, I thought you were fond of speeding," said Madehne, with a laugh. "I was. But I assure you I never before was in a fast car; I never saw a road; I never met a driver." "Perhaps I may have a few surprises for you out here in the wild and wooUy West." Helen's dark eyes showed a sister's memory of possibilities. "You've started well," she said. "I am simply stunned. I expected to find you old and dowdy. Majesty, you're the handsomest thing I ever laid eyes on. You're so splendid and strong, and your skin is Hke white gold. What's happened to you? What's changed you? This beautiful room, those glorious roses out there, the cool, dark sweetness of this wonderful house! I know you, Majesty, and, though you never wrote it, I believe you have made a home out here. That's the most stunning surprise of aU. Come, confess. I know I've always been selfish and not much of a sister; but if you are happy out here I am glad. You were not happy at home. TeU me about yourself and about Alfred. Then I shall give you all the messages and news from the East." 1 80 FRIENDS FROM THE EAST It afforded Madeline exceeding pleasure to have from one and all of her guests varied encomiums of her beauti- ful home, and a real and warm interest in what promised to be a dehghtful and memorable visit. Of them all Castleton was the only one who failed to show svuprise. He greeted her precisely as he had when he had last seen her in London. Madeline, rather to her astonishment, found meeting him again pleasurable. She discovered she liked this imperturbable Englishman. Manifestly, her capacity for liking any one had immeasur- ably enlarged. Quite tmexpectedly her old girlish love for her younger sister sprang into life, and with it interest in these half-forgotten friends, and a warm regard for Edith Wayne, a chum of college days. Helen's party was smaller than Madeline had expected it to be. Helen had been careful to select a company of good friends, aU of whom were well known to Madeline. Edith Wayne was a patrician brunette, a serious, soft- voiced woman, sweet and kindly, despite a rather bitter experience that had left her worldly wise. Mrs. Carroll- ton Beck, a plain, lively person, had chaperoned the party. The fourth and last of the feminine contingent was Miss Dorothy Coombs — Dot, as they called her — a young woman of attractive blond prettiness. For a man Castleton^vas of very small stature. He had a pink-and-white complexion, a small golden mustache, and his heavy eyelids, always drooping, made him look dull. His attire, cut to what appeared to be an exaggerated English style, attracted attention to his diminutive size. He was immaculate and fastidious. Robert Weede was a rather large florid young man, remarkable only for his good nature. Counting Boyd Harvey, a handsome, pale- faced fellow, with the careless smile of the man for whom life had been easy and pleasant, the party was complete. Dinner was a happy hour, especially for the Mexican women who served it and who could not fail to note its success. The mingling of low voices and laughter, the i8i THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS old, gay, superficial talk, the graciousness of a class whicli lived for the pleasure of things and to make time pass pleasurably for others — ^all took Madeline far back into the past. She did not care to return to it, but she saw that it was well she had not wholly cut herself off from her people and friends. When the party adjourned to the porch the heat had markedly decreased, and the red sun was sinking over the red desert. An absence of spoken praise, a gradually deepening silence attested to the impression on the visitors of that noble sunset. Just as the last curve of red rim vanished beyond the dim Sierra Madres and the golden lightning began to flare brighter Helen broke the silence vnth an exclamation. "It wants only life. Ah, there's a horse climbing the hill! See, he's up! He has a rider!" Madeline knew before she looked the identity of the man riding up the mesa. But she did not know until that moment how the habit of watching for him at this hour had grown upon her. He rode along the rim of the mesa and out to the point where, against the golden background, horse and rider stood silhouetted in bold reUef. "What's he doing there? Who is he.'"' inquired the curious Helen. "That is Stewart, my right-hand man," replied Made- line. "Every day when he is at the ranch he rides up there at sunset. I think he Hkes the ride and the scene; but he goes to take a look at the cattle in the valley." "Is he a cowboy?" asked Helen. "Indeed, yes," replied Madeline, with a little laugh. "You will think so when StiUweU gets hold of you and begins to talk." Madeline found it necessary to explain who Stillwell was, and what he thought of Stewart, and, while she was about it, of her own accord she added a few details of Stewart's fame. 182 FRIENDS FROM THE EAST "El Capitan. How interesting!" mused Helen. "What does he look Uke?" "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, he seems 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 over the field -glass, and three of them made gay, bantering boasts not to consider Helen's self -asserted rights. Madeline laughed with the others while she watched the dark figure of Stewart and his black outline against the sky. There came over her a thought not by any means new or strange — she wondered what was in Stewart's mind as he stood there in the soHtude and faced the desert and the darkening west. Some day she meant to ask him. Presently he turned the horse and rode down into the shadow creeping up the mesa. "Majesty, have you plarmed any ftm, any excitement for us?" asked Helen. She was restless, nervous, and did not seem to be able to sit stiU a moment. "You will think so when I get through with you," re- plied Madeline. "What, for instance?" inquired Helen and Dot and Mrs. Beck, in imison. Edith Wayne smiled her interest. "Well, I am not counting rides and cHmbs and goH; but these are necessary to train you for trips over into Arizona. I want to show you the desert and the Aravaipa Caiion. We have to go on horseback and pack our out- fit. If any of you are alive after those trips and want more we shall go up into the mountains. I should Hke very much to know what you each want particularly." 183 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "I'll tell you," replied Helen, promptly. "Dot will be the same out here as she was in the East. She wants to look bashfully down at her hand — a hand imprisoned in another, by the way — and listen to a man talk poetry about her eyes. If cowboys don't make love that way Dot's visit will be a failure. Now, Elsie Beck wants solely to be revenged upon us for dragging her out here. She wants some dreadful thing to happen to us. I don't know what's in Edith's head, but it isn't fun. Bobby wants to be near Elsie, and no more. Boyd wants what he has always wanted — ^the only thing he ever wanted that he didn't get. Castleton has a horrible bloodthirsty desire to MU 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 is that I want ! Well, I know I want to be outdoors, to get into the open, to feel sun and wind, to bum some color into my white face. I want some flesh and blood and hfe. I am tired out. Beyond all that I don't know very well. I'll try to keep Dot from attach- ing aU the cowboys to her train." "What a diversity of wants," said Madeline. "Above all. Majesty, we want something to happen," concluded Helen, with passionate finality. "My dear sister, maybe you will have your wish ful- filled," replied Madeline, soberly. "Edith, Helen has made me curious about your especial yearning." "Majesty, it is only that I wanted to be with you for a while," replied this old friend. There was in the wistful reply, accompanied by a dark and eloquent glance of eyes, what told Madeline of Edith's imderstanding, of her sympathy, and perhaps a betraj^ of her own unquiet soul. It saddened Madeline. How many women might there not be who had the longing to break down the bars of their cage, but had not the spirit. XIII COvi-BOY GOLF IN the whirl of the succeeding days it was a mooted question whether Madeline's guests or her cowboys or herself got the keenest enjo5mient out of the flying time. Considering the sameness of the cowboys' ordinary life, she was inclined to think they made the most of the present. Stillwell and Stewart, however, had found the situation tr3dng. The work of the ranch had to go on, and some of it got sadly neglected. StillweU could not resist the ladies any more than he could resist the fun in the extraordinary goings-on of the cowboys. Stewart alone kept the business of cattle-raising from a serious set-back. Early and late he was in the saddle, driving the lazy Mexicans whom he had hired to relieve the cowboys. One morning in June Madeline was sitting on the porch with her merry friends when StUlweU appeared on the corral path. He had not come to consult Madeline for several days — an omission so unusual as to be remarked. "Here comes Bill — ^in trouble," laughed Florence. Indeed, he bore some faint resemblance to a thunder- cloud as he approached the porch; but the greetings he got from Madeline's party, especially from Helen and Dorothy, chased away the blackness from his face and brought the wonderful wrinkling smile. "Miss Majesty, sure I'm a sad demoralized old cattle- man," he said, presently. "An' I'm in need of a heap of help." 13 i8s THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "What's wrong now?" asked Madeline, with her en- couraging smile. "Wal, it's so amazin' strange what cowboys will do. I jest am about to give up. Why, you might say my cow- boys 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, done everythin' that could be thought of. But this vacation idee growed worse. When Stewart set his foot down, then the boys begin to get sick. Never in my bom 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 boys have got all of a sudden. The idee of a cowboy comin' to me with a sore finger an' asldn' to be let off for a day! There's Booly. Now I've knowed a hoss to fall aU over him, an' onct he rolled down a canon. Never bothered him at all. He's got a bhster 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 fever because Ms face burnt so red, I guess, an' when I hollered that scarlet fever was contagious an' he must be put away somewhere, he up an' says he guessed it wasn't that. But he was sure awful sick an' needed to loaf around an' be amused. Why, even Nels doesn't want to work these days. If it wasn't for Stewart, who's had Greasers with the cattle, I don't know what I'd do." "Why all this sudden illness and idleness?" asked Madeline, "Wal, you see, the truth is every blamed cowboy on the range except Stewart thinks it's his bounden duty to entertain the ladies." "I think that is just fine!" exclaimed Dorothy Coombs; and she joined in the general laugh. "Stewart, then, doesn't care to help entertain us?" in- quired Helen, in curious interest. i86 COWBOY GOLF "Wal, Miss Helen, Stewart is sure different from the other cowboys," replied StillweU. "Yet he used to be like them. There never was a cowboy fuller of the devil than Gene. But he's changed. He's foreman 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 otu- loss," said Edith Wayne, in her earnest way. "I admire him." "StillweU, you need not be so distressed with what is only gallantry in the boys, even if it does make a tem- porary confusion in the work," said Madeline. "Miss Majesty, all I said is not the half, nor the quar- ter, nor nuthin' of what's troubUn' me," answered he, sadly. "Very well; unburden yourself." "Wal, the cowboys, exceptin' Gene, have gone plumb batty, jest plain crazy over this heah game of gol-lof." A merry peal of mirth greeted StillweU's solemn asser- tion. "Oh, StillweU, 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'U teU you. She knows cowboys, an' how if they ever start on some thin' they ride it as they ride a boss." Florence being appealed to, and evidently feeHng all eyes upon her, modestly repUed that StiUweU had scarce- ly misstated the situation. "Cowboys play like they work or fight," she added. "They give their whole souls to it. They are great big simple boys." "Indeed they are," said MadeUne. "Oh, I'm glad if they like the game of golf. They have so little play." "Wal, somethin's got to be did if we're to go on raisin' cattle at Her Majesty's Rancho," repUed StiUwelL He appeared both deliberate and resigned. Madeline remembered that despite StillweU's simplicity he was as deep as amy of his cowboys, and there was abso- 187 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS lutely no gauging him where possibilities of fun were con- cerned. Madeline fancied that his exaggerated talk about the cowboys' sudden craze for golf was in line with cer- tain other remarkable tales that had lately emanated from him. Some very strange things had occurred of late, and it was impossible to tell whether or not they were accidents, mere coincidents, or deep-laid, skilfully worked- out designs of the fxm-loving cowboys. Certainly there had been great fun, and at the expense of her guests, particularly Castleton. So Madeline was at a loss to know what to tlaink about Stillwell's latest elaboration. From mere force of habit she sympathized with him and foimd difficulty in doubting his apparent sincerity. "To go back a ways," went on Stillwell, as Madeline looked up expectantly, "you recollect what pride the boys took in fixin' up that gol-lof course out on the mesa? Wal, they worked on that job, an', though I never seen any other course, I'll gamble yours can't be beat. The boys was sure curious about that game. You recollect also how they all wanted to see you an' your brother play, an' be caddies for you? Wal, whenever you'd quit they'd go to work tryin' to play the game. Monty Price, he was the leadin' spirit. Old as I am. Miss Majesty, an' used as I am to cowboy excentrikities, I nearly dropped daid when I heered that Uttle hobble-footed, bumed-up Montana cow-puncher say there wasn't any game too swell for him, an' gol-lof was just his speed. Serious as a preacher, mind you, he was. An' he was always prac- tisin'. When Stewart gave him charge of the course an' the club-house an' all them funny sticks, why, Monty was tickled to death. You see, Monty is sensitive that he ain't much good any more for cowboy work. He was glad to have a job that he didn't feel he was hangin' to by kindness. Wal, he practised the game, an' he read the books in the club-house, an' he got the boys to doin' the same. That wasn't very hard, I reckon. They played early an' late an' in the moonlight. For a while i88 COWBOY GOLF Monty was coach, an' the boys stood it. But pretty soon Franlde Slade got puffed on his game, an' he had to have It out with Monty. Wal, Monty beat him bad. Then one after another the other boys tackled Monty. He beat them all. After that they split up an' begin to play matches, two on a side. For a spell this worked fine. But cowboys can't never be satisfied long onless they win all the time. Monty an' Link Stevens, both cripples, you might say, joined forces an' elected to beat all comers. Wal, they did, an' that's the trouble. Long an' patient the other cowboys tried to beat them two game-legs, an' hevn't done it. Mebbe if Monty an' Link was perfectly sound in their legs Hke the other cowboys there wouldn't hev been such a holler. But no sound cowboys 'U ever stand for a disgrace like that. Why, down at the bunks in the evenin's it's some mortif jan' the way Monty an' Link crow over the rest of the outfit. They've taken on superior airs. You couldn't reach up to Monty with a trimmed spruce pole. An' Link — ^wal, he's just amazin' scornful. "'It's a swell game, ain't it?' says Link, powerful sar- castic. 'Wal, what's hurtin' you low-down common cowmen? You keep harpin' on Monty's game-leg an' on my game-leg. If we hed good legs we'd beat you all the wuss. 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 powerfid careless an' superior, an' he says: " 'Sure it's a swell game. You cow-headed gents think beef an' brawn ought to hev the call over skill an' gray- matter. You'll all hev to back up an' get down. Go out an' learn the game. You don't know a bafEy from a Chinee sandwich. All you can do is waggle with a club an' fozzle the ball.' "Whenever Monty gets to usin' them queer names the boys go round kind of dotty. Monty an' Link hev got 189 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS the books an' directions of the game, an' they won't let the other boys see them. They show the rules, but that's aU. An', of course, every game ends in a row almost be- fore it's started. The boys are all turrible in earnest about this gol-lof . An' I want 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 this ranch till that's done." Madeline's guests were much amused. As for herself, in spite of her scarcely considered doubt, Stillwell's tale of woe occasioned her anxiety. However, she could hard- ly control her mirth. "What in the world can 7 do?" " Wal, I reckon I couldn't say. I only come to you for advice. It seems that a queer kind of game has locoed my cowboys, an' for the time bein' ranchin' is at a stand- still. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but cowboys are as strange as wild cattle. AU I'm stu-e of is that the conceit has got to be taken out of Monty an' Link. Onct, just onct, wiU square it, an' then we can resoome our work." "StillweU, Hsten," said MadeHne, brightly. "We'll ar- range a match game, a fotur-some, 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 yoturs is the weaker. Caddies may coach, and perhaps expert advice is all that is necessary for your team to defeat Monty's." "A grand idee," declared Stillwell, with instant de- cision. "When can we have this match game?" "Why, to-day — this afternoon. We'll all ride out to the Hnks." "Wal, I reckon I'll be some indebted to you. Miss Maj- esty, an' aU your guests," replied StiUweU, warmly. He ■rose with sombrero in hand, and a twinkle in his eye that again prompted Madehne to wonder. "An' now I'll be goin' to fix up for the game of cowboy gol-lof. Adios." 190 COWBOY GOLF The idea was as enthusiastically received by Madeline's guests as it had been by Stillwell. They were highly amused and speculative to the point of taking sides and maldng wagers on their choice. Moreover, this situation so frankly revealed by StiUwell had completed their deep mystification. They were now absolutely nonplussed by the singular character of American cowboys. MadeHne was pleased to note how seriously they had taken the old cattleman's story. She had a Uttle throb of wild ex- pectancy that made her both fear and deUght in the afternoon's prospect. The Jtine days had set in warm; in fact, hot during the noon hours; and this had incrolcated in her insatiable visitors a tendency to profit by the experience of those used to the Southwest. They indulged in the restful siesta during the heated term of the day. Madeline was awakened by Majesty's well-known whistle and pounding on the gravel. Then she heard the other horses. When she went out she found her party assembled in gala goK attire, and with spirits to match their costtmies. Castleton, especially, appeared resplen- dent in a golf coat that beggared description. Madeline had faint misgivings when she reflected on what Monty and Nels and Nick might do under the influence of that blazing garment. "Oh, Majesty," cried Helen, as Madeline went up to her horse, ' ' don't make him kneel ! Try that flying mount. We all want to see it. It's so sttmning." "But that way, too, I must have him kneel," said Madeline, "or I can't reach the stirrup. He's so tre- mendously high." MadeUne had to yield to the laughing insistence of her friends, and after all of them except Florence were up she made Majesty go down on one knee. Then she stood on his left side, facing back, and took a good firm grip on the bridle and pommel and his mane. After she had sHpped the toe of her boot firmly into the stirrup she igi THE LJGHT OF WESTERN STARS called to Majesty. He jumped and swung her up into the saddle. "Now just to see how it ought to be done watch Flor- ence," said Madeline. The Western girl was at her best in riding-habit and with her horse. It was beautiful to see the ease and grace with which she accomplished the cowboys' fljang mount. Then she led the party down the slope and across the flat to climb the mesa. MadeHne never saw a group of her cowboys without looking them over, almost imconsciously, for her foreman, Gene Stewart. This afternoon, as usual, he was not pres- ent. However, she now had a sense — of which she was wholly conscious — ^that she was both disappointed and ir- ritated. He had really not been attentive to her guests, and he, of all her cowboys, was the one of whom they wanted most to see something. Helen, particularly, had asked to have him attend the match. But Stewart was with the cattle. Madehne thought of his faithful-- ness, and was ashamed of her momentary lapse into that old imperious habit of desiring things irrespective of reason. Stewart, however, immediately slipped out of her mind as she surveyed the group of cowboys on the Hnks. By actual coimt there were sixteen, not including Stillwell. And the same nvunber of splendid horses, all shiny and clean, grazed on the rim in care of Mexican lads. The cowboys were on dress-parade, looking very different in Madeline's eyes, at least, from the way cowboys usually appeared. But they were real and natural to her guests; and they were so picturesque that they might have been stage cowboys instead of real ones. Sombreros with silver buckles and horse-hair bands were in evidence; and bright silk scarfs, embroidered vests, fringed and ornamented chaps, huge swinging guns, and clinking silver spurs lent a festive appearance. Madeline and her party were at once eagerly surrounded 192 COWBOY GOLF by the cowboys, an.d she found it difficult to repress a smile. If these cowboys were still remarkable to her, what must they be to her guests? "Wal, you-all raced over, I seen," said StUlwell, taking Madeline's bridle. "Get down — get down. We're sure amazin' glad an' proud. An', Miss Majesty, I'm ofEerin' to beg pawdin for the way the boys are pacldn' gtms. Mebbe it ain't polite. But it's Stewart's orders." "Stewart's orders !" echoed Madeline. Her friends were suddenly sUent. "I reckon he won't take no chances on the boys bein' surprised sudden by raiders. An' there's raiders operatin' in from the Guadalupes. That's all. Nothin' to worry over. I was just explainin'." Madeline, with several of her party, expressed relief, but Helen showed -excitement 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 desired consummation was not far off. "So do I," said Dot Coombs. "It would be perfectly lovely to have a real adventure." The gaze of the sixteen cowboys shifted and sought the demure face of this other discontented girl. Madeline laughed, and Stillwell wore his strange, 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 if you didn't have your wish. Just wait. An' now, ladies, the matter on hand may not be amusin' or excitin' to you; but to this heah cowboy outfit it's powerful important. An' all the help you can give us will sure be thankfully received. Take a look across the Hnks. Do you-all see them two apologies for himian bein's prancin' hke a couple of hobbled bronchs? Wal, you're gazin' at Monty Price an' Link Stevens, who have of a sudden got too swell to associate with their 193 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS old bunldes. They're practisin' for the toomament. They don't want my boys to see how they handle them crooked clubs." "Have you picked your team?" inquired Madeline. StillweU mopped his red face with an immense bandana, and showed something of confusion and perplexity. "I've sixteen boys, an' they all want to play," he re- plied. "Pickin' the team ain't goin' to be an easy job. Mebbe it won't be healthy, either. There's Nels and Nick. They just stated cheerful-Hke that if they didn'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 crooked clubs." "I suggest you let all your boys drive from the tee and choose the two who drive the farthest," said Made- line. StiUweU's perplexed face lighted up. "Wal, that's a plumb good idee. The boys '11 stand for that." Wherewith he broke up the admiring circle of cowboys round the ladies. "Grab a rope — I mean a club — ^aU you cow-punchers, an' march over hyar, an' take a swipe at this little white bean." The cowboys obeyed with alacrity. There was con- siderable difficulty over the choice of clubs and who shotild try first. The latter question had to be adjusted by lot. However, after Frankie Slade made several ineffectual attempts to hit the ball from the teeing-ground, at last to send it only a few yards, the other players were not so eager to follow. StillweU had to push Booly forward, and Booly executed a most miserable shot and retired to the laughing comments of his comrades. The efforts of several succeeding cowboys attested to the extreme difficulty of making a good drive. "Wal, Nick, it's your turn," said StillweU. "BiU, I ain't so aU-fired particvilar about playin'," re« plied Nick, 194 COWBOY GOLF "Why? You was roarin' about it a little while ago. Afraid to show how bad you'll play?" "Nope, jest plain consideration for my feller cow- punchers," answered Nick, with spirit. "I'm appreciatin' how bad they play, an' I'm not mean enough to show them up." "Wal, you've got to show me," said StiUwell. "I know you never seen a gol-lof stick in your life. What's more, I'll bet you can't hit that little baU square — nbt in a dozen cracks at it." "Bill, I'm also too much of a gent to take your money. But you know I'm from Missouri. Gimme a club." Nick's angry confidence seemed to evaporate as one after another he took up and handled the clubs. It was plain that he had never before wielded one. But, also, it was plain that he was not the kind of a man to give in. 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's wiry slendemess, yet he was broad of shoulder. His arms were long. Manifestly, he was an exceedingly powerful man. He swung the driver aloft and whirled it down with a tremendous swing. Crack! The white ball disappeared, and from where it had been rose a tiny cloud of dust. Madeline's qiuck sight caught the ball as it lined some- what to the right. It was shooting low and level with the speed of a bullet. It went up and up in swift, beautiful flight, then lost its speed and began to sail, to curve, to drop ; and it fell out of sight beyond the rim of the mesa. Madeline had never seen a drive that approached this one. It was magnificent, beyond belief except for actual evidence of her own eyes. The yelHng of the cowboys probably brought Nick Steele out of the astounding spell with which he beheld his shot. Then Nick, suddenly aHve to the situation, I9S THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS recovered from his trance and, resting nonchalantly upon his club, he surveyed StillweU and the boys. After their first surprised outburst they were dumb. "You-all seen thet?" Nick grandly waved his hand. "Thought I was joshin', didn't you? Why, I used to go to St. Louis an' Kansas City to play this h«re game. There was some talk of the golf clubs takin' me down East to play the champions. But I never cared fer the game. Too easy fer me ! Them f eUers back in Missouri were a lot of cheap dubs, anyhow, always Idckin' because whenever I hit a ball hard I always lost it. Why, I hed to hit sort of left-handed to let 'em stay in my class. Now you-aU 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 jest hit 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. StillweU appeared crushed. And not a scornful word was hurled after Nick, which fact proved the nattu^e of his victory. Then Nels strode into the Umelight. As far as it was possible for this iron-faced cowboy to be so, he was bland and suave. He remarked to StillweU and the other cowboys that sometimes it was painful for them to judge of the gifts of superior cowboys such as belonged to Nick and himself. He picked up the club Nick had used and called for a new ball. StillweU carefully built up a Uttle moimd of sand and, placing the baU upon it, squared away to watch. He looked grim and expectant. Nels was not so large a man as Nick, -and did not look so formidable as he waved his club at the gaping cowboys. StiU he was Uthe, tough, strong. Briskly, with a debonair manner, he stepped up and then delivered a mighty swing at the ball. He missed. The power and momentum of his swing flung him off his feet, and he actually turned upside down and spun round on his head. The cow- boys howled. StillweU's stentorian laugh rolled across 196 COWBOY GOLF the mesa. Madeline and her guests found it impossible to restrain their mirth. And when Nels got up he cast a reproachful glance at Madeline. His feelings were hurt. His second attempt, not by any means so violent, re- sulted in as clean a miss as the first, and brought jeers from the cowboys. Nels's red face flamed redder. Angrily he swung again. The mound of sand spread over the teeing-ground and the exasperating little ball rolled a few inches. . This time he had to build up the sand mound and replace the baU himself. StillweU stood scornfiilly by, and the boys addressed remarks to Nels. "Take oflE 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 Ump." "Why, you dog-goned old fule, you cain't hit thet bawl." Nels essayed again, only to meet ignominious failure. • Then carefully he gathered himself together, gauged dis- tance, balanced the club, swung cautiously. And the head of the club made a beautiful curve round the ball. "Shore it's jest thet crooked club," he declared. He changed clubs and made another signal failure. Rage suddenly possessing him, he began to swing wildly. Always, it appeared, the illusive little ball was not where he aimed. StillweU hunched his huge bulk, leaned hands on knees, and roared his riotous mirth. The cowboys leaped up and down in glee. "You caint hit thet bawl," sang out one of the noisiest. A few more whirling, desperate lunges on the part of Nels, all as futile as if the ball had been thin air, finally brought to the dogged cowboy a realization that golf was beyond him. StillweU bawled : " Oh, haw, haw, haw ! Nels, you're — too old — eyes no good!" Nels slammed down the club, and when he straightened 197 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS up with the red leaving his face, then the real pride and fire of the man showed. Deliberately he stepped off ten paces and turned toward the little mound upon which rested the ball. His arm shot down, elbow crooked, hand like a claw. "Aw, Nels, this is fun!" yelled Stillwell. But swift as a gleam of light Nels flashed his gun, and the report came with the action. Chips flew from the golf -ball as it tumbled from the mound. Nels had hit it without raising the dust. Then he dropped the gtm back in its sheath and faced the cowboys. "Mebbe my eyes ain't so orful bad," he said, coolly, and started to walk off. "But look a-heah, Nels," yeUed Stillwell, "we come out to play gol-lof! We can't let you knock the ball aroimd with your gun. What 'd you want to get mad for? It's only fun. Now you an' Nick hang round heah an' be sociable. We ain't depreciatin' your company none, nor your usefulness on occasions. An' if you just hain't got inborn politeness sufficient to do the gallant before the ladies, why, remember Stewart's orders." "Stewart's orders?" queried Nels, cpming 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. "BiU, I reckon I'm some forgetftil. But I was mad. I'd 'a' remembered pretty soon, an' mebbe my manners." "Sure you would," replied Stillwell. "Wal, now, we don't seem to be proceedin' much with my gol-lof team. Next ambitious player step up." In Ambrose, who showed some skill in driving, Stillwell found one of his team. The succeeding players, however, were so poor and so evenly matched that the earnest Stillwell was in despair. He lost his temper just as speed- 198 COWBOY GOLF ily as Nels had. Finally Ed Linton's wife appeared rid- ing up with Ambrose's wife, and perhaps this helped, for Ed suddenly disclosed abihty that made Stillwell single him out. "Let me coach you a little," said Bill. "Sure, i£ you like," replied Ed. "But I know more about this game than you do." "Wal, then, let's see you hit a ball straight. Seems to me you got good all-fired quick. It's amazin' strange." Here Bill looked around to discover the two young wives modestly casting eyes of admiration upon their hus- bands. "Haw, haw! It ain't so darned strange. Mebbe that 'U help some. Now, Ed, stand up and don't sling your club as if you was ropin' a steer. Come round easy- like an' hit straight." Ed made several attempts which, although better than those of his predecessors, were rather discouraging to the exacting coach. Presently, after a particularly atrocious shot, StUlwell strode in distress here and there, and finally stopped a dozen paces or more in front of the teeing- ground. Ed, who for a cowboy was somewhat phleg- matic, calmly made ready for another attempt. "Pore!" he called. Stillwell stared. "Fore!" yelled Ed. "Why're you hollerin' that way at me?" demanrled Bill. "I mean for you to lope off the horizon. Get back from in front." "Oh, that was one of them dumed crazy words Monty is always hoUerin'. Wal, I reckon I'm safe enough hyar. You couldn't hit me in a million years." "Bill, ooze away," urged Ed. " Didn't I say you couldn't hit me? What am I coach- in' you for? It's because you hit crooked, ain't it? Wal, ^o ahaid an' break your back." Ed Linton was a short, heavy man, and his stocky build 199 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS gave evidence of considerable strength. His former strokes had not been made at the expense of exertion, but now he got ready for a supreme effort. A sudden silence clamped down upon the exuberant cowboys. It was one of those f atefvil moments when the air was charged with disaster. As Ed swung the club it fairly whistled. Crack! Instantly came a thump. But no one saw the ball until it dropped from StillweU's shrinking body. His big hands went spasmodically to the place that hurt, and a terrible groan inimbled from him. Then the cowboys broke into a frenzy of mirth that seemed to find adequate expression only in dancing and rolling accompaniment to their howls. Stillwell recovered his dignity as soon as he caught his breath, and he ad- vanced with a rueful face. "Wal, boys, it's on BiU," he said. "I'm a livin' proof of the pig-headedness of mankind. Ed, you win. You're captain of the team. You hit straight, an' if I hadn't been obstructin' the general atmosphere that ball would sure have gone clear to the Chiricahuas." Then making a megaphone of his huge hands, he yeUed a loud blast of defiance at Monty and Link. "Hey, you swell gol-lofers! We're waitin'. Come on if you ain't scared." Instantly Monty and Link qmt practising, and Hke two emperors came stalking across the links. "Guess my bluff didn't work much," said Stillwell. Then he turned to MadeUne and her friends. "Sure I hope. Miss Majesty, that you-aU won't weaken 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 plimib wild when he heahs what he an' Link are up against. But it's a square deal, because he woiildn't help us or lend the book that shows how to play. An', be- sides, it's policy for us to beat him. Now, if you'll elect who's to be caddies an' umpire I'U be powerful obliged." Madeline's friends were hugely amused over the pros- COWBOY GOLF pective match; but, except for Dorothy and Castleton, they disclaimed any ambition for active participation. Accordingly, Madeline appointed Castleton to judge the play, Dorothy to act as caddie for Ed Linton, and she herself to be caddie for Ambrose. While StiUwell beam- ingly announced this momentous news to his team and supporters Monty and Link were striding up. Both were diminutive in size, bow-legged, lame in one foot, and altogether unprepossessing. Link was young, and Monty's years, more than twice Link's, had left their mark. But it would have been impossible to tell Monty's age. As Stillwell said, Monty was burned to the color and hardness of a cinder. He never minded the heat, and always wore heavy sheepskin chaps with the wool out- side. This made him look broader than he was long. Link, partial to leather, had, since he became Madeline's chauffeur, taken to leather altogether. He carried no weapon, but Monty wore a huge gun-sheath and gun. Link smoked a cigarette and looked coolly impudent. Monty was dark-faced, swaggering, for all the world like a barbarian chief. "That Monty makes my flesh creep," said Helen, low- voiced. "Really, Mr. StiUwell, is he so bad — desperate — as I've heard? Did he ever kUl anybody?" "Sure. Most as many as Nels," replied StiUwell, cheerfully. "Oh! And is that nice Mr. Nels a desperado, too? I wouldn't have thought so. He's so kind and old-fashioned and soft-voiced." "Nels is sure an example of the doopHcity of men, Miss Helen. Don't you listen to his soft voice. He's really as bad as a side-winder rattlesnake." At this juncture Monty and Link reached the teeing- ground, and StillweU went out to meet them. The other cowboys pressed forward to surround the trio. Madeline heard Stillwell's voice, and, evidently, he was explaining that his team was to have skilled advice during the play. 14 20I THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS Suddenly there came from the center of the group a loud, angry roar that broke off as suddenly. Then followed ex- cited voices all mingled together. Presently Monty ap- peared, breaking away from restraining hands, and he strode toward Madeline. Monty Price was a type of cowboy who had never been known to speak to a woman unless he was first addressed, and then he answered in blunt, awkward shyness. Upon this great occasion, however, it appeared that he meant to protest or plead with Madeline, for he showed stress of emotion. Madeline had never gotten acquainted with Monty. She was a little in awe, if not in fear of him, and now she foimd it imperative for her to keep in mind that more than any other of the wild fellows on her 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 the single instant when it was off was long enough to show his head entirely bald. This was one of the hall-marks of that terrible Montana prairie fire through which he had fought to save the Hfe of a child. Madeline did not forget it, and all at once she wanted to take Monty's side. Remembering Stillwell's wisdom, however, she forbore yielding to sentiment, and called upon her wits. "Miss — Miss Hammond," began Monty, stammering, "I'm extendin' admirin' greetin's to you an' yotu friends. Link an' me are right down proud to play the match game with you watchin'. But Bill says you're goin' to caddy for his team an' coach 'em on the fine points. An' I want to ask, all repectful, if thet's fair an' square?" "Monty, that is for you to say," repUed Madeline. "It was my suggestion. But if you object in the least, of covu-se, we shall withdraw. It seems fair to me, because you have learned the game; you are expert, and I under- stand the other boys have no chance with you. Then you have coached Link. I think it would be sportsman- like of you to accept the handicap." COWBOY GOLF "Aw, a handicap! Thet was what Bill was drivin' at. Why didn't he say so? Every time Bill comes to a word that's pie to us old golfers he jest stumbles. Miss Maj- esty, you've made it all clear as print. An' I may say with becomin' modesty thet you wasn't mistaken none about me bein' sportsmardike. Me an' Link was bom thet way. An' we accept the handicap. Lackin' thet handicap, I reckon Link an' me would have no ambish 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 beat us before, they've got a swell chanct now, with you ladies a-watchin' me an' Link." Monty had seemed to expand with pride as he de- livered this speech, and at the end he bowed low and turned away. He joined the group round Stillwell. Once more there was animated discussion and argument and expostulation. One of the cowboys came for Castle- ton and led him away to exploit upon groimd rules. It seemed to Madeline that the game never would be- gin. She stroUed on the rim of the mesa, arm in arm with Edith Wayne, and while Edith talked she looked out over the gray valley leading to the rugged black mountains and the vast red wastes. In the foreground on the gray slope she saw cattle in movement and cowboys riding to and fro. She thought of Stewart. Then Boyd Har- vey came for them, sajdng all details had been arranged. Stillwell met them half-way, and this cool, dry, old cattle- man, whose face and manner scarcely changed at the annoimcement of a cattle -raid, now showed extreme agitation. " Wal, Miss Majesty, we've gone an' made a foozle right at the start," he said, dejectedly. "A foozle? But the game has not yet begun," rephed Madeline. "A bad start, I mean. It's amazin' bad, an' we're licked already." "What in the world is wrong?" 203 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS She wanted to laugh, but Stillwell's distress restrained her. "Wal, it's this way. That dam Monty is as cute an* slick as a fox. After he got done declaimin' about the handicap he an' Link was so happy to take, he got Castle- ton over hyar an' drove us all dotty with his crazy gol-lof names. Then he borrowed Castleton's gol-lof coat. I reckon borrowed is some kind word. He just about took that blazin' coat off the Englishman. Though I ain't sayin' but that Castleton was agreeable when he tumbled to Monty's meanin'. Which was nothin' more'n to break Ambrose's heart. That coat dazzles Ambrose. You Icnow how vain Ambrose is. Why, he'd die to get to wear that Englishman's gol-lof coat. An' Monty fore- stalled him. It's plumb pitiful to see the look in Am- brose's eyes. He won't be able to play much. Then what do you think? Monty fixed Ed Linton, all right. Usually Ed is easy-goin' an' cool. But now he's on the rampage. Wal, mebbe it's news to you to learn that Ed's wife is powerful, turrible jealous of him. Ed was somethin' of a devil with the wimmen. Monty goes over an' tells Beulah — ^that's Ed's wife — ^that Ed is goin' 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 Miss Dorothy, she has got a pair of wa- bridled eyes. Mebbe it's just natural for her to look at a feller like that. Oh, it's all right ; I'm not sajan' any- thin'! I know it's all proper an' regular for girls back East to use their eyes. But out hyar it's bound to result disastrous. All the boys talk about among themselves is Miss Dot's eyes, an' all they brag about 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' see how swell Ed was prancin' round under the light of Miss Dot's brown eyes. Beulah calls over Ed, figgertively speakin', ropes him for a minnit. Ed comes back huggin' a grouch as big as a hill. Oh, it was funny! 204 COWBOY GOLF He was goin' to punch Monty's haid off. An' Monty stands there an' laughs. Says Monty, sarcastic as alkali water: 'Ed, we-all Imowed you was a heap married man, but yoti're some locoed to give yourself away.' That settled Ed. He's some touchy about the way Beulah hen-pecks him. He lost his spirit. An' now he couldn't play marbles, let alone gol-lof. Nope, Monty was too smart. An' I reckon he was right about brains bein' what wins." The game began. At first Madeline and Dorothy es- sayed to direct the endeavors of their respective players. But all they said and did only made their team play the worse. At the third hole they were far behind and hope- lessly bewildered. What with Monty's borrowed coat, with its dazzling effect upon Ambrose, . and Link's oft- repeated allusion to Ed's matrimonial state, and Still- well's vociferated disgust, and the clamoring good in- tention and pursuit of the cowboy supporters, and the embarrassing presence of the ladies, Ambrose and Ed wore through aU manner of strange play imtil it became ridic- ulous. "Hey, Link," came Monty's voice booming over the links, "our esteemed rivals are playin' shinny." Madeline and Dorothy gave up, presently, when the game became a rout; and they sat down with their fol- lowers to watch the fun. Whether by hook or crook, Ed and Ambrose forged ahead to come close upon Monty and Link. Castleton disappeared in a mass of gesticu- lating, shouting cowboys. When that compact mass disintegrated Castleton came forth rather hurriedly, it appeared, to stalk back toward his hostess and friends. "Look!" exclaimed Helen, in dehght. "Castleton is actually excited. Whatever did they do to him? Oh, this is immense!" Castleton was excited, indeed, and also somewhat di- sheveled. "By Jove, that was a rum go," he said, as he came up. 20S THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "Never saw such blooming golf! I resigned my office as umpire." Only upon considerable pressure did he reveal the reason. "It was like this, don't you know. They were all to- gether over there watching each other. Monty Price's ball dropped into a hazard, and he moved it to improve the lie. By Jove, they've all been doing that. But over there the game was waxing hot. Stillwell and his cow- boys saw Monty move the ball, 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 it came to moving his ball back to its former lie in the hazard there was more blooming trouble. Monty placed the ball to suit him, and then he transfixed 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 im- portant as international politics or some other things re- latin', 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, I take you as a honorable man. Moreover, never in my bom days has my word been doubted without sorrow. So I'm askin' you, wasn't my baU lajrin' just about here?' "The bloody little desperado smiled cheerfully, and he dropped his right hand down to the butt of his gun. By Jove, he did! Then I had to teU a blooming lie!" Castleton even caught the tone of Monty's voice, but it was plain that he had not the least conception that Monty had been foohng. Madeline and her friends di- vined it, however; and, there being no need of reserve, they let loose the fountains of mirth. xrv BANDITS WHEN Madeline and her party recovered composure, they sat up to watch the fiiiish of the match. It came with spectacular suddeimess. A sharp yell pealed out, and aU the cowboys ttumed attentively in its direc- tion. A big, black horse had surmounted the rim of the mesa and was just breaking into a run. His rider yelled sharply to the cowboys. They wheeled to dash toward their grazing horses. "That's Stewart. There is something wrong," said Madeline, in alarm. Castleton stared. The other men exclaimed tmeasily. The women sought Madeline'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 Aladeline divided her emotions between growing alarm of some danger menacing and a thrill and quickening of pulse- beat that tingled over her whenever she saw Stewart in violent action. No action of his was any longer insig- nificant, but violent action meant so much. It might mean anything. For one moment she remembered StUl- well and all his talk about fun, and plots, and tricks to amuse her guests. Then she discountenanced the thought. Stewart might lend himself to a Uttle fun, but he cared too much for a horse to run him at that speed unless 207 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS there was imperious need. That alone sufficed to answer Madeline's questioning curiosity. And her alarm mount- ed to fear not so much for herself as for her guests. But what danger could there 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 that she could see the dark gleam of face and eyes, she had a strange feeling of trust in her dependence upon him. The big black was so close to Madeline and her friends that when Stewart pulled him, the dust and sand kicked up by his pounding hoofs flew in their faces. "Oh, Stewart, what is it?" cried MadeUne. "Guess I scared you, Miss Hammond," he replied. "But I'm pressed for time. There's a gang of bandits hiding on the ranch, most Hkely in a deserted hut. They held up a train near Agua Prieta. Pat Hawe is with the posse that's trailing them, and you know Pat has no use for us. I'm afraid it wouldn't be pleasant for you or your guests to meet either the posse or the bandits." "I fancy not," said Madeline, considerably reheved. "We'll hurry back to the house." They exchanged no more speech at the moment, and MadeUne's guests were silent. Perhaps Stewart's actions and looks belied his calm words. His piercing eyes roved round the rim of the mesa, and his face was as hard and stem as chiseled bronze. Monty and Nick came galloping up, each leading sev- eral horses by the bridles. Nels appeared behind them with Majesty, and he was having trouble with the roan. Madeline observed that all the other cowboys had dis- appeared. One sharp word from Stewart calmed Madeline's horse; the other horses, however, were frightened and not in- clined to stand. The men mounted without trouble, and likewise Madeline and Florence. But Edith Wayne and 208 BANDITS Mrs. Beck, being nervous and almost helpless, were .with difficulty gotten into the saddle. "Beg pardon, but I'm pressed for time," said Stewart, cooUy, as with iron arm he forced Dorothy's horse almost to its knees. Dorothy, who was active and plucky, climbed astride; and when Stewart loosed his hold on bit and mane the horse doubled up and began to buck. Dorothy screamed as she shot into the air. Stewart, as quick as the horse, leaped forward and caught Dorothy in his arms. She had slipped head downward and, had he not caught her, would have had a serious fall. Stewart, handling her as if she were a child, turned her right side up to set her upon her feet. Dorothy evidently thought only of the spectacle she presented, and made startled motions to readjust her riding-habit. It was no time to laugh, though Madeline felt as if she wanted to. Be- sides, it was impossible to be anj^thing but sober with Stewart in violent mood. For he had jumped at Doro- thy's stubborn mount. All cowboys were masters of horses. It was wonderful to see him conquer the vicious animal. He was cruel, perhaps, yet it was from neces- sity. "When, presently, he led the horse back to Dorothy, she mounted without further trouble. Meanwhile, Nels and Nick had lifted Helen into her saddle. "We'U take the side trail," said Stewart, shortly, as he swung upon the big black. Then he led the way, and the other cowboys trotted in the rear. It was only a short distance to the rim of the mesa, and when Madeline saw the steep trail, narrow and choked with weathered stone, she felt that her guests would cer- tainly 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 209 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS hold on. Lean forward and hang to the pommel. It looks bad. But the horses are used to such trails." Helen followed closely after Florence; Mrs. Beck went next, and then Edith 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 Stewart grasped 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 '11 save time." Then MadeUne attended to the business of getting down herself. It was a loose trail. The weathered slopes seemed to slide imder the feet of the horses. Dust-clouds formed; rocks rolled and rattled down; cactus spikes tore at horse and rider. Mrs. Beck broke into laughter, and there was a note in it that suggested hysteria. Once or twice Dorothy murmured plaintively. Half the time Madeline cotdd not distinguish those ahead through the yellow dust. It was dry and made her cough. The horses snorted. She heard^ Stewart close behind, starting Uttle avalanches that kept rolling on Majesty's fetlocks. She feared his legs might be cut or bruised, for some of the stones cracked by and went rattling down the slope. At length the clouds of dust thinned, and Madeline saw the others before her ride out upon a level. Soon she was down, and Stewart also. Here there was a delay, occasioned by Stewart chang- ing Dorothy from his horse to her own. This struck Madeline as being singular, and made her thoughtful. In fact, the alert, quiet manner of aU the cowboys was not reassuring. As they resumed the ride it was noticeable that Nels and Nick were far in advance, Monty stayed far in the rear, and Stewart rode with the party. Made- 2IO BANDITS line heard Boyd Harvey ask Stewart if lawlessness such as he had mentioned was not unusual. Stewart replied that, except for occasional deeds of outlawry such as might break out in any isolated section of the country, there had been peace and quiet along the border for years. It was the Mexican revolution that had revived wild times, with all the attendant raids and hold-ups and gun- packing. MadeHne knew that they were really being escorted home imder armed guard. When they rotmded the head of the mesa, bringing into view the ranch-house and the valley, Madeline saw dust or smoke hovering over a hut upon the outskirts of the Mexican quarters. As the sim had set and the Hght was fading, she could not distinguish which it was. Then Stewart set a fast pace for the house. In a few minutes the party was in the yard, ready and willing to dismount. StillweU appeared, ostensibly cheerful, too cheerful to deceive Madeline. She noted also that a ntimber of armed cowboys were walking with their horses just below the house. "Wal, you-aJl had a nice Httle run," StillweU said, speaking generally. "I reckon there wasn't much need of it. Pat Hawe thinks he's got some outlaws corralled on the ranch. Nothin' at all to be fussed up about. Stewart's that particular he won't have you meetin' with any rowdies." Many and fervent were the expressions of relief from Madeline's feminine guests as they dismounted and went into the house. MadeHne lingered behind to speak with StillweU and Stewart. "Now, StiUweU, out with it," she said, briefly. The old cattleman stared, and then he laughed, evi- dently pleased with her keenness. "Wal, Miss Majesty, there's goin' to be a fight some- where, an' Stewart wanted to get you-all in before it come off. He says the vaUey's overnm by vaqueros an' guerrillas an' robbers, an' Lord knows what else." 211 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS He stampsd oflE the porch, his huge spurs rattling, and started down the path toward the waiting men. Stewart stood in his familiar attentive position, erect, sUent, with a hand on pommel and bridle. "Stewart, you are exceedingly — ^thoughtful of my in- terests," she said, wanting to thank him, and not readily finding words. "I would not know what 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 did not know why. "May I know the special orders you gave Nels and Nick and Monty?" she asked. "Who said I gave those boys special orders?" "I heard Still well tell them so." "Of course I'll tell you if you insist. But why should you worry over something that '11 likely never happen?" "I insist, Stewart," she replied, quietly. "My orders were that at least one of them must be on guard near you day and night — ^never to be out of hearing of your voice." "I thought as much. But why Nels or Monty or Nick? That seems rather hard on them. For that matter, why put any one to keep guard over me? Do you not trust any other of my cowboys?" "I'd trust their honesty, but not their ability." "AbiHty? Of what nature?" "With guns." "Stewart!" she exclaimed. "Miss Hammond, you have been having such a good time entertaining your guests that you forget. I'm glad of that. I wish you had not questioned me." "Forget what?" "Don Carlos and his guerrillas." "Indeed I have not forgotten. Stewart, you still think Don Carlos tried to make off with me — ^may try it again?" "I don't think. I know." 213 BANDITS "And besides all your other duties you have shared the watch with these three 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, any- how." She mused a moment, looking away to the west, where the great void was fQling with red haze. She believed implicitly in him, and the menace hovering 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 have come to look to you for so much," she went on. "Cannot you suggest something else? My friends are having such a splendid visit. Helen is getting well. Oh, I should be sorry to see them go before they want to." "We iTiight take them up into the mountains and camp out for a while," he said, presently. " I know a wild place up among the crags. It's a hard chmb, but worth the work. I never saw a more beautiful spot. Fine water, and it wiU be cool. Pretty soon it 'U be too hot here for your party to go out-of-doors." "You mean to hide me away among the crags and clouds?" repHed Madeline, with a laugh. "Well, it 'd amotmt to that. Your friends need not know. Perhaps in a few weeks this spell of trouble on the border wiU be over tiU fall." 213 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "You say it's a hard climb up to this place?" "It surely is. Your friends will get the real thing if they make that trip." "That suits me. Helen especially wants something to happen. And they are all crazy for excitement." "They'd get it up there. Bad trails, canons to head, steep climbs, wind-storms, thunder and lightning, rain. mountain-Uons and wildcats." "Very well, I am decided. Stewart, of course you will take charge? I don't believe I — Stewart, isn't there something more you could tell me — ^why you think, why you know my own personal hberty is in peril?" "Yes. But do not ask me what it is. If I hadn't been a rebel soldier I would never have known." " If you had not been a rebel soldier, where would Made- line Hammond be now?" she asked, earnestly. He made no reply. "Stewart," she continued, with warm impulse, "you once mentioned a debt you owed me — " And seeing his dark face pale, she wavered, then went on. "It is paid." "No, no," he answered, huskily. "Yes. I wiU 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 to fascinate him. " I'd kill a man to touch your hand. But I won't touch it on the terms you offer." His imexpected passion disconcerted her. "Stewart, no man ever before refused to shake hands with me, for any reason. It — it is scarcely flattering," she said, with a little laugh. "Why won't you ? Because you think I offer it as naistress to servant — ^rancher to cowboy ?" "No." " Then why? The debt you owed me is paid. I cancel it. So why not shake hands upon it, as men do?" 214 BANDITS "I won't. That's aU." "I fear you are ungracious, whatever your reason," she replied. "Still, I may ofEer it again some day. Good night." He said good night and turned. Madeline wonderingly watched him go down the path with his hand on the black horse's neck. She went in to rest a little before dressing for dinner, and, being fatigued from the day's riding and excitement, she fell asleep. When she awoke it was twiHght. She wondered why her Mexican maid had not come to her, and she rang the bell. The maid did not put in an ap- pearance, nor was there any answer to the ring. The house seemed unusually quiet. It was a brooding silence, which presently broke to the sound of footsteps on the porch. Madeline recognized Stillwell's tread, though it appeared to be light for him. Then she heard him call softly in at the open door of her office. The suggestion of caution in his voice suited the strangeness of his walk. With a boding sense of trouble she hurried through the rooms. He was standing outside her office door. "StillweU!" 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 appealing hand toward him. Stillwell intercepted it and held it in his own. "Miss Majesty, I'm amazin' sorry to tell worrysome news." He spoke almost in a whisper, cautiously looked about him, and seemed both hurried and mysterious. "If you'd heered Stewart cuss you'd sure know how we hate to hev to tell you this. But it can't be avoided. The fact is we're in a bad fix. If your guests ain't scared out of their skins it 'U be owin' to your nerve an' how you carry out Stewart's orders." 2IS THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "You can rely upon me," replied Madeline, firmly, though she trembled. "Wal, what we're up against is this: that gang of ban- dits Pat Hawe was chasin' — ^they're hidin' in the house!" "In the house?" echoed Madeline, aghast. "Miss Majesty, it's the amazin' truth, an' shamed in- deed am I to admit it. 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 the gol-lof links, an' if Stewart hedn't rid out on the mesa after us. It's my fault. I've hed too much femininity around fer my old haid. Gene cussed me — ^he cussed me stire scan- dalous. But now we've got to face it — ^to figger." "Do you mean that a gang of hunted outlaws — ^ban- dits — ^have actually taken refuge somewhere in my house ?" demanded Madeline. "I sure do. Seems powerfiil strange to me why you didn't find somethin' was wrong, seein' all your servants hev sloped." "Gone? Ah, I ndssed my maid! I wondered why no lights were Ut. Where did my servants go?" "Down to the Mexican quarters, an' scared half to death. Now hsten. When Stswart left you an hotir or so ago he follered me direct to where me an' the boys was trjdn' to keep Pat Hawe from tearin' the ranch to pieces. 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 as red to a Greaser bull. Anyway, when the sheriff set fire to an old adobe hut Stewart called him an' called him hard. Pat Hawe hed six fellers with him, an' from all appear- ances bandit-huntin' was some fiesta. There was a row, an' it looked bad fer a little. But Gene was cool, an' he controlled the boys. Then Pat an' his tough de-pooties went on huntin'. That huntin'. Miss Majesty, petered out into what was only a farce. I reckon Pat covld hev 216 BANDITS kept on foolin' me an' the boys, but as soon as Stewart showed up on the scene — ^wal, either Pat got to blunderin' or else we-all shed our blinders. Anyway, the facts stood plain. Pat Hawe wasn't looldn' hard fer any bandits; he wasn't daid set huntin' anythin', unless it was trouble fer Stewart. Finally, when Pat's men made fer our store- house, where we keep ammunition, grub, liquors, an' sich, then Gene called a halt. An' he ordered Pat Hawe off the ranch. It was hyar Hawe an' Stewart locked horns. An' hyar the truth come out. There was a gang of ban- dits hid somewheres, an' at fust Pat Hawe hed been powerful active an' earnest in his hxmtin'. But sudden- Uke he'd fetched a pecooUar 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 grudge on 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 the bandits or hevin' some reason fer slopin' off the trail. Anyway, the row started 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 the place, one of them de-pooties lost his head an' went fer his gun. Nels throwed 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. But the bandit-himters crawled, an' then Ut out." StUlweU paused in the rapid delivery of his narrative; he stiU retained 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 or so fellers — he wouldn't say they was Greasers — ^breakin' through the shrubbery to the back of the house. That was while Stewart was ridin' out to the mesa. Then this lad seen your servants 16 217 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS all rurmin' down the hill toward the village. Now, heah's the way Gene figgers. There sure was some deviltry down along the railroad, an' Pat Hawe trailed bandits up to the ranch. He hunts hard an' then all to onct he quits. Stewart says Pat Hawe wasn't scared, but he dis- covered signs or somethin', or got wind in some strange way, that there was in the gang of bandits some fellers he didn't want to ketch. Sabef Then Gene, quicker'n a flash, springs his plan on me. He'd go down to Padre Marcos an' hev him help to find out all possible from your Mexican servants. I was to hurry up hyar an' 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 grand bluff an' pretend, as your help has left, that it '11 be great fun fer your guests to cooks, dinner. The kitchen is the safest room in the house. While you're joshin' your party along, makin' a kind of picnic out of it, I'll place cowboys in the long corridor, an' also outside in the comer where the kitchen joins on to the main house. It's pretty sure the bandits think no one's wise to where they're hid. Stewart says they're in that end room where the alfalfa is, an' they'll slope in the night. Of course, with me an' the boys watchin', you-all will be safe to go to bed. An' we're to rouse your guests early before daylight, to hit the trail up into the moun- tains. 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 'llneverknowthey'vebeen sittin'on a powder-mine." "Stillwell, do you advise that trip up into the moun- tains?" asked MadeUne. "I reckon I do, considerin' everythin'. Now, Miss Majesty, I've used up a lot of time explainin'. You'll sure keep your nerve?" "Yes," MadeUne repHed, and was surprised at herself. "Better tell Florence. She'll be a power of comfort to you. I'm goin' now to fetch up the boys." 218 BANDITS Instead of retiiming to her room Madeline went through the office into the long corridor. It was almost as dark as night. She fancied she saw a slow-gHding figure darker than the surrounding gloom; and she en- tered upon the fulfilment of her part of the plan in some- thing like trepidation. Her footsteps weie noiseless. Finding the door to the kitchen, and going in, she struck Ughts. Upon passing out again she made certain she discerned g, dark shape, now motionless, crouching along the wall. But she mistrusted her vivid imagination. It took all her boldness to enable her unconcernedly and naturally to strike the corridor hght. Then she went on through her own rooms and thence into the patio. Her guests laughingly and gladly entered into the spirit of the occasion. Madeline fancied her deceit must have been perfect, seeing that it deceived even Florence. They trooped merrily into the kitchen. Madeline, delaying at the door, took a sharp but tmobtrusive glance down the great, bam-Uke hall. She saw nothing but blank dark space. Suddenly from one side, not a rod distant, pro- truded a pale, gleaming face breaking the even blackness. Instantly it flashed back out of sight. Yet that time was long enough for Madeline to see a pair of gUttering eyes, and to recognize them as Don Carlos's. Without betraying either hurry or alarm, she closed the door. It had a heavy bolt which she slowly, noiselessly shot. Then the cold amaze that had all but stimned her into inaction throbbed into wrath. How dared that Mexican steal into her home ! What did he mean? Was he one of the bandits supposed to be hidden in her house? She was thinking herself into greater anger and excite- ment, and probably would have betrayed herself had not Florence, who had evidently seen her bolt the door and now read her thoughts, come toward her with a bright, intent, questioning look. MadeHnd caught herself in time. Thereupon she gave each of her guests a duty to per- 219 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS form. Leading Florence into the pantry, she unburdened herself of the secret in one brief whisper. Florence's reply "was to point out of the little open window, passing which was a file of stealthily moving cowboys. Then Madeline lost both anger and fear, retaining only the glow of excite- ment. Madeline could be gay, and she initiated the abandon- ment of dignity by calling Castleton into the pantry, and; while interesting him in some pretext or other, imprinting the outlines of her flour-covered hands upon the back of his black coat. Castleton innocently returned to the kitchen to be greeted with a roar. That surprising act of the hostess set the pace, and there followed a merry noisy time. Everybody helped. The miscellaneous col- lection of dishes so confusingly contrived made up a dinner which they all heartily enjoyed. Madeline en- joyed 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 go to their rooms, don their riding- clothes, pack what they needed for the long and adven- turous camping trip that she hoped would be the climax of their Western experience, and to snatch a little sleep before the cowboys roused them for the early start. Madeline went immediately to her room, and was get- ting out her camping apparel when a knock interrupted her. She thought Florence had come to help her pack. But this knock was upon the door opening out in the porch. It was repeated. "Who's there?" she questioned. "Stewart," came the reply. She opened the door. He stood on the threshold. Beyond him, indistinct in the gloom, were several cow- boys. "May I speak to you?" he asked. "Certainly." She hesitated a moment, then asked him in and closed the door. "Is — ^is everything all right?" 220 BANDITS " No. These bandits stick to cover pretty close. They must have found out we're on the watch. But I'm sure we'll get you and your friends away before anything starts. I wanted to tell you that I've talked with your servants. They were just scared. They'll come back to-morrow, soon as Bill gets rid of this gang. You need not worry about them or your property." "Do you have any idea who is hiding in the house?" "I was worried some at first. Pat Hawe acted queer. I imagined he'd discovered he was trailing bandits who might turn out to be his smuggling guerrilla cronies. But talking with your servants, finding a bunch of horses hidden down in the mesquite behind the pond — several things have changed my mind. My idea is that a cow- ardly handful of riffraff outcasts from the border have hidden in your house, more by accident than design. We'U let them go — get rid of them without even a shot. If I didn't think so — well, I'd be considerably worried. It would make a different state of affairs." "Stewart, you are wrong," she said. He started, but his reply did not follow swiftly. The expression of his eyes 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 the light. 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 was standing full in the light. I had entered the door, then purposely stepped out. His face showed from arotmd a comer, and swiftly flashed out of sight." Madeline was tremblingly conscious that Stewart under- 221 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS went a transformation. She saw as well as felt the leap- ing passion that changed him. , "Call your friends — get them in here!" he ordered, tersely, and wheeled toward the door. "Stewart, wait!" she said. He turned. His white face, his burning eyes, his pres- ence now charged with 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 and lock the doors. You'll be safe." "Stewart! Tell me what you intend to do." "I won't tell you," he repUed, 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, I do know. You mean to fight!" "Well, Miss Hammond, isn't it about time?" he asked. Evidently, he overcame a violent passion for instant action. There was weariness, dignity, even reproof in his question. "The fact of that Mexican's presence here in your house ought to prove to you the nature of the case. These vaqueros, these guerrillas, have found out you won't stand for any fighting on the part of your men. Don Carlos is a sneak, a coward, yet he's not afraid to hide in yotir own house. He has learned you won't let your cowboys hurt anybody. He's taking advantage of it. He'll rob, bum, and make off with you. He'll murder, too, if it falls his way. These Greasers use knives in the dark. So I ask — isn't it about time 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 you that just now we've wild times glong this stretch of border? Must I tell you again that Don Carlos is hand and glove with the revolution? The rebels axe crazy to stir up the United States. You are a woman 222 BANDITS of prominence. Don Caxlos would make off with you. If he got you, what little matter to cross the border with you! Well, where would the hue and cry go? Through the troops along the border! To New York! To Wash- ington! Why, it would mean what the rebels are work- ing for — United States 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 you over the line. I know these low-caste Mexicans. I've been among the peons — the slaves." "Stewart, don't let Don Carlos get me," rephed Made- line, in sweet directness. She saw him shake, saw his throat swell as he swallowed hard, saw the hard 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'U go ahead and start one without yotir per- mission," he replied, shortly, and again he wheeled. This time, when Madeline caught his arm, she held to it, even after he stopped. "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 against the door. He swept out a long arm as if to brush her aside. But it wavered and feU. Haggard, troubled, with working face, he stood before her. "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 bum the house. They'll make off with you. They'll do some- thing bad unless we stop them." "Let us risk all that," she importuned. 223 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS "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, Miss Hammond. I'm going to take the boys and go after these guerrillas." "No!" "Good Heavens!" exclaimed Stewart. "Why not let tne go? It's the thing to do. I'm sorry to distress you and your guests. Why not put an end to Don Carlos's badgering? Is it because you're afraid a rtunpus will spoil your friends' 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 Greater blood staining the halls of your home?" "No!" "Well, then, why keep me from doing what I know is best?" "Stewart, I — I — " she faltered, in growing agitation. "I'm frightened — confused. All this is too — ^too much for me. I'm not a coward. If you have to fight you'U see I'm not a coward. But your way seems so reckless — that hall is so dark — ^the guerrillas would shoot from be- hind 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 — so about you doing it. But I believe it's because I'm afraid you — you might be hurt." "You're afraid I — I might be hurt?" he echoed, won- deringly, the hard whiteness 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, stifUng under a torrent of emotions. Madeline thought she had persuaded him — ^worked her will with him. Then another of his startlingly sudden 224 BANDITS moves told her that she had reckoned too quickly. Thii 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 thresh- old. His face was still working, but the flame-pointed gleam of his eyes indicated the return of that cowboy ruthlessness. "I'm going to drive Don Carlos and his gang out of the house," declared Stewart. "I think I may promise you to do it without a fight. But if it takes a fight, off he goes!" XV THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL AS Stewart departed from one door Florence knocked r\ upon another; and Madeline, far shaken out of her usual serenity, admitted the cool Western girl with more than gladness. Just to have her near helped Madeline to get back her balance. She was conscious of Florence's sharp scrutiny, then of a sweet, deliberate change of maimer. Florence might have been burning with curios- ity to know more about the bandits hidden in the house, the plans of the cowboys, the reason for Madeline's sup- pressed emotion; but instead of asking Madeline ques- tions she introduced 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's duffle-bags. That done, they decided to lie down, fully dressed as they were in riding-costume, and sleep, or at least rest, the little remaining time left before the call to saddle. Made- Une ttimed out the light and, peeping through her win- dow, saw dark forms standing sentinel-like in the gloom. When she lay down she heard soft steps on the path. This fidelity to her swelled her heart, while the need of' it presaged that fearful something which, since Stewart's passionate appeal to her, haunted her as inevitable. Madehne did not expect to sleep, yet she did sleep, and it seemed to have been only a moment until Florence called her. She followed Florence outside. It was the dark hour before dawn. She could discern saddled horses 226 THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL being held by cowboys. There was an air of hurry and mystery about the departure. Helen, who came tip- toeing out with Madeline's other 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 to have. She heard low voices, the champing of bits and thumping of hoofs, and she recog- nized Stewart when he led up Majesty for her to mount. Then came a pattering of soft feet and the whijiing of dogs. Cold noses touched her hands, and she saw the long, gray, shaggy shapes of her pack of Russian wolf- hounds. That Stewart meant to let them go with her was indicative of how he studied her pleasiu-e. She loved to be out with the hounds 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 along the line, and on the return Madeline heard him say several times: "Now, everybody ride close to the horse in front, and keep quiet till daylight." Then the snorting and pounding of the big black horse in front of her told Madeline that Stewart had mounted. "All right, we're off," he called. Madeline Ufted Majesty's bridle and let the roan go. There was a crack and crunch of gravel, fire struck from stone, a low whinny, a snort, and then steady, short, clip- clop of iron hoofs on hard groimd. MadeUne could just discern Stewart and his black outlined in shadowy gray before her. Yet they were almost within touching dis- tance. Once or twice one of the huge stag-hounds leaped up at her and whined joyously. A thick belt of darkness lay low, and seemed to thin out above to a gray fog, through which a few wan stars showed. It was altogether an tmusual departure from the ranch; and MadeUne, always susceptible even to ordinary incident that prom- ised weU, now foimd herself thriUingly sensitive to the 227 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS soft beat of hoofs, the feel of cool, moist air, the dim sight of Stewart's dark figiire. The caution, the early start before dawn, the enforced silence — ^these lent the occasion all that was needful to make it stirring. Majesty plunged into a gully, where sand and rough going made Madeline stop romancing to attend to riding. In the darkness Stewart was not so easy to keep close to even on smooth trails, and now she had to be watchfully attentive to do it. Then followed a long march through dragging sand. Meantime the blackness gradually changed to gray. At length Majesty climbed out of the wash, and once more his iron shoes rang on stone. He be- gan to climb. The figure of Stewart and his horse loomed more distinctly in Madeline's sight. Bending over, she tried to see the trail, but could not. She wondered how Stewart could follow a trail in the dark. His eyes must be as piercing as they sometimes looked. Over her shoul- der 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 sub- stance, and yield the grotesque shapes of yucca and ocotillo. Dawn was about to break. Madeline imagined she was facing east, stiU she saw no brightening of slcy. All at once, to her surprise, Stewart and his powerful horse stood clear in her sight. She saw the characteristic rock and cactus and brush that covered the foothills. The trail was old and seldom used, and it zigzagged and turned and twisted. Looking back, she saw the short, squat figure of Monty Price humped over his saddle. Monty's face was hidden under his sombrero. Behind him rode Dorothy Coombs, and next loomed up the lofty form of Nick Steele. Madeline and the members of her party were riding between cowboy escorts. Bright daylight came, and Madeline saw the trail was leading up through foothills. It led in a roundabout way through shallow gullies full of stone and brush washed 238 THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL down by floods. At every turn now Madeline expected to come upon water and the waiting pack-train. But time passed, and miles of climbing, and no water or horses were met. Expectation in Madeline gave place to desire; she was hungry. Presently Stewart's horse went splashing into a shallow pool. Beyond that damp places in the sand showed here and there, and again more water in rocky pockets. Stewart kept on. It was eight o'clock by MadeUne's watch when, upon turning into a wide hollow, she saw horses grazing on spare grass, a great pile of canvas-covered bundles, and a fire round which cowboys and two Mexican women were busy. Madehne sat her horse and reviewed her followers as they rode up single file. Her guests were in merry mood, and they aU talked at once. "Breakfast — and rustle," called out Stewart, without ceremony. "No need to tell me to rustle," said Helen. "I am simply ravenous. This air makes me hungry." For that matter, Madeline observed Helen did not show any marked contrast to the others. The hurry order, however, did not interfere with the meal being somewhat in the nature of a picnic. While they ate and talked and laughed the cowboys were packing horses and bturos and throwing the diamond-hitch, a procedure so interest- ing to Castleton that he 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 nice little job!" As soon as the pack-train was in readiness Stewart started it off in the lead to break trail. A heavy growth of shrub interspersed with rock and cactus cov- ered the slopes; and now all the trail appeared to be up- hill. It was not a question of comfort for Madeline and her party, for comfort was impossible; it was a matter of making the travel possible for them. Florence wore 229 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS corduroy breeches and high-top boots, and the advantage of this masculine garb was at once in evidence. The riding-habits of the other ladies suffered considerably from the sharp spikes. It took all Madeline's watchfulness to save her horse's legs, to pick the best bits of open ground, to make cut-offs from the trail, and to protect herself from outreaching thorny branches, so that the time sped by without her knowing it. The pack-train forged ahead, and the trailing couples grew farther apart. At noon they got out of the foothills to face the real ascent 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, and what scenery lay open to the eye was dreary and drab, a barren monotony of slow- mounting slopes ridged by rocky canons. 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 new for yoiir friends. I think we'd be wise to keep on the go. There's no place to make a good camp. The wind would blow us off this slope if the rain didn't wash us off. It '11 take all-day travel to reach a good camp-site, and I don't promise that. We're making slow time. If it rains, let it rain. The pack outfit is well covered. We will have to get wet." "Surely," replied Madeline; and she smiled at his in- ference. She knew what a storm was in that country, and her guests had yet to experience one. "If it rains, let it rain." Stewart rode on, and Madeline followed. Up the slope toiled and nodded the pack-animals, the little burros going easily where the horses labored. Their packs, like the 230 THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL humps of camels, bobbed from side to side. Stones rat- tled down; the heat-waves wavered black; the dust puffed up and sailed. The sky was a pale blue, like heated steel, except where dark clouds peeped over the mountain crests. A heavy, sultry atmosphere made breathing dif- ficult. Down the slope the trailing party stretched out in twos and threes, and it was easy to distinguish the weary riders. Half a mile farther up Madeline could see over the foot- hills to the north and west and a little south, and she for- got the heat and weariness and discomfort for her guests in wide, unlimited prospects of sun-scorched earth. She marked the gray valley and the black mountains and the wide, red gateway of the desert, and the dim, shadowy peaks, blue as the sky they pierced. She was sorry when the bleak, gnarled cedar-trees shut off her view. Then there came a respite from the steep climb, and the way led in a winding course through a matted, storm- wrenched forest of stvinted trees. Even up to this eleva- tion the desert reached with its gaunt hand. The clouds overspreading the sky, hiding the sun, made a welcome change. The pack-train rested, and Stewart and Made- line waited for the party to come up. Here he briefly explained to her that Don Carlos and his bandits had left the ranch sometime in the night. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a faint wind rustled the scant foliage of the cedars. The air grew oppressive; the horses panted. "Sure it '11 be a hummer," said Stewart. "The first storm almost always is bad. I can feel it in the air." The air, indeed, seemed to be charged with a heavy force that was waiting to be liberated. One by one the couples mounted to the cedar forest, and the feminine contingent declaimed eloquently for rest. But there was to be no permanent rest until night, and then that depended upon reaching the crags. The pack-train wagged onward, and Stewart fell in behind. 231 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS The storm-center gathered slowly around the peaks; low- nimble and bowl of thunder increased in frequence; slowly the light shaded as smoky clouds rolled up; the air grew sultrier, and the exasperating breeze piiSed a few times and then failed. An hour later the party had climbed high, and was rounding the side of a great bare ridge that long had hid- den the crags. The last burro of the pack-train plodded over the ridge out of Madeline's sight. She looked back- ward down the slope, amused to see her guests change wearily from side to side in their saddles. Far below lay the cedar flat and the foothills. Far to the west the sky was still clear, with shafts of sunlight shooting down from behind the encroaching clouds. Stewart reached the summit of the ridge and, though only a few rods ahead, he waved to her, sweeping his hand round to what he saw beyond. It was an impressive gesture, and Madeline, never having climbed as high as this, anticipated much. Majesty surmoTm.ted the last few steps and, snorting, halted beside Stewart'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-canoned gulf. Eastward, beyond the gulf, round, bare moimtain-heads loomed up. Upward, on the right, led giant steps of cliff and bench and weathered slope to the fir-bordered and pine-fringed crags standing dark and bare against the stormy sky. Massed inky clouds were piling across the peaks, obscuring the highest ones. A fork of white lightning flashed, and, like the booming of an avalanche, thunder followed. That bold world of broken rock under the slow muster- ing of storm-clouds was a grim, awe-inspiring spectacle. It had beauty, but beauty of the sublime and majestic kind. The fierce desert had reached up to meet the magnetic heights where heat and wind and frost and 232 THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL lightning and flood contended in everlasting strife. And before their onslaught this mighty up-flung world of rug- ged stone was crumbling, splitting, wearing to ruin. Madeline glanced at Stewart. He had forgotten her presence. Immovable as stone he sat his horse, dark- faced, dark-eyed, and, like an Indian unconscious of thought, he watched and watched. To see him thus, to divine the strange affinity between the soul of this man become primitive, and the savage environment that had developed him, were powerful helps to Madeline Ham- mond in her strange desire to understand his nature. A cracking of iron-shod hoofs behind her broke the spell. Monty had reached the summit. "Gene, what it won't all be doin' in a minnut Mose3 hisself couldn't tell," observed Monty. Then Dorothy climbed to his side and looked. "Oh, isn't it just perfectly lovely!" she exclaimed, "'But I wish it wouldn't storm. We'll all get wet." Once more Stewart faced the ascent, keeping to the slow heave of the ridge as it rose southward toward the looming spires of rock. Soon he was off smooth ground, and Madeline, some rods behind him, looked back with concern at her friends. Here the real toil, the real cUmb began, and a mountain storm was about to burst in all its fury. The slope that Stewart entered upon was a magnificent monument to the ruined crags above. It was a southerly slope, and therefore semi-arid, covered with cercocarpus and yucca and some shrub that Madeline believed was manzanita. Every foot of the trail seemed to slide under Majesty. What hard grovmd there was could not be traveled upon owing to the spiny covering or masses of shattered rocks. Gullies lined the slope. Then the sky grew blacker; the slow-gathering clouds appeared to be suddenly agitated; they piled and rolled and mushroomed and obscured the crags. The air moved heavily, and seemed to be laden with sulphurous smoke, 16 233 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS and sharp lightning flashes began to play. A distant roar of wind could be heard between the peals of thunder. Stewart waited for Madeline under the lee of a shelv- ing cliff, where the cowboys had halted the pack-train. Majesty was sensitive to the flashes of Ughtning. Made- line patted his neck and softly called to him. The weary burros nodded; the Mexican women covered their heads with their mantles. Stewart untied the slicker at the back of Madeline's saddle and helped her on with it. Then he put on his own. The other cowboys followed suit. Presently Madeline saw Monty and Dorothy round- ing the cUff, 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 foundations of the earth. Then it rolled, as if banging from cloud to cloud, and boomed along the peaks, and reverberated from deep to low, at last to rumble away into silence. Madeline felt the elec- tricity in Majesty's mane, and it seemed to tingle through her nerves. The air had a weird, bright cast. The ponderous clouds swallowed more and more of the eastern domes. This moment of the breaking of the storm, with the strange growing roar of wind, like a moaning monster, was pregnant with a heart-disturbing emotion for Made- line Hammond. Glorious it was to be free, healthy, out in the open, under the shadow of the mountain and cloud, ia the teeth of the wind and rain and storm. Another dazzling blue blaze showed the bold mountain- side and the storm-driven clouds. In the flare of Ught Madsline saw Stewart's face. "Are you afraid?" she asked. "Yes," he replied, simply. Then the thunderbolt racked the heavens, and as it boomed away in lessening power Madeline reflected with surprise upon Stewart's answer. Something in his face had made her ask him what she considered a fooHsh ques- tion. His reply amazed her. She loved a storm. Why 234 THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL should he fear it — ^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 stam- peding. At night, alone on the mountain, with the pines crashing and the rocks rolling — ^in flood on the desert." "It's not only the hghtning, then?" she asked. " No. All the storm." Madeline felt that henceforth she would have less faith in what she had imagined was her love of the ele- ments. What httle she knew! If this iron-ner\'^ed man feared a storm, then there was something about a storm to fear. And suddenly, as the ground quaked vmder her horse's feet, and all the sky grew black and criss-crossed by flaming streaks, and between thunderous reports there was a strange hollow roar sweeping down upon her, she realized how small was her knowledge and experience of the mighty forces of nature. Then, with that perversity of character of which 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 canons, the stupendous strife of sound, the wonder- ful driving lances of white fire. With blacker gloom and deafening roar came the torrent of rain. It was a cloud-burst. It was Uke solid water tumbling down. For long Madeline sat her horse, head bent to the pelting rain. When its force lessened, and she heard Stewart call for all to foUow, she looked up to see that he was starting once more. She shot a glimpse at Dorothy and as quickly glanced away. Dorothy, who would not wear a hat suitable for inclement weather, nor one of the horrid yellow, sticky slickers, was a drenched and disheveled spectacle. Madeline did not trust her- 235 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS self to look at the other girls. It was enough to hear their lament. So she ttimed her horse into Stewart's trail. Rain fell steadily. The fury of the storm, however, had passed, and the roll of thunder diminished in volume. The air had wonderfully cleared and was growing cool. Madeline began to feel uncomfortably cold and wet. Stewart was dimbiag faster than formerly, and she noted that Monty kept at her heels, pressing her on. Time had been lost, and the camp-site was a long way off. The stag-hounds began to lag and get footsore. The sharp rocks of the trail were cruel to their feet. Then, as Made- line began to tire, she noticed less and less arovmd her. The ascent grew rougher and steeper — slow toil for pant- ing horses. The thinning rain grew colder, and sometimes a stronger whip of wind lashed stingingly in Madeline's face. Her horse cHmbed and climbed, and brush and sharp corners of stone everlastingly pulled and tore at her wet garments. A gray gloom settled down around her. Night was approaching. Majesty heaved upward with a snort, the wet saddle creaked; and an even motion told Madeline she 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 were water-soaked arms reaching out for her. Through an opening between crags Madeline caught a momentary glimpse of the west. Red sun-shafts shone through the murky, broken clouds. The sun had set. Stewart's horse was on a jog-trot now, and Madeline left the trail more to Majesty than to her own choosing. The shadows deepened, and the crags grew gloomy and spectral. A cool wind moaned through the dark trees. Coyotes, scenting the hounds, kept apace of them, and barked and howled off in the gloom. But the tired hounds did not appear to notice. As black night began to envelop her surroundings, Madeline marked that the fir-trees had given place to 236 THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL pine forest. Suddenly a pin-point of light pierced the ebony blackness. Like a solitary star in dark sky it twinlded and blinlced. She lost sight of it — ^found it again. It grew larger. Black tree-trunks crossed her line of vision. The light was a fire. She heard a cowboy song and the wild chorus of a pack of coyotes. Drops of rain on the branches of trees gHttered in the rays of the fire. Stewart's tall figure, with sombrero slouched down, was now and then outhned against a growing circle of hght. And by the aid of that light she saw him turn every moment or so to look back, probably to assure himself that she was close behind. With a prospect of fire and warmth, and food and rest, MadfeUne's enthusiasm revived. What a climb! There was promise in this wild ride and lonely trail and hidden craggy height, not only in the adventure her friends 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 roaring fire — to see steaming pots upon red- hot coals. Except about her shoulders, which had been protected by the sUcker, she was wringing wet. The Mexican women came qviickly to help her change in a tent near by; but Madeline preferred for the moment to warm her numb feet and hands and to watch the spec- tacle of her arriving friends. Dorothy plumped off her saddle into the arms of sev- eral waiting cowboys. She could scarcely walk. Far removed in appearance was she from her usual stylish self. Her face was hidden by a limp and lopsided hat. From under the disheveled brim came a plaintive moan: "0-h-h! what a-an a-awful ride!" Mrs. Beck was in worse condition; she had to be taken off 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 and tumbling, would have been taken for a handsome cowboy. Edith Wayne had stood the physical strain of the ride better than Dorothy; however, as her mount was rather small, she had been more at the mercy of cactus and brush. Her habit hung in tatters. Helen had preserved a remnant of style, as well as of pride, and perhaps a little strength. But her face was white, her eyes were big, and she limped. "Maj- esty!" she exclaimed. "What did you want to do to 238 THE CRAGS us? Kill us outright or make us homesick?" Of aU of them, however, Ambrose's wife, Christine, the little French maid, had suffered the most in that long ride. She was unaccustomed to horses. Ambrose had to carry her into the big tent. Florence persuaded Madeline to leave the fire, and when they went in with the others Dorothy was wailing because her wet boots would not come off, Mrs. Beck was weeping and trying to direct a Mexican woman to tmfasten her bedraggled dress, and there was general pandemoniimi. "Warm clothes — hot drinks and grub — warm blanlcets," rang out Stewart's sharp order. Then, with Florence helping the Mexican women, it was not long until Madeline and the feminine side of the party were comfortable, except for the weariness and aches that only rest and sleep could alleviate. Neither fatigue nor pains, however, nor the strange- ness of being packed sardine-like under canvas, nor the howls of coyotes kept MadeUne's guests from stretching out with long, grateful sighs, and one by one dropping into deep slumber. Madeline whispered a little to Flor- ence, and laughed with her once or twice, and then the light flickering on the canvas faded and her eyelids closed. Darkness and roar of camp life, low voices of men, thump of horses' hoofs, coyote serenade, the sense of warmth and sweet rest — all drifted away. When she awakened shadows of swajring branches moved on the sunlit canvas above her. She heard the ringing strokes of an ax, but no other soimd from out- side. Slow, regular breathing attested to the deep slumbers of her tent comrades. She observed presently that Florence was missing from the number. Madehne rose and peeped out between the flaps. An exquisitely beautiful scene surprised and enthralled her gaze. She saw a level space, green with long grass, bright with flowers, dotted with groves of graceful firs 239 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS and pines and spruces, reaching to superb crags, rosy and golden in the simUght. Eager to get out where she could enjoy an tmrestricted view, she searched for her pack, found it in a comer, and then hurriedly and quietly dressed. Her favorite stag-hounds, Russ and Tartar, were asleep before the door, where they had been chained. She awakened them and loosened them, thinking the while that it must have been Stewart who had chained them near her. Close at hand also was a cowboy's bed rolled up in a tarpaulin. The cool air, fragrant with pine and spruce and some subtle nameless tang, sweet and tonic, made Madeline stand erect and breathe slowly and deeply. It was Uke drinking of a magic draught. She felt it in her blood, that it qiaickened its flow. Turning to look in the other direction, beyond the tent, she saw the remnants of last night's temporary camp, and farther on a grove of beau- tiful pines from which came the sharp ring of the ax. Wider gaze took in a wonderful park, not only surrounded by lofty crags, but full of crags of lesser height, many lifting their heads from dark-green groves of trees. The morning sun, not yet above the eastern elevations, sent its rosy and golden shafts in between 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. Then she saw that a clump of trees had prevented her from seeing the most striking part of this natural park. The cowboys had selected a camp- site where they would have the morning sun and after- noon shade. Several tents and flys were already up; there was a huge lean-to made of spruce boughs; cowboys were busy round several camp-fires; piles of packs lay covered with tarpaulins, and beds were rolled up under the trees. This space 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, grassy banks to great 240 THE CRAGS towers of stone five hundred feet high. Other crags rose behind these. From imder a mossy cliff, huge and green and cool, bubbled a full, clear spring. Wild flowers fringed its banks. Out in the meadow the horses were knee-deep in grass that waved in the morning breeze. Florence espied Madeline under the trees and came running. She was hke a young girl, with life and color and joy. She wore a flannel blouse, corduroy skirt, and moccasins. And her hair was fastened tmder a band like 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. I imagine they sure wiU sleep up heah in this air." Then, businesslike, Florence fell to questioning Made- line about details of camp arrangement which Stewart, and Florence herself, cotdd hardly see 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 not intend to sleep in it except during stormy weather. They spread a tarpaulin, made their bed on it, and elected to sleep imder the light of the stars. After that, taking the hoimds with them, they explored. To Madeline's surprise, the park was not a little half-mile nook nestling among the crags, but ex- tended farther than they cared to walk, and was rather a series of parks. They wqre no more than small valleys between gray-toothed peaks. As the day advanced the charm of the place grew upon Madeline. Even at noon, with the sun beating down, there was comfortable warmth rather than heat. It was the kind of warmth that Made- Hne Hked to feel in the spring. And the sweet, thin, rare atmosphere began to affect her strangely. She breathed deeply of it until she felt Hght-headed, as if her body lacked substance and might drift away Uke a thistle- down. All at once she grew uncomfortably sleepy. A