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{ SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER L—Arriving at the lonely
e railroad station of El Cajon, New
, Madeline Hammond, New York
finds no one to meet her. While in
waiting room a drunken cowboy en-
asks she is married, and departs,
ving her terrified, He returns with a
est, who goes through some sort of
ny, and the cowboy forces her to
er 81." Asking her name and learning
identity the cowboy seems dazed, In
shooting scrape outside the room &
can killed.
“Bonita,” take his horse and escape,
n conducts Madeline to Florence
y, friend of her brother.
R II.—Florence welcomes her,
her story, and dismisses the cow-
y, Gene Stewart. Next day Alfred
ond, Madeline's brother, takes
tewart to tack. Madeline exonerates
of any wrong intent.
CHAPTER IIl.—Alfred, scion of a
igi family, had been dismissed from
home because of his dissipation.
Madeline sees that the West has re-
deemed him. She meets Stillwell, Al's
employer, typical western ranchman.
Madeline learns Stewart has gone over
the border.
CHAPTER IV.—Danny Mains, one of
Stillwell’s cowboys, has disappeared,
with some of Stillwell's money. His
fiends link his name with the girl Bo~
CHAPTER V.—Madeline gets a glimpse
of life on a western ranch,
CHAPTER VI.—Stewart’s horse comes
to the ranch with a note on the saddle
asking Madeline to accept the beautiful
animal, With her brother's consent she
does so, naming him “Majesty,” her own
pet nickname. Madeline, independent]
rich, arranges to buy Stillwell's ranc
$d that of Don Carlos, a Mexican neigh-
CHAPTER VIl.—Madeline feels she
has found her right place, under the light
of the western stars.
CHAPTER VIII.—Learning Stewart had
Joen hurt in a brawl at Chiricahua, and
nowing her brother's fondness for him,
Madeline visits him and persuades him to
come to the ranch as the boss of her
cowboys.
CHAPTER IX.—Jim Nels, Nick Steele,
and “Monty” Price are Madeline's chief
riders. They have a feud with Don Car-
los’ vaqueros, who are really guerrillas.
Madeline pledges Stewart to see that
peace is kept
CHAPTER X.—Madeline and Florence,
geturning home from Alfred's ranch, run
into an ambush of vaqueros. Florence,
knowing the Mexicans are after Made-
line, decoys them away, and Madeline
gets home safely but alone,
CHAPTER XIl.—A raiding guerrilla
band carries off Madeline. Stewart fol-
lows alone. The leader is a man with
whom Stewart had served in Mexico. He
releases the girl, arranging for ransom.
Returning home with Stewart, Madeline
finds herself strangely stirred.
CHAPTER = XII. — Madeline's sister
Helen, with a party of eastern friends,
arrives at the ranch, craving excitement.
CHAPTER XIII.—For the guests’ enter-
tainment a game of golf is arranged.
Stewart interrupts the game, insisting
the whole party return at once to the
house. He tells Madeline her guests are
not safe while the Mexican revolution is
going on, and urges them to go up to
the mountains out of danger. They de-
cide to do so.
CHAPTER XIV.—The guerrillas leave
during the night, without making trouble,
Madeline and her guests, with the cow-
boys, go up to the mountains.
CHAPTER XV.—Edith Wayne pleads
with Madeline to return to the East, but
she refuses.
CHAPTER XVI
Bonita.
Having exhausted all the resources
of the mountain, such that had interest
for them, Madeline's guests settled
quietly down for a rest, which Made-
line knew would soon end in a desire
for civilized comforts. They were al-
most tired of roughing it. Helen's dis-
content manifested itself in her re-
mark, “I guess nothing is going to hap-
pen, after all.”
Madeline awaited their pleasure in
regard to the breaking of camp; and
meanwhile, as none of them cared for
more exertion, she took her walks
without them, sometimes accompanied
py one of the cowboys, always by the
stag-hounds. One day, while walking
alone, before she realized it she had
gone a long way down a dim trail
winding among the rocks. It was the
middle of a summer afternoon, and all
about her were shadows of the crags
crossing the sunlit patches. The quiet
was undisturbed. She went on and on,
not blind to the fact that she was per-
aps going too far frcm camp, but
risking it because she was sure of her
way back, and enjoying the wild,
sraggy recesses that were new to her.,
Finally she came out upon a bank that
hroke abruptly into a beautiful littie
glade. Here she sat dowr to rest be
fore undertaking the return trip.
Suddenly Russ, the keener of the
stag-hounds, raised his head and
growled. Madeline feared he might
have scented a mountain-lion or wild-
cat. She quieted him and carefully
looked around. The little glade was
open and grassy, with here a pine tree,
there a boulder. The outlet seemed to
go down into a wilderness of canyons
and ridges. Looking in this direction,
Madeline saw the slight, dark figure of
a woman coming stealthily along un-
der the pines. Madeline was amazed,
then a little frightened, for
stealthy walk from tree to tree was
suggestive of secrecy, if nothing worse.
Presently the woman was joined by
a tall man who carried a package,
which he gave to her. They came on
up the glade and appeared to be talk-
ing earnestly. In another moment
The cowboy lets a '
that *
WESTERN:
RIVA
|
Madeline recognized Stewart. She had
no greater feeling of surprise than had
at first been hers. But for the next
moment she scarcely thought at all
—merely watched the couple approach-
ing. In a flash came back her former
curiosity as to Stewart's strange ab-
sences from carp, and then with the
return of her doubt of him the recog
nition of the woman. The small, dark
head, the brown face, the big eyes
—Madeline now saw distinctly—be-
longed to the Mexican girl Bonita.
Stewart had met her there. This was
the secret of his lonely trips, taken
ever since he had come to work for
Madeline. This secluded glade was a
rendezvous. He had her hidden there.
Quietly Madeline arose, with a ges-
ture to the dogs, and went back along
the trail toward camp. Succeeding her
surprise was a feeling of sorrow that
Stewart’s regeneration had not been
complete. Sorrow gave place to in-
sufferable distrust that while she had
been romancing abeut this cowboy,
dreaming of her good influence over
him, he had been merely base. Some-
how it stung her. Stewart had been
nothing to her, she thought, yet she
had been proud of him. She tried to
revolve the thing, to be fair to him,
when every instinctive tendency was
to expel him, and all pertaining to him,
from her thoughts. And her effort at
sympathy, at extenuation failed utter
ly before her pride. Exerting her will-
power, she dismissed Stewart from her
mind.
Madeline did not think of him again
till late that afternoon, when, as she
was leaving her tent to join several of
her guests, Stewart appeared suddenly
in her path.
“Miss Hammond, I saw your tracks
down the trail,” he began, eagerly, but
his tone was easy and natural. “I'm
thinking—well, maybe you sure got
the idea—"
“I do not wish for an explanation,”
interrupted Madeline.
Stewart gave a slight start. His
manner had a semblance of the old,
cool audacity. As he looked down at
her it subtly changed.
What effrontery, Madeline thought,
to face her before her guests with an
explanation of his conduct! Suddenly
she felt an inward flash of fire that
was pain, so strange, so incomprehen-
gible, that her mind whirled. Then an
ger possessed her, not at Stewart, but
at herself, that anything could rouse
in her a raw emotion. He stood there,
outwardly cool, serene, with level,
haughty eyes upon Stewart; but in-
wardly she was burning with rage and
shame.
“Im sure not going to have you
think—" He began passionately, but
he broke off, and a slow. dull crimson
“What You Do or Think, Stewart, ls
No Concern of Mine.”
blotted over the healthy red-brown of
his neck and cheeks.
“What you do or think, Stewart, is
no concern of mine.”
“Miss—Miss Hammond!
believe—" faltered Stewart.
The crimson receded from his face,
leaving it pale. His eyes were appeal
ing. They had a kind of timid look
that struck Madeline even in her an
ger. There was something boyish
about him then. He took a step for
ward and reached out with his hand
open-palmed in a gesture that was
humble, yet held a certain dignity.
“But listen. Never mind now what
you—you think about me. There's 8
good reason—"
“1 have no wish to hear your rea
son.”
“But you ought,” he persisted.
“Sir!”
Stewart underwent another! swift
change. He started violently. A dark
tide shaded his face and a glitter
leaped to his eyes. He took tw
strides—loomed over her.
You don’t
crcl
——
An
“I'm not thinking about myself,” he
thundered. “Will you listen?”
“No,” she replied; and there was
freezing hauteur in her voice. With a
slight gesture of dismissal, unmistak-
able in its finality, she turned her back
upon him. Then she joined her guests.
Stewart stood perfectly motionless.
Then slowly he began to lift his right
hand in which he held his sombrero.
He swept it up and up, high over his
head. His tall form towered. With
fierce suddenness he flung hls sombrero
down. He leaped at his black horse
and dragged him to where his saddle
lay. With one pitch he tossed the
saddle upon the horse’s back. His
strong hand flashed at girths and
straps. Every action was swift, de-
cisive, fierce. Bounding for his bridle,
which hung over a bush, he ran against
a cowboy who awkwardly tried to
avoid the onslaught.
“Get out of my way!” he yelled.
Then with the same savage haste
he adjusted the bridle en his horse.
“Mebbe you better hold on a min-
pit, Gene, ole feller,” said Monty
Price.
“Monty, do you want me to brain
you?” said Stewart, with the short,
hard ring in his voice.
“Now, considerin’ the high class of
my brains, 1 oughter be real careful
to keep 'em,” replied Monty. “You
can betcher life, Gene, I ain't goin’
to git in front of you. But I jest says
—Listen!”
Stewart raised his dark face. Ev-
erybody listened. And everybody
heard the rapid beat of a horse's
hoofs. The sun had set, but the park
was light. Nels appeared down the
trail, and his horse was running. In
another moment he was in the circle.
pulling his bay back to a sliding halt.
He leaped off ahreast of Stewart.
Madeline saw and felt a difference
in Nels’ presence.
“What's up, Gene?”
sharply.
Nels’ long arm shot out, and his
hand fell upon Stewart, holding him
down,
“Shore I'm sorry,” sald Nels, slow-
ly. “Then you was goin’ to hit the
trail?”
“I am going to. Let go, Nels.”
“Shore you ain't goin’, Gene?”
“Let go, d—n you!” cried Stewart,
as he wrestled free.
“What's wrong?” asked Nels, lifting
his hand again,
“Man! Don’t touch me!”
Nels stepped back instantly. He
seemed to become aware of Stewart's
white, wild passion. Again Stewart
moved to mount.
“Nels, don’t make me forget we've
heen friends,” he said.
“Shore I ain’t fergettin’,” replied
Nels. “An’ I resign my job right here
an’ now!”
His strange
mounting cowboy.
down from the stirrup. Then their |
hard faces were still and cold while
their eyes locked glances.
Madeline was as inuch startled by
Nels’ speech as Stewart. Quick to
note a change in these men, she now
sensed one that was unfathomable.
“Resign?” questionel Stewart.
“Shore. What'd you think I'd do un-
der circumstances sich as has come
up?’
“But see here, Nels, I won't stand
for it.”
“You're not my boss no more, an’ 1
ain't beholdin’ to Miss Hammond,
peither. I'm my own boss, an’ I'll do |
as I please. Sabe, senor?”
Nels’ words were at variance with
the meaning in his face.
“Gene, you sent me on a little scout
down in the mountains, didn’t you?”
“Yes, 1 did,” replied Stewart, with
a new sharpness in his voice.
“Wal, shore you was so good an’
pight in your figgerin’, as opposed to
mine, that I'm sick with admfrin’ of
you. If you hedrm’t sent me—wal, I'm
reckonin’ somethin’ might hev hap-
pened. As it is we're shore up against
a hell of a proposition!”
‘How significant was the effect of his
words upon gll the cowboys! Stewart
made a fierce and violent motion, ter-
rible where his other motions had been
but passionate. Monty leaped straight
up into the air in a singular action as
suggestive of surprise as it was of
wild acceptance of menace. Like a
stalking giant Nick Steele strode over
to Nels and Stewart. The other cow-
boys rose silently, without a word.
Madeline and her guests, in a little
group, watched and listened, unable to
divine what all this strange talk and
action meant.
“Hold on, Nels, (hey don’t need to
hear it,” said Stewart, hoarsely, as he
waved a hand toward Madeline's silent
group. " i
“Wal, I'm sorry, put I reckon they'd
as well know fust as last. Mebbe
thet yearnin’ wish of Miss Helen's fer
somethin’ to happen will come true.
Shore I—"
“Cut out the joshin’,”
Monty's strident voice.
It had as decided an effect as any
preceding words or action. Perhaps
it was the last thing needed to trans
form these men, doing unaccustomed
duty as escorts of beautiful women,
to their natural state as men of the
wild.
“Tell us what's what,” sald Stewart,
cool and grim.
“Don Carlos an’ his guerrillas are
campin’ on the trails thet lead up
here. They've got them trails blocked.
By tomorrer they'd hed us corralled.
Mebbe they meant to surprise us. He's
ot a lot of Greusers an’ outlaws.
They're well armed. Now, what dc
rhey mean? You-all can figger it out
to suit yourselves. Mebbe the Don
wants to pay a sociable call on our
jadies. Mebbe his gang is some hun
gry, as usual. Mebbe they want tc
«teal a few hosses, or anythin’ they cau
{ay hands on. Mebbe they mean wuss,
t00. Now, my idea is this, an’ mebbe¢
it's wrong. I long since separate
he queried,
speech checked the |
Stewart stepped |
rang out
i turned.
from love with Greasers. Thet black-
faced Don Carlos has got a deep game.
Thet twe-bit of a revolution is hevin’
hard times. The rebels want Amer-
ican intervention. They'd stretch any
point to make trouble. We're only ten
miles from the border. Suppose then
guerrillas got our crowd across thet
border? The United States cavalry
would foller. You-all know what thet’
mean. Mebbe Don Carlos’ mind works
thet way. Mebbe it don’t. I reckon
we'll know soon. An’ now, Stewart,
whatever the Don’s game 1s, shore
you're the man to outfigger him. Meb-
be it’s just as well you're good an’
mad about somethin’. An’ I'm going
to resign my job because 1 want to
feel unbeholdin’ to anybody. Shore it
struck me long since thet the old days
hed come back for a little spell, an’
there 1 was trailin’ a promise not to
hurt any Greaser.”
CHAPTER XVII
Don Carlos.
Stewart took Nels, Monty .nd Nick
Steele aside out of earshot, and they
evidently entered upon an earnest col-
loony. Presently the other cowboys
~—= rqlled. They all talked more or
==, zt the deep voice of Stewart
sdaeminated over the others. Then
the consultation broke up, and the
cowpugs scattered.
“Rustle, you
Stewart.
The ensuing scene of action was not
reassuring to Madeline and her friends.
They were quiet, awaiting some one
to tell them what to do. At the offset
the cowboys appeared to have for-
gotten Madeline. Some of them ran
off into the woods, others into the open.
grassy places, where they rounded up
the horses and burros. Several cow-
boys spread . tarpaulins upon the
ground and began to select and roll
small packs, evidently for hurried
travel. Nels mounted his horse to ride
down the trail. Monty and Nick Steele
went off into the grove, leading their
horses. Stewart climbed up a steep
jumble of stone between two sections
of low, cracked cliff back of the camp.
Madeline’s friends all importuned
her: Was there real danger? Were
the guerrillas coming? Would a start
be made at once for the ranch? Why
had the cowboys suddenly become so
different? Madeline answered as best
she could; but her replies were only
conjecture, and modified to allay the
fears of her guests. Helen was in a
white glow of excitement.
Soon the cowboys appeared riding
barebacked horses, driving in others
and the burros. Some of these horses
were taken away and evidently hidden
in deep recesses between the crags.
Indians!” ordered
| The string of burros were packed and
sent off down the trail in charge of a
cowboy. Nick Steele and Monty re
Then Stewart appeared,
clambering down the break between
the cliffs.
His next move was to order all the
baggage belonging to Madeline and
her guests taken up the cliff. This
was strenuous toil, requiring the need
of lassoes to haul up the effects.
“Get ready to climb,” said Stewart,
turning to Madeline's party.
“Where?” asked Helen.
He waved his hand at the ascent to
be made. Exclamations of dismay fol-
lowed his gesture.
“Mr, Stewart, is there danger?”
asked Dorothy; and her voice trem-
bled.
This was the question Madeline had
upon her lips to ask Stewart, but she
could not speak it.
“ao, there’s no danger,” replied
Stewart, “but we're taking precautions
we all agreed on as best.”
Dorothy whispered that she believed
Stewart lied. Castleton asked another
question, and then Harvey followed
suit. Mrs. Beck made a timid query.
“Please keep quiet and do as you're
told,” said Stewart, bluntly.
At this juncture, when the last of
the baggage was being hauled up the
cliff, Monty approached Madeline and
removed his sombrero. His black face
seemed the same, yet this was a vastly
changed Monty. ;
“Miss Hammond, I'm givin’ notice I
resign my job,” he sald.
“Monty! What do you mean? What
does Nels mean now, when danger
threatens?”
“We jest quit. That's all,” replied
Monty, tersely. He was stern and
somber; he could not stand still; his
eyes roved everywhere.
Castleton jumped up from the log
where he had been sitting, and his
face was very red.
“Mr. Price, does all this blooming
fuss mean we are to be robbed or at-
tacked or abducted by a lot of raga-
muffin guerrillas?”
“You've called the bet.”
Dorothy turned a very pale face
toward Monty.
“Mr. Price, you wouldn’t—you
couldn’t desert us now? You and Mr.
Nels—"
“Desert you?” asked Monty, blankly.
“Yes, desert us. Leave us when we
may need you so much, with some
thing dreadful coming.”
Monty uttered a short, hard laugh
as he bent a strange look upon the
girl.
“Me an’ Nels is purty izuch scared,
an’ we're goin’ to slope. Miss Dor-
othy, bein’ as we've rustled round so
much, it sorta hurts us to see nice
young girls dragged off by the hair.”
Dorothy uttered a little cry and then
pecame hysterical. Castleton for once
was fully aroused.
“By Gad! You and your partner
are a couple of blooming cowards.
Where now is that courage you boasted
of 7”
Monty's dark face expressed extreme
sarcasm.
“Dook, in my time I've seen some
bright fellers, but you take the cake.
It's most marvelous how bright you
are. Figger'n’ me an’ Nels so correct.
Say. Doox, if you don’t git rustlea ofl
to Mexico an’ roped to a cactus bush
you'll hev a swell story fer your Eng
lish chums. Bah Jove! You'll teli ‘ew
how you seen two old-time gun-men
run iike scared jack-rabbits from a
lot of Greasers. Like h—I1 you will!"
“Monty, shut up!” yelled Stewart
as he came hurriedly up. Tlien Monty
slouched away, cursing to himself.
Madeline and Helen, assisted by
Castleton, worked over Dorothy, and
with some difficulty quieted her
Stewart passed several times without
noticing them, and Monty, who had
been so ridiculously eager to pay every
little attention to Dorothy, did not see
her at all. Rude it seemed; in Monty's
case more than that, Madeline hardly
knew what to make of it.
Stewart directed cowboys to go tc
he head of the open place in the clifl
ig
“By Gad! You and Your Partner Are
a Couple of Blooming Cowards.”
and let down lassoes. Then, with lit
tle waste of words, he urged the women
toward this rough ladder of stones.
“We want to hide you,” he sald,
when they demurred. “If the guer-
rillas come we'll tell them you've all
gone down to the ranch. If we have
to fight you'll be safe up there.”
Helen stepped boldly forward and
let Stewart put the loop of a lasso
round her and tighten it. He waved
his hand to the cowboys above.
“Just walk up, now,” he directed
Helen.
It proved to the watchers to be an
easy, safe and rapid means of scaling
the steep passage. The men climbed
up without assistance. Edith Wayne
and Madeline climbed last, and, once
up, Madeline saw a narrow bench,
thick with shrubs and overshadowed
by huge, leaning crags, There were
holes in the rock, and dark fissures
leading back. It was a rough, wild
place. Tarpaulins and bedding were
then hauled up, and food and water.
The cowboys spread comfortable beds
in several of the caves, and told Made-
line and her friends to be as quiet as
possible, not to make a light, and to
sleep dressed, ready for travel at a
moment’s notice.
Madeline deplored the discomfort
and distress. but felt no real alurm.
She was more inclined to evasive kind-
ness here than to sincerity, for she
had a decided uneasiness. The swift
change in the manner and looks of
her cowboys had been a shock to her.
The last glance she had of Stewart's
face, then stern, almost sad, and hag-
gard with worry, remained to aug-
ment her foreboding.
Darkness appeared to drop swiftly
down; the coyotes began their haunt-
ing, mournful howls; the stars showed
and grew brighter; the wind moaned
through the tips of the pines. The
cowboys below had built a fire, and
the light from it rose in a huge, fan-
shaped glow. Madeline peered down
from the cliff. The distance was short,
and occasionally she could distinguish
a word spoken by the cowboys. They
were unconcernedly cooking and eating.
Presently Nick Steele silenced the
campfire circle by raising a warning
hand. The cowboys bent their heads,
listening. Madeline listened with all
her might. She heard one of the
hounds whine, then the faint beat of
horsé’s hoofs. The beat of hoofs grew
louder, entered the grove, then the
circle of light. The rider was Nels.
He dismounted, and the sound of his
low voice just reached Madeline.
“Gene, it's Nels. Something doin.”
Madeline heard one of the cowboys
call, softly.
“Send him over,” replied Stewart.
Nels stalked away from the fire.
“See here, Nels, the boys are all
right, but I don’t want them to know
everything about this mix-up,” said
Stewart, as Nels came up. “Did you
find the girl?”
Madeline guessed that Stewart re-
ferred to the Mexican girl Bonita,
“No. But I met’—Madeline did not
eatch the name—‘“an’ he was wild. He
was with a forest-ranger. An’ they
sald Pat Hawe had trailed her an’ was
takin’ her down under arrest.”
Stewart muttered deep under his
breath, evidently cursing.
“Wonder why he didn’t come on up
here?” he queried, presently. “He can
see a trail.”
“Wal, Gene, Pat knowed you was
here all right, fer thet ranger said Pat
hed wind of the guerrillas, an’ Pat
said If Don Carles didn’t kill you—
which. he hoped he'd do—then it'd be
time enough to put you in jail whea
you come down.”
“He's dead set to arrest me, Nels.”
“An’ he'll do it. like the old lady
who kept tavern out West. Gene. the
reuson thet red-faced coyote didn’t
traii you up here is because he's
scared. He allus was scared of you.
But I reckon he’s shore scared to death
of me an’ Monty.”
“Well, we'll take Pat in his turn.
The thing now is, when will thst
Greaser stalk us, and what'll we do
when he comes?”
“My boy, there’s only one way to
handle a Greaser. 1 shore told you
thet. He means rough toward us. He'll
come smilin’ up, all soci’ble like, in-
sinuatin’ an’ sweeter 'n a woman. But
he’s treacherous; he’s wuss than an
Indian. An’, Gene, we know for a
positive fact how his gang hev been
operatin’ between these hills an’ Agua
Prieta. We know jest about what
thet rebel war down there amounts to.
It’s guerrilla war, an’ shore some har-
vest time fer a lot of cheap thieves an”
outcasts.”
“Oh, you're right, Nels, I'm not dis-
puting that,” replied Stewart. “If it
wasn’t for Miss Hammond and the
other women, I'd rather enjoy seeing
you and Monty open up on that bunch.
I'm thinkin’ I'd be glad to meet Don
Carlos. But Miss Hammond! Why,
Nels, such a woman as she Is would
never recover from the sight of real
gun-play, let alone any stunts with a
rope. These easterh women are differ-
ent. I'm not belittling our western
women. It’s in the blood. Miss Ham-
mond is—is—"
“Shore she is,” interrupted Nels;
“hut she’s got a d—n sight more spunk
than you think she has, Gene Stewart.
I'm no thick-skulled cow. I'd hate
somethin’ powerful to hev Miss Ham-
mond see any rough work, let alone me
an’ Monty startin’ somethin’. An’ me
an’ Monty’ll stick to you, Gene, as long
as seems reasonable. Mind, ole feller,
beggin’ your pardon, you're shore stuck
on Miss Hammond, an’ overtender not to
hurt her feelin’s or make her sick by
lettin’ some blood. We're in bad here,
an’ mebbe we’ll hev to fight. Sabe,
senor? Wal, if we do you can Jest
gamble thet Miss Hammond'll be game.
An’ I'll bet you a million pesos thet if
you got goin’ onct, an’ she seen you as
I've seen you—wal, I know what she'd
think of you. This old world ’ain’t
changed much. Some women may be
white-skinned an’ soft-eyed an’ sweet-
voiced an’ high-souled, but they all like
to see a man! Gene, here’s your game.
Let Don Carlos come along. Be civil.
If he an’ his gang are hungry, feed
‘em. Take even a little overbearin’
Greaser talk. Be blind if he wants
his gang to steal somethin’. Let him
think the women hev mosied down to
the ranch. But if he says you're lyin’
—if he as much as looks round to see
the women—iest jump him same as
vou jumped Pat Hawe. Me an’ Monty’ll
hang back fer thet, an’ if your strong
bluff don’t go through, if the Don's
gang even thinks of flashin’ guns, then
we'll open up. An’ all I got to say is
if them Greasers stand for real gun-
play they'll be sure fust I ever seen.”
“Nels, there are white men in that
gang,” said Stewart.
“Shore. But me an’ Monty'll be
thinkin’ of thet. If they start any-
thin’ it'll hev to be shore quick.”
“All right, Nels, old friend, and
thanks,” replied Stewart,
Nels returned to the campfire, and
Stewart resumed his silent guard.
Madeline's guests sat talking in low
voices until a late hour. The incident
now began to take on the nature of
Helen's long-yearned-for adventure.
Some of the party even grew merry in
a subdued way. Then, gradually, one
by one they tired and went to bed.
To keep from thinking of Stewart
and the burning anger he had caused
her to feel for herself, Madeline tried
to keep her mind on other things. But
thought of him recurred, and each time
there was a hot commotion in her
breast hard to stifle. Intelligent rea*
soning seemed out of her power. In
the daylight it had been possible for
her to be oblivious to Stewart's deceit
after the moment of its realization. At
night, however, in the strange silence
and hovering shadows of gloom, with
the speaking stars seeming to call to
her, with the moan of the wind in the
pines, and the melancholy mourn of
coyotes in the distance, she was not
able to govern her thought and emo-
tion. She had inadvertently heard
Nels’ conversation with Stewart; she
had listened, hoping to hear some good
news or to hear the worst; she had
learned both, and, moreover, enlighten-
ment on one point of Stewart's com-
plex motives. He wished to spare her
any sight that might offend, frighten,
or disgust her. Yet this Stewart, who
showed a fineness of feeling that might
have been wanting even in Boyd Har-
vey, matntained a secret rendezvous
with that pretty, abandoned Bonita.
Here always the hot shame, like a
live, stinging, internal fire, abruptly
ended Madeline's thought. The hours
wore on, and at length, as the stars
began to pale and there was no sound
whatever, she fell asleep.
(To be continued).
————————————————————
Caterpillars’ Eyes In Odd Place.
Caterpillars with eyes on their ab-
domens, and male insects growing fe-
male wings, have been raised by Ste-
fan Kopec of the government insti-
tute for agricultural research at Pu-
lawz, Poland. He had removed the
simple eyes and their surrounding tis-
gue from. the heads of caterpillars and
grafted them on the abdomens of these
insects. The germs of these mature
eyes developed normally, notwith-
standing the absence of any junction
with the nervous chain.
He performed a similar operation
and exchanged the wings of the male
and female caterpillar moths. These
wings continued. to develop, but re-
tained the color and characteristics of
the sex from which they had been
taken, instead of showing the hue of
the specimens on which they devel-
oped.