by Zane Grey
XIV. Bandits
When Madeline and her party recovered composure they sat up to watch thefinish of the match. It came with spectacular suddenness. A sharp yellpealed out, and all the cowboys turned attentively in its direction. Abig black horse had surmounted the rim of the mesa and was just breakinginto a run. His rider yelled sharply to the cowboys. They wheeled todash toward their grazing horses.
"That's Stewart. There is something wrong," said Madeline, in alarm.
Castleton stared. The other men exclaimed uneasily. The women soughtMadeline's face with anxious eyes.
The black got into his stride and bore swiftly down upon them.
"Oh, look at that horse run!" cried Helen. "Look at that fellow ride!"
Helen was not alone in her admiration, for Madeline divided heremotions between growing alarm of some danger menacing and a thrill andquickening of pulse-beat that tingled over her whenever she saw Stewartin violent action. No action of his was any longer insignificant, butviolent action meant so much. It might mean anything. For one moment sheremembered Stillwell and all his talk about fun, and plots, and tricksto amuse her guest. Then she discountenanced the thought. Stewart mightlend himself to a little fun, but he cared too much for a horse to runhim at that speed unless there was imperious need. That alone sufficedto answer Madeline's questioning curiosity. And her alarm mounted tofear not so much for herself as for her guests. But what danger couldthere be? She could think of nothing except the guerrillas.
Whatever threatened, it would be met and checked by this man Stewart,who was thundering up on his fleet horse; and as he neared her, so thatshe could see the dark gleam of face and eyes, she had a strange feelingof trust in her dependence upon him.
The big black was so close to Madeline and her friends that when Stewartpulled him the dust and sand kicked up by his pounding hoofs flew intheir faces.
"Oh, Stewart, what is it?" cried Madeline.
"Guess I scared you, Miss Hammond," he replied. "But I'm pressed fortime. There's a gang of bandits hiding on the ranch, most likely in adeserted hut. They held up a train near Agua Prieta. Pat Hawe is withthe posse that's trailing them, and you know Pat has no use for us. I'mafraid it wouldn't be pleasant for you or your guests to meet either theposse or the bandits."
"I fancy not," said Madeline, considerably relieved. "We'll hurry backto the house."
They exchanged no more speech at the moment, and Madeline's guests weresilent. Perhaps Stewart's actions and looks belied his calm words. Hispiercing eyes roved round the rim of the mesa, and his face was as hardand stern as chiseled bronze.
Monty and Nick came galloping up, each leading several horses by thebridles. Nels appeared behind them with Majesty, and he was havingtrouble with the roan. Madeline observed that all the other cowboys haddisappeared.
One sharp word from Stewart calmed Madeline's horse; the other horses,however, were frightened and not inclined to stand. The men mountedwithout trouble, and likewise Madeline and Florence. But Edith Wayneand Mrs. Beck, being nervous and almost helpless, were with difficultygotten into the saddle.
"Beg pardon, but I'm pressed for time," said Stewart, coolly, as withiron arm he forced Dorothy's horse almost to its knees. Dorothy, who wasactive and plucky, climbed astride; and when Stewart loosed his hold onbit and mane the horse doubled up and began to buck. Dorothy screamedas she shot into the air. Stewart, as quick as the horse, leaped forwardand caught Dorothy in his arms. She had slipped head downward and, hadhe not caught her, would have had a serious fall. Stewart, handling heras if she were a child, turned her right side up to set her upon herfeet. Dorothy evidently thought only of the spectacle she presented, andmade startled motions to readjust her riding-habit. It was no timeto laugh, though Madeline felt as if she wanted to. Besides, it wasimpossible to be anything but sober with Stewart in violent mood. Forhe had jumped at Dorothy's stubborn mount. All cowboys were masters ofhorses. It was wonderful to see him conquer the vicious animal. He wascruel, perhaps, yet it was from necessity. When, presently, he led thehorse back to Dorothy she mounted without further trouble. Meanwhile,Nels and Nick had lifted Helen into her saddle.
"We'll take the side trail," said Stewart, shortly, as he swung uponthe big black. Then he led the way, and the other cowboys trotted in therear.
It was only a short distance to the rim of the mesa, and when Madelinesaw the steep trail, narrow and choked with weathered stone, she feltthat her guests would certainly flinch.
"That's a jolly bad course," observed Castleton.
The women appeared to be speechless.
Stewart checked his horse at the deep cut where the trail started down.
"Boys, drop over, and go slow," he said, dismounting. "Flo, you follow.Now, ladies, let your horses loose and hold on. Lean forward and hang tothe pommel. It looks bad. But the horses are used to such trails."
Helen followed closely after Florence; Mrs. Beck went next, and thenEdith Wayne. Dorothy's horse balked.
"I'm not so--so frightened," said Dorothy. "If only he would behave!"
She began to urge him into the trail, making him rear, when Stewartgrasped the bit and jerked the horse down.
"Put your foot in my stirrup," said Stewart. "We can't waste time."
He lifted her upon his horse and started him down over the rim.
"Go on, Miss Hammond. I'll have to lead this nag down. It'll save time."
Then Madeline attended to the business of getting down herself. It was aloose trail. The weathered slopes seemed to slide under the feet of thehorses. Dust-clouds formed; rocks rolled and rattled down; cactus spikestore at horse and rider. Mrs. Beck broke into laughter, and there wasa note in it that suggested hysteria. Once or twice Dorothy murmuredplaintively. Half the time Madeline could not distinguish those aheadthrough the yellow dust. It was dry and made her cough. The horsessnorted. She heared Stewart close behind, starting little avalanchesthat kept rolling on Majesty's fetlocks. She feared his legs might becut or bruised, for some of the stones cracked by and went rattling downthe slope. At length the clouds of dust thinned and Madeline saw theothers before her ride out upon a level. Soon she was down, and Stewartalso.
Here there was a delay, occasioned by Stewart changing Dorothy from hishorse to her own. This struck Madeline as being singular, and made herthoughtful. In fact, the alert, quiet manner of all the cowboys was notreassuring. As they resumed the ride it was noticeable that Nels andNick were far in advance, Monty stayed far in the rear, and Stewart rodewith the party. Madeline heard Boyd Harvey ask Stewart if lawlessnesssuch as he had mentioned was not unusual. Stewart replied that, exceptfor occasional deeds of outlawry such as might break out in any isolatedsection of the country, there had been peace and quiet along the borderfor years. It was the Mexican revolution that had revived wild times,with all the attendant raids and holdups and gun-packing. Madeline knewthat they were really being escorted home under armed guard.
When they rounded the head of the mesa, bringing into view theranch-house and the valley, Madeline saw dust or smoke hovering over ahut upon the outskirts of the Mexican quarters. As the sun had setand the light was fading, she could not distinguish which it was. ThenStewart set a fast pace for the house. In a few minutes the party was inthe yard, ready and willing to dismount.
Stillwell appeared, ostensibly cheerful, too cheerful to deceiveMadeline. She noted also that a number of armed cowboys were walkingwith their horses just below the house.
"Wal, you-all had a nice little run," Stillwell said, speakinggenerally. "I reckon there wasn't much need of it. Pat Hawe thinks he'sgot some outlaws corralled on the ranch. Nothin' at all to be fussedup about. Stewart's that particular he won't have you meetin' with anyrowdies."
Many and fervent were the expressions of relief from Madeline's feminineguests as they dismounted and went into the house. Madeline lingeredbehind to speak with Stillwell and Stewart.
"Now, Stillwell, out with it," she said, briefly.
The cattleman stared, and then he l
aughed, evidently pleased with herkeenness.
"Wal, Miss Majesty, there's goin' to be a fight somewhere, an' Stewartwanted to get you-all in before it come off. He says the valley'soverrun by vaqueros an' guerrillas an' robbers, an' Lord knows whatelse."
He stamped off the porch, his huge spurs rattling, and started down thepath toward the waiting men.
Stewart stood in his familiar attentive position, erect, silent, with ahand on pommel and bridle.
"Stewart, you are exceedingly--thoughtful of my interests," she said,wanting to thank him, and not readily finding words. "I would not knowwhat to do without you. Is there danger?"
"I'm not sure. But I want to be on the safe side."
She hesitated. It was no longer easy for her to talk to him, and she didnot know why.
"May I know the special orders you gave Nels and Nick and Monty?" sheasked.
"Who said I gave those boys special orders?"
"I heard Stillwell tell them so."
"Of course I'll tell you if you insist. But why should you worry oversomething that'll likely never happen?"
"I insist, Stewart," she replied, quietly.
"My orders were that at least one of them must be on guard near you dayand night--never to be out of hearing of your voice."
"I thought as much. But why Nels or Monty or Nick? That seems ratherhard on them. For that matter, why put any one to keep guard over me? Doyou not trust any other of my cowboys?"
"I'd trust their honesty, but not their ability."
"Ability? Of what nature?"
"With guns."
"Stewart!" she exclaimed.
"Miss Hammond, you have been having such a good time entertaining yourguests that you forget. I'm glad of that. I wish you had not questionedme."
"Forget what?"
"Don Carlos and his guerrillas."
"Indeed I have not forgotten. Stewart, you still think Don Carlos triedto make off with me--may try it again?"
"I don't think. I know."
"And besides all your other duties you have shared the watch with thesethree cowboys?"
"Yes."
"It has been going on without my knowledge?"
"Yes."
"Since when?"
"Since I brought you down from the mountains last month."
"How long is it to continue?"
"That's hard to say. Till the revolution is over, anyhow."
She mused a moment, looking away to the west, where the great void wasfilling with red haze. She believed implicitly in him, and the menacehovering near her fell like a shadow upon her present happiness.
"What must I do?" she asked.
"I think you ought to send your friends back East--and go with them,until this guerrilla war is over."
"Why, Stewart, they would be broken-hearted, and so would I."
He had no reply for that.
"If I do not take your advice it will be the first time since I havecome to look to you for so much," she went on. "Cannot you suggestsomething else? My friends are having such a splendid visit. Helen isgetting well. Oh, I should be sorry to see them go before they want to."
"We might take them up into the mountains and camp out for a while," hesaid, presently. "I know a wild place up among the crags. It's a hardclimb, but worth the work. I never saw a more beautiful spot. Finewater, and it will be cool. Pretty soon it'll be too hot here for yourparty to go out-of-doors."
"You mean to hide me away among the crags and clouds?" replied Madeline,with a laugh.
"Well, it'd amount to that. Your friends need not know. Perhaps in a fewweeks this spell of trouble on the border will be over till fall."
"You say it's a hard climb up to this place?"
"It surely is. Your friends will get the real thing if they make thattrip."
"That suits me. Helen especially wants something to happen. And they areall crazy for excitement."
"They'd get it up there. Bad trails, canyons to head, steep climbs,wind-storms, thunder and lightning, rain, mountain-lions and wildcats."
"Very well, I am decided. Stewart, of course you will take charge? Idon't believe I--Stewart, isn't there something more you could tellme--why you think, why you know my own personal liberty is in peril?"
"Yes. But do not ask me what it is. If I hadn't been a rebel soldier Iwould never have known."
"If you had not been a rebel soldier, where would Madeline Hammond benow?" she asked, earnestly.
He made no reply.
"Stewart," she continued, with warm impulse, "you once mentioned a debtyou owed me--" And seeing his dark face pale, she wavered, then went on."It is paid."
"No, no," he answered, huskily.
"Yes. I will not have it otherwise."
"No. That never can be paid."
Madeline held out her hand.
"It is paid, I tell you," she repeated.
Suddenly he drew back from the outstretched white hand that seemed tofascinate him.
"I'd kill a man to touch your hand. But I won't touch it on the termsyou offer."
His unexpected passion disconcerted her.
"Stewart, no man ever before refused to shake hands with me, for anyreason. It--it is scarcely flattering," she said, with a littlelaugh. "Why won't you? Because you think I offer it as mistress toservant--rancher to cowboy?"
"No."
"Then why? The debt you owed me is paid. I cancel it. So why not shakehands upon it, as men do?"
"I won't. That's all."
"I fear you are ungracious, whatever your reason," she replied. "Still,I may offer it again some day. Good night."
He said good night and turned. Madeline wonderingly watched him go downthe path with his hand on the black horse's neck.
She went in to rest a little before dressing for dinner, and, beingfatigued from the day's riding and excitement, she fell asleep. When sheawoke it was twilight. She wondered why her Mexican maid had not come toher, and she rang the bell. The maid did not put in an appearance, norwas there any answer to the ring. The house seemed unusually quiet. Itwas a brooding silence, which presently broke to the sound of footstepson the porch. Madeline recognized Stillwell's tread, though it appearedto be light for him. Then she heard him call softly in at the opendoor of her office. The suggestion of caution in his voice suited thestrangeness of his walk. With a boding sense of trouble she hurriedthrough the rooms. He was standing outside her office door.
"Stillwell!" she exclaimed.
"Anybody with you?" he asked, in a low tone.
"No."
"Please come out on the porch," he added.
She complied, and, once out, was enabled to see him. His grave face,paler than she had ever beheld it, caused her to stretch an appealinghand toward him. Stillwell intercepted it and held it in his own.
"Miss Majesty, I'm amazin' sorry to tell worrisome news." He spokealmost in a whisper, cautiously looked about him, and seemed bothhurried and mysterious. "If you'd heerd Stewart cuss you'd sure know howwe hate to hev to tell you this. But it can't be avoided. The fact iswe're in a bad fix. If your guests ain't scared out of their skins it'llbe owin' to your nerve an' how you carry out Stewart's orders."
"You can rely upon me," replied Madeline, firmly, though she trembled.
"Wal, what we're up against is this: that gang of bandits Pat Hawe waschasin'--they're hidin' in the house!"
"In the house?" echoed Madeline, aghast.
"Miss Majesty, it's the amazin' truth, an' shamed indeed am I to admitit. Stewart--why, he's wild with rage to think it could hev happened.You see, it couldn't hev happened if I hedn't sloped the boys off to thegol-lof-links, an' if Stewart hedn't rid out on the mesa after us. It'smy fault. I've hed too much femininity around fer my old haid. Genecussed me--he cussed me sure scandalous. But now we've got to faceit--to figger."
"Do you mean that a gang of hunted outlaws--bandits--have actually takenrefuge somewhere in my house?" demanded Madeline.
"I sure do. Seems powerful strange to me why you didn't fin
d somethin'was wrong, seem' all your servants hev sloped."
"Gone? Ah, I missed my maid! I wondered why no lights were lit. Wheredid my servants go?"
"Down to the Mexican quarters, an' scared half to death. Now listen.When Stewart left you an hour or so ago he follered me direct to whereme an' the boys was tryin' to keep Pat Hawe from tearin' the ranch topieces. At that we was helpin' Pat all we could to find them bandits.But when Stewart got there he made a difference. Pat was nasty before,but seein' Stewart made him wuss. I reckon Gene to Pat is the same asred to a Greaser bull. Anyway, when the sheriff set fire to an old adobehut Stewart called him an' called him hard. Pat Hawe hed six fellerswith him, an' from all appearances bandit-huntin' was some fiesta. Therewas a row, an 'it looked bad fer a little. But Gene was cool, an' hecontrolled the boys. Then Pat an' his tough de-pooties went on huntin'.That huntin', Miss Majesty, petered out into what was only a farce. Ireckon Pat could hev kept on foolin' me an' the boys, but as soon asStewart showed up on the scene--wal, either Pat got to blunderin' orelse we-all shed our blinders. Anyway, the facts stood plain. PatHawe wasn't lookin' hard fer any bandits; he wasn't daid set huntin'anythin', unless it was trouble fer Stewart. Finally, when Pat's menmade fer our storehouse, where we keep ammunition, grub, liquors, an'sich, then Gene called a halt. An' he ordered Pat Hawe off the ranch. Itwas hyar Hawe an' Stewart locked horns.
"An' hyar the truth come out. There was a gang of bandits hidsomewheres, an' at fust Pat Hawe hed been powerful active an' earnest inhis huntin'. But sudden-like he'd fetched a pecooliar change of heart.He had been some flustered with Stewart's eyes a-pryin' into his moves,an' then, mebbe to hide somethin', mebbe jest nat'rul, he got mad.He hollered law. He pulled down off the shelf his old stock grudgeon Stewart, accusin' him over again of that Greaser murder last fall.Stewart made him look like a fool--showed him up as bein' scared of thebandits or hevin' some reason fer slopin' off the trail. Anyway, the rowstarted all right, an' but fer Nels it might hev amounted to a fight.In the thick of it, when Stewart was drivin' Pat an' his crowd off theplace, one of them de-pooties lost his head an' went fer his gun. Nelsthrowed his gun an' crippled the feller's arm. Monty jumped then an'throwed two forty-fives, an' fer a second or so it looked ticklish. Butthe bandit-hunters crawled, an' then lit out."
Stillwell paused in the rapid delivery of his narrative; he stillretained Madeline's hand, as if by that he might comfort her.
"After Pat left we put our haids together," began the old cattleman,with a long respiration. "We rounded up a lad who hed seen a dozen orso fellers--he wouldn't to they was Greasers--breakin' through theshrubbery to the back of the house. That was while Stewart was ridin'out to the mesa. Then this lad seen your servants all runnin' down thehill toward the village. Now, heah's the way Gene figgers. There surewas some deviltry down along the railroad, an' Pat Hawe trailed banditsup to the ranch. He hunts hard an' then all to onct he quits. Stewartsays Pat Hawe wasn't scared, but he discovered signs or somethin', orgot wind in some strange way that there was in the gang of bandits somefellers he didn't want to ketch. Sabe? Then Gene, quicker 'n a flash,springs his plan on me. He'd go down to Padre Marcos an' hev him help tofind out all possible from your Mexican servants. I was to hurry up hyaran' tell you--give you orders, Miss Majesty. Ain't that amazin' strange?Wal, you're to assemble all your guests in the kitchen. Make a grandbluff an' pretend, as your help has left, that it'll be great fun feryour guests to cook dinner. The kitchen is the safest room in the house.While you're joshin' your party along, makin' a kind of picnic out ofit, I'll place cowboys in the long corridor, an' also outside in thecorner where the kitchen joins on to the main house. It's pretty surethe bandits think no one's wise to where they're hid. Stewart saysthey're in that end room where the alfalfa is, an' they'll slope in thenight. Of course, with me an' the boys watchin', you-all will be safe togo to bed. An' we're to rouse your guests early before daylight, to hitthe trail up into the mountains. Tell them to pack outfits before goin'to bed. Say as your servants hev sloped, you might as well go campin'with the cowboys. That's all. If we hev any luck your' friends'll neverknow they've been sittin' on a powder-mine."
"Stillwell, do you advise that trip up into the mountains?" askedMadeline.
"I reckon I do, considerin' everythin'. Now, Miss Majesty, I've used upa lot of time explainin'. You'll sure keep your nerve?"
"Yes," Madeline replied, and was surprised at herself. "Better tellFlorence. She'll be a power of comfort to you. I'm goin' now to fetch upthe boys."
Instead of returning to her room Madeline went through the office intothe long corridor. It was almost as dark as night. She fancied she sawa slow-gliding figure darker than the surrounding gloom; and sheentered upon the fulfilment of her part of the plan in something liketrepidation. Her footsteps were noiseless. Finding the door to thekitchen, and going in, she struck lights. Upon passing out again shemade certain she discerned a dark shape, now motionless, crouching alongthe wall. But she mistrusted her vivid imagination. It took all herboldness to enable her unconcernedly and naturally to strike thecorridor light. Then she went on through her own rooms and thence intothe patio.
Her guests laughingly and gladly entered into the spirit of theoccasion. Madeline fancied her deceit must have been perfect, seeingthat it deceived even Florence. They trooped merrily into the kitchen.Madeline, delaying at the door, took a sharp but unobtrusive glance downthe great, barnlike hall. She saw nothing but blank dark space. Suddenlyfrom one side, not a rod distant, protruded a pale, gleaming facebreaking the even blackness. Instantly it flashed back out of sight. Yetthat time was long enough for Madeline to see a pair of glittering eyes,and to recognize them as Don Carlos's.
Without betraying either hurry or alarm, she closed the door. It had aheavy bolt which she slowly, noiselessly shot. Then the cold amaze thathad all but stunned her into inaction throbbed into wrath. How daredthat Mexican steal into her home! What did he mean? Was he one of thebandits supposed to be hidden in her house? She was thinking herselfinto greater anger and excitement, and probably would have betrayedherself had not Florence, who had evidently seen her bolt the doorand now read her thoughts, come toward her with a bright, intent,questioning look. Madeline caught herself in time.
Thereupon she gave each of her guests a duty to perform. LeadingFlorence into the pantry, she unburdened herself of the secret in onebrief whisper. Florence's reply was to point out of the little openwindow, passing which was a file of stealthily moving cowboys.Then Madeline lost both anger and fear, retaining only the glow ofexcitement.
Madeline could be gay, and she initiated the abandonment of dignity bycalling Castleton into the pantry, and, while interesting him in somepretext or other, imprinting the outlines of her flour-covered handsupon the back of his black coat. Castleton innocently returned to thekitchen to be greeted with a roar. That surprising act of the hostessset the pace, and there followed a merry, noisy time. Everybody helped.The miscellaneous collection of dishes so confusingly contrived made upa dinner which they all heartily enjoyed. Madeline enjoyed it herself,even with the feeling of a sword hanging suspended over her.
The hour was late when she rose from the table and told her guests to goto their rooms, don their riding-clothes, pack what they needed for thelong and adventurous camping trip that she hoped would be the climaxof their Western experience, and to snatch a little sleep before thecowboys roused them for the early start.
Madeline went immediately to her room, and was getting out her campingapparel when a knock interrupted her. She thought Florence had cometo help her pack. But this knock was upon the door opening out in theporch. It was repeated.
"Who's there?" she questioned.
"Stewart," came the reply.
She opened the door. He stood on the threshold. Beyond him, indistinctin the gloom, were several cowboys.
"May I speak to you?" he asked.
"Certainly." She hesitated a moment, then asked him in and closed thedoor. "Is--is everything all right?"
> "No. These bandits stick to cover pretty close. They must have foundout we're on the watch. But I'm sure we'll get you and your friends awaybefore anything starts. I wanted to tell you that I've talked with yourservants. They were just scared. They'll come back to-morrow, soonas Bill gets rid of this gang. You need not worry about them or yourproperty."
"Do you have any idea who is hiding in the house?"
"I was worried some at first. Pat Hawe acted queer. I imagined he'ddiscovered he was trailing bandits who might turn out to be hissmuggling guerrilla cronies. But talking with your servants, findinga bunch of horses upon hidden down in the mesquite behind thepond--several things have changed my mind. My idea is that a cowardlyhandful of riffraff outcasts from the border have hidden in your house,more by accident than design. We'll let them go--get rid of them withouteven a shot. If I didn't think so--well, I'd be considerably worried. Itwould make a different state of affairs."
"Stewart, you are wrong," she said.
He started, but his reply did not follow swiftly. The expression of hiseyes altered. Presently he spoke:
"How so?"
"I saw one of these bandits. I distinctly recognized him."
One long step brought him close to her.
"Who was he?" demanded Stewart.
"Don Carlos."
He muttered low and deep, then said, "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. I saw his figure twice in the hall, then his face in thelight. I could never mistake his eyes."
"Did he know you saw him?"
"I am not positive, but I think so. Oh, he must have known! I wasstanding full in the light. I had entered the door, then purposelystepped out. His face showed from around a corner, and swiftly flashedout of sight."
Madeline was tremblingly conscious that Stewart underwent atransformation. She saw as well as felt the leaping passion that changedhim.
"Call your friends--get them in here!" he ordered, tersely, and wheeledtoward the door.
"Stewart, wait!" she said.
He turned. His white face, his burning eyes, his presence now chargedwith definite, fearful meaning, influenced her strangely, weakened her.
"What will you do?" she asked.
"That needn't concern you. Get your party in here. Bar the windows andlock the doors. You'll be safe."
"Stewart! Tell me what you intend to do."
"I won't tell you," he replied, and turned away again.
"But I will know," she said. With a hand on his arm she detained him.She saw how he halted--felt the shock in him as she touched him. "Oh, Ido know. You mean to fight!"
"Well, Miss Hammond, isn't it about time?" he asked. Evidently heovercame a violent passion for instant action. There was weariness,dignity, even reproof in his question. "The fact of that Mexican'spresence here in your house ought to prove to you the nature of thecase. These vaqueros, these guerrillas, have found out you won't standfor any fighting on the part of your men. Don Carlos is a sneak, acoward, yet he's not afraid to hide in your own house. He has learnedyou won't let your cowboys hurt anybody. He's taking advantage of it.He'll rob, burn, and make off with you. He'll murder, too, if it fallshis way. These Greasers use knives in the dark. So I ask--isn't it abouttime we stop him?"
"Stewart, I forbid you to fight, unless in self-defense. I forbid you."
"What I mean to do is self-defense. Haven't I tried to explain to youthat just now we've wild times along this stretch of border? Must I tellyou again that Don Carlos is hand and glove with the revolution? Therebels are crazy to stir up the United States. You are a woman ofprominence. Don Carlos would make off with you. If he got you, whatlittle matter to cross the border with you! Well, where would thehue and cry go? Through the troops along the border! To New York! ToWashington! Why, it would mean what the rebels are working for--UnitedStates intervention. In other words, war!"
"Oh, surely you exaggerate!" she cried.
"Maybe so. But I'm beginning to see the Don's game. And, Miss Hammond,I--It's awful for me to think what you'd suffer if Don Carlos got youover the line. I know these low-caste Mexicans. I've been among thepeons--the slaves."
"Stewart, don't let Don Carlos get me," replied Madeline, in sweetdirectness.
She saw him shake, saw his throat swell as he swallowed hard, saw thehard fierceness return to his face.
"I won't. That's why I'm going after him."
"But I forbade you to start a fight deliberately."
"Then I'll go ahead and start one without your permission," he repliedshortly, and again he wheeled.
This time, when Madeline caught his arm she held to it, even after hestopped.
"No," she said, imperiously.
He shook off her hand and strode forward.
"Please don't go!" she called, beseechingly. But he kept on. "Stewart!"
She ran ahead of him, intercepted him, faced him with her back againstthe door. He swept out a long arm as if to brush her aside. But itwavered and fell. Haggard, troubled, with working face, he stood beforeher.
"It's for your sake," he expostulated.
"If it is for my sake, then do what pleases me."
"These guerrillas will knife somebody. They'll burn the house. They'llmake off with you. They'll do something bad unless we stop them."
"Let us risk all that," she importuned.
"But it's a terrible risk, and it oughtn't be run," he exclaimed,passionately. "I know best here. Stillwell upholds me. Let me out, MissHammond. I'm going to take the boys and go after these guerrillas."
"No!"
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Stewart. "Why not let me go? It's the thing todo. I'm sorry to distress you and your guests. Why not put an end to DonCarlos's badgering? Is it because you're afraid a rumpus will spoil yourfriends' visit?"
"It isn't--not this time."
"Then it's the idea of a little shooting at these Greasers?"
"No."
"You're sick to think of a little Greaser blood staining the halls ofyour home?"
"No!"
"Well, then, why keep me from doing what I know is best?"
"Stewart, I--I--" she faltered, in growing agitation. "I'mfrightened--confused. All this is too--too much for me. I'm not acoward. If you have to fight you'll see I'm not a coward. But your wayseems so reckless--that hall is so dark--the guerrillas would shoot frombehind doors. You're so wild, so daring, you'd rush right into peril.Is that necessary? I think--I mean--I don't know just why I feel so--soabout you doing it. But I believe it's because I'm afraid you--you mightbe hurt."
"You're afraid I--I might be hurt?" he echoed, wonderingly, the hardwhiteness of his face warming, flushing, glowing.
"Yes."
The single word, with all it might mean, with all it might not mean,softened him as if by magic, made him gentle, amazed, shy as a boy,stifling under a torrent of emotions.
Madeline thought she had persuaded him--worked her will with him. Thenanother of his startlingly sudden moves told her that she had reckonedtoo quickly. This move was to put her firmly aside so he could pass;and Madeline, seeing he would not hesitate to lift her out of the way,surrendered the door. He turned on the threshold. His face was stillworking, but the flame-pointed gleam of his eyes indicated the return ofthat cowboy ruthlessness.
"I'm going to drive Don Carlos and his gang out of the house," declaredStewart. "I think I may promise you to do it without a fight. But if ittakes a fight, off he goes!"
