The Light of the Western Stars

by Zane Grey

  XVI. The Crags

  Glad indeed was Madeline to be lifted off her horse beside a roaringfire--to see steaming pots upon red-hot coals. Except about hershoulders, which had been protected by the slicker, she was wringingwet. The Mexican women came quickly to help her change in a tent nearby; but Madeline preferred for the moment to warm her numb feet andhands and to watch the spectacle of her arriving friends.

  Dorothy plumped off her saddle into the arms of several waiting cowboys.She could scarcely walk. Far removed in appearance was she from herusual stylish self. Her face was hidden by a limp and lopsided hat.From under the disheveled brim came a plaintive moan: "O-h-h! what a-ana-awful ride!" Mrs. Beck was in worse condition; she had to be takenoff her horse. "I'm paralyzed--I'm a wreck. Bobby, get a roller-chair."Bobby was solicitous and willing, but there were no roller-chairs.Florence dismounted easily, and but for her mass of hair, wet andtumbling, would have been taken for a handsome cowboy. Edith Wayne hadstood the physical strain of the ride better than Dorothy; however, asher mount was rather small, she had been more at the mercy of cactusand brush. Her habit hung in tatters. Helen had preserved a remnant ofstyle, as well as of pride, and perhaps a little strength. But her facewas white, her eyes were big, and she limped. "Majesty!" she exclaimed."What did you want to do to us? Kill us outright or make us homesick?"Of all of them, however, Ambrose's wife, Christine, the little Frenchmaid, had suffered the most in that long ride. She was unaccustomed tohorses. Ambrose had to carry her into the big tent. Florence persuadedMadeline to leave the fire, and when they went in with the othersDorothy was wailing because her wet boots would not come off, Mrs.Beck was weeping and trying to direct a Mexican woman to unfasten herbedraggled dress, and there was general pandemonium.

  "Warm clothes--hot drinks and grub--warm blankets," rang out Stewart'ssharp order.

  Then, with Florence helping the Mexican women, it was not long untilMadeline and the feminine side of the party were comfortable, except forthe weariness and aches that only rest and sleep could alleviate.

  Neither fatigue nor pains, however, nor the strangeness of being packedsardine-like under canvas, nor the howls of coyotes, kept Madeline'sguests from stretching out with long, grateful sighs, and one by onedropping into deep slumber. Madeline whispered a little to Florence,and laughed with her once or twice, and then the light flickering on thecanvas faded and her eyelids closed. Darkness and roar of camp life,low voices of men, thump of horses' hoofs, coyote serenade, the sense ofwarmth and sweet rest--all drifted away.

  *****

  When she awakened shadows of swaying branches moved on the sunlit canvasabove her. She heard the ringing strokes of an ax, but no other soundfrom outside. Slow, regular breathing attested to the deep slumbers ofher tent comrades. She observed presently that Florence was missing fromthe number. Madeline rose and peeped out between the flaps.

  An exquisitely beautiful scene surprised and enthralled her gaze. Shesaw a level space, green with long grass, bright with flowers, dottedwith groves of graceful firs and pines and spruces, reaching to superbcrags, rosy and golden in the sunlight. Eager to get out where she couldenjoy an unrestricted view, she searched for her pack, found it in acorner, and then hurriedly and quietly dressed.

  Her favorite stag-hounds, Russ and Tartar, were asleep before thedoor, where they had been chained. She awakened them and loosened them,thinking the while that it must have been Stewart who had chainedthem near her. Close at hand also was a cowboy's bed rolled up in atarpaulin.

  The cool air, fragrant with pine and spruce and some subtle namelesstang, sweet and tonic, made Madeline stand erect and breathe slowlyand deeply. It was like drinking of a magic draught. She felt it inher blood, that it quickened its flow. Turning to look in the otherdirection, beyond the tent, she saw the remnants of last night'stemporary camp, and farther on a grove of beautiful pines from whichcame the sharp ring of the ax. Wider gaze took in a wonderful park, notonly surrounded by lofty crags, but full of crags of lesser height, manylifting their heads from dark-green groves of trees. The morning sun,not yet above the eastern elevations, sent its rosy and golden shafts inbetween the towering rocks, to tip the pines.

  Madeline, with the hounds beside her, walked through the nearest grove.The ground was soft and springy and brown with pine-needles. Thenshe saw that a clump of trees had prevented her from seeing the moststriking part of this natural park. The cowboys had selected a campsitewhere they would have the morning sun and afternoon shade. Severaltents and flies were already up; there was a huge lean-to made of spruceboughs; cowboys were busy round several camp-fires; piles of packs laycovered with tarpaulins, and beds were rolled up under the trees. Thisspace was a kind of rolling meadow, with isolated trees here and there,and other trees in aisles and circles; and it mounted up in low, grassybanks to great towers of stone five hundred feet high. Other crags rosebehind these. From under a mossy cliff, huge and green and cool, bubbleda full, clear spring. Wild flowers fringed its banks. Out in the meadowthe horses were knee-deep in grass that waved in the morning breeze.

  Florence espied Madeline under the trees and came running. She was likea young girl, with life and color and joy. She wore a flannel blouse,corduroy skirt, and moccasins. And her hair was fastened under a bandlike an Indian's.

  "Castleton's gone with a gun, for hours, it seems," said Florence."Gene just went to hunt him up. The other gentlemen are still asleep. Iimagine they sure will sleep up heah in this air."

  Then, business-like, Florence fell to questioning Madeline about detailsof camp arrangement which Stewart, and Florence herself, could hardlysee to without suggestion.

  Before any of Madeline's sleepy guests awakened the camp was completed.Madeline and Florence had a tent under a pine-tree, but they did notintend to sleep in it except during stormy weather. They spread atarpaulin, made their bed on it, and elected to sleep under the lightof the stars. After that, taking the hounds with them, they explored. ToMadeline's surprise, the park was not a little half-mile nook nestlingamong the crags, but extended farther than they cared to walk, and wasrather a series of parks. They were no more than small valleys betweengray-toothed peaks. As the day advanced the charm of the place grew uponMadeline. Even at noon, with the sun beating down, there was comfortablewarmth rather than heat. It was the kind of warmth that Madeline likedto feel in the spring. And the sweet, thin, rare atmosphere beganto affect her strangely. She breathed deeply of it until she feltlight-headed, as if her body lacked substance and might drift awaylike a thistledown. All at once she grew uncomfortably sleepy. A dreamylanguor possessed her, and, lying under a pine with her head againstFlorence, she went to sleep. When she opened her eyes the shadows ofthe crags stretched from the west, and between them streamed a red-goldlight. It was hazy, smoky sunshine losing its fire. The afternoon hadfar advanced. Madeline sat up. Florence was lazily reading. The twoMexican women were at work under the fly where the big stone fireplacehad been erected. No one else was in sight.

  Florence, upon being questioned, informed Madeline that incident aboutcamp had been delightfully absent. Castleton had returned and wasprofoundly sleeping with the other men. Presently a chorus of merrycalls attracted Madeline's attention, and she turned to see Helenlimping along with Dorothy, and Mrs. Beck and Edith supporting eachother. They were all rested, but lame, and delighted with the place, andas hungry as bears awakened from a winter's sleep. Madeline forthwithescorted them round the camp, and through the many aisles between thetrees, and to the mossy, pine-matted nooks under the crags.

  Then they had dinner, sitting on the ground after the manner of Indians;and it was a dinner that lacked merriment only because everybody was toobusily appeasing appetite.

  Later Stewart led them across a neck of the park, up a rather steepclimb between towering crags, to take them out upon a grassy promontorythat faced the great open west--a vast, ridged, streaked, and reddenedsweep of earth rolling down, as it seemed, to the golden sunset end ofthe world. Castleton said it was a jolly f
ine view; Dorothy voiced herusual languid enthusiasm; Helen was on fire with pleasure and wonder;Mrs. Beck appealed to Bobby to see how he liked it before she ventured,and she then reiterated his praise; and Edith Wayne, like Madeline andFlorence, was silent. Boyd was politely interested; he was the kind ofman who appeared to care for things as other people cared for them.

  Madeline watched the slow transformation of the changing west, with itshaze of desert dust, through which mountain and cloud and sun slowlydarkened. She watched until her eyes ached, and scarcely had a thoughtof what she was watching. When her eyes shifted to encounter the tallform of Stewart standing motionless on the rim, her mind became activeagain. As usual, he stood apart from the others, and now he seemed aloofand unconscious. He made a dark, powerful figure, and he fitted thatwild promontory.

  She experienced a strange, annoying surprise when she discovered bothHelen and Dorothy watching Stewart with peculiar interest. Edith, too,was alive to the splendid picture the cowboy made. But when Edith smiledand whispered in her ear, "It's so good to look at a man like that,"Madeline again felt the surprise, only this time the accompaniment was avague pleasure rather than annoyance. Helen and Dorothy were flirts, onedeliberate and skilled, the other unconscious and natural. EdithWayne, occasionally--and Madeline reflected that the occasions wereinfrequent--admired a man sincerely. Just here Madeline might havefallen into a somewhat revealing state of mind if it had not been forthe fact that she believed Stewart was only an object of deep interestto her, not as a man, but as a part of this wild and wonderful Westwhich was claiming her. So she did not inquire of herself why Helen'scoquetry and Dorothy's languishing allurement annoyed her, or whyEdith's eloquent smile and words had pleased her. She got as far,however, as to think scornfully how Helen and Dorothy would welcome andmeet a flirtation with this cowboy and then go back home and forget himas utterly as if he had never existed. She wondered, too, with a curioustwist of feeling that was almost eagerness, how the cowboy would meettheir advances. Obviously the situation was unfair to him; and if bysome strange accident he escaped unscathed by Dorothy's beautiful eyeshe would never be able to withstand Helen's subtle and fascinating andimperious personality.

  They returned to camp in the cool of the evening and made merry rounda blazing camp-fire. But Madeline's guests soon succumbed to thepersistent and irresistible desire to sleep.

  Then Madeline went to bed with Florence under the pine-tree. Russ layupon one side and Tartar upon the other. The cool night breeze sweptover her, fanning her face, waving her hair. It was not strong enoughto make any sound through the branches, but it stirred a faint, silkenrustle in the long grass. The coyotes began their weird bark and howl.Russ raised his head to growl at their impudence.

  Madeline faced upward, and it seemed to her that under those wonderfulwhite stars she would never be able to go to sleep. They blinked downthrough the black-barred, delicate crisscross of pine foliage, and theylooked so big and so close. Then she gazed away to open space, where anexpanse of sky glittered with stars, and the longer she gazed the largerthey grew and the more she saw.

  It was her belief that she had come to love all the physical thingsfrom which sensations of beauty and mystery and strength poured into herresponsive mind; but best of all she loved these Western stars, for theywere to have something to do with her life, were somehow to influenceher destiny.

  *****

  For a few days the prevailing features of camp life for Madeline'sguests were sleep and rest. Dorothy Coombs slept through twenty-fourhours, and then was so difficult to awaken that for a while her friendswere alarmed. Helen almost fell asleep while eating and talking. Themen were more visibly affected by the mountain air than the women.Castleton, however, would not succumb to the strange drowsiness while hehad a chance to prowl around with a gun.

  This languorous spell disappeared presently, and then the days were fullof life and action. Mrs. Beck and Bobby and Boyd, however, did not go infor anything very strenuous. Edith Wayne, too, preferred to walk throughthe groves or sit upon the grassy promontory. It was Helen and Dorothywho wanted to explore the crags and canyons, and when they could not getthe others to accompany them they went alone, giving the cowboy guidesmany a long climb.

  Necessarily, of course, Madeline and her guests were now thrown much incompany with the cowboys. And the party grew to be like one big family.Her friends not only adapted themselves admirably to the situation, butcame to revel in it. As for Madeline, she saw that outside of a certainproclivity of the cowboys to be gallant and on dress-parade and aliveto possibilities of fun and excitement, they were not greatly differentfrom what they were at all times. If there were a leveling process hereit was made by her friends coming down to meet the Westerners. Besides,any class of people would tend to grow natural in such circumstances andenvironment.

  Madeline found the situation one of keen and double interest for her.If before she had cared to study her cowboys, particularly Stewart, now,with the contrasts afforded by her guests, she felt by turns she wasamused and mystified and perplexed and saddened, and then again subtlypleased.

  Monty, once he had overcome his shyness, became a source of delightto Madeline, and, for that matter, to everybody. Monty had suddenlydiscovered that he was a success among the ladies. Either he was exaltedto heroic heights by this knowledge or he made it appear so. Dorothy hadbeen his undoing, and in justice to her Madeline believed her innocent.Dorothy thought Monty hideous to look at, and, accordingly, if he hadbeen a hero a hundred times and had saved a hundred poor little babies'lives, he could not have interested her. Monty followed her around,reminding her, she told Madeline, of a little adoring dog one moment andthe next of a huge, devouring gorilla.

  Nels and Nick stalked at Helen's heels like grenadiers on duty, and ifshe as much as dropped her glove they almost came to blows to see whoshould pick it up.

  In a way Castleton was the best feature of the camping party. He wassuch an absurd-looking little man, and his abilities were at suchtremendous odds with what might have been expected of him from hislooks. He could ride, tramp, climb, shoot. He liked to help around thecamp, and the cowboys could not keep him from it. He had an insatiabledesire to do things that were new to him. The cowboys played innumerabletricks upon him, not one of which he ever discovered. He wasserious, slow in speech and action, and absolutely imperturbable.If imperturbability could ever be good humor, then he was alwaysgood-humored. Presently the cowboys began to understand him, and thento like him. When they liked a man it meant something. Madeline had beensorry more than once to see how little the cowboys chose to speak toBoyd Harvey. With Castleton, however, they actually became friends. Theydid not know it, and certainly such a thing never occurred to him; allthe same, it was a fact. And it grew solely out of the truth that theEnglishman was manly in the only way cowboys could have interpretedmanliness. When, after innumerable attempts, he succeeded in throwingthe diamond-hitch on a pack-horse the cowboys began to respect him.Castleton needed only one more accomplishment to claim their hearts, andhe kept trying that--to ride a bucking bronco. One of the cowboys hada bronco that they called Devil. Every day for a week Devil threw theEnglishman all over the park, ruined his clothes, bruised him, andfinally kicked him. Then the cowboys solicitously tried to makeCastleton give up; and this was remarkable enough, for the spectacleof an English lord on a bucking bronco was one that any Westerner wouldhave ridden a thousand miles to see. Whenever Devil threw Castleton thecowboys went into spasms. But Castleton did not know the meaning of theword fail, and there came a day when Devil could not throw him. Then itwas a singular sight to see the men line up to shake hands with thecool Englishman. Even Stewart, who had watched from the background, cameforward with a warm and pleasant smile on his dark face. When Castletonwent to his tent there was much characteristic cowboy talk, and thistime vastly different from the former persiflage.

  "By Gawd!" ejaculated Monty Price, who seemed to be the most amazed andelated of them all. "Thet's the fust Englishman I e
ver seen! He's orfuldeceivin' to look at, but I know now why England rules the wurrld. Jesttake a peek at thet bronco. His spirit is broke. Rid by a leetle Englishdook no bigger 'n a grasshopper! Fellers, if it hain't dawned on youyit, let Monty Price give you a hunch. There's no flies on Castleton.An' I'll bet a million steers to a rawhide rope thet next he'll bethrowin' a gun as good as Nels."

  It was a distinct pleasure for Madeline to realize that she likedCastleton all the better for the traits brought out so forcibly by hisassociation with the cowboys. On the other hand, she liked the cowboysbetter for something in them that contact with Easterners brought out.This was especially true in Stewart's case. She had been wholly wrongwhen she had imagined he would fall an easy victim to Dorothy's eyes andHelen's lures. He was kind, helpful, courteous, and watchful. But hehad no sentiment. He did not see Dorothy's charms or feel Helen'sfascination. And their efforts to captivate him were now so obvious thatMrs. Beck taunted them, and Edith smiled knowingly, and Bobby and Boydmade playful remarks. All of which cut Helen's pride and hurt Dorothy'svanity. They essayed open conquest of Stewart.

  So it came about that Madeline unconsciously admitted the cowboy to aplace in her mind never occupied by any other. The instant it occurredto her why he was proof against the wiles of the other women she drovethat amazing and strangely disturbing thought from her. Nevertheless,as she was human, she could not help thinking and being pleased andenjoying a little the discomfiture of the two coquettes.

  Moreover, from this thought of Stewart, and the watchfulness growing outof it she discovered more about him. He was not happy; he often pacedup and down the grove at night; he absented himself from camp sometimesduring the afternoon when Nels and Nick and Monty were there; he wasalways watching the trails, as if he expected to see some one comeriding up. He alone of the cowboys did not indulge in the fun and talkaround the camp-fire. He remained preoccupied and sad, and was alwayslooking away into distance. Madeline had a strange sense of hisguardianship over her; and, remembering Don Carlos, she imagined heworried a good deal over his charge, and, indeed, over the safety of allthe party.

  But if he did worry about possible visits from wandering guerrillas, whydid he absent himself from camp? Suddenly into Madeline's inquisitivemind flashed a remembrance of the dark-eyed Mexican girl, Bonita, whohad never been heard of since that night she rode Stewart's big horseout of El Cajon. The remembrance of her brought an idea. Perhaps Stewarthad a rendezvous in the mountains, and these lonely trips of his were tomeet Bonita. With the idea hot blood flamed into Madeline's cheek.Then she was amazed at her own feelings--amazed because her swiftestsucceeding thought was to deny the idea--amazed that its conception hadfired her cheek with shame. Then her old self, the one aloof from thisred-blooded new self, gained control over her emotions.

  But Madeline found that new-born self a creature of strange power toreturn and govern at any moment. She found it fighting loyally for whatintelligence and wisdom told her was only her romantic conception ofa cowboy. She reasoned: If Stewart were the kind of man her feminineskepticism wanted to make him, he would not have been so blind to thecoquettish advances of Helen and Dorothy. He had once been--she did notwant to recall what he had once been. But he had been uplifted. MadelineHammond declared that. She was swayed by a strong, beating pride, andher instinctive woman's faith told her that he could not stoop to suchdishonor. She reproached herself for having momentarily thought of it.

  *****

  One afternoon a huge storm-cloud swooped out of the sky and envelopedthe crags. It obscured the westering sun and laid a mantle of darknessover the park. Madeline was uneasy because several of her party,including Helen and Dorothy, had ridden off with the cowboys thatafternoon and had not returned. Florence assured her that even ifthey did not get back before the storm broke there was no reason forapprehension. Nevertheless, Madeline sent for Stewart and asked him togo or send some one in search of them.

  Perhaps half an hour later Madeline heard the welcome pattering of hoofson the trail. The big tent was brightly lighted by several lanterns.Edith and Florence were with her. It was so black outside that Madelinecould not see a rod before her face. The wind was moaning in the trees,and big drops of rain were pelting upon the canvas.

  Presently, just outside the door, the horses halted, and there was asharp bustle of sound, such as would naturally result from a hurrieddismounting and confusion in the dark. Mrs. Beck came running into thetent out of breath and radiant because they had beaten the storm. Helenentered next, and a little later came Dorothy, but long enough to makeher entrance more noticeable. The instant Madeline saw Dorothy's blazingeyes she knew something unusual had happened. Whatever it was might haveescaped comment had not Helen caught sight of Dorothy.

  "Heavens, Dot, but you're handsome occasionally!" remarked Helen. "Whenyou get some life in your face and eyes!"

  Dorothy turned her face away from the others, and perhaps it was onlyaccident that she looked into a mirror hanging on the tent wall. Swiftlyshe put her hand up to feel a wide red welt on her cheek. Dorothy hadbeen assiduously careful of her soft, white skin, and here was an uglymark marring its beauty.

  "Look at that!" she cried, in distress. "My complexion's ruined!"

  "How did you get such a splotch?" inquired Helen, going closer.

  "I've been kissed!" exclaimed Dorothy, dramatically.

  "What?" queried Helen, more curiously, while the others laughed.

  "I've been kissed--hugged and kissed by one of those shameless cowboys!It was so pitch-dark outside I couldn't see a thing. And so noisy Icouldn't hear. But somebody was trying to help me off my horse. My footcaught in the stirrup, and away I went--right into somebody's arms. Thenhe did it, the wretch! He hugged and kissed me in a most awful bearishmanner. I couldn't budge a finger. I'm simply boiling with rage!"

  When the outburst of mirth subsided Dorothy turned her big, dilated eyesupon Florence.

  "Do these cowboys really take advantage of a girl when she's helplessand in the dark?"

  "Of course they do," replied Florence, with her frank smile.

  "Dot, what in the world could you expect?" asked Helen. "Haven't youbeen dying to be kissed?"

  "No."

  "Well, you acted like it, then. I never before saw you in a rage overbeing kissed."

  "I--I wouldn't care so much if the brute hadn't scoured the skin off myface. He had whiskers as sharp and stiff as sandpaper. And when I jerkedaway he rubbed my cheek with them."

  This revelation as to the cause of her outraged dignity almostprostrated her friends with glee.

  "Dot, I agree with you; it's one thing to be kissed, and quite anotherto have your beauty spoiled," replied Helen, presently. "Who was thisparticular savage?"

  "I don't know!" burst out Dorothy. "If I did I'd--I'd--"

  Her eyes expressed the direful punishment she could not speak.

  "Honestly now, Dot, haven't you the least idea who did it?" questionedHelen.

  "I hope--I think it was Stewart," replied Dorothy.

  "Ah! Dot, your hope is father to the thought. My dear, I'm sorry toriddle your little romance. Stewart did not--could not have been theoffender or hero."

  "How do you know he couldn't?" demanded Dorothy, flushing.

  "Because he was clean-shaven to-day at noon, before we rode out. Iremember perfectly how nice and smooth and brown his face looked."

  "Oh, do you? Well, if your memory for faces is so good, maybe you cantell me which one of these cowboys wasn't clean-shaven."

  "Merely a matter of elimination," replied Helen, merrily. "It was notNick; it was not Nels; it was not Frankie. There was only one othercowboy with us, and he had a short, stubby growth of black beard, muchlike that cactus we passed on the trail."

  "Oh, I was afraid of it," moaned Dorothy. "I knew he was going to do it.That horrible little smiling demon, Monty Price!"

  *****

  A favorite lounging-spot of Madeline's was a shaded niche under the leeof crags facing the
east. Here the outlook was entirely different fromthat on the western side. It was not red and white and glaring, nor sochangeable that it taxed attention. This eastern view was one of themountains and valleys, where, to be sure, there were arid patches; butthe restful green of pine and fir was there, and the cool gray of crags.Bold and rugged indeed were these mountain features, yet they werecompanionably close, not immeasurably distant and unattainable like thedesert. Here in the shade of afternoon Madeline and Edith would oftenlounge under a low-branched tree. Seldom they talked much, for it wasafternoon and dreamy with the strange spell of this mountain fastness.There was smoky haze in the valleys, a fleecy cloud resting over thepeaks, a sailing eagle in the blue sky, silence that was the unbrokensilence of the wild heights, and a soft wind laden with incense of pine.

  One afternoon, however, Edith appeared prone to talk seriously.

  "Majesty, I must go home soon. I cannot stay out here forever. Are yougoing back with me?"

  "Well, maybe," replied Madeline, thoughtfully. "I have considered it.I shall have to visit home some time. But this summer mother and fatherare going to Europe."

  "See here, Majesty Hammond, do you intend to spend the rest of your lifein this wilderness?" asked Edith, bluntly.

  Madeline was silent.

  "Oh, it is glorious! Don't misunderstand me, dear," went on Edith,earnestly, as she laid her hand on Madeline's. "This trip has been arevelation to me. I did not tell you, Majesty, that I was ill when Iarrived. Now I'm well. So well! Look at Helen, too. Why, she was a ghostwhen we got here. Now she is brown and strong and beautiful. If it werefor nothing else than this wonderful gift of health I would love theWest. But I have come to love it for other things--even spiritualthings. Majesty, I have been studying you. I see and feel what this lifehas made of you. When I came I wondered at your strength, your virility,your serenity, your happiness. And I was stunned. I wondered at thecauses of your change. Now I know. You were sick of idleness, sick ofuselessness, if not of society--sick of the horrible noises and smellsand contacts one can no longer escape in the cities. I am sick of allthat, too, and I could tell you many women of our kind who suffer in alike manner. You have done what many of us want to do, but have not thecourage. You have left it. I am not blind to the splendid difference youhave made in your life. I think I would have discovered, even if yourbrother had not told me, what good you have done to the Mexicans andcattlemen of your range. Then you have work to do. That is much thesecret of your happiness, is it not? Tell me. Tell me something of whatit means to you?"

  "Work, of course, has much to do with any one's happiness," repliedMadeline. "No one can be happy who has no work. As regards myself--forthe rest I can hardly tell you. I have never tried to put it in words.Frankly, I believe, if I had not had money that I could not have foundsuch contentment here. That is not in any sense a judgment against theWest. But if I had been poor I could not have bought and maintained myranch. Stillwell tells me there are many larger ranches than mine,but none just like it. Then I am almost paying my expenses out of mybusiness. Think of that! My income, instead of being wasted, is mostlysaved. I think--I hope I am useful. I have been of some little goodto the Mexicans--eased the hardships of a few cowboys. For the rest, Ithink my life is a kind of dream. Of course my ranch and range are real,my cowboys are typical. If I were to tell you how I feel about them itwould simply be a story of how Madeline Hammond sees the West. They aretrue to the West. It is I who am strange, and what I feel for them maybe strange, too. Edith, hold to your own impressions."

  "But, Majesty, my impressions have changed. At first I did not like thewind, the dust, the sun, the endless open stretches. But now I do likethem. Where once I saw only terrible wastes of barren ground now I seebeauty and something noble. Then, at first, your cowboys struck me asdirty, rough, loud, crude, savage--all that was primitive. I did notwant them near me. I imagined them callous, hard men, their only joy acarouse with their kind. But I was wrong. I have changed. The dirt wasonly dust, and this desert dust is clean. They are still rough, loud,crude, and savage in my eyes, but with a difference. They are naturalmen. They are little children. Monty Price is one of nature's noblemen.The hard thing is to discover it. All his hideous person, all hisactions and speech, are masks of his real nature. Nels is a joy, asimple, sweet, kindly, quiet man whom some woman should have loved. Whatwould love have meant to him! He told me that no woman ever loved himexcept his mother, and he lost her when he was ten. Every man ought tobe loved--especially such a man as Nels. Somehow his gun record doesnot impress me. I never could believe he killed a man. Then take yourforeman, Stewart. He is a cowboy, his work and life the same as theothers. But he has education and most of the graces we are in the habitof saying make a gentleman. Stewart is a strange fellow, just like thisstrange country. He's a man, Majesty, and I admire him. So, you see, myimpressions are developing with my stay out here."

  "Edith, I am so glad you told me that," replied Madeline, warmly.

  "I like the country, and I like the men," went on Edith. "One reason Iwant to go home soon is because I am discontented enough at home now,without falling in love with the West. For, of course, Majesty, I would.I could not live out here. And that brings me to my point. Admittingall the beauty and charm and wholesomeness and good of this wonderfulcountry, still it is no place for you, Madeline Hammond. You have yourposition, your wealth, your name, your family. You must marry. You musthave children. You must not give up all that for a quixotic life in awilderness."

  "I am convinced, Edith, that I shall live here all the rest of my life."

  "Oh, Majesty! I hate to preach this way. But I promised your mother Iwould talk to you. And the truth is I hate--I hate what I'm saying. Ienvy you your courage and wisdom. I know you have refused to marryBoyd Harvey. I could see that in his face. I believe you will refuseCastleton. Whom will you marry? What chance is there for a woman of yourposition to marry out here? What in the world will become of you?"

  "Quien sabe?" replied Madeline, with a smile that was almost sad.

  *****

  Not so many hours after this conversation with Edith, Madeline sat withBoyd Harvey upon the grassy promontory overlooking the west, and shelistened once again to his suave courtship.

  Suddenly she turned to him and said, "Boyd, if I married you would yoube willing--glad to spend the rest of your life here in the West?"

  "Majesty!" he exclaimed. There was amaze in the voice usually so evenand well modulated--amaze in the handsome face usually so indifferent.Her question had startled him. She saw him look down the iron-graycliffs, over the barren slopes and cedared ridges, beyond thecactus-covered foothills to the grim and ghastly desert. Just then, withits red veils of sunlit dust-clouds, its illimitable waste of ruined andupheaved earth, it was a sinister spectacle.

  "No," he replied, with a tinge of shame in his cheek. Madeline said nomore, nor did he speak. She was spared the pain of refusing him, and sheimagined he would never ask her again. There was both relief and regretin the conviction. Humiliated lovers seldom made good friends.

  It was impossible not to like Boyd Harvey. The thought of that, and whyshe could not marry him, concentrated her never-satisfied mind upon theman. She looked at him, and she thought of him.

  He was handsome, young, rich, well born, pleasant, cultivated--he wasall that made a gentleman of his class. If he had any vices she hadnot heard of them. She knew he had no thirst for drink or craze forgambling. He was considered a very desirable and eligible young man.Madeline admitted all this.

  Then she thought of things that were perhaps exclusively her own strangeideas. Boyd Harvey's white skin did not tan even in this southwesternsun and wind. His hands were whiter than her own, and as soft. They werereally beautiful, and she remembered what care he took of them. Theywere a proof that he never worked. His frame was tall, graceful,elegant. It did not bear evidence of ruggedness. He had never indulgedin a sport more strenuous than yachting. He hated effort and activity.He rode horseback very littl
e, disliked any but moderate motoring, spentmuch time in Newport and Europe, never walked when he could help it, andhad no ambition unless it were to pass the days pleasantly. If he everhad any sons they would be like him, only a generation more toward theinevitable extinction of his race.

  Madeline returned to camp in just the mood to make a sharp, decidingcontrast. It happened--fatefully, perhaps--that the first man shesaw was Stewart. He had just ridden into camp, and as she came up heexplained that he had gone down to the ranch for the important mailabout which she had expressed anxiety.

  "Down and back in one day!" she exclaimed.

  "Yes," he replied. "It wasn't so bad."

  "But why did you not send one of the boys, and let him make the regulartwo-day trip?"

  "You were worried about your mail," he answered, briefly, as hedelivered it. Then he bent to examine the fetlocks of his weary horse.

  It was midsummer now, Madeline reflected and exceedingly hot and dustyon the lower trail. Stewart had ridden down the mountain and back againin twelve hours. Probably no horse in the outfit, except his big blackor Majesty, could have stood that trip. And his horse showed the effectsof a grueling day. He was caked with dust and lame and weary.

  Stewart looked as if he had spared the horse his weight on many a mileof that rough ascent. His boots were evidence of it. His heavy flannelshirt, wet through with perspiration, adhered closely to his shouldersand arms, so that every ripple of muscle plainly showed. His face wasblack, except round the temples and forehead, where it was bright red.Drops of sweat, running off his blackened hands dripped to the ground.He got up from examining the lame foot, and then threw off the saddle.The black horse snorted and lunged for the watering-pool. Stewart lethim drink a little, then with iron arms dragged him away. In this actionthe man's lithe, powerful form impressed Madeline with a wonderful senseof muscular force. His brawny wrist was bare; his big, strong hand,first clutching the horse's mane, then patting his neck, had a bruisedknuckle, and one finger was bound up. That hand expressed as muchgentleness and thoughtfulness for the horse as it had strength to draghim back from too much drinking at a dangerous moment.

  Stewart was a combination of fire, strength, and action. Theseattributes seemed to cling about him. There was something vital andcompelling in his presence. Worn and spent and drawn as he was fromthe long ride, he thrilled Madeline with his potential youth and unusedvitality and promise of things to be, red-blooded deeds, both of fleshand spirit. In him she saw the strength of his forefathers unimpaired.The life in him was marvelously significant. The dust, the dirt, thesweat, the soiled clothes, the bruised and bandaged hand, the brawn andbone--these had not been despised by the knights of ancient days, nor bymodern women whose eyes shed soft light upon coarse and bloody toilers.

  Madeline Hammond compared the man of the East with the man of the West;and that comparison was the last parting regret for her old standards.