The Light of the Western Stars Read online

  VI. A Gift and A Purchase

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Not a word."

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Gene Stewart.

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

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

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

  "Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Would Don Carlos and these other Mexicans sell?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "I'll go with you," he said, gaily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Madeline strove to attain calmness.

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

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

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

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

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