The Light of Western Stars | Page 6

occurred to her that she should have mentioned
her brother's name, Then she fell to wondering what living with such
uncouth cowboys had done to Alfred. He had been wild enough in
college, and she doubted that any cowboy could have taught him much.
She alone of her family bad ever believed in any latent good in Alfred
Hammond, and her faith had scarcely survived the two years of silence.
Waiting there, she again found herself listening to the moan of the wind
through the wires. The horse outside began to pound with heavy hoofs,
and once he whinnied. Then Madeline heard a rapid pattering, low at
first and growing louder, which presently she recognized as the
galloping of horses. She went to the window, thinking, hoping her
brother had arrived. But as the clatter in-creased to a roar, shadows
sped by--lean horses, flying manes and tails, sombreroed riders, all
strange and wild in her sight. Recalling what the conductor had said,
she was at some pains to quell her uneasiness. Dust-clouds shrouded
the dim lights in the windows. Then out of the gloom two figures
appeared, one tall, the other slight. The cowboy was returning with a
porter.
Heavy footsteps sounded without, and lighter ones dragging along, and
then suddenly the door rasped open, jarring the whole room. The
cowboy entered, pulling a disheveled figure--that of a priest, a padre,
whose mantle had manifestly been disarranged by the rude grasp of his
captor. Plain it was that the padre was extremely terrified.
Madeline Hammond gazed in bewilderment at the little man, so pale
and shaken, and a protest trembled upon her lips; but it was never
uttered, for this half-drunken cowboy now appeared to be a cool,
grim-smiling devil; and stretching out a long arm, he grasped her and
swung her back to the bench.
"You stay there!" he ordered.
His voice, though neither brutal nor harsh nor cruel, had the
unaccountable effect of making her feel powerless to move. No man
had ever before addressed her in such a tone. It was the woman in her

that obeyed--not the personality of proud Madeline Hammond.
The padre lifted his clasped hands as if supplicating for his life, and
began to speak hurriedly in Spanish. Madeline did not understand the
language. The cowboy pulled out a huge gun and brandished it in the
priest's face. Then he lowered it, apparently to point it at the priest's
feet. There was a red flash, and then a thundering report that stunned
Madeline. The room filled with smoke and the smell of powder.
Madeline did not faint or even shut her eyes, but she felt as if she were
fast in a cold vise. When she could see distinctly through the smoke she
experienced a sensation of immeasurable relief that the cowboy had not
shot the padre. But he was still waving the gun, and now appeared to be
dragging his victim toward her. What possibly could be the drunken
fool's intention? This must be, this surely was a cowboy trick. She had
a vague, swiftly flashing recollection of Alfred's first letters descriptive
of the extravagant fun of cowboys. Then she vividly remembered a
moving picture she had seen--cowboys playing a monstrous joke on a
lone school-teacher. Madeline no sooner thought of it than she made
certain her brother was introducing her to a little wild West amusement.
She could scarcely believe it, yet it must be true. Alfred's old love of
teasing her might have extended even to this outrage. Probably he stood
just outside the door or window laughing at her embarrassment.
Anger checked her panic. She straightened up with what composure
this surprise had left her and started for the door. But the cowboy
barred her passage--grasped her arms. Then Madeline divined that her
brother could not have any knowledge of this indignity. It was no trick.
It was something that was happening, that was real, that threatened she
knew not what. She tried to wrench free, feeling hot all over at being
handled by this drunken brute. Poise, dignity, culture--all the acquired
habits of character--fled before the instinct to fight. She was athletic.
She fought. She struggled desperately. But he forced her back with
hands of iron. She had never known a man could be so strong. And
then it was the man's coolly smiling face, the paralyzing strangeness of
his manner, more than his strength, that weakened Madeline until she
sank trembling against the bench.

"What--do you--mean?" she panted.
"Dearie, ease up a little on the bridle," he replied, gaily.
Madeline thought she must be dreaming. She could not think clearly. It
had all been too swift, too terrible for her to grasp. Yet she not only
saw this man, but also felt his powerful presence. And the shaking
priest,