The Light of Western Stars | Page 7

the haze of blue smoke, the smell of powder-these were not
unreal.
Then close before her eyes burst another blinding red flash, and close at
her ears bellowed another report. Unable to stand, Madeline slipped
down onto the bench. Her drifting faculties refused clearly to record
what transpired during the next few moments; presently, however, as
her mind steadied somewhat, she heard, though as in a dream, the voice
of the padre hurrying over strange words. It ceased, and then the
cowboy's voice stirred her.
"Lady, say Si--Si. Say it--quick! Say it--Si!"
From sheer suggestion, a force irresistible at this moment when her will
was clamped by panic, she spoke the word.
"And now, lady--so we can finish this properly--what's your name?"
Still obeying mechanically, she told him.
He stared for a while, as if the name had awakened associations in a
mind somewhat befogged. He leaned back unsteadily. Madeline heard
the expulsion of his breath, a kind of hard puff, not unusual in drunken
men.
"What name?" he demanded.
"Madeline Hammond. I am Alfred Hammond's sister."
He put his hand up and brushed at an imaginary something before his
eyes. Then he loomed over her, and that hand, now shaking a little,
reached out for her veil. Before he could touch it, however, she swept it

back, revealing her face.
"You're--not--Majesty Hammond?"
How strange--stranger than anything that had ever happened to her
before--was it to hear that name on the lips of this cowboy! It was a
name by which she was familiarly known, though only those nearest
and dearest to her had the privilege of using it. And now it revived her
dulled faculties, and by an effort she regained control of herself.
"You are Majesty Hammond," he replied; and this time he affirmed
wonderingly rather than questioned.
Madeline rose and faced him.
"Yes, I am."
He slammed his gun back into its holster.
"Well, I reckon we won't go on with it, then."
"With what, sir? And why did you force me to say Si to this priest?"
"I reckon that was a way I took to show him you'd be willing to get
married."
"Oh! . . . You--you! . . ." Words failed her.
This appeared to galvanize the cowboy into action. He grasped the
padre and led him toward the door, cursing and threatening, no doubt
enjoining secrecy. Then he pushed him across the threshold and stood
there breathing hard and wrestling with himself.
"Here--wait--wait a minute, Miss--Miss Hammond," he said, huskily.
"You could fall into worse company than mine--though I reckon you
sure think not. I'm pretty drunk, but I'm--all right otherwise. Just
wait--a minute."
She stood quivering and blazing with wrath, and watched this savage

fight his drunkenness. He acted like a man who had been suddenly
shocked into a rational state of mind, and he was now battling with
himself to hold on to it. Madeline saw the dark, damp hair lift from his
brows as he held it up to the cool wind. Above him she saw the white
stars in the deep-blue sky, and they seemed as unreal to her as any other
thing in this strange night. They were cold, brilliant, aloof, distant; and
looking at them, she felt her wrath lessen and die and leave her calm.
The cowboy turned and began to talk.
"You see--I was pretty drunk," he labored. "There was a fiesta-- and a
wedding. I do fool things when I'm drunk. I made a fool bet I'd marry
the first girl who came to town. . . . If you hadn't worn that veil--the
fellows were joshing me--and Ed Linton was getting married--and
everybody always wants to gamble. . . . I must have been pretty drunk."
After the one look at her when she had first put aside her veil he had
not raised his eyes to her face. The cool audacity had vanished in what
was either excessive emotion or the maudlin condition peculiar to some
men when drunk. He could not stand still; perspiration collected in
beads upon his forehead; he kept wiping his face with his scarf, and he
breathed like a man after violent exertions.
"You see--I was pretty--" he began.
"Explanations are not necessary," she interrupted. "I am very
tired--distressed. The hour is late. Have you the slightest idea what it
means to be a gentleman?"
His bronzed face burned to a flaming crimson.
"Is my brother here--in town to-night?" Madeline went on.
"No. He's at his ranch."
"But I wired him."
"Like as not the message is over in his box at the P.O. He'll be in town

to-morrow. He's shipping cattle for Stillwell."
"Meanwhile I must go to a hotel. Will you please--"
If he heard her last words he showed no evidence of it. A noise outside