The Light of Western Stars | Page 8

had attracted his attention. Madeline listened. Low voices of men, the
softer liquid tones of a woman, drifted in through the open door. They
spoke in Spanish, and the voices grew louder. Evidently the speakers
were approaching the station. Footsteps crunching on gravel attested to
this, and quicker steps, coming with deep tones of men in anger, told of
a quarrel. Then the woman's voice, hurried and broken, rising higher,
was eloquent of vain appeal.
The cowboy's demeanor startled Madeline into anticipation of
something dreadful. She was not deceived. From outside came the
sound of a scuffle--a muffled shot, a groan, the thud of a falling body, a
woman's low cry, and footsteps padding away in rapid retreat.
Madeline Hammond leaned weakly back in her seat, cold and sick, and
for a moment her ears throbbed to the tramp of the dancers across the
way and the rhythm of the cheap music. Then into the open door-place
flashed a girl's tragic face, lighted by dark eyes and framed by dusky
hair. The girl reached a slim brown hand round the side of the door and
held on as if to support herself. A long black scarf accentuated her
gaudy attire.
"Senor--Gene!" she exclaimed; and breathless glad recognition made a
sudden break in her terror.
"Bonita!" The cowboy leaped to her. "Girl! Are you hurt?"
"No, Senor."
He took hold of her. "I heard--somebody got shot. Was it Danny?"
"No, Senor."
"Did Danny do the shooting? Tell me, girl."

"No, Senor."
"I'm sure glad. I thought Danny was mixed up in that. He had Stillwell's
money for the boys--I was afraid. . . . Say, Bonita, but you'll get in
trouble. Who was with you? What did you do?"
"Senor Gene--they Don Carlos vaqueros--they quarrel over me. I only
dance a leetle, smile a leetle, and they quarrel. I beg they be
good--watch out for Sheriff Hawe . . . and now Sheriff Hawe put me in
jail. I so frighten; he try make leetle love to Bonita once, and now he
hate me like he hate Senor Gene."
"Pat Hawe won't put you in jail. Take my horse and hit the Peloncillo
trail. Bonita, promise to stay away from El Cajon."
"Si, Senor."
He led her outside. Madeline heard the horse snort and champ his bit.
The cowboy spoke low; only a few words were intelligible--
"stirrups . . . wait . . . out of town . . . mountain . . . trail . . . now ride!"
A moment's silence ensued, and was broken by a pounding of hoofs, a
pattering of gravel. Then Madeline saw a big, dark horse run into the
wide space. She caught a glimpse of wind-swept scarf and hair, a little
form low down in the saddle. The horse was outlined in black against
the line of dim lights. There was something wild and splendid in his
flight.
Directly the cowboy appeared again in the doorway.
"Miss Hammond, I reckon we want to rustle out of here. Been bad
goings-on. And there's a train due."
She hurried into the open air, not daring to look back or to either side.
Her guide strode swiftly. She had almost to run to keep up with him.
Many conflicting emotions confused her. She had a strange sense of
this stalking giant beside her, silent except for his jangling spurs. She
had a strange feeling of the cool, sweet wind and the white stars. Was it

only her disordered fancy, or did these wonderful stars open and shut?
She had a queer, disembodied thought that somewhere in ages back, in
another life, she had seen these stars. The night seemed dark, yet there
was a pale, luminous light--a light from the stars--and she fancied it
would always haunt her.
Suddenly aware that she had been led beyond the line of houses, she
spoke:
"Where are you taking me?"
"To Florence Kingsley," he replied.
"Who is she?"
"I reckon she's your brother's best friend out here." Madeline kept pace
with the cowboy for a few moments longer, and then she stopped. It
was as much from necessity to catch her breath as it was from recurring
fear. All at once she realized what little use her training had been for
such an experience as this. The cowboy, missing her, came back the
few intervening steps. Then he waited, still silent, looming beside her.
"It's so dark, so lonely," she faltered. "How do I know . . . what warrant
can you give me that you--that no harm will befall me if I go farther?"
"None, Miss Hammond, except that I've seen your face."

II A Secret Kept
Because of that singular reply Madeline found faith to go farther with
the cowboy. But at the moment she really did