The Light of Western Stars | Page 9

not think about what he
had said. Any answer to her would have served if it had been kind. His
silence had augmented her nervousness, compelling her to voice her
fear. Still, even if he had not replied at all she would have gone on with
him. She shuddered at the idea of returning to the station, where she
believed there had been murder; she could hardly have forced herself to
go back to those dim lights in the street; she did not want to wander

around alone in the dark.
And as she walked on into the windy darkness, much relieved that he
had answered as he had, reflecting that he had yet to prove his words
true, she began to grasp the deeper significance of them. There was a
revival of pride that made her feel that she ought to scorn to think at all
about such a man. But Madeline Hammond discovered that thought
was involuntary, that there were feelings in her never dreamed of
before this night.
Presently Madeline's guide turned off the walk and rapped at a door of
a low-roofed house.
"Hullo--who's there?" a deep voice answered.
"Gene Stewart," said the cowboy. "Call Florence--quick!"
Thump of footsteps followed, a tap on a door, and voices. Madeline
heard a woman exclaim: "Gene! here when there's a dance in town!
Something wrong out on the range." A light flared up and shone bright
through a window. In another moment there came a patter of soft steps,
and the door opened to disclose a woman holding a lamp.
"Gene! Al's not--"
"Al is all right," interrupted the cowboy.
Madeline had two sensations then--one of wonder at the note of alarm
and love in the woman's voice, and the other of unutterable relief to he
safe with a friend of her brother's.
"It's Al's sister--came on to-night's train," the cowboy was saying. "I
happened to be at the station, and I've fetched her up to you."
Madeline came forward out of the shadow.
"Not--not really Majesty Hammond!" exclaimed Florence Kingsley.
She nearly dropped the lamp, and she looked and looked, astounded
beyond belief.

"Yes, I am really she," replied Madeline. "My train was late, and for
some reason Alfred did not meet me. Mr.--Mr. Stewart saw fit to bring
me to you instead of taking me to a hotel."
"Oh, I'm so glad to meet you," replied Florence, warmly. "Do come in.
I'm so surprised, I forget my manners. Why, Al never mentioned your
coming."
"He surely could not have received my messages," said Madeline, as
she entered.
The cowboy, who came in with her satchel, had to stoop to enter the
door, and, once in, he seemed to fill the room. Florence set the lamp
down upon the table. Madeline saw a young woman with a smiling,
friendly face, and a profusion of fair hair hanging down over her
dressing-gown.
"Oh, but Al will be glad!" cried Florence. "Why, you are white as a
sheet. You must he tired. What a long wait you had at the station! I
heard the train come in hours ago as I was going to bed. That station is
lonely at night. If I had known you were coming! Indeed, you are very
pale. Are you ill?"
"No. Only I am very tired. Traveling so far by rail is harder than I
imagined. I did have rather a long wait after arriving at the station, but I
can't say that it was lonely."
Florence Kingsley searched Madeline's face with keen eyes, and then
took a long, significant look at the silent Stewart. With that she
deliberately and quietly closed a door leading into another room.
"Miss Hammond, what has happened?" She had lowered her voice.
"I do not wish to recall all that has happened," replied Madeline. "I
shall tell Alfred, however, that I would rather have met a hostile
Apache than a cowboy."
"Please don't tell Al that!" cried Florence. Then she grasped Stewart

and pulled him close to the light. "Gene, you're drunk!"
"I was pretty drunk," he replied, hanging his head.
"Oh, what have you done?"
"Now, see here, Flo, I only--"
"I don't want to know. I'd tell it. Gene, aren't you ever going to learn
decency? Aren't you ever going to stop drinking? You'll lose all your
friends. Stillwell has stuck to you. Al's been your best friend. Molly
and I have pleaded with you, and now you've gone and done--God
knows what!"
"What do women want to wear veils for?" he growled. "I'd have known
her but for that veil."
"And you wouldn't have insulted her. But you would the next girl who
came along. Gene, you are hopeless. Now, you get out of here and don't
ever come back."
"Flo!" he entreated.
"I mean it."
"I reckon