t he an'
his vaqueros will make another one of the bands of guerrillas thet
are harassin' the border. This revolution ain't over' yet. It's jest
commenced. An' all these gangs of outlaws are goin' to take advantage
of it. We'll see some old times, mebbe. Wal, I need Gene Stewart. I
need him bad. Will you let me hire him, Miss Majesty, if I can get him
straightened up?"

The old cattleman ended huskily.

"Stillwell, by all means find Stewart, and do not wait to straighten him
up. Bring him to the ranch," replied Madeline.

Thanking her, Stillwell led his horse away.

"Strange how he loves that cowboy!" murmured Madeline.

"Not so strange, Majesty," replied her brother. "Not when you know.
Stewart has been with Stillwell on some hard trips into the desert
alone. There's no middle course of feeling between men facing death
in the desert. Either they hate each other or love each other. I don't
know, but I imagine Stewart did something for Stillwell--saved us life,
perhaps. Besides, Stewart's a lovable chap when he's going straight.
I hope Stillwell brings him back. We do need him, Majesty. He's a born
leader. Once I saw him ride into a bunch of Mexicans whom we suspected
of rustling. It was fine to see him. Well, I'm sorry to tell you that we
are worried about Don Carlos. Some of his vaqueros came into my yard the
other day when I had left Flo alone. She had a bad scare. These vaqueros
have been different since Don Carlos sold the ranch. For that matter,
I never would have trusted a white woman alone with them. But they are
bolder now. Something's in the wind. They've got assurance. They can
ride off any night and cross the border."

During the succeeding week Madeline discovered that a good deal of
her sympathy for Stillwell in his hunt for the reckless Stewart had
insensibly grown to be sympathy for the cowboy. It was rather a paradox,
she thought, that opposed to the continual reports of Stewart's wildness
as he caroused from town to town were the continual expressions of good
will and faith and hope universally given out by those near her at the
ranch. Stillwell loved the cowboy; Florence was fond of him; Alfred
liked and admired him, pitied him; the cowboys swore their regard for
him the more he disgraced himself. The Mexicans called him El Gran
Capitan. Madeline's personal opinion of Stewart had not changed in the
least since the night it had been formed. But certain attributes of his,
not clearly defined in he