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 necess