mething. Stewart had evidently become a broad target
for their badinage.

"Wal, the boys are sure after Gene," said Stillwell, with his huge
smile. "Joshin' him all the time about how he sits around an' hangs
around an' loafs around jest to get a glimpse of you, Miss Majesty. Sure
all the boys hev a pretty bad case over their pretty boss, but none
of them is a marker to Gene. He's got it so bad, Miss Majesty, thet he
actooly don't know they are joshin' him. It's the amazin'est strange
thing I ever seen. Why, Gene was always a feller thet you could josh.
An' he'd laugh an' get back at you. But he was never before deaf to
talk, an' there was a certain limit no feller cared to cross with him.
Now he takes every word an' smiles dreamy like, an' jest looks an'
looks. Why, he's beginnin' to make me tired. He'll never run thet bunch
of cowboys if he doesn't wake up quick."

Madeline smiled her amusement and expressed a belief that Stillwell
wanted too much in such short time from a man who had done body and mind
a grievous injury.

It had been impossible for Madeline to fail to observe Stewart's
singular behavior. She never went out to take her customary walks and
rides without seeing him somewhere in the distance. She was aware that
he watched for her and avoided meeting her. When she sat on the porch
during the afternoon or at sunset Stewart could always be descried at
some point near. He idled listlessly in the sun, lounged on the porch
of his bunk-house, sat whittling the top bar of the corral fence, and
always it seemed to Madeline he was watching her. Once, while going
the rounds with her gardener, she encountered Stewart and greeted
him kindly. He said little, but he was not embarrassed. She did not
recognize in his face any feature that she remembered. In fact, on each
of the few occasions when she had met Stewart he had looked so different
that she had no consistent idea of his facial appearance. He was now
pale, haggard, drawn. His eyes held a shadow through which shone a soft,
subdued light; and, once having observed this, Madeline fancied it was
like the light in Majesty's eyes, in the dumb, worshiping eyes of her
favorite stag-hound. She told Stewart that she hoped he would soon be in
the saddle again, and passed on her way.

That Stewart loved her Madeline could not help but see. She endeavored
to think of him as one of the many who, she was glad to know, liked
her. But she could not regulate her thoughts to