e girl
said no. She told Stewart that she had danced a little, flirted a little
with vaqueros, and they had quarreled over her. Then Stewart took her
outside and put her upon his horse. I saw the girl ride that horse down
the street to disappear in the darkness."

While Madeline spoke another change appeared to be working in the man
Hawe. He was not long disconcerted, but his discomfiture wore to a
sullen fury, and his sharp features fixed in an expression of craft.

"Thet's mighty interestin', Miss Hammond, 'most as interestin' as a
story-book," he said. "Now, since you're so obligin' a witness, I'd sure
like to put a question or two. What time did you arrive at El Cajon thet
night?"

"It was after eleven o'clock," replied Madeline.

"Nobody there to meet you?"

"No."

"The station agent an' operator both gone?"

"Yes."

"Wal, how soon did this feller Stewart show up?" Hawe continued, with a
wry smile.

"Very soon after my arrival. I think--perhaps fifteen minutes, possibly
a little more."

"Some dark an' lonesome around thet station, wasn't it?"

"Indeed yes."

"An' what time was the Greaser shot?" queried Hawe, with his little eyes
gleaming like coals.

"Probably close to half past one. It was two o'clock when I looked at my
watch at Florence Kingsley's house. Directly after Stewart sent Bonita
away he took me to Miss Kingsley's. So, allowing for the walk and a few
minutes' conversation with her, I can pretty definitely say the shooting
took place at about half past one."

Stillwell heaved his big frame a step closer to the sheriff. "What 're
you drivin' at?" he roared, his face black again.

"Evidence," snapped Hawe.

Madeline marveled at this interruption; and as Stewart irresistibly drew
her glance she saw him gray-faced as ashes, shaking, utterly unnerved.

"I thank you, Miss Hammond," he said, huskily. "But you needn't answer
any more of Hawe's questions. He's--he's--It's not necessary. I'll go
with him now, under arrest. Bonita will corroborate your testimony in
court, and that will save me from this--this man's spite."

Madeline, looking at Stewart, seeing a humility she at first took for
cowardice, suddenly divined that it was not fear for himself which made
him dread further disclosures of that night, but fear for her--fear of
shame she might suffer through him.

Pat Hawe cocked his head to one side, like a vulture about to strike
with his beak, and cunningly eyed Madeline.

"Cons