h mine! Aha!"

To Madeline it seemed the three stiff, crouching men leaped into instant
and united action. She saw streaks of fire--streaks of smoke. Then a
crashing volley deafened her. It ceased as quickly. Smoke veiled the
scene. Slowly it drifted away to disclose three fallen men, one of whom,
Monty, leaned on his left hand, a smoking gun in his right. He watched
for a movement from the other two. It did not come. Then, with a
terrible smile, he slid back and stretched out.

XXI. Unbridled

In waking and sleeping hours Madeline Hammond could not release herself
from the thralling memory of that tragedy. She was haunted by Monty
Price's terrible smile. Only in action of some kind could she escape;
and to that end she worked, she walked and rode. She even overcame
a strong feeling, which she feared was unreasonable disgust, for the
Mexican girl Bonita, who lay ill at the ranch, bruised and feverish, in
need of skilful nursing.

Madeline felt there was something inscrutable changing her soul. That
strife--the struggle to decide her destiny for East or West--held still
further aloof. She was never spiritually alone. There was a step on her
trail. Indoors she was oppressed. She required the open--the light and
wind, the sight of endless slope, the sounds of corral and pond and
field, physical things, natural things.

One afternoon she rode down to the alfalfa-fields, round them, and back
up to the spillway of the lower lake, where a group of mesquite-trees,
owing to the water that seeped through the sand to their roots, had
taken on bloom and beauty of renewed life. Under these trees there was
shade enough to make a pleasant place to linger. Madeline dismounted,
desiring to rest a little. She liked this quiet, lonely spot. It was
really the only secluded nook near the house. If she rode down into the
valley or out to the mesa or up on the foothills she could not go alone.
Probably now Stillwell or Nels knew her whereabouts. But as she was
comparatively hidden here, she imagined a solitude that was not actually
hers.

Her horse, Majesty, tossed his head and flung his mane and switched his
tail at the flies. He would rather have been cutting the wind down the
valley slope. Madeline sat with her back against a tree, and took off
her sombrero. The soft breeze, fanning her hot face, blowing strands
of her hair, was refreshingly cool. She heard the slow tramp of cattle
going in to drink. That sound ceased, and the