and I haven't been here twenty-four hours."

"Don't think too much of first impressions. That was my mistake when I
arrived here. Good-by. I'll go now. Better rest awhile. You look tired."

The horse started as Alfred put his foot in the stirrup and was running
when the rider slipped his leg over the saddle. Madeline watched him in
admiration. He seemed to be loosely fitted to the saddle, moving with
the horse.

"I suppose that's a cowboy's style. It pleases me," she said. "How
different from the seat of Eastern riders!"

Then Madeline sat upon the porch and fell to interested observation of
her surrounding. Near at hand it was decidedly not prepossessing. The
street was deep in dust, and the cool wind whipped up little puffs. The
houses along this street were all low, square, flat-roofed structures
made of some kind of red cement. It occurred to her suddenly that this
building-material must be the adobe she had read about. There was no
person in sight. The long street appeared to have no end, though the
line of houses did not extend far. Once she heard a horse trotting at
some distance, and several times the ringing of a locomotive bell. Where
were the mountains, wondered Madeline. Soon low over the house-roofs she
saw a dim, dark-blue, rugged outline. It seemed to charm her eyes and
fix her gaze. She knew the Adirondacks, she had seen the Alps from the
summit of Mont Blanc, and had stood under the great black, white-tipped
shadow of the Himalayas. But they had not drawn her as these remote
Rockies. This dim horizon line boldly cutting the blue sky fascinated
her. Florence Kingsley's expression "beckoning mountains" returned to
Madeline. She could not see or feel so much as that. Her impression was
rather that these mountains were aloof, unattainable, that if approached
they would recede or vanish like the desert mirage.

Madeline went to her room, intending to rest awhile, and she fell
asleep. She was aroused by Florence's knock and call.

"Miss Hammond, your brother has come back with Stillwell."

"Why, how I have slept!" exclaimed Madeline. "It's nearly six o'clock."

"I'm sure glad. You were tired. And the air here makes strangers sleepy.
Come, we want you to meet old Bill. He calls himself the last of the
cattlemen. He has lived in Texas and here all his life."

Madeline accompanied Florence to the porch. Her brother, who was sitting
near the door, jumped up and said:

"Hello, Majesty!" And as he put his