assuring her of every possible service; some were from New York; others
written in Spanish were from El Paso, and these she could not wholly
translate in a brief glance. Would she never find Stillwell's message?
It was the last. It was lengthy. It read:

Bought Stewart's release. Also arranged for his transfer as prisoner
of war. Both matters official. He's safe if we can get notice to his
captors. Not sure I've reached them by wire. Afraid to trust it. You go
with Link to Agua Prieta. Take the messages sent you in Spanish. They
will protect you and secure Stewart's freedom. Take Nels with you. Stop
for nothing. Tell Link all--trust him--let him drive that car.

STILLWELL.

*****

The first few lines of Stillwell's message lifted Madeline to the
heights of thanksgiving and happiness. Then, reading on, she experienced
a check, a numb, icy, sickening pang. At the last line she flung off
doubt and dread, and in white, cold passion faced the issue.

"Read," she said, briefly, handing the telegram to Link. He scanned it
and then looked blankly up at her.

"Link, do you know the roads, the trails--the desert between here and
Agua Prieta?" she asked.

"Thet's sure my old stampin'-ground. An' I know Sonora, too."

"We must reach Agua Prieta before sunset--long before, so if Stewart is
in some near-by camp we can get to it in--in time."

"Miss Majesty, it ain't possible!" he exclaimed. "Stillwell's crazy to
say thet."

"Link, can an automobile be driven from here into northern Mexico?"

"Sure. But it 'd take time."

"We must do it in little time," she went on, in swift eagerness.
"Otherwise Stewart may be--probably will be--be shot."

Link Stevens appeared suddenly to grow lax, shriveled, to lose all his
peculiar pert brightness, to weaken and age.

"I'm only a--a cowboy, Miss Majesty." He almost faltered. It was a
singular change in him. "Thet's an awful ride--down over the border. If
by some luck I didn't smash the car I'd turn your hair gray. You'd never
be no good after thet ride!"

"I am Stewart's wife," she answered him and she looked at him, not
conscious of any motive to persuade or allure, but just to let him know
the greatness of her dependence upon him.

He started violently--the old action of Stewart, the memorable action of
Monty Price. This man was of the same wild breed.

Then Madeline's words flowed in a torrent. "I am Stewart's wife. I love
him; I have been unjust to him; I must