nd shadow of doubt that he
was walking to his death. His steps dragged a little, though they had
begun to be swift. The old, hard, physical, wild nerve of the cowboy was
perhaps in conflict with spiritual growth of the finer man, realizing
too late that life ought not to be sacrificed.

Then the dark gleam that was his face took shape, grew sharper and
clearer. He was stalking now, and there was a suggestion of impatience
in his stride. It took these hidden Mexicans a long time to kill him! At
a point in the middle of the road, even with the corner of a house
and opposite to Madeline's position, Stewart halted stock-still. He
presented a fair, bold mark to his executioners, and he stood there
motionless a full moment.

Only silence greeted him. Plain it was to Madeline, and she thought to
all who had eyes to see, that to Stewart, since for some reason he had
been spared all along his walk, this was the moment when he ought to be
mercifully shot. But as no shots came a rugged dignity left him for a
reckless scorn manifest in the way he strolled, across to the corner of
the house, rolled yet another cigarette, and, presenting a broad breast
to the window, smoked and waited.

That wait was almost unendurable for Madeline. Perhaps it was only a
moment, several moments at the longest, but the time seemed a year.
Stewart's face was scornful, hard. Did he suspect treachery on the part
of his captors, that they meant to play with him as a cat with a
mouse, to murder him at leisure? Madeline was sure she caught the
old, inscrutable, mocking smile fleeting across his lips. He held that
position for what must have been a reasonable time to his mind, then
with a laugh and a shrug he threw the cigarette into the road. He shook
his head as if at the incomprehensible motives of men who could have no
fair reasons now for delay.

He made a sudden violent action that was more than a straightening of
his powerful frame. It was the old instinctive violence. Then he faced
north. Madeline read his thought, knew he was thinking of her, calling
her a last silent farewell. He would serve her to his last breath, leave
her free, keep his secret. That picture of him, dark-browed, fire-eyed,
strangely sad and strong, sank indelibly into Madeline's heart of
hearts.

The next instant he was striding forward, to force by bold and scornful
presence a speedy fulfilment of his sentence.

Madeline stepped into the door, crossed the threshold. Stewa