XII. Friends from the East
Three days after her return to the ranch Madeline could not discover anyphysical discomfort as a reminder of her adventurous experiences. Thissurprised her, but not nearly so much as the fact that after a few weeksshe found she scarcely remembered the adventures at all. If it had notbeen for the quiet and persistent guardianship of her cowboys she mightalmost have forgotten Don Carlos and the raiders. Madeline was assuredof the splendid physical fitness to which this ranch life had developedher, and that she was assimilating something of the Western disregardof danger. A hard ride, an accident, a day in the sun and dust, anadventure with outlaws--these might once have been matters of largeimport, but now for Madeline they were in order with all the rest of herchanged life.
There was never a day that something interesting was not brought to hernotice. Stillwell, who had ceaselessly reproached himself for ridingaway the morning Madeline was captured, grew more like an anxious parentthan a faithful superintendent. He was never at ease regarding herunless he was near the ranch or had left Stewart there, or else Nels andNick Steele. Naturally, he trusted more to Stewart than to any one else.
"Miss Majesty, it's sure amazin' strange about Gene," said the oldcattleman, as he tramped into Madeline's office.
"What's the matter now?" she inquired.
"Wal, Gene has rustled off into the mountains again."
"Again? I did not know he had gone. I gave him money for that band ofguerrillas. Perhaps he went to take it to them."
"No. He took that a day or so after he fetched you back home. Then inabout a week he went a second time. An' he packed some stuff with him.Now he's sneaked off, an' Nels, who was down to the lower trail, sawhim meet somebody that looked like Padre Marcos. Wal, I went down tothe church, and, sure enough, Padre Marcos is gone. What do you think ofthat, Miss Majesty?"
"Maybe Stewart is getting religious," laughed Madeline. You told me soonce.
Stillwell puffed and wiped his red face.
"If you'd heerd him cuss Monty this mawnin' you'd never guess it wasreligion. Monty an' Nels hev been givin' Gene a lot of trouble lately.They're both sore an' in fightin' mood ever since Don Carlos hed youkidnapped. Sure they're goin' to break soon, an' then we'll hev a coupleof wild Texas steers ridin' the range. I've a heap to worry me."
"Let Stewart take his mysterious trips into the mountains. Here,Stillwell, I have news for you that may give you reason for worry.I have letters from home. And my sister, with a party of friends, iscoming out to visit me. They are society folk, and one of them is anEnglish lord."
"Wal, Miss Majesty, I reckon we'll all be glad to see them," saidStillwell. "Onless they pack you off back East."
"That isn't likely," replied Madeline, thoughtfully. "I must go backsome time, though. Well, let me read you a few extracts from my mail."
Madeline took up her sister's letter with a strange sensation of howeasily sight of a crested monogram and scent of delicately perfumedpaper could recall the brilliant life she had given up. She scannedthe pages of beautiful handwriting. Helen's letter was in turn gay andbrilliant and lazy, just as she was herself; but Madeline detected moreof curiosity in it than of real longing to see the sister and brother inthe Far West. Much of what Helen wrote was enthusiastic anticipation ofthe fun she expected to have with bashful cowboys. Helen seldom wroteletters, and she never read anything, not even popular novels of theday. She was as absolutely ignorant of the West as the Englishman, who,she said, expected to hunt buffalo and fight Indians. Moreover, therewas a satiric note in the letter that Madeline did not like, and whichroused her spirit. Manifestly, Helen was reveling in the prospect of newsensation.
When she finished reading aloud a few paragraphs the old cattlemansnorted and his face grew redder.
"Did your sister write that?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Wal, I--I beg pawdin, Miss Majesty. But it doesn't seem like you. Doesshe think we're a lot of wild men from Borneo?"
"Evidently she does. I rather think she is in for a surprise. Now,Stillwell, you are clever and you can see the situation. I want myguests to enjoy their stay here, but I do not want that to be at theexpense of the feelings of all of us, or even any one. Helen will bringa lively crowd. They'll crave excitement--the unusual. Let us see thatthey are not disappointed. You take the boys into your confidence. Tellthem what to expect, and tell them how to meet it. I shall help you inthat. I want the boys to be on dress-parade when they are off duty. Iwant them to be on their most elegant behavior. I do not care what theydo, what measures they take to protect themselves, what tricks theycontrive, so long as they do not overstep the limit of kindness andcourtesy. I want them to play their parts seriously, naturally, as ifthey had lived no other way. My guests expect to have fun. Let us meetthem with fun. Now what do you say?"
Stillwell rose, his great bulk towering, his huge face beaming.
"Wal, I say it's the most amazin' fine idee I ever heerd in my life."
"Indeed, I am glad you like it," went on Madeline.
"Come to me again, Stillwell, after you have spoken to the boys. But,now that I have suggested it, I am a little afraid. You know what cowboyfun is. Perhaps--"
"Don't you go back on that idee," interrupted Stillwell. He was assuringand bland, but his hurry to convince Madeline betrayed him. "Leave theboys to me. Why, don't they all swear by you, same as the Mexicans doto the Virgin? They won't disgrace you, Miss Majesty. They'll be simplyimmense. It'll beat any show you ever seen."
"I believe it will," replied Madeline. She was still doubtful ofher plan, but the enthusiasm of the old cattleman was infectious andirresistible. "Very well, we will consider it settled. My guests willarrive on May ninth. Meanwhile let us get Her Majesty's Rancho in shapefor this invasion."
* * *
On the afternoon of the ninth of May, perhaps half an hour afterMadeline had received a telephone message from Link Stevens announcingthe arrival of her guests at El Cajon, Florence called her out upon theporch. Stillwell was there with his face wrinkled by his wonderful smileand his eagle eyes riveted upon the distant valley. Far away, perhapstwenty miles, a thin streak of white dust rose from the valley floor andslanted skyward.
"Look!" said Florence, excitedly.
"What is that?" asked Madeline.
"Link Stevens and the automobile!"
"Oh no! Why, it's only a few minutes since he telephoned saying theparty had just arrived."
"Take a look with the glasses," said Florence.
One glance through the powerful binoculars convinced Madeline thatFlorence was right. And another glance at Stillwell told her that he wasspeechless with delight. She remembered a little conversation she hadhad with Link Stevens a short while previous.
"Stevens, I hope the car is in good shape," she had said. "Now, MissHammond, she's as right as the best-trained hoss I ever rode," he hadreplied.
"The valley road is perfect," she had gone on, musingly. "I never sawsuch a beautiful road, even in France. No fences, no ditches, no rocks,no vehicles. Just a lonely road on the desert."
"Shore, it's lonely," Stevens had answered, with slowly brighteningeyes. "An' safe, Miss Hammond."
"My sister used to like fast riding. If I remember correctly, all ofmy guests were a little afflicted with the speed mania. It is a commondisease with New-Yorkers. I hope, Stevens, that you will not give themreason to think we are altogether steeped in the slow, dreamy mananalanguor of the Southwest."
Link doubtfully eyed her, and then his bronze face changed its darkaspect and seemed to shine.
"Beggin' your pardon, Miss Hammond, thet's shore tall talk fer LinkStevens to savvy. You mean--as long as I drive careful an' safe I canrun away from my dust, so to say, an' get here in somethin' less thanthe Greaser's to-morrow?"
Madeline had laughed her assent. And now, as she watched the thinstreak of dust, at that distance moving with snail pace, she reproachedherself. She trusted Stevens; she had never known so skilful, daring,and
iron-nerved a driver as he was. If she had been in the car herselfshe would have had no anxiety. But, imagining what Stevens would do onforty miles and more of that desert road, Madeline suffered a prick ofconscience.
"Oh, Stillwell!" she exclaimed. "I am afraid I will go back on mywonderful idea. What made me do it?"
"Your sister wanted the real thing, didn't she? Said they all wanted it.Wal, I reckon they've begun gettin' it," replied Stillwell.
That statement from the cattleman allayed Madeline's pangs ofconscience. She understood just what she felt, though she could not haveput it in words. She was hungry for a sight of well-remembered faces;she longed to hear the soft laughter and gay repartee of oldfriends; she was eager for gossipy first-hand news of her old world.Nevertheless, something in her sister's letter, in messages from theothers who were coming, had touched Madeline's pride. In one sense theexpected guests were hostile, inasmuch as they were scornful and curiousabout the West that had claimed her. She imagined what they wouldexpect in a Western ranch. They would surely get the real thing, too, asStillwell said; and in that certainty was satisfaction for a small grainof something within Madeline which approached resentment. She wistfullywondered, however, if her sister or friends would come to see the Westeven a little as she saw it. That, perhaps, would he hoping too much.She resolved once for all to do her best to give them the sensationtheir senses craved, and equally to show them the sweetness and beautyand wholesomeness and strength of life in the Southwest.
"Wal, as Nels says, I wouldn't be in that there ottomobile right now fora million pesos," remarked Stillwell.
"Why? Is Stevens driving fast?"
"Good Lord! Fast? Miss Majesty, there hain't ever been anythin' except astreak of lightnin' run so fast in this country. I'll bet Link for onceis in heaven. I can jest see him now, the grim, crooked-legged littledevil, hunchin' down over that wheel as if it was a hoss's neck."
"I told him not to let the ride be hot or dusty," remarked Madeline.
"Haw, haw!" roared Stillwell. "Wal, I'll be goin'. I reckon I'd like tobe hyar when Link drives up, but I want to be with the boys down by thebunks. It'll be some fun to see Nels an' Monty when Link comes flyin'along."
"I wish Al had stayed to meet them," said Madeline.
Her brother had rather hurried a shipment of cattle to California: andit was Madeline's supposition that he had welcomed the opportunity toabsent himself from the ranch.
"I am sorry he wouldn't stay," replied Florence. "But Al's all businessnow. And he's doing finely. It's just as well, perhaps."
"Surely. That was my pride speaking. I would like to have all my familyand all my old friends see what a man Al has become. Well, Link Stevensis running like the wind. The car will be here before we know it.Florence, we've only a few moments to dress. But first I want to ordermany and various and exceedingly cold refreshments for that approachingparty."
Less than a half-hour later Madeline went again to the porch and foundFlorence there.
"Oh, you look just lovely!" exclaimed Florence, impulsively, as shegazed wide-eyed up at Madeline. "And somehow so different!"
Madeline smiled a little sadly. Perhaps when she had put on thatexquisite white gown something had come to her of the manner whichbefitted the wearing of it. She could not resist the desire to look faironce more in the eyes of these hypercritical friends. The sad smile hadbeen for the days that were gone. For she knew that what society hadonce been pleased to call her beauty had trebled since it had last beenseen in a drawing-room. Madeline wore no jewels, but at her waist shehad pinned two great crimson roses. Against the dead white they had thelife and fire and redness of the desert.
"Link's hit the old round-up trail," said Florence, "and oh, isn't heriding that car!"
With Florence, as with most of the cowboys, the car was never driven,but ridden.
A white spot with a long trail of dust showed low down in the valley.It was now headed almost straight for the ranch. Madeline watchedit growing larger moment by moment, and her pleasurable emotion grewaccordingly. Then the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs caused her to turn.
Stewart was riding in on his black horse. He had been absent on animportant mission, and his duty had taken him to the internationalboundary-line. His presence home long before he was expected wasparticularly gratifying to Madeline, for it meant that his mission hadbeen brought to a successful issue. Once more, for the hundredth time,the man's reliability struck Madeline. He was a doer of things. Theblack horse halted wearily without the usual pound of hoofs on thegravel, and the dusty rider dismounted wearily. Both horse and ridershowed the heat and dust and wind of many miles.
Madeline advanced to the porch steps. And Stewart, after taking a parcelof papers from a saddle-bag, turned toward her.
"Stewart, you are the best of couriers," she said. "I am pleased."
Dust streamed from his sombrero as he doffed it. His dark face seemed torise as he straightened weary shoulders.
"Here are the reports, Miss Hammond," he replied.
As he looked up to see her standing there, dressed to receive herEastern guests, he checked his advance with a violent action whichrecalled to Madeline the one he had made on the night she had met him,when she disclosed her identity. It was not fear nor embarrassment norawkwardness. And it was only momentary. Yet, slight as had been hispause, Madeline received from it an impression of some strong haltingforce. A man struck by a bullet might have had an instant jerk ofmuscular control such as convulsed Stewart. In that instant, as her keengaze searched his dust-caked face, she met the full, free look ofhis eyes. Her own did not fall, though she felt a warmth steal to hercheeks. Madeline very seldom blushed. And now, conscious of her suddencolor a genuine blush flamed on her face. It was irritating because itwas incomprehensible. She received the papers from Stewart and thankedhim. He bowed, then led the black down the path toward the corrals.
"When Stewart looks like that he's been riding," said Florence. "Butwhen his horse looks like that he's sure been burning the wind."
Madeline watched the weary horse and rider limp down the path. Whathad made her thoughtful? Mostly it was something new or sudden orinexplicable that stirred her mind to quick analysis. In this instancethe thing that had struck Madeline was Stewart's glance. He had lookedat her, and the old burning, inscrutable fire, the darkness, had lefthis eyes. Suddenly they had been beautiful. The look had not been one ofsurprise or admiration; nor had it been one of love. She was familiar,too familiar with all three. It had not been a gaze of passion, forthere was nothing beautiful in that. Madeline pondered. And presentlyshe realized that Stewart's eyes had expressed a strange joy of pride.That expression Madeline had never before encountered in the look of anyman. Probably its strangeness had made her notice it and accounted forher blushing. The longer she lived among these outdoor men the morethey surprised her. Particularly, how incomprehensible was this cowboyStewart! Why should he have pride or joy at sight of her?
Florence's exclamation made Madeline once more attend to the approachingautomobile. It was on the slope now, some miles down the long gradualslant. Two yellow funnel-shaped clouds of dust seemed to shoot out frombehind the car and roll aloft to join the column that stretched down thevalley.
"I wonder what riding a mile a minute would be like," said Florence."I'll sure make Link take me. Oh, but look at him come!"
The giant car resembled a white demon, and but for the dust would haveappeared to be sailing in the air. Its motion was steadily forward,holding to the road as if on rails. And its velocity was astounding.Long, gray veils, like pennants, streamed in the wind. A low rushingsound became perceptible, and it grew louder, became a roar. The carshot like an arrow past the alfalfa-field, by the bunk-houses, where thecowboys waved and cheered. The horses and burros in the corrals began tosnort and tramp and race in fright. At the base of the long slope ofthe foothill Link cut the speed more than half. Yet the car roared up,rolling the dust, flying capes and veils and ulsters, and crashed andcracked to a halt in t
he yard before the porch.
Madeline descried a gray, disheveled mass of humanity packed inside thecar. Besides the driver there were seven occupants, and for a momentthey appeared to be coming to life, moving and exclaiming under theveils and wraps and dust-shields.
Link Stevens stepped out and, removing helmet and goggles, coolly lookedat his watch.
"An hour an' a quarter, Miss Hammond," he said. "It's sixty-three milesby the valley road, an' you know there's a couple of bad hills. I reckonwe made fair time, considerin' you wanted me to drive slow an' safe."
From the mass of dusty-veiled humanity in the car came low exclamationsand plaintive feminine wails.
Madeline stepped to the front of the porch. Then the deep voices ofmen and softer voices of women united in one glad outburst, as much athanksgiving as a greeting, "MAJESTY!"
*****
Helen Hammond was three years younger than Madeline, and a slender,pretty girl. She did not resemble her sister, except in whiteness andfineness of skin, being more of a brown-eyed, brown-haired type. Havingrecovered her breath soon after Madeline took her to her room, she beganto talk.
"Majesty, old girl, I'm here; but you can bet I would never have gottenhere if I had known about that ride from the railroad. You never wrotethat you had a car. I thought this was out West--stage-coach, andall that sort of thing. Such a tremendous car! And the road! And thatterrible little man with the leather trousers! What kind of a chauffeuris he?"
"He's a cowboy. He was crippled by falling under his horse, so I had himinstructed to run the car. He can drive, don't you think?"
"Drive? Good gracious! He scared us to death, except Castleton. Nothingcould scare that cold-blooded little Englishman. I am dizzy yet. Doyou know, Majesty, I was delighted when I saw the car. Then your cowboydriver met us at the platform. What a queer-looking individual! He hada big pistol strapped to those leather trousers. That made me nervous.When he piled us all in with our grips, he put me in the seat besidehim, whether I liked it or not. I was fool enough to tell him I lovedto travel fast. What do you think he said? Well, he eyed me in arather cool and speculative way and said, with a smile, 'Miss, I reckonanything you love an' want bad will be coming to you out here!' I didn'tknow whether it was delightful candor or impudence. Then he said to allof us: 'Shore you had better wrap up in the veils an' dusters. It's along, slow, hot, dusty ride to the ranch, an' Miss Hammond's order wasto drive safe.' He got our baggage checks and gave them to a man witha huge wagon and a four-horse team. Then he cranked the car, jumped in,wrapped his arms round the wheel, and sank down low in his seat. Therewas a crack, a jerk, a kind of flash around us, and that dirty littletown was somewhere on the map behind. For about five minutes I had alovely time. Then the wind began to tear me to pieces. I couldn't hearanything but the rush of wind and roar of the car. I could see onlystraight ahead. What a road! I never saw a road in my life till to-day.Miles and miles and miles ahead, with not even a post or tree. That bigcar seemed to leap at the miles. It hummed and sang. I was fascinated,then terrified. We went so fast I couldn't catch my breath. The windwent through me, and I expected to be disrobed by it any minute. I wasafraid I couldn't hold any clothes on. Presently all I could see wasa flashing gray wall with a white line in the middle. Then my eyesblurred. My face burned. My ears grew full of a hundred thousand howlingdevils. I was about ready to die when the car stopped. I looked andlooked, and when I could see, there you stood!"
"Helen, I thought you were fond of speeding," said Madeline, with alaugh.
"I was. But I assure you I never before was in a fast car; I never saw aroad; I never met a driver."
"Perhaps I may have a few surprises for you out here in the wild andwoolly West."
Helen's dark eyes showed a sister's memory of possibilities.
"You've started well," she said. "I am simply stunned. I expected tofind you old and dowdy. Majesty, you're the handsomest thing I everlaid eyes on. You're so splendid and strong, and your skin is like whitegold. What's happened to you? What's changed you? This beautifulroom, those glorious roses out there, the cool, dark sweetness of thiswonderful house! I know you, Majesty, and, though you never wrote it, Ibelieve you have made a home out here. That's the most stunning surpriseof all. Come, confess. I know I've always been selfish and not much ofa sister; but if you are happy out here I am glad. You were not happy athome. Tell me about yourself and about Alfred. Then I shall give you allthe messages and news from the East."
It afforded Madeline exceeding pleasure to have from one and all ofher guests varied encomiums of her beautiful home, and a real and warminterest in what promised to be a delightful and memorable visit.
Of them all Castleton was the only one who failed to show surprise. Hegreeted her precisely as he had when he had last seen her in London.Madeline, rather to her astonishment, found meeting him againpleasurable. She discovered she liked this imperturbable Englishman.Manifestly her capacity for liking any one had immeasurably enlarged.Quite unexpectedly her old girlish love for her younger sister spranginto life, and with it interest in these half-forgotten friends, and awarm regard for Edith Wayne, a chum of college days.
Helen's party was smaller than Madeline had expected it to be. Helen hadbeen careful to select a company of good friends, all of whom were wellknown to Madeline. Edith Wayne was a patrician brunette, a serious,soft-voiced woman, sweet and kindly, despite a rather bitter experiencethat had left her worldly wise. Mrs. Carrollton Beck, a plain, livelyperson, had chaperoned the party. The fourth and last of the femininecontingent was Miss Dorothy Coombs--Dot, as they called her--a youngwoman of attractive blond prettiness.
For a man Castleton was of very small stature. He had a pink-and-whitecomplexion, a small golden mustache, and his heavy eyelids, alwaysdrooping, made him look dull. His attire, cut to what appeared to be anexaggerated English style, attracted attention to his diminutive size.He was immaculate and fastidious. Robert Weede was a rather large floridyoung man, remarkable only for his good nature. Counting Boyd Harvey, ahandsome, pale-faced fellow, with the careless smile of the man for whomlife had been easy and pleasant, the party was complete.
Dinner was a happy hour, especially for the Mexican women who served itand who could not fail to note its success. The mingling of low voicesand laughter, the old, gay, superficial talk, the graciousness of aclass which lived for the pleasure of things and to make time passpleasurably for others--all took Madeline far back into the past. Shedid not care to return to it, but she saw that it was well she had notwholly cut herself off from her people and friends.
When the party adjourned to the porch the heat had markedly decreasedand the red sun was sinking over the red desert. An absence of spokenpraise, a gradually deepening silence, attested to the impression onthe visitors of that noble sunset. Just as the last curve of red rimvanished beyond the dim Sierra Madres and the golden lightning began toflare brighter Helen broke the silence with an exclamation.
"It wants only life. Ah, there's a horse climbing the hill! See, he'sup! He has a rider!"
Madeline knew before she looked the identity of the man riding up themesa. But she did not know until that moment how the habit of watchingfor him at this hour had grown upon her. He rode along the rim of themesa and out to the point, where, against the golden background, horseand rider stood silhouetted in bold relief.
"What's he doing there? Who is he?" inquired the curious Helen.
"That is Stewart, my right-hand man," replied Madeline. "Every day whenhe is at the ranch he rides up there at sunset. I think he likes theride and the scene; but he goes to take a look at the cattle in thevalley."
"Is he a cowboy?" asked Helen.
"Indeed yes!" replied Madeline, with a little laugh. "You will think sowhen Stillwell gets hold of you and begins to talk."
Madeline found it necessary to explain who Stillwell was, and what hethought of Stewart, and, while she was about it, of her own accord sheadded a few details of Stewart's fame.
"El Capi
tan. How interesting!" mused Helen. "What does he look like?"
"He is superb."
Florence handed the field-glass to Helen and bade her look.
"Oh, thank you!" said Helen, as she complied. "There. I see him. Indeed,he is superb. What a magnificent horse! How still he stands! Why, heseems carved in stone."
"Let me look?" said Dorothy Coombs, eagerly.
Helen gave her the glass.
"You can look, Dot, but that's all. He's mine. I saw him first."
Whereupon Madeline's feminine guests held a spirited contest overthe field-glass, and three of them made gay, bantering boasts not toconsider Helen's self-asserted rights. Madeline laughed with the otherswhile she watched the dark figure of Stewart and his black outlineagainst the sky. There came over her a thought not by any means new orstrange--she wondered what was in Stewart's mind as he stood there inthe solitude and faced the desert and the darkening west. Some day shemeant to ask him. Presently he turned the horse and rode down into theshadow creeping up the mesa.
"Majesty, have you planned any fun, any excitement for us?" asked Helen.She was restless, nervous, and did not seem to be able to sit still amoment.
"You will think so when I get through with you," replied Madeline.
"What, for instance?" inquired Helen and Dot and Mrs. Beck, in unison.Edith Wayne smiled her interest.
"Well, I am not counting rides and climbs and golf; but these arenecessary to train you for trips over into Arizona. I want to show youthe desert and the Aravaipa Canyon. We have to go on horseback and packour outfit. If any of you are alive after those trips and want more weshall go up into the mountains. I should like very much to know what youeach want particularly."
"I'll tell you," replied Helen, promptly. "Dot will be the same out hereas she was in the East. She wants to look bashfully down at her hand--ahand imprisoned in another, by the way--and listen to a man talk poetryabout her eyes. If cowboys don't make love that way Dot's visit willbe a failure. Now Elsie Beck wants solely to be revenged upon us fordragging her out here. She wants some dreadful thing to happen to us. Idon't know what's in Edith's head, but it isn't fun. Bobby wants to benear Elsie, and no more. Boyd wants what he has always wanted--theonly thing he ever wanted that he didn't get. Castleton has a horriblebloodthirsty desire to kill something."
"I declare now, I want to ride and camp out, also," protested Castleton.
"As for myself," went on Helen, "I want--Oh, if I only knew what it isthat I want! Well, I know I want to be outdoors, to get into the open,to feel sun and wind, to burn some color into my white face. I want someflesh and blood and life. I am tired out. Beyond all that I don't knowvery well. I'll try to keep Dot from attaching all the cowboys to hertrain."
"What a diversity of wants!" said Madeline.
"Above all, Majesty, we want something to happen," concluded Helen, withpassionate finality.
"My dear sister, maybe you will have your wish fulfilled," repliedMadeline, soberly. "Edith, Helen has made me curious about your especialyearning."
"Majesty, it is only that I wanted to be with you for a while," repliedthis old friend.
There was in the wistful reply, accompanied by a dark and eloquentglance of eyes, what told Madeline of Edith's understanding, of hersympathy, and perhaps a betrayal of her own unquiet soul. It saddenedMadeline. How many women might there not be who had the longing to breakdown the bars of their cage, but had not the spirit!