in her sight. Recalling what the conductor had said, she was at
some pains to quell her uneasiness. Dust-clouds shrouded the dim
lights in the windows. Then out of the gloom two figures
appeared, one tall, the other slight. The cowboy was returning
with a porter.

Heavy footsteps sounded without, and lighter ones dragging along,
and then suddenly the door rasped open, jarring the whole room.
The cowboy entered, pulling a disheveled figure--that of a
priest, a padre, whose mantle had manifestly been disarranged by
the rude grasp of his captor. Plain it was that the padre was
extremely terrified.

Madeline Hammond gazed in bewilderment at the little man, so pale
and shaken, and a protest trembled upon her lips; but it was
never uttered, for this half-drunken cowboy now appeared to be a
cool, grim-smiling devil; and stretching out a long arm, he
grasped her and swung her back to the bench.

"You stay there!" he ordered.

His voice, though neither brutal nor harsh nor cruel, had the
unaccountable effect of making her feel powerless to move. No
man had ever before addressed her in such a tone. It was the
woman in her that obeyed--not the personality of proud Madeline
Hammond.

The padre lifted his clasped hands as if supplicating for his
life, and began to speak hurriedly in Spanish. Madeline did not
understand the language. The cowboy pulled out a huge gun and