brandished it in the priest's face. Then he lowered it,
apparently to point it at the priest's feet. There was a red
flash, and then a thundering report that stunned Madeline. The
room filled with smoke and the smell of powder. Madeline did not
faint or even shut her eyes, but she felt as if she were fast in
a cold vise. When she could see distinctly through the smoke she
experienced a sensation of immeasurable relief that the cowboy
had not shot the padre. But he was still waving the gun, and now
appeared to be dragging his victim toward her. What possibly
could be the drunken fool's intention? This must be, this surely
was a cowboy trick. She had a vague, swiftly flashing
recollection of Alfred's first letters descriptive of the
extravagant fun of cowboys. Then she vividly remembered a moving
picture she had seen--cowboys playing a monstrous joke on a lone
school-teacher. Madeline no sooner thought of it than she made
certain her brother was introducing her to a little wild West
amusement. She could scarcely believe it, yet it must be true.
Alfred's old love of teasing her might have extended even to this
outrage. Probably he stood just outside the door or window
laughing at her embarrassment.

Anger checked her panic. She straightened up with what composure
this surprise had left her and started for the door. But the
cowboy barred her passage--grasped her arms. Then Madeline
divined that her brother could not have any knowledge of this
indignity. It was no trick. It was something that was
happening, that was real, that threatened she knew not what. She
tried to wrench free, feeling hot all over at being handled by
this drunken brute. Poise, dignity, culture--all the acquired
habits of character--fled before the instinct to fight. She was