cool, sweet wind and the white stars. Was it only her disordered
fancy, or did these wonderful stars open and shut? She had a
queer, disembodied thought that somewhere in ages back, in
another life, she had seen these stars. The night seemed dark,
yet there was a pale, luminous light--a light from the stars--and
she fancied it would always haunt her.

Suddenly aware that she had been led beyond the line of houses,
she spoke:

"Where are you taking me?"

"To Florence Kingsley," he replied.

"Who is she?"

"I reckon she's your brother's best friend out here." Madeline
kept pace with the cowboy for a few moments longer, and then she
stopped. It was as much from necessity to catch her breath as it
was from recurring fear. All at once she realized what little
use her training had been for such an experience as this. The
cowboy, missing her, came back the few intervening steps. Then
he waited, still silent, looming beside her.

"It's so dark, so lonely," she faltered. "How do I know . . .
what warrant can you give me that you--that no harm will befall
me if I go farther?"

"None, Miss Hammond, except that I've seen your face."