II A Secret Kept

Because of that singular reply Madeline found faith to go farther
with the cowboy. But at the moment she really did not think
about what he had said. Any answer to her would have served if
it had been kind. His silence had augmented her nervousness,
compelling her to voice her fear. Still, even if he had not
replied at all she would have gone on with him. She shuddered at
the idea of returning to the station, where she believed there
had been murder; she could hardly have forced herself to go back
to those dim lights in the street; she did not want to wander
around alone in the dark.

And as she walked on into the windy darkness, much relieved that
he had answered as he had, reflecting that he had yet to prove
his words true, she began to grasp the deeper significance of
them. There was a revival of pride that made her feel that she
ought to scorn to think at all about such a man. But Madeline
Hammond discovered that thought was involuntary, that there were
feelings in her never dreamed of before this night.

Presently Madeline's guide turned off the walk and rapped at a
door of a low-roofed house.

"Hullo--who's there?" a deep voice answered.

"Gene Stewart," said the cowboy. "Call Florence--quick!"