go on with my story. There's Don Carlos, a Mexican rancher, and
he's my worst enemy. For that matter, he's as bad an enemy of
Bill Stillwell and other ranchers. Stillwell, by the way, is my
friend and one of the finest men on earth. I got in debt to Don
Carlos before I knew he was so mean. In the first place I lost
money at faro--I gambled some when I came West--and then I made
unwise cattle deals. Don Carlos is a wily Greaser, he knows the
ranges, he has the water, and he is dishonest. So he outfigured
me. And now I am practically ruined. He has not gotten
possession of my ranch, but that's only a matter of time, pending
lawsuits at Santa Fe. At present I have a few hundred cattle
running on Stillwell's range, and I am his foreman."

"Foreman?" queried Madeline.

"I am simply boss of Stillwell's cowboys, and right glad of my
job."

Madeline was conscious of an inward burning. It required an
effort for her to retain her outward tranquillity. Annoying
consciousness she had also of the returning sense of new
disturbing emotions. She began to see just how walled in from
unusual thought-provoking incident and sensation had been her
exclusive life.

"Cannot your property be reclaimed?" she asked. "How much do you
owe?"

"Ten thousand dollars would clear me and give me another start.
But, Majesty, in this country that's a good deal of money, and I