asleep. She was aroused by Florence's knock and call.

"Miss Hammond, your brother has come back with Stillwell."

"Why, how I have slept!" exclaimed Madeline. "It's nearly six
o'clock."

"I'm sure glad. You were tired. And the air here makes
strangers sleepy. Come, we want you to meet old Bill. He calls
himself the last of the cattlemen. He has lived in Texas and
here all his life."

Madeline accompanied Florence to the porch. Her brother, who was
sitting near the door, jumped up and said:

"Hello, Majesty!" And as he put his arm around her he turned
toward a massive man whose broad, craggy face began to ripple and
wrinkle. "I want to introduce my friend Stillwell to you. Bill,
this is my sister, the sister I've so often told you about--
Majesty."

"Wal, wal, Al, this's the proudest meetin' of my life," replied
Stillwell, in a booming voice. He extended a huge hand. "Miss--
Miss Majesty, sight of you is as welcome as the rain an' the
flowers to an old desert cattleman."

Madeline greeted him, and it was all she could do to repress a
cry at the way he crunched her hand in a grasp of iron. He was
old, white-haired, weather-beaten, with long furrows down his
checks and with gray eyes almost hidden in wrinkles. If he was