You will ride in the buck-board with Florence and Stillwell.
I'll ride on ahead with the boys and fix up a little for you at
the ranch. Your baggage will follow, but won't get there till
to-morrow sometime. It's a long ride out--nearly fifty miles by
wagon-road. Flo, don't forget a couple of robes. Wrap her up
well. And hustle getting ready. We're waiting."

A little later, when Madeline went out with Florence, the gray
gloom was lightening. Horses were champing bits and pounding
gravel.

"Mawnin', Miss Majesty," said Stillwell, gruffly, from the front
seat of a high vehicle.

Alfred bundled her up into the back seat, and Florence after her,
and wrapped them with robes. Then he mounted his horse and
started off. "Gid-eb!" growled Stillwell, and with a crack of
his whip the team jumped into a trot. Florence whispered into
Madeline's ear:

"Bill's grouchy early in the mawnin'. He'll thaw out soon as it
gets warm."

It was still so gray that Madeline could not distinguish objects
at any considerable distance, and she left El Cajon without
knowing what the town really looked like. She did know that she
was glad to get out of it, and found an easier task of dispelling
persistent haunting memory.

"Here come the cowboys," said Florence.