southwest, jest over thet farthest ridge."

Madeline swept her gaze along the gray, sloping horizon-line to
where dark-blue spires rose far beyond the ridge.

"Peloncillo Mountains," said Stillwell. "Thet's home, when we
get there. We won't see no more of them till afternoon, when
they rise up sudden-like."

Peloncillo! Madeline murmured the melodious name. Where had she
heard it? Then she remembered. The cowboy Stewart had told the
little Mexican girl Bonita to "hit the Peloncillo trail."
Probably the girl had ridden the big, dark horse over this very
road at night, alone. Madeline had a little shiver that was not
occasioned by the cold wind.

"There's a jack!" cried Florence, suddenly.

Madeline saw her first jack-rabbit. It was as large as a dog,
and its ears were enormous. It appeared to be impudently tame,
and the horses kicked dust over it as they trotted by. From then
on old Bill and Florence vied with each other in calling
Madeline's attention to many things along the way. Coyotes
stealing away into the brush; buzzards flapping over the carcass
of a cow that had been mired in a wash; queer little lizards
running swiftly across the road; cattle grazing in the hollows;
adobe huts of Mexican herders; wild, shaggy horses, with heads
high, watching from the gray ridges--all these things Madeline
looked at, indifferently at first, because indifference had
become habitual with her, and then with an interest that