wires, the occasional stamp of an iron-shod hoof, and a distant
vacant laugh rising above the sounds of the dance. These
commonplace things were new to her. She became conscious of a
slight quickening of her pulse. Madeline had only a limited
knowledge of the West. Like all of her class, she had traveled
Europe and had neglected America. A few letters from her brother
had confused her already vague ideas of plains and mountains, as
well as of cowboys and cattle. She had been astounded at the
interminable distance she had traveled, and if there had been
anything attractive to look at in all that journey she had passed
it in the night. And here she sat in a dingy little station,
with telegraph wires moaning a lonely song in the wind.

A faint sound like the rattling of thin chains diverted
Madeline's attention. At first she imagined it was made by the
telegraph wires. Then she heard a step. The door swung wide; a
tall man entered, and with him came the clinking rattle. She
realized then that the sound came from his spurs. The man was a
cowboy, and his entrance recalled vividly to her that of Dustin
Farnum in the first act of "The Virginian."

"Will you please direct me to a hotel?" asked Madeline, rising.

The cowboy removed his sombrero, and the sweep he made with it
and the accompanying bow, despite their exaggeration, had a kind
of rude grace. He took two long strides toward her.

"Lady, are you married?"

In the past Miss Hammond's sense of humor had often helped her to