power of his keen blue eyes on her face. And at these moments she
sensed more than brotherly regard. He was watching her, studying
her, weighing her, and the conviction was vaguely disturbing. It
was disquieting for Madeline to think that Alfred might have
guessed her trouble. From time to time he brought cowboys to her
and introduced them, and laughed and jested, trying to make the
ordeal less embarrassing for these men so little used to women.

Before the week was out, however, Alfred found occasion to tell
her that it would be wiser for her to let the round-up go on
without gracing it further with her presence. He said it
laughingly; nevertheless, he was serious. And when Madeline
turned to him in surprise he said, bluntly:

"I don't like the way Don Carlos follows you around. Bill's
afraid that Nels or Ambrose or one of the cowboys will take a
fall out of the Mexican. They're itching for the chance. Of
course, dear, it's absurd to you, but it's true."

Absurd it certainly was, yet it served to show Madeline how
intensely occupied she had been with her own feelings, roused by
the tumult and toil of the round-up. She recalled that Don
Carlos had been presented to her, and that she had not liked his
dark, striking face with its bold, prominent, glittering eyes and
sinister lines; and she had not liked his suave, sweet,
insinuating voice or his subtle manner, with its slow bows and
gestures. She had thought he looked handsome and dashing on the
magnificent black horse. However, now that Alfred's words made
her think, she recalled that wherever she had been in the field
the noble horse, with his silver-mounted saddle and his dark