fit the order her
intelligence prescribed. Thought of Stewart dissociated itself from
thought of the other cowboys. When she discovered this she felt a little
surprise and annoyance. Then she interrogated herself, and concluded
that it was not that Stewart was so different from his comrades, but
that circumstances made him stand out from them. She recalled her
meeting with him that night when he had tried to force her to marry him.
This was unforgettable in itself. She called subsequent mention of him,
and found it had been peculiarly memorable. The man and his actions
seemed to hinge on events. Lastly, the fact standing clear of all others
in its relation to her interest was that he had been almost ruined,
almost lost, and she had saved him. That alone was sufficient to explain
why she thought of him differently. She had befriended, uplifted the
other cowboys; she had saved Stewart's life. To be sure, he had been a
ruffian, but a woman could not save the life of even a ruffian without
remembering it with gladness. Madeline at length decided her interest in
Stewart was natural, and that her deeper feeling was pity. Perhaps the
interest had been forced from her; however, she gave the pity as she
gave everything.

Stewart recovered his strength, though not in time to ride at the spring
round-up; and Stillwell discussed with Madeline the advisability of
making the cowboy his foreman.

"Wal, Gene seems to be gettin' along," said Stillwell. "But he ain't
like his old self. I think more of him at thet. But where's his spirit?
The boys'd ride rough-shod all over him. Mebbe I'd do best to wait
longer now, as the slack season is on. All the same, if those vaquero of
Don Carlos's don't lay low I'll send Gene over there. Thet'll wake him
up."

A few days afterward Stillwell came to Madeline, rubbing his big hands
in satisfaction and wearing a grin that was enormous.

"Miss Majesty, I reckon before this I've said things was amazin'
strange. But now Gene Stewart has gone an' done it! Listen to me. Them
Greasers down on our slope hev been gettin' prosperous. They're growin'
like bad weeds. An' they got a new padre--the little old feller from
El Cajon, Padre Marcos. Wal, this was all right, all the boys thought,
except Gene. An' he got blacker 'n thunder an' roared round like a
dehorned bull. I was sure glad to see he could get mad again. Then Gene
haids down the slope fer the church. Nels an' me follered him, thinkin'
he might h