adeline Hammond! He wouldn't ambush a trail for any one
else. He's not killing cowboys these days. He wants you for some reason.
So Gene thought, and now I believe him. Well, we'll know for sure in
five minutes. You ride the black; I'll ride Majesty. We'll slip round
through the brush, out of sight and sound, till we can break out into
the open. Then we'll split. You make straight for the ranch. I'll cut
loose for the valley where Gene said positively the cowboys were with
the cattle. The vaqueros will take me for you. They all know those
striking white things you wear. They'll chase me. They'll never get
anywhere near me. And you'll be on a fast horse. He can take you home
ahead of any vaqueros. But you won't be chased. I'm staking all on that.
Trust me, Madeline. If it were only my calculation, maybe I'd--It's
because I remember Stewart. That cowboy knows things. Come, this heah's
the safest and smartest way to fool Don Carlos." Madeline felt herself
more forced than persuaded into acquiescence. She mounted the black and
took up the bridle. In another moment she was guiding her horse off
the trail in the tracks of Majesty. Florence led off at right angles,
threading a slow passage through the mesquite. She favored sandy patches
and open aisles between the trees, and was careful not to break a
branch. Often she stopped to listen. This detour of perhaps half a mile
brought Madeline to where she could see open ground, the ranch-house
only a few miles off, and the cattle dotting the valley. She had not
lost her courage, but it was certain that these familiar sights somewhat
lightened the pressure upon her breast. Excitement gripped her. The
shrill whistle of a horse made both the black and Majesty jump. Florence
quickened the gait down the slope. Soon Madeline saw the edge of the
brush, the gray-bleached grass and level ground.

Florence waited at the opening between the low trees. She gave Madeline
a quick, bright glance.

"All over but the ride! That'll sure be easy. Bolt now and keep your
nerve!"

When Florence wheeled the fiery roan and screamed in his ear Madeline
seemed suddenly to grow lax and helpless. The big horse leaped into
thundering action. This was memorable of Bonita of the flying hair and
the wild night ride. Florence's hair streamed on the wind and shone gold
in the sunlight. Yet Madeline saw her with the same thrill with which
she had seen the wild-riding Bonita. Then hoarse shouts unclamped
Madeline