ke
trepidation. Her footsteps were noiseless. Finding the door to the
kitchen, and going in, she struck lights. Upon passing out again she
made certain she discerned a dark shape, now motionless, crouching along
the wall. But she mistrusted her vivid imagination. It took all her
boldness to enable her unconcernedly and naturally to strike the
corridor light. Then she went on through her own rooms and thence into
the patio.

Her guests laughingly and gladly entered into the spirit of the
occasion. Madeline fancied her deceit must have been perfect, seeing
that it deceived even Florence. They trooped merrily into the kitchen.
Madeline, delaying at the door, took a sharp but unobtrusive glance down
the great, barnlike hall. She saw nothing but blank dark space. Suddenly
from one side, not a rod distant, protruded a pale, gleaming face
breaking the even blackness. Instantly it flashed back out of sight. Yet
that time was long enough for Madeline to see a pair of glittering eyes,
and to recognize them as Don Carlos's.

Without betraying either hurry or alarm, she closed the door. It had a
heavy bolt which she slowly, noiselessly shot. Then the cold amaze that
had all but stunned her into inaction throbbed into wrath. How dared
that Mexican steal into her home! What did he mean? Was he one of the
bandits supposed to be hidden in her house? She was thinking herself
into greater anger and excitement, and probably would have betrayed
herself had not Florence, who had evidently seen her bolt the door
and now read her thoughts, come toward her with a bright, intent,
questioning look. Madeline caught herself in time.

Thereupon she gave each of her guests a duty to perform. Leading
Florence into the pantry, she unburdened herself of the secret in one
brief whisper. Florence's reply was to point out of the little open
window, passing which was a file of stealthily moving cowboys.
Then Madeline lost both anger and fear, retaining only the glow of
excitement.

Madeline could be gay, and she initiated the abandonment of dignity by
calling Castleton into the pantry, and, while interesting him in some
pretext or other, imprinting the outlines of her flour-covered hands
upon the back of his black coat. Castleton innocently returned to the
kitchen to be greeted with a roar. That surprising act of the hostess
set the pace, and there followed a merry, noisy time. Everybody helped.
The miscellaneous collection of dishes so confusingly co