ntrived made up
a dinner which they all heartily enjoyed. Madeline enjoyed it herself,
even with the feeling of a sword hanging suspended over her.

The hour was late when she rose from the table and told her guests to go
to their rooms, don their riding-clothes, pack what they needed for the
long and adventurous camping trip that she hoped would be the climax
of their Western experience, and to snatch a little sleep before the
cowboys roused them for the early start.

Madeline went immediately to her room, and was getting out her camping
apparel when a knock interrupted her. She thought Florence had come
to help her pack. But this knock was upon the door opening out in the
porch. It was repeated.

"Who's there?" she questioned.

"Stewart," came the reply.

She opened the door. He stood on the threshold. Beyond him, indistinct
in the gloom, were several cowboys.

"May I speak to you?" he asked.

"Certainly." She hesitated a moment, then asked him in and closed the
door. "Is--is everything all right?"

"No. These bandits stick to cover pretty close. They must have found
out we're on the watch. But I'm sure we'll get you and your friends away
before anything starts. I wanted to tell you that I've talked with your
servants. They were just scared. They'll come back to-morrow, soon
as Bill gets rid of this gang. You need not worry about them or your
property."

"Do you have any idea who is hiding in the house?"

"I was worried some at first. Pat Hawe acted queer. I imagined he'd
discovered he was trailing bandits who might turn out to be his
smuggling guerrilla cronies. But talking with your servants, finding
a bunch of horses upon hidden down in the mesquite behind the
pond--several things have changed my mind. My idea is that a cowardly
handful of riffraff outcasts from the border have hidden in your house,
more by accident than design. We'll let them go--get rid of them without
even a shot. If I didn't think so--well, I'd be considerably worried. It
would make a different state of affairs."

"Stewart, you are wrong," she said.

He started, but his reply did not follow swiftly. The expression of his
eyes altered. Presently he spoke:

"How so?"

"I saw one of these bandits. I distinctly recognized him."

One long step brought him close to her.

"Who was he?" demanded Stewart.

"Don Carlos."

He muttered low and deep, then said, "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I saw his figure twice in the hall, then