she did sleep, and it seemed to
have been only a moment until Florence called her. She followed Florence
outside. It was the dark hour before dawn. She could discern saddled
horses being held by cowboys. There was an air of hurry and mystery
about the departure. Helen, who came tip-toeing out with Madeline's
other guests, whispered that it was like an escape. She was delighted.
The others were amused. To Madeline it was indeed an escape.

In the darkness Madeline could not see how many escorts her party was to
have. She heard low voices, the champing of bits and thumping of hoofs,
and she recognized Stewart when he led up Majesty for her to mount.
Then came a pattering of soft feet and the whining of dogs. Cold noses
touched her hands, and she saw the long, gray, shaggy shapes of her pack
of Russian wolf-hounds. That Stewart meant to let them go with her was
indicative of how he studied her pleasure. She loved to be out with the
hounds and her horse.

Stewart led Majesty out into the darkness past a line of mounted horses.

"Guess we're ready?" he said. "I'll make the count." He went back along
the line, and on the return Madeline heard him say several times,
"Now, everybody ride close to the horse in front, and keep quiet till
daylight." Then the snorting and pounding of the big black horse in
front of her told Madeline that Stewart had mounted.

"All right, we're off," he called.

Madeline lifted Majesty's bridle and let the roan go. There was a crack
and crunch of gravel, fire struck from stone, a low whinny, a snort,
and then steady, short, clip-clop of iron hoofs on hard ground. Madeline
could just discern Stewart and his black outlined in shadowy gray before
her. Yet they were almost within touching distance. Once or twice one of
the huge stag-hounds leaped up at her and whined joyously. A thick belt
of darkness lay low, and seemed to thin out above to a gray fog, through
which a few wan stars showed. It was altogether an unusual departure
from the ranch; and Madeline, always susceptible even to ordinary
incident that promised well, now found herself thrillingly sensitive to
the soft beat of hoofs, the feel of cool, moist air, the dim sight of
Stewart's dark figure. The caution, the early start before dawn, the
enforced silence--these lent the occasion all that was needful to make
it stirring.

Majesty plunged into a gully, where sand and rough going made Madeline
stop romancing to attend to riding. In the