on for Madeline Hammond. Glorious it was to be
free, healthy, out in the open, under the shadow of the mountain and
cloud, in the teeth of the wind and rain and storm.

Another dazzling blue blaze showed the bold mountain-side and the
storm-driven clouds. In the flare of light Madeline saw Stewart's face.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, simply.

Then the thunderbolt racked the heavens, and as it boomed away in
lessening power Madeline reflected with surprise upon Stewart's answer.
Something in his face had made her ask him what she considered a foolish
question. His reply amazed her. She loved a storm. Why should he fear
it--he, with whom she could not associate fear?

"How strange! Have you not been out in many storms?"

A smile that was only a gleam flitted over his dark face.

"In hundreds of them. By day, with the cattle stampeding. At night,
alone on the mountain, with the pines crashing and the rocks rolling--in
flood on the desert."

"It's not only the lightning, then?" she asked.

"No. All the storm."

Madeline felt that henceforth she would have less faith in what she had
imagined was her love of the elements. What little she knew! If this
iron-nerved man feared a storm, then there was something about a storm
to fear.

And suddenly, as the ground quaked under her horse's feet, and all
the sky grew black and crisscrossed by flaming streaks, and between
thunderous reports there was a strange hollow roar sweeping down upon
her, she realized how small was her knowledge and experience of the
mighty forces of nature. Then, with that perversity of character of
which she was wholly conscious, she was humble, submissive, reverent,
and fearful even while she gloried in the grandeur of the dark,
cloud-shadowed crags and canyons, the stupendous strife of sound, the
wonderful driving lances of white fire.

With blacker gloom and deafening roar came the torrent of rain. It was
a cloud-burst. It was like solid water tumbling down. For long Madeline
sat her horse, head bent to the pelting rain. When its force lessened
and she heard Stewart call for all to follow, she looked up to see that
he was starting once more. She shot a glimpse at Dorothy and as quickly
glanced away. Dorothy, who would not wear a hat suitable for inclement
weather, nor one of the horrid yellow, sticky slickers, was a drenched
and disheveled spectacle. Madeline did not trust herself to look at the
other girls. It was enoug