out this
cowboy, dreaming of her good influence over him, he had been merely
base. Somehow it stung her. Stewart had been nothing to her, she
thought, yet she had been proud of him. She tried to revolve the thing,
to be fair to him, when every instinctive tendency was to expel him, and
all pertaining to him, from her thoughts. And her effort at sympathy, at
extenuation, failed utterly before her pride. Exerting her will-power,
she dismissed Stewart from her mind.

Madeline did not think of him again till late that afternoon, when, as
she was leaving her tent to join several of her guests, Stewart appeared
suddenly in her path.

"Miss Hammond, I saw your tracks down the trail," he began, eagerly, but
his tone was easy and natural. "I'm thinking--well, maybe you sure got
the idea--"

"I do not wish for an explanation," interrupted Madeline.

Stewart gave a slight start. His manner had a semblance of the old, cool
audacity. As he looked down at her it subtly changed.

What effrontery, Madeline thought, to face her before her guests with
an explanation of his conduct! Suddenly she felt an inward flash of fire
that was pain, so strange, so incomprehensible, that her mind whirled.
Then anger possessed her, not at Stewart, but at herself, that anything
could rouse in her a raw emotion. She stood there, outwardly cold,
serene, with level, haughty eyes upon Stewart; but inwardly she was
burning with rage and shame.

"I'm sure not going to have you think--" He began passionately, but he
broke off, and a slow, dull crimson blotted over the healthy red-brown
of his neck and cheeks.

"What you do or think, Stewart, is no concern of mine."

"Miss--Miss Hammond! You don't believe--" faltered Stewart.

The crimson receded from his face, leaving it pale. His eyes were
appealing. They had a kind of timid look that struck Madeline even in
her anger. There was something boyish about him then. He took a step
forward and reached out with his hand open-palmed in a gesture that was
humble, yet held a certain dignity.

"But listen. Never mind now what you--you think about me. There's a good
reason--"

"I have no wish to hear your reason."

"But you ought to," he persisted.

"Sir!"

Stewart underwent another swift change. He started violently. A dark
tide shaded his face and a glitter leaped to his eyes. He took two long
strides--loomed over her.

"I'm not thinking about myself," he thundered. "Will you listen?"

"No," she