the camp circle.

Madeline could not distinguish his words, but his gesture plainly
indicated a question in regard to the rest of the camping party.
Stewart's reply and the wave of his hand down the trail meant that his
party had gone home. Stewart turned to some task, and the guerrilla
leader quietly smoked. He looked cunning and thoughtful. His men
gradually began to manifest a restlessness, noticeable in the absence
of former languor and slow puffing of cigarette smoke. Presently a
big-boned man with a bullet head and a blistered red face of evil
coarseness got up and threw away his cigarette. He was an American.

"Hey, cull," he called in loud voice, "ain't ye goin' to cough up a
drink?"

"My boys don't carry liquor on the trail," replied Stewart. He turned
now to face the guerrillas.

"Haw, haw! I heerd over in Rodeo thet ye was gittin' to be shore some
fer temperance," said this fellow. "I hate to drink water, but I guess
I've gotter do it."

He went to the spring, sprawled down to drink, and all of a sudden he
thrust his arm down in the water to bring forth a basket. The cowboys
in the hurry of packing had neglected to remove this basket; and it
contained bottles of wine and liquors for Madeline's guests. They had
been submerged in the spring to keep them cold. The guerrilla fumbled
with the lid, opened it, and then got up, uttering a loud roar of
delight.

Stewart made an almost imperceptible motion, as if to leap forward; but
he checked the impulse, and after a quick glance at Nels he said to the
guerrilla:

"Guess my party forgot that. You're welcome to it." Like bees the
guerrillas swarmed around the lucky finder of the bottles. There was
a babel of voices. The drink did not last long, and it served only to
liberate the spirit of recklessness. The several white outlaws began to
prowl around the camp; some of the Mexicans did likewise; others waited,
showing by their ill-concealed expectancy the nature of their thoughts.

It was the demeanor of Stewart and his comrades that puzzled Madeline.
Apparently they felt no anxiety or even particular interest. Don Carlos,
who had been covertly watching them, now made his scrutiny open, even
aggressive. He looked from Stewart to Nels and Monty, and then to the
other cowboys. While some of his men prowled around the others watched
him, and the waiting attitude had taken on something sinister. The
guerrilla leader seemed undecided, but not in any sense puzzled.