fight at Agua Prieta
yesterday. He was a sharpshooter in the Federal ranks. Sentenced to
death Thursday at sunset.

XXIV. The Ride

"Stillwell!"

Madeline's cry was more than the utterance of a breaking heart. It was
full of agony. But also it uttered the shattering of a structure built
of false pride, of old beliefs, of bloodless standards, of ignorance
of self. It betrayed the final conquest of her doubts, and out of
their darkness blazed the unquenchable spirit of a woman who had found
herself, her love, her salvation, her duty to a man, and who would not
be cheated.

The old cattleman stood mute before her, staring at her white face, at
her eyes of flame.

"Stillwell! I am Stewart's wife!"

"My Gawd, Miss Majesty!" he burst out. "I knowed somethin' turrible was
wrong. Aw, sure it's a pity--"

"Do you think I'll let him be shot when I know him now, when I'm no
longer blind, when I love him?" she asked, with passionate swiftness.
"I will save him. This is Wednesday morning. I have thirty-six hours to
save his life. Stillwell, send for Link and the car!"

She went into her office. Her mind worked with extraordinary rapidity
and clearness. Her plan, born in one lightning-like flash of thought,
necessitated the careful wording of telegrams to Washington, to New
York, to San Antonio. These were to Senators, Representatives, men high
in public and private life, men who would remember her and who would
serve her to their utmost. Never before had her position meant anything
to her comparable with what it meant now. Never in all her life had
money seemed the power that it was then. If she had been poor! A
shuddering chill froze the thought at its inception. She dispelled
heartbreaking thoughts. She had power. She had wealth. She would set
into operation all the unlimited means these gave her--the wires
and pulleys and strings underneath the surface of political and
international life, the open, free, purchasing value of money or the
deep, underground, mysterious, incalculably powerful influence moved
by gold. She could save Stewart. She must await results--deadlocked in
feeling, strained perhaps almost beyond endurance, because the suspense
would be great; but she would allow no possibility of failure to enter
her mind.

When she went outside the car was there with Link, helmet in hand, a
cool, bright gleam in his eyes, and with Stillwell, losing his haggard
misery, beginning to respond to Madeline's spirit