said Stillwell. "Thet's home, when we get
there. We won't see no more of them till afternoon, when they rise up
sudden-like."

Peloncillo! Madeline murmured the melodious name. Where had she heard
it? Then she remembered. The cowboy Stewart had told the little Mexican
girl Bonita to "hit the Peloncillo trail." Probably the girl had ridden
the big, dark horse over this very road at night, alone. Madeline had a
little shiver that was not occasioned by the cold wind.

"There's a jack!" cried Florence, suddenly.

Madeline saw her first jack-rabbit. It was as large as a dog, and its
ears were enormous. It appeared to be impudently tame, and the horses
kicked dust over it as they trotted by. From then on old Bill and
Florence vied with each other in calling Madeline's attention to many
things along the way. Coyotes stealing away into the brush; buzzards
flapping over the carcass of a cow that had been mired in a wash; queer
little lizards running swiftly across the road; cattle grazing in the
hollows; adobe huts of Mexican herders; wild, shaggy horses, with heads
high, watching from the gray ridges--all these things Madeline looked
at, indifferently at first, because indifference had become habitual
with her, and then with an interest that flourished up and insensibly
grew as she rode on. It grew until sight of a little ragged Mexican boy
astride the most diminutive burro she had ever seen awakened her to
the truth. She became conscious of faint, unmistakable awakening of
long-dead feelings--enthusiasm and delight. When she realized that, she
breathed deep of the cold, sharp air and experienced an inward joy. And
she divined then, though she did not know why, that henceforth there was
to be something new in her life, something she had never felt before,
something good for her soul in the homely, the commonplace, the natural,
and the wild.

Meanwhile, as Madeline gazed about her and listened to her companions,
the sun rose higher and grew warm and soared and grew hot; the horses
held tirelessly to their steady trot, and mile after mile of rolling
land slipped by.

From the top of a ridge Madeline saw down into a hollow where a few of
the cowboys had stopped and were sitting round a fire, evidently busy at
the noonday meal. Their horses were feeding on the long, gray grass.

"Wal, smell of thet burnin' greasewood makes my mouth water," said
Stillwell. "I'm sure hungry. We'll noon hyar an' let the hosses rest.
It's a lon