Bonita, promise to stay away from El Cajon.”

“Si, Senor.”

He led her outside. Madeline heard the horse snort and champ his bit. The cowboy spoke low; only a few words were intelligible– “stirrups . . . wait . . . out of town . . . mountain . . . trail . . . now ride!”

A moment’s silence ensued, and was broken by a pounding of hoofs, a pattering of gravel. Then Madeline saw a big, dark horse run into the wide space. She caught a glimpse of wind-swept scarf and hair, a little form low down in the saddle. The horse was outlined in black against the line of dim lights. There was something wild and splendid in his flight.

Directly the cowboy appeared again in the doorway.

“Miss Hammond, I reckon we want to rustle out of here. Been bad goings-on. And there’s a train due.”

She hurried into the open air, not daring to look back or to either side. Her guide strode swiftly. She had almost to run to keep up with him. Many conflicting emotions confused her. She had a strange sense of this stalking giant beside her, silent except for his jangling spurs. She had a strange feeling of the cool, sweet wind and the white stars. Was it only her disordered fancy, or did these wonderful stars open and shut? She had a queer, disembodied thought that somewhere in ages back, in another life, she had seen these stars.