The Light of Western Stars

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Stillwell puffed and wiped his red face.

"If you'd heerd him cuss Monty this mawnin' you'd never guess it
was religion. Monty an' Nels hev been givin' Gene a lot of
trouble lately. They're both sore an' in fightin' mood ever
since Don Carlos hed you kidnapped. Sure they're goin' to break
soon, an' then we'll hev a couple of wild Texas steers ridin' the
range. I've a heap to worry me."

"Let Stewart take his mysterious trips into the mountains. Here,
Stillwell, I have news for you that may give you reason for
worry. I have letters from home. And my sister, with a party of
friends, is coming out to visit me. They are society folk, and
one of them is an English lord."

"Wal, Miss Majesty, I reckon we'll all be glad to see them," said
Stillwell. "Onless they pack you off back East."

"That isn't likely," replied Madeline, thoughtfully. "I must go
back some time, though. Well, let me read you a few extracts
from my mail."

Madeline took up her sister's letter with a strange sensation of
how easily sight of a crested monogram and scent of delicately
perfumed paper could recall the brilliant life she had given up.
She scanned the pages of beautiful handwriting. Helen's letter
was in turn gay and brilliant and lazy, just as she was herself;
but Madeline detected more of curiosity in it than of real
longing to see the sister and brother in the Far West. Much of
what Helen wrote was enthusiastic anticipation of the fun she
expected to have with bashful cowboys. Helen seldom wrote
letters, and she never read anything, not even popular novels of
the day. She was as absolutely ignorant of the West as the
Englishman, who, she said, expected to hunt buffalo and fight
Indians. Moreover, there was a satiric note in the letter that
Madeline did not like, and which roused her spirit. Manifestly,
Helen was reveling in the prospect of new sensation.

When she finished reading aloud a few paragraphs the old
cattleman snorted and his face grew redder.

"Did your sister write that?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Wal, I--I beg pawdin, Miss Majesty. But it doesn't seem like
you. Does she think we're a lot of wild men from Borneo?"

"Evidently she does. I rather think she is in for a surprise.
Now, Stillwell, you are clever and you can see the situation. I
want my guests to enjoy their stay here, but I do not want that
to be at the expense of the feelings of all of us, or even any
one. Helen will bring a lively crowd. They'll crave excitement--
the unusual. Let us see that they are not disappointed. You
take the boys into your confidence. Tell them what to expect,
and tell them how to meet it. I shall help you in that. I want
the boys to be on dress-parade when they are off duty. I want
them to be on their most elegant behavior. I do not care what
they do, what measures they take to protect themselves, what
tricks they contrive, so long as they do not overstep the limit
of kindness and courtesy. I want them to play their parts
seriously, naturally, as if they had lived no other way. My
guests expect to have fun. Let us meet them with fun. Now what
do you say?"

Stillwell rose, his great bulk towering, his huge face beaming.

"Wal, I say it's the most amazin' fine idee I ever heerd in my
life."

"Indeed, I am glad you like it," went on Madeline.

"Come to me again, Stillwell, after you have spoken to the boys.
But, now that I have suggested it, I am a little afraid. You
know what cowboy fun is. Perhaps--"

"Don't you go back on that idee," interrupted Stillwell. He was
assuring and bland, but his hurry to convince Madeline betrayed
him. "Leave the boys to me. Why, don't they all swear by you,
same as the Mexicans do to the Virgin? They won't disgrace you,
Miss Majesty. They'll be simply immense. It'll beat any show
you ever seen."

"I believe it will," replied Madeline. She was still doubtful of
her plan, but the enthusiasm of the old cattleman was infectious
and irresistible. "Very well, we will consider it settled. My
guests will arrive on May ninth. Meanwhile let us get Her
Majesty's Rancho in shape for this invasion."

* * *

On the afternoon of the ninth of May, perhaps half an hour after
Madeline had received a telephone message from Link Stevens
announcing the arrival of her guests at El Cajon, Florence called
her out upon the porch. Stillwell was there with his face
wrinkled by his wonderful smile and his eagle eyes riveted upon
the distant valley. Far away, perhaps twenty miles, a thin
streak of white dust rose from the valley floor and slanted
skyward.

"Look!" said Florence, excitedly.

"What is that?" asked Madeline.

"Link Stevens and the automobile!"

"Oh no! Why, it's only a few minutes since he telephoned saying
the party had just arrived."

"Take a look with the glasses," said Florence.

One glance through the powerful binoculars convinced Madeline
that Florence was right. And another glance at Stillwell told
her that he was speechless with delight. She remembered a little
conversation she had had with Link Stevens a short while
previous.

"Stevens, I hope the car is in good shape," she had said. "Now,
Miss Hammond, she's as right as the best-trained hoss I ever
rode," he had replied.

"The valley road is perfect," she had gone on, musingly. "I
never saw such a beautiful road, even in France. No fences, no
ditches, no rocks, no vehicles. Just a lonely road on the
desert."

"Shore, it's lonely," Stevens had answered, with slowly
brightening eyes. "An' safe, Miss Hammond."

"My sister used to like fast riding. If I remember correctly,
all of my guests were a little afflicted with the speed mania.
It is a common disease with New-Yorkers. I hope, Stevens, that
you will not give them reason to think we are altogether steeped
in the slow, dreamy manana languor of the Southwest."

Link doubtfully eyed her, and then his bronze face changed its
dark aspect and seemed to shine.

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss Hammond, thet's shore tall talk fer
Link Stevens to savvy. You mean--as long as I drive careful an'
safe I can run away from my dust, so to say, an' get here in
somethin' less than the Greaser's to-morrow?"

Madeline had laughed her assent. And now, as she watched the
thin streak of dust, at that distance moving with snail pace, she
reproached herself. She trusted Stevens; she had never known so
skilful, daring, and iron-nerved a driver as he was. If she had
been in the car herself she would have had no anxiety. But,
imagining what Stevens would do on forty miles and more of that
desert road, Madeline suffered a prick of conscience.

"Oh, Stillwell!" she exclaimed. "I am afraid I will go back on
my wonderful idea. What made me do it?"

"Your sister wanted the real thing, didn't she? Said they all
wanted it. Wal, I reckon they've begun gettin' it," replied
Stillwell.

That statement from the cattleman allayed Madeline's pangs of
conscience. She understood just what she felt, though she could
not have put it in words. She was hungry for a sight of
well-remembered faces; she longed to hear the soft laughter and
gay repartee of old friends; she was eager for gossipy first-hand
news of her old world. Nevertheless, something in her sister's
letter, in messages from the others who were coming, had touched
Madeline's pride. In one sense the expected guests were hostile,
inasmuch as they were scornful and curious about the West that
had claimed her. She imagined what they would expect in a
Western ranch. They would surely get the real thing, too, as
Stillwell said; and in that certainty was satisfaction for a
small grain of something within Madeline which approached
resentment. She wistfully wondered, however, if her sister or
friends would come to see the West even a little as she saw it.
That, perhaps, would he hoping too much. She resolved once for
all to do her best to give them the sensation their senses
craved, and equally to show them the sweetness and beauty and
wholesomeness and strength of life in the Southwest.

"Wal, as Nels says, I wouldn't be in that there ottomobile right
now for a million pesos," remarked Stillwell.

"Why? Is Stevens driving fast?"

"Good Lord! Fast? Miss Majesty, there hain't ever been anythin'
except a streak of lightnin' run so fast in this country. I'll
bet Link for once is in heaven. I can jest see him now, the
grim, crooked-legged little devil, hunchin' down over that wheel
as if it was a hoss's neck."

"I told him not to let the ride be hot or dusty," remarked
Madeline.

"Haw, haw!" roared Stillwell. "Wal, I'll be goin'. I reckon I'd
like to be hyar when Link drives up, but I want to be with the
boys down by the bunks. It'll be some fun to see Nels an' Monty
when Link comes flyin' along."

"I wish Al had stayed to meet them," said Madeline.

Her brother had rather hurried a shipment of cattle to
California: and it was Madeline's supposition that he had
welcomed the opportunity to absent himself from the ranch.

"I am sorry he wouldn't stay," replied Florence. "But Al's all
business now. And he's doing finely. It's just as well,
perhaps."

"Surely. That was my pride speaking. I would like to have all
my family and all my old friends see what a man Al has become.
Well, Link Stevens is running like the wind. The car will be
here before we know it. Florence, we've only a few moments to
dress. But first I want to order many and various and
exceedingly cold refreshments for that approaching party."

Less than a half-hour later Madeline went again to the porch and
found Florence there.

"Oh, you look just lovely!" exclaimed Florence, impulsively, as
she gazed wide-eyed up at Madeline. "And somehow so different!"

Madeline smiled a little sadly. Perhaps when she had put on that
exquisite white gown something had come to her of the manner
which befitted the wearing of it. She could not resist the
desire to look fair once more in the eyes of these hypercritical
friends. The sad smile had been for the days that were gone.
For she knew that what society had once been pleased to call her
beauty had trebled since it had last been seen in a drawing-room.
Madeline wore no jewels, but at her waist she had pinned two
great crimson roses. Against the dead white they had the life
and fire and redness of the desert.

"Link's hit the old round-up trail," said Florence, "and oh,
isn't he riding that car!"

With Florence, as with most of the cowboys, the car was never
driven, but ridden.

A white spot with a long trail of dust showed low down in the
valley. It was now headed almost straight for the ranch.
Madeline watched it growing larger moment by moment, and her
pleasurable emotion grew accordingly. Then the rapid beat of a
horse's hoofs caused her to turn.

Stewart was riding in on his black horse. He had been absent on
an important mission, and his duty had taken him to the
international boundary-line. His presence home long before he was
expected was particularly gratifying to Madeline, for it meant
that his mission had been brought to a successful issue. Once
more, for the hundredth time, the man's reliability struck
Madeline. He was a doer of things. The black horse halted
wearily without the usual pound of hoofs on the gravel, and the
dusty rider dismounted wearily. Both horse and rider showed the
heat and dust and wind of many miles.

Madeline advanced to the porch steps. And Stewart, after taking
a parcel of papers from a saddle-bag, turned toward her.

"Stewart, you are the best of couriers," she said. "I am
pleased."

Dust streamed from his sombrero as he doffed it. His dark face
seemed to rise as he straightened weary shoulders.

"Here are the reports, Miss Hammond," he replied.

As he looked up to see her standing there, dressed to receive her
Eastern guests, he checked his advance with a violent action
which recalled to Madeline the one he had made on the night she
had met him, when she disclosed her identity. It was not fear nor
embarrassment nor awkwardness. And it was only momentary. Yet,
slight as had been his pause, Madeline received from it an
impression of some strong halting force. A man struck by a
bullet might have had an instant jerk of muscular control such as
convulsed Stewart. In that instant, as her keen gaze searched
his dust-caked face, she met the full, free look of his eyes.
Her own did not fall, though she felt a warmth steal to her
cheeks. Madeline very seldom blushed. And now, conscious of her
sudden color a genuine blush flamed on her face. It was
irritating because it was incomprehensible. She received the
papers from Stewart and thanked him. He bowed, then led the
black down the path toward the corrals.

"When Stewart looks like that he's been riding," said Florence.
"But when his horse looks like that he's sure been burning the
wind."

Madeline watched the weary horse and rider limp down the path.
What had made her thoughtful? Mostly it was something new or
sudden or inexplicable that stirred her mind to quick analysis.
In this instance the thing that had struck Madeline was Stewart's
glance. He had looked at her, and the old burning, inscrutable
fire, the darkness, had left his eyes. Suddenly they had been
beautiful. The look had not been one of surprise or admiration;
nor had it been one of love. She was familiar, too familiar with
all three. It had not been a gaze of passion, for there was
nothing beautiful in that. Madeline pondered. And presently she
realized that Stewart's eyes had expressed a strange joy of
pride. That expression Madeline had never before encountered in
the look of any man. Probably its strangeness had made her notice
it and accounted for her blushing. The longer she lived among
these outdoor men the more they surprised her. Particularly, how
incomprehensible was this cowboy Stewart! Why should he have
pride or joy at sight of her?

Florence's exclamation made Madeline once more attend to the
approaching automobile. It was on the slope now, some miles down
the long gradual slant. Two yellow funnel-shaped clouds of dust
seemed to shoot out from behind the car and roll aloft to join
the column that stretched down the valley.

"I wonder what riding a mile a minute would be like," said
Florence. "I'll sure make Link take me. Oh, but look at him
come!"

The giant car resembled a white demon, and but for the dust would
have appeared to be sailing in the air. Its motion was steadily
forward, holding to the road as if on rails. And its velocity
was astounding. Long, gray veils, like pennants, streamed in the
wind. A low rushing sound became perceptible, and it grew
louder, became a roar. The car shot like an arrow past the
alfalfa-field, by the bunk-houses, where the cowboys waved and
cheered. The horses and burros in the corrals began to snort and
tramp and race in fright. At the base of the long slope of the
foothill Link cut the speed more than half. Yet the car roared
up, rolling the dust, flying capes and veils and ulsters, and
crashed and cracked to a halt in the yard before the porch.

Madeline descried a gray, disheveled mass of humanity packed
inside the car. Besides the driver there were seven occupants,
and for a moment they appeared to be coming to life, moving and
exclaiming under the veils and wraps and dust-shields.

Link Stevens stepped out and, removing helmet and goggles, coolly
looked at his watch.

"An hour an' a quarter, Miss Hammond," he said. "It's
sixty-three miles by the valley road, an' you know there's a
couple of bad hills. I reckon we made fair time, considerin' you
wanted me to drive slow an' safe."

From the mass of dusty-veiled humanity in the car came low
exclamations and plaintive feminine wails.

Madeline stepped to the front of the porch. Then the deep voices
of men and softer voices of women united in one glad outburst, as
much a thanksgiving as a greeting, "MAJESTY!"

* * *

Helen Hammond was three years younger than Madeline, and a
slender, pretty girl. She did not resemble her sister, except in
whiteness and fineness of skin, being more of a brown-eyed,
brown-haired type. Having recovered her breath soon after
Madeline took her to her room, she began to talk.

"Majesty, old girl, I'm here; but you can bet I would never have
gotten here if I had known about that ride from the railroad.
You never wrote that you had a car. I thought this was out West--
stage-coach, and all that sort of thing. Such a tremendous car!
And the road! And that terrible little man with the leather
trousers! What kind of a chauffeur is he?"

"He's a cowboy. He was crippled by falling under his horse, so I
had him instructed to run the car. He can drive, don't you
think?"

"Drive? Good gracious! He scared us to death, except Castleton.
Nothing could scare that cold-blooded little Englishman. I am
dizzy yet. Do you know, Majesty, I was delighted when I saw the
car. Then your cowboy driver met us at the platform. What a
queer-looking individual! He had a big pistol strapped to those
leather trousers. That made me nervous. When he piled us all in
with our grips, he put me in the seat beside him, whether I liked
it or not. I was fool enough to tell him I loved to travel fast.
What do you think he said? Well, he eyed me in a rather cool and
speculative way and said, with a smile, 'Miss, I reckon anything
you love an' want bad will be coming to you out here!' I didn't
know whether it was delightful candor or impudence. Then he said
to all of us: 'Shore you had better wrap up in the veils an'
dusters. It's a long, slow, hot, dusty ride to the ranch, an'
Miss Hammond's order was to drive safe.' He got our baggage
checks and gave them to a man with a huge wagon and a four-horse
team. Then he cranked the car, jumped in, wrapped his arms round
the wheel, and sank down low in his seat. There was a crack, a
jerk, a kind of flash around us, and that dirty little town was
somewhere on the map behind. For about five minutes I had a
lovely time. Then the wind began to tear me to pieces. I
couldn't hear anything but the rush of wind and roar of the car.
I could see only straight ahead. What a road! I never saw a
road in my life till to-day. Miles and miles and miles ahead,
with not even a post or tree. That big car seemed to leap at the
miles. It hummed and sang. I was fascinated, then terrified.
We went so fast I couldn't catch my breath. The wind went through
me, and I expected to be disrobed by it any minute. I was afraid
I couldn't hold any clothes on. Presently all I could see was a
flashing gray wall with a white line in the middle. Then my eyes
blurred. My face burned. My ears grew full of a hundred thousand
howling devils. I was about ready to die when the car stopped.
I looked and looked, and when I could see, there you stood!"

"Helen, I thought you were fond of speeding," said Madeline, with
a laugh.

"I was. But I assure you I never before was in a fast car; I
never saw a road; I never met a driver."

"Perhaps I may have a few surprises for you out here in the wild
and woolly West."

Helen's dark eyes showed a sister's memory of possibilities.

"You've started well," she said. "I am simply stunned. I expected
to find you old and dowdy. Majesty, you're the handsomest thing
I ever laid eyes on. You're so splendid and strong, and your
skin is like white gold. What's happened to you? What's changed
you? This beautiful room, those glorious roses out there, the
cool, dark sweetness of this wonderful house! I know you,
Majesty, and, though you never wrote it, I believe you have made
a home out here. That's the most stunning surprise of all.
Come, confess. I know I've always been selfish and not much of a
sister; but if you are happy out here I am glad. You were not
happy at home. Tell me about yourself and about Alfred. Then I
shall give you all the messages and news from the East."

It afforded Madeline exceeding pleasure to have from one and all
of her guests varied encomiums of her beautiful home, and a real
and warm interest in what promised to be a delightful and
memorable visit.

Of them all Castleton was the only one who failed to show
surprise. He greeted her precisely as he had when he had last
seen her in London. Madeline, rather to her astonishment, found
meeting him again pleasurable. She discovered she liked this
imperturbable Englishman. Manifestly her capacity for liking any
one had immeasurably enlarged. Quite unexpectedly her old
girlish love for her younger sister sprang into life, and with it
interest in these half-forgotten friends, and a warm regard for
Edith Wayne, a chum of college days.

Helen's party was smaller than Madeline had expected it to be.
Helen had been careful to select a company of good friends, all
of whom were well known to Madeline. Edith Wayne was a patrician
brunette, a serious, soft-voiced woman, sweet and kindly, despite
a rather bitter experience that had left her worldly wise. Mrs.
Carrollton Beck, a plain, lively person, had chaperoned the
party. The fourth and last of the feminine contingent was Miss
Dorothy Coombs--Dot, as they called her--a young woman of
attractive blond prettiness.

For a man Castleton was of very small stature. He had a
pink-and-white complexion, a small golden mustache, and his heavy
eyelids, always drooping, made him look dull. His attire, cut to
what appeared to be an exaggerated English style, attracted
attention to his diminutive size. He was immaculate and
fastidious. Robert Weede was a rather large florid young man,
remarkable only for his good nature. Counting Boyd Harvey, a
handsome, pale-faced fellow, with the careless smile of the man
for whom life had been easy and pleasant, the party was complete.

Dinner was a happy hour, especially for the Mexican women who
served it and who could not fail to note its success. The
mingling of low voices and laughter, the old, gay, superficial
talk, the graciousness of a class which lived for the pleasure of
things and to make time pass pleasurably for others--all took
Madeline far back into the past. She did not care to return to
it, but she saw that it was well she had not wholly cut herself
off from her people and friends.

When the party adjourned to the porch the heat had markedly
decreased and the red sun was sinking over the red desert. An
absence of spoken praise, a gradually deepening silence, attested
to the impression on the visitors of that noble sunset. Just as
the last curve of red rim vanished beyond the dim Sierra Madres
and the golden lightning began to flare brighter Helen broke the
silence with an exclamation.

"It wants only life. Ah, there's a horse climbing the hill!
See, he's up! He has a rider!"

Madeline knew before she looked the identity of the man riding up
the mesa. But she did not know until that moment how the habit
of watching for him at this hour had grown upon her. He rode
along the rim of the mesa and out to the point, where, against
the golden background, horse and rider stood silhouetted in bold
relief.

"What's he doing there? Who is he?" inquired the curious Helen.

"That is Stewart, my right-hand man," replied Madeline. "Every
day when he is at the ranch he rides up there at sunset. I think
he likes the ride and the scene; but he goes to take a look at
the cattle in the valley."

"Is he a cowboy?" asked Helen.

"Indeed yes!" replied Madeline, with a little laugh. "You will
think so when Stillwell gets hold of you and begins to talk."

Madeline found it necessary to explain who Stillwell was, and
what he thought of Stewart, and, while she was about it, of her
own accord she added a few details of Stewart's fame.

"El Capitan. How interesting!" mused Helen. "What does he look
like?"

"He is superb."

Florence handed the field-glass to Helen and bade her look.

"Oh, thank you!" said Helen, as she complied. "There. I see him.
Indeed, he is superb. What a magnificent horse! How still he
stands! Why, he seems carved in stone."

"Let me look?" said Dorothy Coombs, eagerly.

Helen gave her the glass.

"You can look, Dot, but that's all. He's mine. I saw him
first."

Whereupon Madeline's feminine guests held a spirited contest over
the field-glass, and three of them made gay, bantering boasts not
to consider Helen's self-asserted rights. Madeline laughed with
the others while she watched the dark figure of Stewart and his
black outline against the sky. There came over her a thought not
by any means new or strange--she wondered what was in Stewart's
mind as he stood there in the solitude and faced the desert and
the darkening west. Some day she meant to ask him. Presently he
turned the horse and rode down into the shadow creeping up the
mesa.

"Majesty, have you planned any fun, any excitement for us?" asked
Helen. She was restless, nervous, and did not seem to be able to
sit still a moment.

"You will think so when I get through with you," replied
Madeline.

"What, for instance?" inquired Helen and Dot and Mrs. Beck, in
unison. Edith Wayne smiled her interest.

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