The Light of Western Stars

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"You don't hit where you look."

"Nels, your left eye has sprung a limp."

"Why, you dog-goned old fule, you cain't hit thet bawl."

Nels essayed again, only to meet ignominious failure. Then
carefully he gathered himself together, gaged distance, balanced
the club, swung cautiously. And the head of the club made a
beautiful curve round the ball.

"Shore it's jest thet crooked club," he declared.

He changed clubs and made another signal failure. Rage suddenly
possessing him, he began to swing wildly. Always, it appeared,
the illusive little ball was not where he aimed. Stillwell
hunched his huge bulk, leaned hands on knees, and roared his
riotous mirth. The cowboys leaped up and down in glee.

"You cain't hit thet bawl," sang out one of the noisiest. A few
more whirling, desperate lunges on the part of Nels, all as
futile as if the ball had been thin air, finally brought to the
dogged cowboy a realization that golf was beyond him.

Stillwell bawled: "Oh, haw, haw, haw! Nels, you're--too old--
eyes no good!"

Nels slammed down the club, and when he straightened up with the
red leaving his face, then the real pride and fire of the man
showed. Deliberately he stepped off ten paces and turned toward
the little mound upon which rested the ball. His arm shot down,
elbow crooked, hand like a claw.

"Aw, Nels, this is fun!" yelled Stillwell.

But swift as a gleam of light Nels flashed his gun, and the
report came with the action. Chips flew from the golf-ball as it
tumbled from the mound. Nels had hit it without raising tile
dust. Then he dropped the gun back in its sheath and faced the
cowboys.

"Mebbe my eyes ain't so orful bad," he said, coolly, and started
to walk off.

"But look ah-heah, Nels," yelled Stillwell, "we come out to play
gol-lof! We can't let you knock the ball around with your gun.
What'd you want to get mad for? It's only fun. Now you an' Nick
hang round heah an' be sociable. We ain't depreciatin' your
company none, nor your usefulness on occasions. An' if you just
hain't got inborn politeness sufficient to do the gallant before
the ladies, why, remember Stewart's orders."

"Stewart's orders?" queried Nels, coming to a sudden halt.

"That's what I said," replied Stillwell, with asperity. "His
orders. Are you forgettin' orders? Wal, you're a fine cowboy.
You an' Nick an' Monty, 'specially, are to obey orders."

Nels took off his sombrero and scratched his head. "Bill, I
reckon I'm some forgetful. But I was mad. I'd 'a' remembered
pretty soon, an' mebbe my manners."

"Sure you would," replied Stillwell. "Wal, now, we don't seem to
be proceedin' much with my gol-lof team. Next ambitious player
step up."

In Ambrose, who showed some skill in driving, Stillwell found one
of his team. The succeeding players, however, were so poor and
so evenly matched that the earnest Stillwell was in despair. He
lost his temper just as speedily as Nels had. Finally Ed Linton's
wife appeared riding up with Ambrose's wife, and perhaps this
helped, for Ed suddenly disclosed ability that made Stillwell
single him out.

"Let me coach you a little," said Bill.

"Sure, if you like," replied Ed. "But I know more about this
game than you do."

"Wal, then, let's see you hit a ball straight. Seems to me you
got good all-fired quick. It's amazin' strange." ere Bill
looked around to discover the two young wives modestly casting
eyes of admiration upon their husbands. "Haw, haw! It ain't so
darned strange. Mebbe that'll help some. Now, Ed, stand up and
don't sling your club as if you was ropin' a steer. Come round
easy-like an' hit straight."

Ed made several attempts which, although better than those of his
predecessors, were rather discouraging to the exacting coach.
Presently, after a particularly atrocious shot, Stillwell strode
in distress here and there, and finally stopped a dozen paces or
more in front of the teeing-ground. Ed, who for a cowboy was
somewhat phlegmatic, calmly made ready for another attempt.

"Fore!" he called.

Stillwell stared.

"Fore!" yelled Ed.

"Why're you hollerin' that way at me?" demanded Bill.

"I mean for you to lope off the horizon. Get back from in
front."

"Oh, that was one of them durned crazy words Monty is always
hollerin'. Wal, I reckon I'm safe enough hyar. You couldn't hit
me in a million years."

"Bill, ooze away," urged Ed.

"Didn't I say you couldn't hit me? What am I coachin' you for?
It's because you hit crooked, ain't it? Wal, go ahaid an' break
your back."

Ed Linton was a short, heavy man, and his stocky build gave
evidence of considerable strength. His former strokes had not
been made at the expense of exertion, but now he got ready for a
supreme effort. A sudden silence clamped down upon the exuberant
cowboys. It was one of those fateful moments when the air was
charged with disaster. As Ed swung the club it fairly whistled.

Crack! Instantly came a thump. But no one saw the ball until it
dropped from Stillwell's shrinking body. His big hands went
spasmodically to the place that hurt, and a terrible groan
rumbled from him.

Then the cowboys broke into a frenzy of mirth that seemed to find
adequate expression only in dancing and rolling accompaniment to
their howls. Stillwell recovered his dignity as soon as he
caught his breath, and he advanced with a rueful face.

"Wal, boys, it's on Bill," he said. "I'm a livin' proof of the
pig-headedness of mankind. Ed, you win. You're captain of the
team. You hit straight, an' if I hadn't been obstructin' the
general atmosphere that ball would sure have gone clear to the
Chiricahuas."

Then making a megaphone of his huge hands, he yelled a loud blast
of defiance at Monty and Link.

"Hey, you swell gol-lofers! We're waitin'. Come on if you ain't
scared."

Instantly Monty and Link quit practising, and like two emperors
came stalking across the links.

"Guess my bluff didn't work much," said Stillwell. Then he turned
to Madeline and her friends. "Sure I hope, Miss Majesty, that
you-all won't weaken an' go over to the enemy. Monty is some
eloquent, an', besides, he has a way of gettin' people to agree
with him. He'll be plumb wild when he heahs what he an' Link are
up against. But it's a square deal, because he wouldn't help us
or lend the book that shows how to play. An', besides, it's
policy for us to beat him. Now, if you'll elect who's to be
caddies an' umpire I'll be powerful obliged."

Madeline's friends were hugely amused over the prospective match;
but, except for Dorothy and Castleton, they disclaimed any
ambition for active participation. Accordingly, Madeline
appointed Castleton to judge the play, Dorothy to act as caddie
for Ed Linton, and she herself to be caddie for Ambrose. While
Stillwell beamingly announced this momentous news to his team and
supporters Monty and Link were striding up.

Both were diminutive in size, bow-legged, lame in one foot, and
altogether unprepossessing. Link was young, and Monty's years,
more than twice Link's, had left their mark. But it would have
been impossible to tell Monty's age. As Stillwell said, Monty
was burned to the color and hardness of a cinder. He never
minded the heat, and always wore heavy sheepskin chaps with the
wool outside. This made him look broader than he was long.
Link, partial to leather, had, since he became Madeline's
chauffeur, taken to leather altogether. He carried no weapon, but
Monty wore a huge gun-sheath and gun. Link smoked a cigarette and
looked coolly impudent. Monty was dark-faced, swaggering, for
all the world like a barbarian chief.

"That Monty makes my flesh creep," said Helen, low-voiced.
"Really, Mr. Stillwell, is he so bad--desperate--as I've heard?
Did he ever kill anybody?"

"Sure. 'Most as many as Nels," replied Stillwell, cheerfully.

"Oh! And is that nice Mr. Nels a desperado, too? I wouldn't
have thought so. He's so kind and old-fashioned and
soft-voiced."

"Nels is sure an example of the dooplicity of men, Miss Helen.
Don't you listen to his soft voice. He's really as bad as a
side-winder rattlesnake."

At this juncture Monty and Link reached the teeing-ground, and
Stillwell went out to meet them. The other cowboys pressed
forward to surround the trio. Madeline heard Stillwell's voice,
and evidently he was explaining that his team was to have skilled
advice during the play. Suddenly there came from the center of
the group a loud, angry roar that broke off as suddenly. Then
followed excited voices all mingled together. Presently Monty
appeared, breaking away from restraining hands, and he strode
toward Madeline.

Monty Price was a type of cowboy who had never been known to
speak to a woman unless he was first addressed, and then he
answered in blunt, awkward shyness. Upon this great occasion,
however, it appeared that he meant to protest or plead with
Madeline, for he showed stress of emotion. Madeline had never
gotten acquainted with Monty. She was a little in awe, if not in
fear, of him, and now she found it imperative for her to keep in
mind that more than any other of the wild fellows on her ranch
this one should be dealt with as if he were a big boy.

Monty removed his sombrero--something he had never done before--
and the single instant when it was off was long enough to show
his head entirely bald. This was one of the hall-marks of that
terrible Montana prairie fire through which he had fought to save
the life of a child. Madeline did not forget it, and all at once
she wanted to take Monty's side. Remembering Stillwell's wisdom,
however, she forebore yielding to sentiment, and called upon her
wits.

"Miss--Miss Hammond," began Monty, stammering, "I'm extendin'
admirin' greetin's to you an' your friends. Link an' me are
right down proud to play the match game with you watchin'. But
Bill says you're goin' to caddie for his team an' coach 'em on
the fine points. An' I want to ask, all respectful, if thet's
fair an' square?"

"Monty, that is for you to say," replied Madeline. "It was my
suggestion. But if you object in the least, of course we shall
withdraw. It seems fair to me, because you have learned the
game; you are expert, and I understand the other boys have no
chance with you. Then you have coached Link. I think it would
be sportsmanlike of you to accept the handicap."

"Aw, a handicap! Thet was what Bill was drivin' at. Why didn't
he say so? Every time Bill comes to a word thet's pie to us old
golfers he jest stumbles. Miss Majesty, you've made it all clear
as print. An' I may say with becomin' modesty thet you wasn't
mistaken none about me bein' sportsmanlike. Me an' Link was born
thet way. An' we accept the handicap. Lackin' thet handicap, I
reckon Link an' me would have no ambish to play our most
be-ootiful game. An' thankin' you, Miss Majesty, an' all your
friends, I want to add thet if Bill's outfit couldn't beat us
before, they've got a swell chanct now, with you ladies
a-watchin' me an' Link."

Monty had seemed to expand with pride as he delivered this
speech, and at the end he bowed low and turned away. He joined
the group round Stillwell. Once more there was animated
discussion and argument and expostulation. One of the cowboys
came for Castleton and led him away to exploit upon ground rules.

It seemed to Madeline that the game never would begin. She
strolled on the rim of the mesa, arm in arm with Edith Wayne, and
while Edith talked she looked out over the gray valley leading to
the rugged black mountains and the vast red wastes. In the
foreground on the gray slope she saw cattle in movement and
cowboys riding to and fro. She thought of Stewart. Then Boyd
Harvey came for them, saying all details had been arranged.
Stillwell met them half-way, and this cool, dry, old cattleman,
whose face and manner scarcely changed at the announcement of a
cattle-raid, now showed extreme agitation.

"Wal, Miss Majesty, we've gone an' made a foozle right at the
start," he said, dejectedly.

"A foozle? But the game has not yet begun," replied Madeline.

"A bad start, I mean. It's amazin' bad, an' we're licked
already."

"What in the world is wrong?"

She wanted to laugh, but Stillwell's distress restrained her.

"Wal, it's this way. That darn Monty is as cute an' slick as a
fox. After he got done declaimin' about the handicap he an' Link
was so happy to take, he got Castleton over hyar an' drove us all
dotty with his crazy gol-lof names. Then he borrowed Castleton's
gol-lof coat. I reckon borrowed is some kind word. He just
about took that blazin' coat off the Englishman. Though I ain't
sayin' but that Casleton was agreeable when he tumbled to Monty's
meanin'. Which was nothin' more 'n to break Ambrose's heart.
That coat dazzles Ambrose. You know how vain Ambrose is. Why,
he'd die to get to wear that Englishman's gol-lof coat. An'
Monty forestalled him. It's plumb pitiful to see the look in
Ambrose's eyes. He won't be able to play much. Then what do you
think? Monty fixed Ed Linton, all right. Usually Ed is
easy-goin' an' cool. But now he's on the rampage. Wal, mebbe
it's news to you to learn that Ed's wife is powerful, turrible
jealous of him. Ed was somethin' of a devil with the wimmen.
Monty goes over an' tells Beulah--that's Ed's wife--that Ed is
goin' to have for caddie the lovely Miss Dorothy with the goo-goo
eyes. I reckon this was some disrespectful, but with all doo
respect to Miss Dorothy she has got a pair of unbridled eyes.
Mebbe it's just natural for her to look at a feller like that.
Oh, it's all right; I'm not sayin' any-thin'! I know it's all
proper an' regular for girls back East to use their eyes. But
out hyar it's bound to result disastrous. All the boys talk
about among themselves is Miss Dot's eyes, an' all they brag
about is which feller is the luckiest. Anyway, sure Ed's wife
knows it. An' Monty up an' told her that it was fine for her to
come out an' see how swell Ed was prancin' round under the light
of Miss Dot's brown eyes. Beulah calls over Ed, figgertively
speakin', ropes him for a minnit. Ed comes back huggin' a grouch
as big as a hill. Oh, it was funny! He was goin' to punch
Monty's haid off. An' Monty stands there an' laughs. Says
Monty, sarcastic as alkali water: 'Ed, we-all knowed you was a
heap married man, but you're some locoed to give yourself away.'
That settled Ed. He's some touchy about the way Beulah henpecks
him. He lost his spirit. An' now he couldn't play marbles, let
alone gol-lof. Nope, Monty was too smart. An' I reckon he was
right about brains bein' what wins."

The game began. At first Madeline and Dorothy essayed to direct
the endeavors of their respective players. But all they said and
did only made their team play the worse. At the third hole they
were far behind and hopelessly bewildered. What with Monty's
borrowed coat, with its dazzling effect upon Ambrose, and Link's
oft-repeated allusion to Ed's matrimonial state, and Stillwell's
vociferated disgust, and the clamoring good intention and pursuit
of the cowboy supporters, and the embarrassing presence of the
ladies, Ambrose and Ed wore through all manner of strange play
until it became ridiculous.

"Hey, Link," came Monty's voice booming over the links, "our
esteemed rivals are playin' shinny."

Madeline and Dorothy gave up, presently, when the game became a
rout, and they sat down with their followers to watch the fun.
Whether by hook or crook, Ed and Ambrose forged ahead to come
close upon Monty and Link. Castleton disappeared in a mass of
gesticulating, shouting cowboys. When that compact mass
disintegrated Castleton came forth rather hurriedly, it appeared,
to stalk back toward his hostess and friends.

"Look!" exclaimed Helen, in delight. "Castleton is actually
excited. Whatever did they do to him? Oh, this is immense!"

Castleton was excited, indeed, and also somewhat disheveled.

"By Jove! that was a rum go," he said, as he came up. "Never saw
such blooming golf! I resigned my office as umpire."

Only upon considerable pressure did he reveal the reason. "It
was like this, don't you know. They were all together over
there, watching each other. Monty Price's ball dropped into a
hazard, and he moved it to improve the lie. By Jove! they've all
been doing that. But over there the game was waxing hot.
Stillwell and his cowboys saw Monty move the ball, and there was
a row. They appealed to me. I corrected the play, showed the
rules. Monty agreed he was in the wrong. However, when it came
to moving his ball back to its former lie in the hazard there was
more blooming trouble. Monty placed the ball to suit him, and
then he transfixed me with an evil eye.

"'Dook,' he said. I wish the bloody cowboy would not call me
that. 'Dook, mebbe this game ain't as important as international
politics or some other things relatin', but there's some health
an' peace dependin' on it. Savvy? For some space our opponents
have been dead to honor an' sportsmanlike conduct. I calculate
the game depends on my next drive. I'm placin' my ball as near
to where it was as human eyesight could. You seen where it was
same as I seen it. You're the umpire, an', Dook, I take you as a
honorable man. Moreover, never in my born days has my word been
doubted without sorrow. So I'm askin' you, wasn't my ball layin'
just about here?'

"The bloody little desperado smiled cheerfully, and he dropped
his right hand down to the butt of his gun. By Jove, he did!
Then I had to tell a blooming lie!"

Castleton even caught the tone of Monty's voice, but it was plain
that he had not the least conception that Monty had been fooling.
Madeline and her friends divined it, however; and, there being no
need of reserve, they let loose the fountains of mirth.

XIV Bandits

When Madeline and her party recovered composure they sat up to
watch the finish of the match. It came with spectacular
suddenness. A sharp yell pealed out, and all the cowboys turned
attentively in its direction. A big black horse had surmounted
the rim of the mesa and was just breaking into a run. His rider
yelled sharply to the cowboys. They wheeled to dash toward their
grazing horses.

"That's Stewart. There is something wrong," said Madeline, in
alarm.

Castleton stared. The other men exclaimed uneasily. The women
sought Madeline's face with anxious eyes.

The black got into his stride and bore swiftly down upon them.

"Oh, look at that horse run!" cried Helen. "Look at that fellow
ride!"

Helen was not alone in her admiration, for Madeline divided her
emotions between growing alarm of some danger menacing and a
thrill and quickening of pulse-beat that tingled over her
whenever she saw Stewart in violent action. No action of his was
any longer insignificant, but violent action meant so much. It
might mean anything. For one moment she remembered Stillwell and
all his talk about fun, and plots, and tricks to amuse her guest.
Then she discountenanced the thought. Stewart might lend himself
to a little fun, but he cared too much for a horse to run him at
that speed unless there was imperious need. That alone sufficed
to answer Madeline's questioning curiosity. And her alarm
mounted to fear not so much for herself as for her guests. But
what danger could there be? She could think of nothing except
the guerrillas.

Whatever threatened, it would be met and checked by this man
Stewart, who was thundering up on his fleet horse; and as he
neared her, so that she could see the dark gleam of face and
eyes, she had a strange feeling of trust in her dependence upon
him.

The big black was so close to Madeline and her friends that when
Stewart pulled him the dust and sand kicked up by his pounding
hoofs flew in their faces.

"Oh, Stewart, what is it?" cried Madeline.

"Guess I scared you, Miss Hammond," he replied. "But I'm pressed
for time. There's a gang of bandits hiding on the ranch, most
likely in a deserted hut. They held up a train near Agua Prieta.
Pat Hawe is with the posse that's trailing them, and you know Pat
has no use for us. I'm afraid it wouldn't be pleasant for you or
your guests to meet either the posse or the bandits."

"I fancy not," said Madeline, considerably relieved. "We'll hurry
back to the house."

They exchanged no more speech at the moment, and Madeline's
guests were silent. Perhaps Stewart's actions and looks belied
his calm words. His piercing eyes roved round the rim of the
mesa, and his face was as hard and stern as chiseled bronze.

Monty and Nick came galloping up, each leading several horses by
the bridles. Nels appeared behind them with Majesty, and he was
having trouble with the roan. Madeline observed that all the
other cowboys had disappeared.

One sharp word from Stewart calmed Madeline's horse; the other
horses, however, were frightened and not inclined to stand. The
men mounted without trouble, and likewise Madeline and Florence.
But Edith Wayne and Mrs. Beck, being nervous and almost helpless,
were with difficulty gotten into the saddle.

"Beg pardon, but I'm pressed for time," said Stewart, coolly, as
with iron arm he forced Dorothy's horse almost to its knees.
Dorothy, who was active and plucky, climbed astride; and when
Stewart loosed his hold on bit and mane the horse doubled up and
began to buck. Dorothy screamed as she shot into the air.
Stewart, as quick as the horse, leaped forward and caught Dorothy
in his arms. She had slipped head downward and, had he not
caught her, would have had a serious fall. Stewart, handling her
as if she were a child, turned her right side up to set her upon
her feet. Dorothy evidently thought only of the spectacle she
presented, and made startled motions to readjust her
riding-habit. It was no time to laugh, though Madeline felt as
if she wanted to. Besides, it was impossible to be anything but
sober with Stewart in violent mood. For he had jumped at
Dorothy's stubborn mount. All cowboys were masters of horses.
It was wonderful to see him conquer the vicious animal. He was
cruel, perhaps, yet it was from necessity. When, presently, he
led the horse back to Dorothy she mounted without further
trouble. Meanwhile, Nels and Nick had lifted Helen into her
saddle.

"We'll take the side trail," said Stewart, shortly, as he swung
upon the big black. Then he led the way, and the other cowboys
trotted in the rear.

It was only a short distance to the rim of the mesa, and when
Madeline saw the steep trail, narrow and choked with weathered
stone, she felt that her guests would certainly flinch.

"That's a jolly bad course," observed Castleton.

The women appeared to be speechless.

Stewart checked his horse at the deep cut where the trail started
down.

"Boys, drop over, and go slow," he said, dismounting. "Flo, you
follow. Now, ladies, let your horses loose and hold on. Lean
forward and hang to the pommel. It looks bad. But the horses
are used to such trails."

Helen followed closely after Florence; Mrs. Beck went next, and
then Edith Wayne. Dorothy's horse balked.

"I'm not so--so frightened," said Dorothy. "If only he would
behave!"

She began to urge him into the trail, making him rear, when
Stewart grasped the bit and jerked the horse down.

"Put your foot in my stirrup," said Stewart. "We can't waste
time."

He lifted her upon his horse and started him down over the rim.

"Go on, Miss Hammond. I'll have to lead this nag down. It'll
save time."

Then Madeline attended to the business of getting down herself.
It was a loose trail. The weathered slopes seemed to slide under
the feet of the horses. Dust-clouds formed; rocks rolled and
rattled down; cactus spikes tore at horse and rider. Mrs. Beck
broke into laughter, and there was a note in it that suggested
hysteria. Once or twice Dorothy murmured plaintively. Half the
time Madeline could not distinguish those ahead through the
yellow dust. It was dry and made her cough. The horses snorted.
She heared Stewart close behind, starting little avalanches that
kept rolling on Majesty's fetlocks. She feared his legs might
be cut or bruised, for some of the stones cracked by and went
rattling down the slope. At length the clouds of dust thinned and
Madeline saw the others before her ride out upon a level. Soon
she was down, and Stewart also.

Here there was a delay, occasioned by Stewart changing Dorothy
from his horse to her own. This struck Madeline as being
singular, and made her thoughtful. In fact, the alert, quiet
manner of all the cowboys was not reassuring. As they resumed
the ride it was noticeable that Nels and Nick were far in
advance, Monty stayed far in the rear, and Stewart rode with the
party. Madeline heard Boyd Harvey ask Stewart if lawlessness
such as he had mentioned was not unusual. Stewart replied that,
except for occasional deeds of outlawry such as might break out
in any isolated section of the country, there had been peace and
quiet along the border for years. It was the Mexican revolution
that had revived wild times, with all the attendant raids and
holdups and gun-packing. Madeline knew that they were really
being escorted home under armed guard.

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