The Light of Western Stars

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"Monty, shut up!" yelled Stewart, as he came hurriedly up. Then
Monty slouched away, cursing to himself.

Madeline and Helen, assisted by Castleton, worked over Dorothy,
and with some difficulty quieted her. Stewart passed several
times without noticing them, and Monty, who had been so
ridiculously eager to pay every little attention to Dorothy, did
not see her at all. Rude it seemed; in Monty's ease more than
that. Madeline hardly knew what to make of it.

Stewart directed cowboys to go to the head of the open place in
the cliff and let down lassoes. Then, with little waste of
words, he urged the women toward this rough ladder of stones.

"We want to hide you," he said, when they demurred. "If the
guerrillas come we'll tell them you've all gone down to the
ranch. If we have to fight you'll be safe up there."

Helen stepped boldly forward and let Stewart put the loop of a
lasso round her and tighten it. He waved his hand to the cowboys
above.

"Just walk up, now," he directed Helen.

It proved to the watchers to be an easy, safe, and rapid means of
scaling the steep passage. The men climbed up without
assistance. Mrs. Beck, as usual, had hysteria; she half walked
and was half dragged up. Stewart supported Dorothy with one arm,
while with the other he held to the lasso. Ambrose had to carry
Christine. The Mexican women required no assistance. Edith
Wayne and Madeline climbed last; and, once up, Madeline saw a
narrow bench, thick with shrubs, and overshadowed by huge,
leaning crags. There were holes in the rock, and dark fissures
leading back. It was a rough, wild place. Tarpaulins and
bedding were then hauled up, and food and water. The cowboys
spread comfortable beds in several of the caves, and told
Madeline and her friends to be as quiet as possible, not to make
a light, and to sleep dressed, ready for travel at a moment's
notice.

After the cowboys had gone down it was not a cheerful group left
there in the darkening twilight. Castleton prevailed upon them
to eat.

"This is simply great," whispered Helen.

"Oh, it's awful!" moaned Dorothy. "It's your fault, Helen. You
prayed for something to happen."

"I believe it's a horrid trick those cowboys are playing," said
Mrs. Beck.

Madeline assured her friends that no trick was being played upon
them, and that she deplored the discomfort and distress, but felt
no real alarm. She was more inclined to evasive kindness here
than to sincerity, for she had a decided uneasiness. The swift
change in the manner and looks of her cowboys had been a shock to
her. The last glance she had of Stewart's face, then stern,
almost sad, and haggard with worry, remained to augment her
foreboding.

Darkness appeared to drop swiftly down; the coyotes began their
haunting, mournful howls; the stars showed and grew brighter; the
wind moaned through the tips of the pines. Castleton was
restless. He walked to and fro before the overhanging shelf of
rock, where his companions sat lamenting, and presently he went
out to the ledge of the bench. The cowboys below had built a
fire, and the light from it rose in a huge, fan-shaped glow.
Castleton's little figure stood out black against this light.
Curious and anxious also, Madeline joined him and peered down
from the cliff. The distance was short, and occasionally she
could distinguish a word spoken by the cowboys. They were
unconcernedly cooking and eating. She marked the absence of
Stewart, and mentioned it to Castleton. Silently Castleton
pointed almost straight down, and there in the gloom stood
Stewart, with the two stag-hounds at his feet.

Presently Nick Steele silenced the camp-fire circle by raising a
warning hand. The cowboys bent their heads, listening. Madeline
listened with all her might. She heard one of the hounds whine,
then the faint beat of horse's hoofs. Nick spoke again and turned
to his supper, and the other men seemed to slacken in attention.
The beat of hoofs grew louder, entered the grove, then the circle
of light. The rider was Nels. He dismounted, and the sound of
his low voice just reached Madeline.

"Gene, it's Nels. Somethin' doin'," Madeline heard one of the
cowboys call, softly.

"Send him over," replied Stewart.

Nels stalked away from the fire.

"See here, Nels, the boys are all right, but I don't want them to
know everything about this mix-up," said Stewart, as Nels came
up. "Did you find the girl?"

Madeline guessed that Stewart referred to the Mexican girl
Bonita.

"No. But I met"--Madeline did not catch the name--"an' he was
wild. He was with a forest-ranger. An' they said Pat Hawe had
trailed her an' was takin' her down under arrest."

Stewart muttered deep under his breath, evidently cursing.

"Wonder why he didn't come on up here?" he queried, presently.
"He can see a trail."

"Wal, Gene, Pat knowed you was here all right, fer thet ranger
said Pat hed wind of the guerrillas, an' Pat said if Don Carlos
didn't kill you--which he hoped he'd do--then it 'd be time
enough to put you in jail when you come down."

"He's dead set to arrest me, Nels."

"An' he'll do it, like the old lady who kept tavern out West.
Gene, the reason thet red-faced coyote didn't trail you up here
is because he's scared. He allus was scared of you. But I reckon
he's shore scared to death of me an' Monty."

"Well, we'll take Pat in his turn. The thing now is, when will
that Greaser stalk us, and what'll we do when he comes?"

"My boy, there's only one way to handle a Greaser. I shore told
you thet. He means rough toward us. He'll come smilin' up, all
soci'ble like, insinuatin' an' sweeter 'n a woman. But he's
treacherous; he's wuss than an Indian. An', Gene, we know for a
positive fact how his gang hev been operatin' between these hills
an' Agua Prieta. They're no nervy gang of outlaws like we used
to hev. But they're plumb bad. They've raided and murdered
through the San Luis Pass an' Guadalupe Canyon. They've murdered
women, an' wuss than thet, both north an' south of Agua Prieta.
Mebbe the U. S. cavalry don't know it, an' the good old States;
but we, you an' me an' Monty an' Nick, we know it. We know jest
about what thet rebel war down there amounts to. It's guerrilla
war, an' shore some harvest-time fer a lot of cheap thieves an'
outcasts."

"Oh, you're right, Nels. I'm not disputing that," replied
Stewart. "If it wasn't for Miss Hammond and the other women, I'd
rather enjoy seeing you and Monty open up on that bunch. I'm
thinking I'd be glad to meet Don Carlos. But Miss Hammond! Why,
Nels, such a woman as she is would never recover from the sight
of real gun-play, let alone any stunts with a rope. These
Eastern women are different. I'm not belittling our Western
women. It's in the blood. Miss Hammond is--is--"

"Shore she is," interrupted Nels; "but she's got a damn sight
more spunk than you think she has, Gene Stewart. I'm no
thick-skulled cow. I'd hate somethin' powerful to hev Miss
Hammond see any rough work, let alone me an' Monty startin'
somethin'. An' me an' Monty'll stick to you, Gene, as long as
seems reasonable. Mind, ole feller, beggin' your pardon, you're
shore stuck on Miss Hammond, an' over-tender not to hurt her
feelin's or make her sick by lettin' some blood. We're in bad
here, an' mebbe we'll hev to fight. Sabe, senor? Wal, we do you
can jest gamble thet Miss Hammond'll be game. An' I'll bet you a
million pesos thet if you got goin' onct, an' she seen you as
I've seen you--wal, I know what she'd think of you. This old
world ain't changed much. Some women may be white-skinned an'
soft-eyed an' sweet-voiced an' high-souled, but they all like to
see a man! Gene, here's your game. Let Don Carlos come along.
Be civil. If he an' his gang are hungry, feed 'em. Take even a
little overbearin' Greaser talk. Be blind if he wants his gang to
steal somethin'. Let him think the women hev mosied down to the
ranch. But if he says you're lyin'--if he as much as looks round
to see the women--jest jump him same as you jumped Pat Hawe. Me
an' Monty'll hang back fer thet, an' if your strong bluff don't
go through, if the Don's gang even thinks of flashin' guns, then
we'll open up. An' all I got to say is if them Greasers stand
fer real gun-play they'll be the fust I ever seen."

"Nels, there are white men in that gang," said Stewart.

"Shore. But me an' Monty'll be thinkin' of thet. If they start
anythin' it'll hev to be shore quick."

"All right, Nels, old friend, and thanks," replied Stewart. Nels
returned to the camp-fire, and Stewart resumed his silent guard.

Madeline led Castleton away from the brink of the wall.

"By Jove! Cowboys are blooming strange folk!" he exclaimed.
"They are not what they pretend to be."

"Indeed, you are right," replied Madeline. "I cannot understand
them. Come, let us tell the others that Nels and Monty were only
talking and do not intend to leave us. Dorothy, at least, will be
less frightened if she knows."

Dorothy was somewhat comforted. The others, however, complained
of the cowboys' singular behavior. More than once the idea was
advanced that an elaborate trick had been concocted. Upon
general discussion this idea gained ground. Madeline did not
combat it, because she saw it tended to a less perturbed
condition of mind among her guests. Castleton for once proved
that he was not absolutely obtuse, and helped along the idea.

They sat talking in low voices until a late hour. The incident
now began to take on the nature of Helen's long-yearned-for
adventure. Some of the party even grew merry in a subdued way.
Then, gradually, one by one they tired and went to bed. Helen
vowed she could not sleep in a place where there were bats and
crawling things. Madeline fancied, however, that they all went
to sleep while she lay wide-eyed, staring up at the black bulge
of overhanging rock and beyond the starry sky.

To keep from thinking of Stewart and the burning anger he had
caused her to feel for herself, Madeline tried to keep her mind
on other things. But thought of him recurred, and each time
there was a hot commotion in her breast hard to stifle.
Intelligent reasoning seemed out of her power. In the daylight
it had been possible for her to be oblivious to Stewart's deceit
after the moment of its realization. At night, however, in the
strange silence and hovering shadows of gloom, with the speaking
stars seeming to call to her, with the moan of the wind in the
pines, and the melancholy mourn of coyotes in the distance, she
was not able to govern her thought and emotion. The day was
practical, cold; the night was strange and tense. In the
darkness she had fancies wholly unknown to her in the bright
light of the sun. She battled with a haunting thought. She had
inadvertently heard Nels's conversation with Stewart; she had
listened, hoping to hear some good news or to hear the worst; she
had learned both, and, moreover, enlightenment on one point of
Stewart's complex motives. He wished to spare her any sight that
might offend, frighten, or disgust her. Yet this Stewart, who
showed a fineness of feeling that might have been wanting even in
Boyd Harvey, maintained a secret rendezvous with that pretty,
abandoned Bonita. Here always the hot shame, like a live,
stinging, internal fire, abruptly ended Madeline's thought. It
was intolerable, and it was the more so because she could neither
control nor understand it. The hours wore on, and at length, as
the stars began to pale and there was no sound whatever, she fell
asleep.

She was called out of her slumber. Day had broken bright and
cool. The sun was still below the eastern crags. Ambrose, with
several other cowboys, had brought up buckets of spring-water,
and hot coffee and cakes. Madeline's party appeared to be none
the worse for the night's experience. Indeed, the meager
breakfast might have been as merrily partaken of as it was
hungrily had not Ambrose enjoined silence.

"They're expectin' company down below," he said.

This information and the summary manner in which the cowboys soon
led the party higher up among the ruined shelves of rock caused a
recurrence of anxiety. Madeline insisted on not going beyond a
projection of cliff from which she could see directly down into
the camp. As the vantage-point was one affording concealment,
Ambrose consented, but he placed the frightened Christine near
Madeline and remained there himself.

"Ambrose, do you really think the guerrillas will come?" asked
Madeline.

"Sure. We know. Nels just rode in and said they were on their
way up. Miss Hammond, can I trust you? You won't let out a
squeal if there's a fight down there? Stewart told me to hide
you out of sight or keep you from lookin'."

"I promise not to make any noise," replied Madeline. Madeline
arranged her coat so that she could lie upon it, and settled down
to wait developments. There came a slight rattling of stones in
the rear. She turned to see Helen sliding down a bank with a
perplexed and troubled cowboy. Helen came stooping low to where
Madeline lay and said: "I am going to see what happens, if I die
in the attempt! I can stand it if you can." She was pale and
big-eyed. Ambrose promptly swore at the cowboy who had let her
get away from him. "Take a half-hitch on her yourself an' see
where you end up," replied the fellow, and disappeared in the
jumble of rocks. Ambrose, finding words useless, sternly and
heroically prepared to carry Helen back to the others. He laid
hold of her. In a fury, with eyes blazing, Helen whispered:

"Let go of me! Majesty, what does this fool mean?"

Madeline laughed. She knew Helen, and had marked the whisper,
when ordinarily Helen would have spoken imperiously, and not low.
Madeline explained to her the exigency of the situation. "I
might run, but I'll never scream," said Helen. With that Ambrose
had to be content to let her stay. However, he found her a place
somewhat farther back from Madeline's position, where he said
there was less danger of her being seen. Then he sternly bound
her to silence, tarried a moment to comfort Christine, and
returned to where Madeline lay concealed. He had been there
scarcely a moment when he whispered:

"I hear hosses. The guerrillas are comin'."

Madeline's hiding-place was well protected from possible
discovery from below. She could peep over a kind of parapet,
through an opening in the tips of the pines that reached up to
the cliff, and obtain a commanding view of the camp circle and
its immediate surroundings. She could not, however, see far
either to right or left of the camp, owing to the obstructing
foliage. Presently the sound of horses' hoofs quickened the beat
of her pulse and caused her to turn keener gaze upon the cowboys
below.

Although she had some inkling of the course Stewart and his men
were to pursue, she was not by any means prepared for the
indifference she saw. Frank was asleep, or pretended to be.
Three cowboys were lazily and unconcernedly attending to
camp-fire duties, such as baking biscuits, watching the ovens,
and washing tins and pots. The elaborate set of aluminum plates,
cups, etc., together with the other camp fixtures that had done
service for Madeline's party, had disappeared. Nick Steele sat
with his back to a log, smoking his pipe. Another cowboy had
just brought the horses closer into camp, where they stood
waiting to be saddled. Nels appeared to be fussing over a pack.
Stewart was rolling a cigarette. Monty had apparently nothing to
do for the present except whistle, which he was doing much more
loudly than melodiously. The whole ensemble gave an impression
of careless indifference.

The sound of horses' hoofs grew louder and slowed its beat. One
of the cowboys pointed down the trail, toward which several of
his comrades turned their heads for a moment, then went on with
their occupations.

Presently a shaggy, dusty horse bearing a lean, ragged, dark
rider rode into camp and halted. Another followed, and another.
Horses with Mexican riders came in single file and stopped behind
the leader.

The cowboys looked up, and the guerrillas looked down. "Buenos
dias, senor," ceremoniously said the foremost guerrilla.

By straining her ears Madeline heard that voice, and she
recognized it as belonging to Don Carlos. His graceful bow to
Stewart was also familiar. Otherwise she would never have
recognized the former elegant vaquero in this uncouth, roughly
dressed Mexican.

Stewart answered the greeting in Spanish, and, waving his hand
toward the camp-fire, added in English, "Get down and eat."

The guerrillas were anything but slow in complying. They crowded
to the fire, then spread in a little circle and squatted upon the
ground, laying their weapons beside them. In appearance they
tallied with the band of guerrillas that had carried Madeline up
into the foothills, only this band was larger and better armed.
The men, moreover, were just as hungry and as wild and beggarly.
The cowboys were not cordial in their reception of this visit,
but they were hospitable. The law of the desert had always been
to give food and drink to wayfaring men, whether lost or hunted
or hunting.

"There's twenty-three in that outfit," whispered Ambrose,
"includin' four white men. Pretty rummy outfit."

"They appear to be friendly enough," whispered Madeline.

"Things down there ain't what they seem," replied Ambrose.

"Ambrose, tell me--explain to me. This is my opportunity. As
long as you will let me watch them, please let me know the--the
real thing."

"Sure. But recollect, Miss Hammond, that Gene'll give it to me
good if he ever knows I let you look and told you what's what.
Well, decent-like Gene is seen' them poor devils get a square
meal. They're only a lot of calf-thieves in this country.
Across the border they're bandits, some of them, the others just
riffraff outlaws. That rebel bluff doesn't go down with us. I'd
have to see first before I'd believe them Greasers would fight.
They're a lot of hard-ridin' thieves, and they'd steal a fellow's
blanket or tobacco. Gene thinks they're after you ladies--to
carry you off. But Gene-- Oh, Gene's some highfalutin in his
ideas lately. Most of us boys think the guerrillas are out to
rob--that's all."

Whatever might have been the secret motive of Don Carlos and his
men, they did not allow it to interfere with a hearty
appreciation of a generous amount of food. Plainly, each
individual ate all that he was able to eat at the time. They
jabbered like a flock of parrots; some were even merry, in a kind
of wild way. Then, as each and every one began to roll and smoke
the inevitable cigarette of the Mexican, there was a subtle
change in manner. They smoked and looked about the camp, off
into the woods, up at the crags, and back at the leisurely
cowboys. They had the air of men waiting for something.

"Senor," began Don Carlos, addressing Stewart. As he spoke he
swept his sombrero to indicate the camp circle.

Madeline could not distinguish his words, but his gesture plainly
indicated a question in regard to the rest of the camping party.
Stewart's reply and the wave of his hand down the trail meant
that his party had gone home. Stewart turned to some task, and
the guerrilla leader quietly smoked. He looked cunning and
thoughtful. His men gradually began to manifest a restlessness,
noticeable in the absence of former languor and slow puffing of
cigarette smoke. Presently a big-boned man with a bullet head
and a blistered red face of evil coarseness got up and threw away
his cigarette. He was an American.

"Hey, cull," he called in loud voice, "ain't ye goin' to cough up
a drink?"

"My boys don't carry liquor on the trail," replied Stewart. He
turned now to face the guerrillas.

"Haw, haw! I heerd over in Rodeo thet ye was gittin' to be shore
some fer temperance," said this fellow. "I hate to drink water,
but I guess I've gotter do it."

He went to the spring, sprawled down to drink, and all of a
sudden he thrust his arm down in the water to bring forth a
basket. The cowboys in the hurry of packing had neglected to
remove this basket; and it contained bottles of wine and liquors
for Madeline's guests. They had been submerged in the spring to
keep them cold. The guerrilla fumbled with the lid, opened it,
and then got up, uttering a loud roar of delight.

Stewart made an almost imperceptible motion, as if to leap
forward; but he checked the impulse, and after a quick glance at
Nels he said to the guerrilla:

"Guess my party forgot that. You're welcome to it." Like bees
the guerrillas swarmed around the lucky finder of the bottles.
There was a babel of voices. The drink did not last long, and it
served only to liberate the spirit of recklessness. The several
white outlaws began to prowl around the camp; some of the
Mexicans did likewise; others waited, showing by their
ill-concealed expectancy the nature of their thoughts.

It was the demeanor of Stewart and his comrades that puzzled
Madeline. Apparently they felt no anxiety or even particular
interest. Don Carlos, who had been covertly watching them, now
made his scrutiny open, even aggressive. He looked from Stewart
to Nels and Monty, and then to the other cowboys. While some of
his men prowled around the others watched him, and the waiting
attitude had taken on something sinister. The guerrilla leader
seemed undecided, but not in any sense puzzled. When he turned
his cunning face upon Nels and Monty he had the manner of a man
in whom decision was lacking.

In her growing excitement Madeline had not clearly heard
Ambrose's low whispers and she made an effort to distract some of
her attention from those below to the cowboy crouching beside
her.

The quality, the note of Ambrose's whisper had changed. It had a
slight sibilant sound.

"Don't be mad if sudden-like I clap my hands over your eyes, Miss
Hammond," he was saying. "Somethin's brewin' below. I never seen
Gene so cool. That's a dangerous sign in him. And look, see how
the boys are workin' together! Oh, it's slow and accident-like,
but I know it's sure not accident. That foxy Greaser knows, too.
But maybe his men don't. If they are wise they haven't sense
enough to care. The Don, though--he's worried. He's not payin'
so much attention to Gene, either. It's Nels and Monty he's
watchin'. And well he need do it! There, Nick and Frank have
settled down on that log with Booly. They don't seem to be
packin' guns. But look how heavy their vests hang. A gun in
each side! Those boys can pull a gun and flop over that log
quicker than you can think. Do you notice how Nels and Monty and
Gene are square between them guerrillas and the trail up here?
It doesn't seem on purpose, but it is. Look at Nels and Monty.
How quiet they are confabbin' together, payin' no attention to
the guerrillas. I see Monty look at Gene, then I see Nels look
at Gene. Well, it's up to Gene. And they're goin' to back him.
I reckon, Miss Hammond, there'd be dead Greasers round that camp
long ago if Nels and Monty were foot-loose. They're beholdin' to
Gene. That's plain. And, Lord! how it tickles me to watch them!
Both packin' two forty-fives, butts swingin' clear. There's
twenty-four shots in them four guns. And there's twenty-three
guerrillas. If Nels and Monty ever throw guns at that close
range, why, before you'd know what was up there'd be a pile of
Greasers. There! Stewart said something to the Don. I wonder
what. I'll gamble it was something to get the Don's outfit all
close together. Sure! Greasers have no sense. But them white
guerrillas, they're lookin' some dubious. Whatever's comin' off
will come soon, you can bet. I wish I was down there. But maybe
it won't come to a scrap. Stewart's set on avoidin' that. He's
a wonderful chap to get his way. Lord, though, I'd like to see
him go after that overbearin' Greaser! See! the Don can't stand
prosperity. All this strange behavior of cowboys is beyond his
pulque-soaked brains. Then he's a Greaser. If Gene doesn't
knock him on the head presently he'll begin to get over his
scare, even of Nels and Monty. But Gene'll pick out the right
time. And I'm gettin' nervous. I want somethin' to start.
Never saw Nels in but one fight, then he just shot a Greaser's
arm off for tryin' to draw on him. But I've heard all about him.
And Monty! Monty's the real old-fashioned gun-man. Why, none of
them stories, them lies he told to entertain the Englishman, was
a marker to what Monty has done. What I don't understand is how
Monty keeps so quiet and easy and peaceful-like. That's not his
way, with such an outfit lookin' for trouble. O-ha! Now for the
grand bluff. Looks like no fight at all!"

The guerrilla leader had ceased his restless steps and glances,
and turned to Stewart with something of bold resolution in his
aspect.

"Gracias, senor," he said. "Adios." He swept his sombrero in
the direction of the trail leading down the mountain to the
ranch; and as he completed the gesture a smile, crafty and
jeering, crossed his swarthy face.

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