And as she walked on into the windy darkness, much relieved that he had answered as he had, reflecting that he had yet to prove his words true, she began to grasp the deeper significance of them.  There was a revival of pride that made her feel that she ought to scorn to think at all about such a man.  But Madeline Hammond discovered that thought was involuntary, that there were feelings in her never dreamed of before this night.

Presently Madeline’s guide turned off the walk and rapped at a door of a low-roofed house.

“Hullo—­who’s there?” a deep voice answered.

“Gene Stewart,” said the cowboy.  “Call Florence—­quick!”

Thump of footsteps followed, a tap on a door, and voices.  Madeline heard a woman exclaim:  “Gene! here when there’s a dance in town!  Something wrong out on the range.”  A light flared up and shone bright through a window.  In another moment there came a patter of soft steps, and the door opened to disclose a woman holding a lamp.

“Gene!  Al’s not—­”

“Al is all right,” interrupted the cowboy.

Madeline had two sensations then—­one of wonder at the note of alarm and love in the woman’s voice, and the other of unutterable relief to be safe with a friend of her brother’s.

“It’s Al’s sister—­came on to-night’s train,” the cowboy was saying.  “I happened to be at the station, and I’ve fetched her up to you.”

Madeline came forward out of the shadow.

“Not—­not really Majesty Hammond!” exclaimed Florence Kingsley.  She nearly dropped the lamp, and she looked and looked, astounded beyond belief.

“Yes, I am really she,” replied Madeline.  “My train was late, and for some reason Alfred did not meet me.  Mr.—­Mr. Stewart saw fit to bring me to you instead of taking me to a hotel.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to meet you,” replied Florence, warmly.  “Do come in.  I’m so surprised, I forget my manners.  Why, Al never mentioned your coming.”

“He surely could not have received my messages,” said Madeline, as she entered.

The cowboy, who came in with her satchel, had to stoop to enter the door, and, once in, he seemed to fill the room.  Florence set the lamp down upon the table.  Madeline saw a young woman with a smiling, friendly face, and a profusion of fair hair hanging down over her dressing-gown.

“Oh, but Al will be glad!” cried Florence.  “Why, you are white as a sheet.  You must be tired.  What a long wait you had at the station!  I heard the train come in hours ago as I was going to bed.  That station is lonely at night.  If I had known you were coming!  Indeed, you are very pale.  Are you ill?”

“No.  Only I am very tired.  Traveling so far by rail is harder than I imagined.  I did have rather a long wait after arriving at the station, but I can’t say that it was lonely.”

Florence Kingsley searched Madeline’s face with keen eyes, and then took a long, significant look at the silent Stewart.  With that she deliberately and quietly closed a door leading into another room.