“Stillwell!” she exclaimed.

“Anybody with you?” he asked, in a low tone.

“No.”

“Please come out on the porch,” he added.

She complied, and, once out, was enabled to see him.  His grave face, paler than she had ever beheld it, caused her to stretch an appealing hand toward him.  Stillwell intercepted it and held it in his own.

“Miss Majesty, I’m amazin’ sorry to tell worrisome news.”  He spoke almost in a whisper, cautiously looked about him, and seemed both hurried and mysterious.  “If you’d heerd Stewart cuss you’d sure know how we hate to hev to tell you this.  But it can’t be avoided.  The fact is we’re in a bad fix.  If your guests ain’t scared out of their skins it’ll be owin’ to your nerve an’ how you carry out Stewart’s orders.”

“You can rely upon me,” replied Madeline, firmly, though she trembled.

“Wal, what we’re up against is this:  that gang of bandits Pat Hawe was chasin’—­they’re hidin’ in the house!”

“In the house?” echoed Madeline, aghast.

“Miss Majesty, it’s the amazin’ truth, an’ shamed indeed am I to admit it.  Stewart—­why, he’s wild with rage to think it could hev happened.  You see, it couldn’t hev happened if I hedn’t sloped the boys off to the gol-lof-links, an’ if Stewart hedn’t rid out on the mesa after us.  It’s my fault.  I’ve hed too much femininity around fer my old haid.  Gene cussed me—­he cussed me sure scandalous.  But now we’ve got to face it—­to figger.”

“Do you mean that a gang of hunted outlaws—­bandits—­have actually taken refuge somewhere in my house?” demanded Madeline.

“I sure do.  Seems powerful strange to me why you didn’t find somethin’ was wrong, seem’ all your servants hev sloped.”

“Gone?  Ah, I missed my maid!  I wondered why no lights were lit.  Where did my servants go?”

“Down to the Mexican quarters, an’ scared half to death.  Now listen.  When Stewart left you an hour or so ago he follered me direct to where me an’ the boys was tryin’ to keep Pat Hawe from tearin’ the ranch to pieces.  At that we was helpin’ Pat all we could to find them bandits.  But when Stewart got there he made a difference.  Pat was nasty before, but seein’ Stewart made him wuss.  I reckon Gene to Pat is the same as red to a Greaser bull.  Anyway, when the sheriff set fire to an old adobe hut Stewart called him an’ called him hard.  Pat Hawe hed six fellers with him, an’ from all appearances bandit-huntin’ was some fiesta.  There was a row, an ’it looked bad fer a little.  But Gene was cool, an’ he controlled the boys.  Then Pat an’ his tough de-pooties went on huntin’.  That huntin’, Miss Majesty, petered out into what was only a farce.  I reckon Pat could hev kept on foolin’ me an’ the boys, but as soon as Stewart showed up on the scene—­wal, either Pat got to blunderin’ or else we-all shed our blinders.  Anyway, the facts stood plain.  Pat Hawe wasn’t lookin’ hard fer any bandits; he wasn’t daid set huntin’ anythin’, unless it was trouble fer Stewart.  Finally, when Pat’s men made fer our storehouse, where we keep ammunition, grub, liquors, an’ sich, then Gene called a halt.  An’ he ordered Pat Hawe off the ranch.  It was hyar Hawe an’ Stewart locked horns.