But Madeline found that new-born self a creature of strange power to return and govern at any moment.  She found it fighting loyally for what intelligence and wisdom told her was only her romantic conception of a cowboy.  She reasoned:  If Stewart were the kind of man her feminine skepticism wanted to make him, he would not have been so blind to the coquettish advances of Helen and Dorothy.  He had once been—­she did not want to recall what he had once been.  But he had been uplifted.  Madeline Hammond declared that.  She was swayed by a strong, beating pride, and her instinctive woman’s faith told her that he could not stoop to such dishonor.  She reproached herself for having momentarily thought of it.

* * *

One afternoon a huge storm-cloud swooped out of the sky and enveloped the crags.  It obscured the westering sun and laid a mantle of darkness over the park.  Madeline was uneasy because several of her party, including Helen and Dorothy, had ridden off with the cowboys that afternoon and had not returned.  Florence assured her that even if they did not get back before the storm broke there was no reason for apprehension.  Nevertheless, Madeline sent for Stewart and asked him to go or send some one in search of them.

Perhaps half an hour later Madeline heard the welcome pattering of hoofs on the trail.  The big tent was brightly lighted by several lanterns.  Edith and Florence were with her.  It was so black outside that Madeline could not see a rod before her face.  The wind was moaning in the trees, and big drops of rain were pelting upon the canvas.

Presently, just outside the door, the horses halted, and there was a sharp bustle of sound, such as would naturally result from a hurried dismounting and confusion in the dark.  Mrs. Beck came running into the tent out of breath and radiant because they had beaten the storm.  Helen entered next, and a little later came Dorothy, but long enough to make her entrance more noticeable.  The instant Madeline saw Dorothy’s blazing eyes she knew something unusual had happened.  Whatever it was might have escaped comment had not Helen caught sight of Dorothy.

“Heavens, Dot, but you’re handsome occasionally!” remarked Helen.  “When you get some life in your face and eyes!”

Dorothy turned her face away from the others, and perhaps it was only accident that she looked into a mirror hanging on the tent wall.  Swiftly she put her hand up to feel a wide red welt on her cheek.  Dorothy had been assiduously careful of her soft, white skin, and here was an ugly mark marring its beauty.

“Look at that!” she cried, in distress.  “My complexion’s ruined!”

“How did you get such a splotch?” inquired Helen, going closer.

“I’ve been kissed!” exclaimed Dorothy, dramatically.

“What?” queried Helen, more curiously, while the others laughed.