“Dook, in my time I’ve seen some bright fellers, but you take the cake.  It’s most marvelous how bright you are.  Figger’n’ me an’ Nels so correct.  Say, Dook, if you don’t git rustled off to Mexico an’ roped to a cactus-bush you’ll hev a swell story fer your English chums.  Bah Jove!  You’ll tell ’em how you seen two old-time gun-men run like scared jack-rabbits from a lot of Greasers.  Like hell you will!  Unless you lie like the time you told about proddin’ the lion.  That there story allus—­”

“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.