As days passed Stewart remained at the ranch without his old faithfulness to his work.  Madeline was not moved to a kinder frame of mind to see him wandering dejectedly around.  It hurt her, and because it hurt her she grew all the harder.  Then she could not help hearing snatches of conversation which strengthened her suspicions that Stewart was losing his grip on himself, that he would soon take the downward course again.  Verification of her own suspicion made it a belief, and belief brought about a sharp conflict between her generosity and some feeling that she could not name.  It was not a question of justice or mercy or sympathy.  If a single word could have saved Stewart from sinking his splendid manhood into the brute she had recoiled from at Chiricahua, she would not have spoken it.  She could not restore him to his former place in her regard; she really did not want him at the ranch at all.  Once, considering in wonder her knowledge of men, she interrogated herself to see just why she could not overlook Stewart’s transgression.  She never wanted to speak to him again, or see him, or think of him.  In some way, through her interest in Stewart, she had come to feel for herself an inexplicable thing close to scorn.

A telegram from Douglas, heralding the coming of Alfred and a minister, put an end to Madeline’s brooding, and she shared something of Florence Kingsley’s excitement.  The cowboys were as eager and gossipy as girls.  It was arranged to have the wedding ceremony performed in Madeline’s great hall-chamber, and the dinner in the cool, flower-scented patio.

Alfred and his minister arrived at the ranch in the big white car.  They appeared considerably wind-blown.  In fact, the minister was breathless, almost sightless, and certainly hatless.  Alfred, used as he was to wind and speed, remarked that he did not wonder at Nels’s aversion to riding a fleeting cannon-ball.  The imperturbable Link took off his cap and goggles and, consulting his watch, made his usual apologetic report to Madeline, deploring the fact that a teamster and a few stray cattle on the road had held him down to the manana time of only a mile a minute.

Arrangements for the wedding brought Alfred’s delighted approval.  When he had learned all Florence and Madeline would tell him he expressed a desire to have the cowboys attend; and then he went on to talk about California, where he was going take Florence on a short trip.  He was curiously interested to find out all about Madeline’s guests and what had happened to them.  His keen glance at Madeline grew softer as she talked.

“I breathe again,” he said, and laughed.  “I was afraid.  Well, I must have missed some sport.  I can just fancy what Monty and Nels did to that Englishman.  So you went up to the crags.  That’s a wild place.  I’m not surprised at guerrillas falling in with you up there.  The crags were a famous rendezvous for Apaches—­it’s near the border—­almost