“Please tell me.  I suspected something had gone wrong.  That is partly why I decided to come out.”

“All right; if you must know,” he began; and it seemed to Madeline that there was a gladness in his decision to unburden himself.  “You remember all about my little ranch, and that for a while I did well raising stock?  I wrote you all that.  Majesty, a man makes enemies anywhere.  Perhaps an Eastern man in the West can make, if not so many, certainly more bitter ones.  At any rate, I made several.  There was a cattleman, Ward by name—­he’s gone now—­and he and I had trouble over cattle.  That gave me a back-set.  Pat Hawe, the sheriff here, has been instrumental in hurting my business.  He’s not so much of a rancher, but he has influence at Santa Fe and El Paso and Douglas.  I made an enemy of him.  I never did anything to him.  He hates Gene Stewart, and upon one occasion I spoiled a little plot of his to get Gene in his clutches.  The real reason for his animosity toward me is that he loves Florence, and Florence is going to marry me.”

“Alfred!”

“What’s the matter, Majesty?  Didn’t Florence impress you favorably?” he asked, with a keen glance.

“Why—­yes, indeed.  I like her.  But I did not think of her in relation to you—­that way.  I am greatly surprised.  Alfred, is she well born?  What connections?”

“Florence is just a girl of ordinary people.  She was born in Kentucky, was brought up in Texas.  My aristocratic and wealthy family would scorn—­”

“Alfred, you are still a Hammond,” said Madeline, with uplifted head.

Alfred laughed.  “We won’t quarrel, Majesty.  I remember you, and in spite of your pride you’ve got a heart.  If you stay here a month you’ll love Florence Kingsley.  I want you to know she’s had a great deal to do with straightening me up. . . .  Well, to go on with my story.  There’s Don Carlos, a Mexican rancher, and he’s my worst enemy.  For that matter, he’s as bad an enemy of Bill Stillwell and other ranchers.  Stillwell, by the way, is my friend and one of the finest men on earth.  I got in debt to Don Carlos before I knew he was so mean.  In the first place I lost money at faro—­I gambled some when I came West—­and then I made unwise cattle deals.  Don Carlos is a wily Greaser, he knows the ranges, he has the water, and he is dishonest.  So he outfigured me.  And now I am practically ruined.  He has not gotten possession of my ranch, but that’s only a matter of time, pending lawsuits at Santa Fe.  At present I have a few hundred cattle running on Stillwell’s range, and I am his foreman.”

“Foreman?” queried Madeline.

“I am simply boss of Stillwell’s cowboys, and right glad of my job.”

Madeline was conscious of an inward burning.  It required an effort for her to retain her outward tranquillity.  Annoying consciousness she had also of the returning sense of new disturbing emotions.  She began to see just how walled in from unusual thought-provoking incident and sensation had been her exclusive life.