Stillwell took one mighty stride off the porch.  His last words had been cold.  His rage appeared to have been transferred to Hawe.  The sheriff had begun to stutter and shake a lanky red hand at the cattleman when Stewart stepped out.

“Here, you fellows, give me a chance to say a word.”

As Stewart appeared the Mexican girl suddenly seemed vitalized out of her stupor.  She strained at her bonds, as if to lift her hands beseechingly.  A flush animated her haggard face, and her big dark eyes lighted.

“Senor Gene!” she moaned.  “Help me!  I so seek.  They beat me, rope me, ‘mos’ keel me.  Oh, help me, Senor Gene!”

“Shut up, er I’ll gag you,” said the man who held Bonita’s horse.

“Muzzle her, Sneed, if she blabs again,” called Hawe.  Madeline felt something tense and strained working in the short silence.  Was it only a phase of her thrilling excitement?  Her swift glance showed the faces of Nels and Monty and Nick to be brooding, cold, watchful.  She wondered why Stewart did not look toward Bonita.  He, too, was now dark-faced, cool, quiet, with something ominous about him.

“Hawe, I’ll submit to arrest without any fuss,” he said, slowly, “if you’ll take the ropes off that girl.”

“Nope,” replied the sheriff.  “She got away from me onct.  She’s hawg-tied now, an’ she’ll stay hawg-tied.”

Madeline thought she saw Stewart give a slight start.  But an unaccountable dimness came over her eyes, at brief intervals obscuring her keen sight.  Vaguely she was conscious of a clogged and beating tumult in her breast.

“All right, let’s hurry out of here,” said Stewart.  “You’ve made annoyance enough.  Ride down to the corral with me.  I’ll get my horse and go with you.”

“Hold on!” yelled Hawe, as Stewart turned away.  “Not so fast.  Who’s doin’ this?  You don’t come no El Capitan stunts on me.  You’ll ride one of my pack-horses, an’ you’ll go in irons.”

“You want to handcuff me?” queried Stewart, with sudden swift start of passion.

“Want to?  Haw, haw!  Nope, Stewart, thet’s jest my way with hoss-thieves, raiders, Greasers, murderers, an’ sich.  See hyar, you Sneed, git off an’ put the irons on this man.”

The guerrilla called Sneed slid off his horse and began to fumble in his saddle-bags.

“You see, Bill,” went on Hawe, “I swore in a new depooty fer this particular job.  Sneed is some handy.  He rounded up thet little Mexican cat fer me.”

Stillwell did not hear the sheriff; he was gazing at Stewart in a kind of imploring amaze.

“Gene, you ain’t goin’ to stand fer them handcuffs?” he pleaded.

“Yes,” replied the cowboy.  “Bill, old friend, I’m an outsider here.  There’s no call for Miss Hammond and—­and her brother and Florence to be worried further about me.  Their happy day has already been spoiled on my account.  I want to get out quick.”