“An’ there under the crags was a gold pocket.

“Then I was worse than locoed.  I went gold-crazy.  I worked like seventeen burros.  Bill, I dug a lot of goldbearin’ quartz.  Bonita watched the trails for me, brought me water.  That was how she come to get caught by Pat Hawe an’ his guerrillas.  Sure!  Pat Hawe was so set on doin’ Gene dirt that he mixed up with Don Carlos.  Bonita will tell you some staggerin’ news about that outfit.  Just now my story is all gold.”

Danny Mains got up and kicked back his chair.  Blue lightning gleamed from his eyes as he thrust a hand toward Stillwell.

“Bill, old pal, put her there—­give me your hand,” he said.  “You were always my friend.  You had faith in me.  Well, Danny Mains owes you, an’ he owes Gene Stewart a good deal, an’ Danny Mains pays.  I want two pardners to help me work my gold-mine.  You an’ Gene.  If there’s any ranch hereabouts that takes your fancy I’ll buy it.  If Miss Hammond ever gets tired of her range an stock an’ home I’ll buy them for Gene.  If there’s any railroad or town round here that she likes I’ll buy it.  If I see anythin’ myself that I like I’ll buy it.  Go out; find Gene for me.  I’m achin’ to see him, to tell him.  Go fetch him; an’ right here in this house, with my wife an’ Miss Hammond as witnesses, we’ll draw up a pardnership.  Go find him, Bill.  I want to show him this gold, show him how Danny Mains pays!  An’ the only bitter drop in my cup to-day is that I can’t ever pay Monty Price.”

* * *

Madeline’s lips tremblingly formed to tell Danny Mains and Stillwell that the cowboy they wanted so much had left the ranch; but the flame of fine loyalty that burned in Danny’s eyes, the happiness that made the old cattleman’s face at once amazing and beautiful, stiffened her lips.  She watched the huge Stillwell and the little cowboy, both talking wildly, as they walked off arm in arm to find Stewart.  She imagined something of what Danny’s disappointment would be, of the elder man’s consternation and grief, when he learned Stewart had left for the border.  At this juncture she looked up to see a strange, yet familiar figure approaching.  Padre Marcos!  Certain it was that Madeline felt herself trembling.  What did his presence mean on this day?  He had always avoided meeting her whenever possible.  He had been exceedingly grateful for all she had done for his people, his church, and himself; but he had never thanked her in person.  Perhaps he had come for that purpose now.  But Madeline did not believe so.

Mention of Padre Marcos, sight of him, had always occasioned Madeline a little indefinable shock; and now, as he stepped to the porch, a shrunken, stooped, and sad-faced man, she was startled.

The padre bowed low to her.

“Senora, will you grant me audience?” he asked, in perfect English, and his voice was low-toned and grave.

“Certainly, Padre Marcos,” replied Madeline; and she led him into her office.