Alfred led the way up the steep, zigzag trail to the top of the mesa.  Madeline saw a beautiful flat surface of short grass, level as a floor.  She uttered a little cry of wonder and enthusiasm.

“Al, what a place for golf!  This would be the finest links in the world.”

“Well, I’ve thought of that myself,” he replied.  “The only trouble would be—­could anybody stop looking at the scenery long enough to hit a ball?  Majesty, look!”

And then it seemed that Madeline was confronted by a spectacle too sublime and terrible for her gaze.  The immensity of this red-ridged, deep-gulfed world descending incalculable distances refused to be grasped, and awed her, shocked her.

“Once, Majesty, when I first came out West, I was down and out—­ determined to end it all,” said Alfred.  “And happened to climb up here looking for a lonely place to die.  When I saw that I changed my mind.”

Madeline was silent.  She remained so during the ride around the rim of the mesa and down the steep trail.  This time Alfred and Florence failed to tempt her into a race.  She had been awe-struck; she had been exalted she had been confounded; and she recovered slowly without divining exactly what had come to her.

She reached the ranch-house far behind her companions, and at supper-time was unusually thoughtful.  Later, when they assembled on the porch to watch the sunset, Stillwell’s humorous complainings inspired the inception of an idea which flashed up in her mind swift as lightning.  And then by listening sympathetically she encouraged him to recite the troubles of a poor cattleman.  They were many and long and interesting, and rather numbing to the life of her inspired idea.

“Mr. Stillwell, could ranching here on a large scale, with up-to-date methods, be made—­well, not profitable, exactly, but to pay—­to run without loss?” she asked, determined to kill her new-born idea at birth or else give it breath and hope of life.

“Wal, I reckon it could,” he replied, with a short laugh.  “It’d sure be a money-maker.  Why, with all my bad luck an’ poor equipment I’ve lived pretty well an’ paid my debts an’ haven’t really lost any money except the original outlay.  I reckon thet’s sunk fer good.”

“Would you sell—­if some one would pay your price?”

“Miss Majesty, I’d jump at the chance.  Yet somehow I’d hate to leave hyar.  I’d jest be fool enough to go sink the money in another ranch.”

“Would Don Carlos and these other Mexicans sell?”

“They sure would.  The Don has been after me fer years, wantin’ to sell thet old rancho of his; an’ these herders in the valley with their stray cattle, they’d fall daid at sight of a little money.”

“Please tell me, Mr. Stillwell, exactly what you would do here if you had unlimited means?” went on Madeline.

“Good Lud!” ejaculated the rancher, and started so he dropped his pipe.  Then with his clumsy huge fingers he refilled it, relighted it, took a few long pulls, puffed great clouds of smoke, and, squaring round, hands on his knees, he looked at Madeline with piercing intentness.  His hard face began to relax and soften and wrinkle into a smile.