Madeline, prepared by that warning whistle, tried to fortify herself for a new and unexpected situation; but as she espied an unfamiliar company of horsemen rapidly riding down a hollow leading from the foothills she felt the return of fears gripping at her like cold hands, and she fled precipitously into the house.

IX A Band of Guerrillas

Madeline bolted the door, and, flying into the kitchen, she told the scared servants to shut themselves in.  Then she ran to her own rooms.  It was only a matter of a few moments for her to close and bar the heavy shutters, yet even as she was fastening the last one in the room she used as an office a clattering roar of hoofs seemed to swell up to the front of the house.  She caught a glimpse of wild, shaggy horses and ragged, dusty men.  She had never seen any vaqueros that resembled these horsemen.  Vaqueros had grace and style; they were fond of lace and glitter and fringe; they dressed their horses in silvered trappings.  But the riders now trampling into the driveway were uncouth, lean, savage.  They were guerrillas, a band of the raiders who had been harassing the border since the beginning of the revolution.  A second glimpse assured Madeline that they were not all Mexicans.

The presence of outlaws in that band brought home to Madeline her real danger.  She remembered what Stillwell had told her about recent outlaw raids along the Rio Grande.  These flying bands, operating under the excitement of the revolution, appeared here and there, everywhere, in remote places, and were gone as quickly as they came.  Mostly they wanted money and arms, but they would steal anything, and unprotected women had suffered at their hands.

Madeline, hurriedly collecting her securities and the considerable money she had in her desk, ran out, closed and locked the door, crossed the patio to the opposite side of the house, and, entering again, went down a long corridor, trying to decide which of the many unused rooms would be best to hide in.  And before she made up her mind she came to the last room.  Just then a battering on door or window in the direction of the kitchen and shrill screams from the servant women increased Madeline’s alarm.

She entered the last room.  There was no lock or bar upon the door.  But the room was large and dark, and it was half full of bales of alfalfa hay.  Probably it was the safest place in the house; at least time would be necessary to find any one hidden there.  She dropped her valuables in a dark corner and covered them with loose hay.  That done, she felt her way down a narrow aisle between the piled-up bales and presently crouched in a niche.

With the necessity of action over for the immediate present, Madeline became conscious that she was quivering and almost breathless.  Her skin felt tight and cold.  There was a weight on her chest; her mouth was dry, and she had a strange tendency to swallow.  Her listening faculty seemed most acute.  Dull sounds came from parts of the house remote from her.  In the intervals of silence between these sounds she heard the squeaking and rustling of mice in the hay.  A mouse ran over her hand.