New Mexico -- Fiction; Western stories; Women pioneers -- Fiction
But she did not understand so much as she implied. She had heard many
stories of this man’s cool indifference to peril and death. He had
always seemed as hard as granite. Why should the sight of a little blood
upon her arm pale his cheek and shake his hand and thicken his voice?
What was there in his nature to make him implore her to see the only
reason he could not kill an outlaw? The answer to the first question
was that he loved her. It was beyond her to answer the second. But the
secret of it lay in the same strength from which his love sprang—an
intensity of feeling which seemed characteristic of these Western men of
simple, lonely, elemental lives. All at once over Madeline rushed a tide
of realization of how greatly it was possible for such a man as Stewart
to love her. The thought came to her in all its singular power. All her
Eastern lovers who had the graces that made them her equals in the sight
of the world were without the only great essential that a lonely, hard
life had given to Stewart. Nature here struck a just balance. Something
deep and dim in the future, an unknown voice, called to Madeline and
disturbed her. And because it was not a voice to her intelligence she
deadened the ears of her warm and throbbing life and decided never to
listen.
“Is it safe to rest a little?” she asked. “I am so tired. Perhaps I’ll
be stronger if I rest.”
“We’re all right now,” he said. “The horse will be better, too. I ran
him out. And uphill, at that.”
“Where are we?”
“Up in the mountains, ten miles and more from the ranch. There’s a trail
just below here. I can get you home by midnight. They’ll be some worried
down there.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing much to any one but you. That’s the—the hard luck of it.
Florence caught us out on the slope. We were returning from the fire. We
were dead beat. But we got to the ranch before any damage was done. We
sure had trouble in finding a trace of you. Nick spotted the prints of
your heels under the window. And then we knew. I had to fight the boys.
If they’d come after you we’d never have gotten you without a fight. I
didn’t want that. Old Bill came out packing a dozen guns. He was crazy.
I had to rope Monty. Honest, I tied him to the porch. Nels and Nick
promised to stay and hold him till morning. That was the best I could
do. I was sure lucky to come up with the band so soon. I had figured
right. I knew that guerrilla chief. He’s a bandit in Mexico. It’s a
business with him. But he fought for Madero, and I was with him a good
deal. He may be a Greaser, but he’s white.”
“How did you effect my release?”
“I offered them money. That’s what the rebels all want. They need money.
They’re a lot of poor, hungry devils.”
“I gathered that you offered to pay ransom. How much?”
“Two thousand dollars Mex. I gave my word. I’ll have to take the money.
I told them when and where I’d meet them.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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