“Wal, Miss Majesty, there’s goin’ to be a fight somewhere, an’ Stewart wanted to get you-all in before it come off. He says the valley’s overrun by vaqueros an’ guerrillas an’ robbers, an’ Lord knows what else.” He stamped off the porch, his huge spurs rattling, and started down the path toward the waiting men. Stewart stood in his familiar attentive position, erect, silent, with a hand on pommel and bridle. “Stewart, you are exceedingly—thoughtful of my interests,” she said, wanting to thank him, and not readily finding words. “I would not know what to do without you. Is there danger?” “I’m not sure. But I want to be on the safe side.” She hesitated. It was no longer easy for her to talk to him, and she did not know why. “May I know the special orders you gave Nels and Nick and Monty?” she asked. “Who said I gave those boys special orders?” “I heard Stillwell tell them so.” “Of course I’ll tell you if you insist. But why should you worry over something that’ll likely never happen?” “I insist, Stewart,” she replied, quietly. “My orders were that at least one of them must be on guard near you day and night—never to be out of hearing of your voice.” “I thought as much. But why Nels or Monty or Nick? That seems rather hard on them. For that matter, why put any one to keep guard over me? Do you not trust any other of my cowboys?” “I’d trust their honesty, but not their ability.” “Ability? Of what nature?” “With guns.” “Stewart!” she exclaimed. “Miss Hammond, you have been having such a good time entertaining your guests that you forget. I’m glad of that. I wish you had not questioned me.” “Forget what?” “Don Carlos and his guerrillas.” “Indeed I have not forgotten. Stewart, you still think Don Carlos tried to make off with me—may try it again?” “I don’t think. I know.” “And besides all your other duties you have shared the watch with these three cowboys?” “Yes.” “It has been going on without my knowledge?” “Yes.” “Since when?” “Since I brought you down from the mountains last month.” “How long is it to continue?” “That’s hard to say. Till the revolution is over, anyhow.” She mused a moment, looking away to the west, where the great void was filling with red haze. She believed implicitly in him, and the menace hovering near her fell like a shadow upon her present happiness. “What must I do?” she asked. “I think you ought to send your friends back East—and go with them, until this guerrilla war is over.” “Why, Stewart, they would be broken-hearted, and so would I.” He had no reply for that. “If I do not take your advice it will be the first time since I have come to look to you for so much,” she went on. “Cannot you suggest something else? My friends are having such a splendid visit. Helen is getting well. Oh, I should be sorry to see them go before they want to.”