Alfred bundled her up into the back seat, and Florence after her, and wrapped them with robes. Then he mounted his horse and started off. “Gid-eb!” growled Stillwell, and with a crack of his whip the team jumped into a trot. Florence whispered into Madeline’s ear: “Bill’s grouchy early in the mawnin’. He’ll thaw out soon as it gets warm.” It was still so gray that Madeline could not distinguish objects at any considerable distance, and she left El Cajon without knowing what the town really looked like. She did know that she was glad to get out of it, and found an easier task of dispelling persistent haunting memory. “Here come the cowboys,” said Florence. A line of horsemen appeared coming from the right and fell in behind Alfred, and gradually they drew ahead, to disappear from sight. While Madeline watched them the gray gloom lightened into dawn. All about her was bare and dark; the horizon seemed close; not a hill nor a tree broke the monotony. The ground appeared to be flat, but the road went up and down over little ridges. Madeline glanced backward in the direction of El Cajon and the mountains she had seen the day before, and she saw only bare and dark ground, like that which rolled before. A puff of cold wind struck her face and she shivered. Florence noticed her and pulled up the second robe and tucked it closely round her up to her chin. “If we have a little wind you’ll sure feel it,” said the Western girl. Madeline replied that she already felt it. The wind appeared to penetrate the robes. It was cold, pure, nipping. It was so thin she had to breathe as fast as if she were under ordinary exertion. It hurt her nose and made her lungs ache. “Aren’t you co-cold?” asked Madeline. “I?” Florence laughed. “I’m used to it. I never get cold.” The Western girl sat with ungloved hands on the outside of the robe she evidently did not need to draw up around her. Madeline thought she had never seen such a clear-eyed, healthy, splendid girl. “Do you like to see the sun rise?” asked Florence. “Yes, I think I do,” replied Madeline, thoughtfully. “Frankly, I have not seen it for years.” “We have beautiful sunrises, and sunsets from the ranch are glorious.” Long lines of pink fire ran level with the eastern horizon, which appeared to recede as day brightened. A bank of thin, fleecy clouds was turning rose. To the south and west the sky was dark; but every moment it changed, the blue turning bluer. The eastern sky was opalescent. Then in one place gathered a golden light, and slowly concentrated till it was like fire. The rosy bank of cloud turned to silver and pearl, and behind it shot up a great circle of gold. Above the dark horizon gleamed an intensely bright disk. It was the sun. It rose swiftly, blazing out the darkness between the ridges and giving color and distance to the sweep of land. “Wal, wal,” drawled Stillwell, and stretched his huge arms as if he had just awakened, “thet’s somethin’ like.”