“After thet what was said to Gene was with a nice smile. Now, Miss Majesty, it’s beyond me what to allow for Gene’s sudden change. First off, I thought Padre Marcos had converted him. I actooly thought thet. But I reckon it’s only Gene Stewart come back—the old Gene Stewart an’ some. Thet’s all I care about. I’m rememberin’ how I once told you thet Gene was the last of the cowboys. Perhaps I should hev said he’s the last of my kind of cowboys. Wal, Miss Majesty, you’ll be apprecatin’ of what I meant from now on.” It was also beyond Madeline to account for Gene Stewart’s antics, and, making allowance for the old cattleman’s fancy, she did not weigh his remarks very heavily. She guessed why Stewart might have been angry at the presence of Padre Marcos. Madeline supposed that it was rather an unusual circumstance for a cowboy to be converted to religious belief. But it was possible. And she knew that religious fervor often manifested itself in extremes of feeling and action. Most likely, in Stewart’s case, his real manner had been both misunderstood and exaggerated. However, Madeline had a curious desire, which she did not wholly admit to herself, to see the cowboy and make her own deductions. The opportunity did not present itself for nearly two weeks. Stewart had taken up his duties as foreman, and his activities were ceaseless. He was absent most of the time, ranging down toward the Mexican line. When he returned Stillwell sent for him. This was late in the afternoon of a day in the middle of April. Alfred and Florence were with Madeline on the porch. They saw the cowboy turn his horse over to one of the Mexican boys at the corral and then come with weary step up to the house, beating the dust out of his gauntlets. Little streams of gray sand trickled from his sombrero as he removed it and bowed to the women. Madeline saw the man she remembered, but with a singularly different aspect. His skin was brown; his eyes were piercing and dark and steady; he carried himself erect; he seemed preoccupied, and there was not a trace of embarrassment in his manner. “Wal, Gene, I’m sure glad to see you,” Stillwell was saying. “Where do you hail from?” “Guadaloupe Canyon,” replied the cowboy. Stillwell whistled. “Way down there! You don’t mean you follered them hoss tracks thet far?”