“Certainly.  I’m glad I’ve got the money.”  Madeline laughed.  “What a strange thing to happen to me!  I wonder what dad would say to that?  Stewart, I’m afraid he’d say two thousand dollars is more than I’m worth.  But tell me.  That rebel chieftain did not demand money?”

“No.  The money is for his men.”

“What did you say to him?  I saw you whisper in his ear.”

Stewart dropped his head, averting her direct gaze.

“We were comrades before Juarez.  One day I dragged him out of a ditch.  I reminded him.  Then I—­I told him something I—­I thought—­”

“Stewart, I know from the way he looked at me that you spoke of me.”

Her companion did not offer a reply to this, and Madeline did not press the point.

“I heard Don Carlos’s name several times.  That interests me.  What have Don Carlos and his vaqueros to do with this?”

“That Greaser has all to do with it,” replied Stewart, grimly.  “He burned his ranch and corrals to keep us from getting them.  But he also did it to draw all the boys away from your home.  They had a deep plot, all right.  I left orders for some one to stay with you.  But Al and Stillwell, who’re both hot-headed, rode off this morning.  Then the guerrillas came down.”

“Well, what was the idea—­the plot—­as you call it?”

“To get you,” he said, bluntly.

“Me!  Stewart, you do not mean my capture—­whatever you call it—­ was anything more than mere accident?”

“I do mean that.  But Stillwell and your brother think the guerrillas wanted money and arms, and they just happened to make off with you because you ran under a horse’s nose.”

“You do not incline to that point of view?”

“I don’t.  Neither does Nels nor Nick Steele.  And we know Don Carlos and the Greasers.  Look how the vaqueros chased Flo for you!”

“What do you think, then?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“But, Stewart, I would like to know.  If it is about me, surely I ought to know,” protested Madeline.  “What reason have Nels and Nick to suspect Don Carlos of plotting to abduct me?”

“I suppose they’ve no reason you’d take.  Once I heard Nels say he’d seen the Greaser look at you, and if he ever saw him do it again he’d shoot him.”

“Why, Stewart, that is ridiculous.  To shoot a man for looking at a woman!  This is a civilized country.”

“Well, maybe it would be ridiculous in a civilized country.  There’s some things about civilization I don’t care for.”

“What, for instance?”

“For one thing, I can’t stand for the way men let other men treat women.”

“But, Stewart, this is strange talk from you, who, that night I came—­”

She broke off, sorry that she had spoken.  His shame was not pleasant to see.  Suddenly he lifted his head, and she felt scorched by flaming eyes.

“Suppose I was drunk.  Suppose I had met some ordinary girl.  Suppose I had really made her marry me.  Don’t you think I would have stopped being a drunkard and have been good to her?”