Newark leader. ([Newark, Ohio]) 1917-1946, 1923-09-28
CHAPTER XIX
Unbrid lied.

UnprIoled.
In waking and sleeping hours, Made
line Hammond could not release her
self from the thralling memory of that
tragedy. She was haunted by Monty
Prices terrible smile. Only In action
Of some kind could she escape; and
to that end she worked, she walked
and rode She even overcame a strong
feeling which she feared was unrea-
sonable disgust, for the Mexican girl
Bonita, who lay Ill at the ranch,
bruised and feverish, in need Of skill
full nursing.
One afternoon she rode down to the
alfalfa fields, round them, and back
up to the spillway Of the lower lake,
where a group Of mesquite-trees, ow-
ing to the water that seeped through
the sand to their roots, had taken on
bloom and beauty Of renewed life Un-
der these trees there was shade
enough to make a pleasant place to
linger Madeline dismounted, desiring
to rest little.
Her horse Majesty, tossed his head
tail at the flies. He would rather
have been cutting the wind down the
valley slope. Madeline sat with her
back against tree, and took off her
sombrero. Suddenly Majesty picked
up his long ears and snorted. Then
Madeline heard slow pad Of hoofs
A horse was approaching from the di-
rection of the lake. Madeline had
learned to be wary, and, mounting
Majesty, she turned him toward the
open. A moment later she felt glad
Of her caution, for, looking back be-
tween the trees, she saw Stewart lead
ing horse into the grove. She would
as lief have met a guerrilla as this
cowboy.
Majesty had broken into a trot
when shrill whistle rent the air. The
horse leaped and, wheeling so swiftly
that he nearly unseated Madeline, he
charged back straight for the mes
quites. Madeline spoke to him, cried
angrily at him, pulled with all her
strength upon the bride, but was
helplessly unable to stop him. He
whistled a piercing blast. Madeline
realized then that Stewart, his old
| master, had called him and that moth
ing could turn him. She gave up try
| ing, and the horse thumped into an
aisle between the trees and, stopping
before Stewart, whinnied eagerly
'I want to talk to you," said Stew
| art.
Madeline started, turned to him,
and now she saw the earlier Stewart,
| the man who reminded her Of their
first meeting at Ell Cajon, Of that
memorable meeting at Chiricahua.
II want to ask you something" he
| went on. "Pve been wanting to know
| something. That's why I've hung on
here. But now Tn going over-over
| the border. And l want to know.
| Why did you refuse to listen to me"
At his last words that hot shame,
| tenfold more sitting than when it had
before humiliated Madeline, rushed
| over her, sending the scarlet In wave
to her temples. Biting her lips to
| hold back speech, she jerked on Mat
| esty's bride, struck him with her
| whip, spurred him. Stewards iron arm
held the horse Then Madeline, In a
| flash of passion, struck at Stewards
face, missed it, struck again, and hit.
With one pull, almost drawing her
from the saddle, he tore the whip from
her hands. 1t was not that action on
| his part, or the sudden strong master
| fulness Of his look, so much as the
| livid mark on his face where the whip
| had lashed that quieted, If it did not
| check, her fury.
| That's nothing" he said, with some
thing Of his old audacity. '"Thats
nothing to how you've hurt me-"
Madeline battled with herself for
control. This man would not be de-
MED. About him now there was only
the ghost Of that finer, gentler man
she had helped to bring into being.
The piercing dark eyes he bent upon
her burned her, went through her as
If he were looking into her soul. Then
Madeline's quick sight caught fleet
ing doubt, a wistfulness, surprised
and saddened certainty In his eyes,
saw it shade and pass away. Her
womans intuition, as keen as her
sight, told her Stewart in that moment
had sustained shock Of bitter. final
| truth
| Nn~% UnaI~