“El Capitan. How interesting!” mused Helen. “What does he look like?”
“He is superb.”
Florence handed the field-glass to Helen and bade her look.
“Oh, thank you!” said Helen, as she complied. “There. I see him. Indeed, he is superb. What a magnificent horse! How still he stands! Why, he seems carved in stone.”
“Let me look?” said Dorothy Coombs, eagerly.
Helen gave her the glass.
“You can look, Dot, but that’s all. He’s mine. I saw him first.”
Whereupon Madeline’s feminine guests held a spirited contest over the field-glass, and three of them made gay, bantering boasts not to consider Helen’s self-asserted rights. Madeline laughed with the others while she watched the dark figure of Stewart and his black outline against the sky. There came over her a thought not by any means new or strange—she wondered what was in Stewart’s mind as he stood there in the solitude and faced the desert and the darkening west. Some day she meant to ask him. Presently he turned the horse and rode down into the shadow creeping up the mesa.
“Majesty, have you planned any fun, any excitement for us?” asked Helen. She was restless, nervous, and did not seem to be able to sit still a moment.
“You will think so when I get through with you,” replied Madeline.