“Miss Hammond, I reckon we want to rustle out of here. Been bad goings-on. And there’s a train due.”
She hurried into the open air, not daring to look back or to either side. Her guide strode swiftly. She had almost to run to keep up with him. Many conflicting emotions confused her. She had a strange sense of this stalking giant beside her, silent except for his jangling spurs. She had a strange feeling of the cool, sweet wind and the white stars. Was it only her disordered fancy, or did these wonderful stars open and shut? She had a queer, disembodied thought that somewhere in ages back, in another life, she had seen these stars. The night seemed dark, yet there was a pale, luminous light—a light from the stars—and she fancied it would always haunt her.
Suddenly aware that she had been led beyond the line of houses, she spoke:
“Where are you taking me?”
“To Florence Kingsley,” he replied.
“Who is she?”
“I reckon she’s your brother’s best friend out here.” Madeline kept pace with the cowboy for a few moments longer, and then she stopped. It was as much from necessity to catch her breath as it was from recurring fear. All at once she realized what little use her training had been for such an experience as this. The cowboy, missing her, came back the few intervening steps. Then he waited, still silent, looming beside her.
“It’s so dark, so lonely,” she faltered. “How do I know... what warrant can you give me that you—that no harm will befall me if I go farther?”
“None, Miss Hammond, except that I’ve seen your face.”