“Mawnin’, Miss Majesty,” he said, as he rose to greet her with his usual courtesy. There were signs of trouble in his lined face. Madeline shrank inwardly, fearing his old lamentations about Stewart. Then she saw a dusty, ragged pony in the yard and a little burro drooping under a heavy pack. Both animals bore evidence of long, arduous travel.
“To whom do they belong?” asked Madeline.
“Them critters? Why, Danny Mains,” replied Stillwell, with a cough that betrayed embarrassment.
“Danny Mains?” echoed Madeline, wonderingly.
“Wal, I said so.”
Stillwell was indeed not himself.
“Is Danny Mains here?” she asked, in sudden curiosity.
The old cattleman nodded gloomily.
“Yep, he’s hyar, all right. Sloped in from the hills, an’ he hollered to see Bonita. He’s locoed, too, about that little black-eyed hussy. Why, he hardly said, ‘Howdy, Bill,’ before he begun to ask wild an’ eager questions. I took him in to see Bonita. He’s been there more ’n a half-hour now.”
Evidently Stillwell’s sensitive feelings had been ruffled. Madeline’s curiosity changed to blank astonishment, which left her with a thrilling premonition. She caught her breath. A thousand thoughts seemed thronging for clear conception in her mind.