“Yes, I think I do,” replied Madeline, thoughtfully. “Frankly, I have not seen it for years.”
“We have beautiful sunrises, and sunsets from the ranch are glorious.”
Long lines of pink fire ran level with the eastern horizon, which appeared to recede as day brightened. A bank of thin, fleecy clouds was turning rose. To the south and west the sky was dark; but every moment it changed, the blue turning bluer. The eastern sky was opalescent. Then in one place gathered a golden light, and slowly concentrated till it was like fire. The rosy bank of cloud turned to silver and pearl, and behind it shot up a great circle of gold. Above the dark horizon gleamed an intensely bright disk. It was the sun. It rose swiftly, blazing out the darkness between the ridges and giving color and distance to the sweep of land.
“Wal, wal,” drawled Stillwell, and stretched his huge arms as if he had just awakened, “thet’s somethin’ like.”
Florence nudged Madeline and winked at her.
“Fine mawnin’, girls,” went on old Bill, cracking his whip. “Miss Majesty, it’ll be some oninterestin’ ride all mawnin’. But when we get up a bit you’ll sure like it. There! Look to the southwest, jest over thet farthest ridge.”
Madeline swept her gaze along the gray, sloping horizon-line to where dark-blue spires rose far beyond the ridge.
“Peloncillo Mountains,” said Stillwell. “Thet’s home, when we get there. We won’t see no more of them till afternoon, when they rise up sudden-like.”
Peloncillo! Madeline murmured the melodious name. Where had she heard it? Then she remembered. The cowboy Stewart had told the little Mexican girl Bonita to “hit the Peloncillo trail.” Probably the girl had ridden the big, dark horse over this very road at night, alone. Madeline had a little shiver that was not occasioned by the cold wind.
“There’s a jack!” cried Florence, suddenly.