On the other hand, Alfred’s ranch-house, where the party halted to spend the night, was picturesquely located, small and cozy, camplike in its arrangement, and altogether agreeable to Madeline.
The day’s long rides and the exciting events had wearied her. She rested while Florence and the two men got supper. During the meal Stillwell expressed satisfaction over the good riddance of the vaqueros, and with his usual optimism trusted he had seen the last of them. Alfred, too, took a decidedly favorable view of the day’s proceedings. However, it was not lost upon Madeline that Florence appeared unusually quiet and thoughtful. Madeline wondered a little at the cause. She remembered that Stewart had wanted to come with them, or detail a few cowboys to accompany them, but Alfred had laughed at the idea and would have none of it.
After supper Alfred monopolized the conversation by describing what he wanted to do to improve his home before he and Florence were married.
Then at an early hour they all retired.
Madeline’s deep slumbers were disturbed by a pounding upon the wall, and then by Florence’s crying out in answer to a call:
“Get up! Throw some clothes on and come out!”
It was Alfred’s voice.
“What’s the matter?” asked Florence, as she slipped out of bed.
“Alfred, is there anything wrong?” added Madeline, sitting up.
The room was dark as pitch, but a faint glow seemed to mark the position of the window.