“I shall not faint. But you frighten me. Is there danger? What shall we do?”
“There’s danger. Madeline, I wouldn’t deceive you,” went on Florence, in an earnest whisper. “Things have turned out just as Gene Stewart hinted. Oh, we should—Al should have listened to Gene! I believe—I’m afraid Gene knew!”
“Knew what?” asked Madeline.
“Never mind now. Listen. We daren’t take the back trail. We’ll go on. I’ve a scheme to fool that grinning Don Carlos. Get down, Madeline—hurry.”
Madeline dismounted.
“Give me your white sweater. Take it off—And that white hat! Hurry, Madeline.”
“Florence, what on earth do you mean?” cried Madeline.
“Not so loud,” whispered the other. Her gray eyes snapped. She had divested herself of sombrero and jacket, which she held out to Madeline. “Heah. Take these. Give me yours. Then get up on the black. I’ll ride Majesty. Rustle now, Madeline. This is no time to talk.”
“But, dear, why—why do you want—? Ah! You’re going to make the vaqueros take you for me!”
“You guessed it. Will you—”