When Madeline Hammond stepped from the train at El Cajon, New Mexico, it was nearly midnight, and her first impression was of a huge dark space of cool, windy emptiness, strange and silent, stretching away under great blinking white stars.
‚Miss, there’s no one to meet you, ‚ said the conductor, rather anxiously.
‚I wired my brother, ‚ she replied. ‚The train being so late—perhaps he grew tired of waiting. He will be here presently. But, if he should not come—surely I can find a hotel?‘
‚There’s lodgings to be had. Get the station agent to show you. If you’ll excuse me—this is no place for a lady like you to be alone at night. It’s a rough little town—mostly Mexicans, miners, cowboys. And they carouse a lot. Besides, the revolution across the border has stirred up some excitement along the line. Miss, I guess it’s safe enough, if you—‘
‚Thank you. I am not in the least afraid.‘
As the train started to glide away Miss Hammond walked towards the dimly lighted station. As she was about to enter she encountered a Mexican with sombrero hiding his features and a blanket mantling his shoulders.
‚Is there any one here to meet Miss Hammond?‘ she asked.
‚No sabe, Senora, ‚ he replied from under the muffling blanket, and he shuffled away into the shadow.
She entered the empty waiting-room. An oil-lamp gave out a thick yellow light. The ticket window was open, and through it she saw there was neither agent nor operator in the little compartment. A telegraph instrument clicked faintly…
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