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diff --git a/13345-0.txt b/13345-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1cf1784 --- /dev/null +++ b/13345-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11022 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13345 *** + +[Transcriber's note: The spelling irregularities of the original have +been preserved in this etext.] + + +VANGUARDS +OF THE PLAINS + +[Illustration: I COULD NOT SPEAK THEN, FOR ONE SENTENCE WAS RINGING IN +MY EARS--"I WAS ALWAYS THINKING OF YOU"] + +VANGUARDS OF +THE PLAINS + +A ROMANCE OF THE OLD SANTA FÉ TRAIL + +BY +MARGARET HILL McCARTER + +AUTHOR OF +_The Price of the Prairie_ + +HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS +NEW YORK AND LONDON + +[Illustration] + +VANGUARDS OF THE PLAINS + +1917, Harper & Brothers +Printed in the United States of America + + + + +DEDICATION + + +This story of the old Santa Fé Trail would do honor to the memory of +those stalwart men who defied the desert, who walked the prairies +boldly, and who died bravely--_vanguards_ in the building of a firm +highway for the commerce of a westward-moving Empire. + + + + + +CONTENTS + + FOREWORD + +PART I + +CLEARING THE TRAIL + +I. THE BEGINNINGS OF A PLAINSMAN +II. A DAUGHTER OF CANAAN +III. THE WIDENING HORIZON +IV. THE MAN IN THE DARK +V. WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST +VI. SPYING OUT THE LAND +VII. "SANCTUARY" +VIII. THE WILDERNESS CROSSROADS + + +PART II + +BUILDING THE TRAIL + +IX. IN THE MOON OF THE PEACH BLOSSOM +X. THE HANDS THAT CLING +XI. "OUR FRIENDS--THE ENEMY" +XII. THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE PLAINS +XIII. IN THE SHELTER OF SAN MIGUEL +XIV. OPENING THE RECORD +XV. THE SANCTUARY ROCKS OF SAN CHRISTOBAL +XVI. FINISHING TOUCHES +XVII. SWEET AND BITTER WATERS + + +PART III + +DEFENDING THE TRAIL + +XVIII. WHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN +XIX. A MAN'S PART +XX. GONE OUT +XXI. IN THE SHADOW OF THE INFINITE + + +PART IV + +REMEMBERING THE TRAIL + +XXII. THE GOLDEN WEDDING + + + +FOREWORD + +Westward, along the level prairies of a kingdom yet to be, my memory +runs, with a clear vision of the days when romance died not and strong +hearts never failed. The glamour of the plains is before my eyes; the +tingle of courage, danger-born, is in my pulse-beat; the soft hand of +love is touching my hand. I live again the drama of life wherein there +are no idle actors, no stale, unmeaning lines. And beyond the action, +this way _up_ the years, there runs also the forward-gazing vision +toward a new Hesperides: + + + Through the veins + Of whose vast Empire flows, in strength'ning tides, + Trade, the calm health of nations. + + * * * * * + + And sometimes I would doubt + If statesmen, rocked and dandled into power, + Could leave such legacies to kings. + + + +I + +CLEARING THE TRAIL + +VANGUARDS OF THE PLAINS + +A ROMANCE OF THE SANTA FÉ TRAIL + + + + +I + +THE BEGINNINGS OF A PLAINSMAN + + + There came a time in the law of life + When over the nursing sod + The shadows broke, and the soul awoke + In a strange, dim dream of God. + --LANGDON SMITH. + + +It might have been but yesterday that I saw it all: the glinting +sunlight on the yellow Missouri boiling endlessly along at the foot of +the bluff; the flood-washed sands across the river; the tangle of tall, +coarse weeds fringing them, edged by the scrubby underbrush. And beyond +that the big trees of the Missouri woodland, so level against the +eastern horizon that I used to wonder if I might not walk upon their +solid-looking tops if I could only reach them. I wondered, too, why the +trees on our side of the river should vary so in height when those in +the eastern distance were so evenly grown. One day I had asked Jondo the +reason for this, and had learned that it was because of the level ground +on the farther side of the valley. I began then to love the level places +of the earth. I love them still. And, always excepting that one titanic +rift, where the world stands edgewise, with the sublimity of the +Almighty shimmering through its far depths, I love them more than any +other thing that nature has yet offered to me. + +But to come back to that picture of yesterday: old Fort Leavenworth on +the bluff; the little and big ravines that billow the landscape about +it; the faint lines of trails winding along the hillsides toward the +southwest; the unclouded skies so everlastingly big and intensely blue; +and, hanging like a spray of glorious blossoms flung high above me, the +swaying folds of the wind-caressed flag, now drooping on its tall staff, +now swelling full and free, straight from its gripping halyards. + +Between me and the fort many people were passing to and fro, some of +whom were to walk with me down the long trail of years. Evermore that +April day stands out as the beginning of things for me. Dim are the days +behind it, a jumble of happy childish hours, each keen enough as the +things of childhood go; but from that one day to the present hour the +unforgotten deeds of busy years run clearly in my memory as I lift my +pen to write somewhat of their dramatic record. + +And that this may not seem all a backward gaze, let me face about and +look forward from the beginning--a stretch of canvas, lurid sometimes, +sometimes in glorious tinting, sometimes intensely dark, with rifts of +lightning cleaving through its blackness. But nowhere dull, nowhere +without design in every brush-stroke. + +I had gone out on the bluff to watch for the big fish that Bill Banney, +a young Kentuckian over at the fort, had told me were to be seen only on +those April days when the Missouri was running north instead of south. +And that when little boys kept very still, the fish would come out of +the water and play leap-frog on the sand-bars. + +If I failed to see them this morning, I meant to run back to the +parade-ground and play leap-frog myself with my cousin Beverly, who +wanted proof for most of Bill Banney's stories. Beverly was growing wise +and lanky for his age. I was still chubby, and in most things innocent, +and inclined to believe all that I heard, or I should not have been +taken in by that fish story. + +We were orphans with no recollection of any other home than the log +house near the fort. We had been fathered and mothered by our uncle, +Esmond Clarenden, owner of the little store across the square from our +house, and a larger establishment down at Independence on the Missouri +River. + +Always a wonderful man to me was that Esmond Clarenden, product of one +of the large old New England colleges. He found time to guard our young +years with the same diplomatic system by which he controlled all of his +business affairs. He laid his plans carefully and never swerved from +carrying them through afterward; he insisted on order in everything; he +rendered value for value in his contracts; he chose his employees +carefully, and trusted them fully; he had a keen sense of humor, a +genial spirit of good-will, and he loved little children. Fitted as he +was by culture and genius to have entered into the greater opportunities +of the Eastern States, he gave himself to the real up-building of the +West, and in the larger comfort and prosperity and peace of the Kansas +prairies of to-day his soul goes marching on. + +The waters, as I watched them, were all running south toward that vague, +down-stream world shut off by trees at a bend of the course. I waited a +long time there for the current to shift to the north, wondering +meanwhile about those level-topped forests, and what I might see beyond +them if I were sitting on their flat crests. And, as I wondered, the +first dim sense of being _shut in_ came filtering through my childish +consciousness. I could not cross the river. Big as my playground had +always been, I had never been out of sight of the fort's flagstaff +up-stream, nor down-stream. The wooded ravines blocked me on the +southwest. What lay beyond these limits I had tried to picture again and +again. I had been a dreamer all of my short life, and this new feeling +of being shut in, held back, from something slipped upon me easily. + +As I sat on the bluff in the April sunshine, I turned my face toward +the west and stretched out my chubby arms for larger freedom. I wanted +to _see the open level places_, wanted till it hurt me. I could cry +easily enough for some things. I could not cry for this. It was too deep +for tears to reach. Moreover, this new longing seemed to drop down on me +suddenly and overwhelm me, until I felt almost as if I were caught in a +net. + +As I stared with half-seeing eyes toward the wooded ravines beyond the +fort, suddenly through the budding branches I caught sight of a horseman +riding down a half-marked trail into a deep hollow. Horsemen were common +enough to forget in a moment, but when this one reappeared on the hither +side of the ravine, I saw that the rider's face was very dark, that his +dress, from the sombrero to the spurred heel, was Mexican, and that he +was heavily armed, even for a plainsman. When he reached the top of the +bluff he made straight across the square toward my uncle Esmond +Clarenden's little storehouse, and I lost sight of him. + +Something about him seemed familiar to me, for the gift of remembering +faces was mine, even then. A fleeting childish memory called up such a +face and dress somewhere back in the dim days of babyhood, with the +haunting sound of a low, musical voice, speaking in the soft Castilian +tongue. + +But the memory vanished and I sat a long time gazing at the wooded west +that hid the open West of my day-dreams. + +Suddenly Jondo came riding up on his big black horse to the very edge +of the bluff. + +"You are such a little mite, I nearly forgot to see you," he called, +cheerily. "Your Uncle Esmond wants you right away. Mat Nivers, or +somebody else, sent me to run you down," he added, leaning over to lift +me up to a seat on the horse behind him. + +Few handsomer men ever graced a saddle. Big, broad-shouldered, muscular, +yet agile, a head set like a Greek statue, and a face--nobody could ever +make a picture of Jondo's face for me--the curling brown hair, soft as a +girl's, the broad forehead, deep-set blue eyes, heavy dark brow, cheeks +always ruddy through the plain's tan, strong white teeth, firm square +chin, and a smile like sunshine on the gray prairies. Eyes, lips, +teeth--aye, the big heart behind them--all made that smile. No grander +prince of men ever rode the trails or dared the dangers of the untamed +West. I did not know his story for many years. I wish I might never have +known it. But as he began with me, so he ended--brave, beloved old +Jondo! + +Down on the parade-ground Beverly Clarenden and Mat Nivers were sitting +with their feet crossed under them, tailor fashion, facing each other +and talking earnestly. Over by the fort, Esmond Clarenden stood under a +big elm-tree. A round little, stout little man he was, whose sturdy +strength and grace of bearing made up for his lack of height. Like a +great green tent the boughs of the elm, just budding into leaf, drooped +over him. A young army officer on a cavalry horse was talking with him +as we came up. + +"Run over there to Beverly now. Gail," my uncle said, with a wave of his +hand. + +I was always in awe of shoulder-straps, so I scampered away toward the +children. But not until, child-like, I had stared at the three men long +enough to take a child's lasting estimate of things. + +I carry still the keen impression of that moment when I took, +unconsciously, the measure of the three: the mounted army man, commander +of the fort, big in his official authority and force; Jondo on his great +black horse, to me the heroic type of chivalric courage; and between the +two, Esmond Clarenden, unmounted, with feet firmly planted, suggesting +nothing heroic, nothing autocratic. And yet, as he stood there, +square-built, solid, certain, he seemed in some dim way to be the real +man of whom the other two were but shadows. It took a quarter of a +century for me to put into words what I learned with one glance that day +in my childhood. + +As I came running toward the parade-ground Beverly Clarenden called out: + +"Come here, Gail! Shut your little mouth and open your big ears, and +I'll tell you something. Maybe I'd better not tell you all at once, +though. It might make you dizzy," he added, teasingly. + +"And maybe you better had," Mat Nivers said, calmly. + +"Maybe you'd better tell him yourself, if you feel that way," Beverly +retorted. + +"I guess I'll do that," Mat began, with a twinkle in her big gray eyes; +but my cousin interrupted her. + +Beverly loved to tease Mat through me, but he never got far, for I +relied on her to curb him; and she was not one to be ruffled by trifles. +Mat was an orphan and, like ourselves, a ward of Esmond Clarenden, but +there were no ties of kinship between us. She was three years older than +Beverly, and although she was no taller than he, she seemed like a woman +to me, a keen-witted, good-natured child-woman, neat, cleanly, and +contented. I wonder if many women get more out of life in these days of +luxurious comforts than she found in the days of frontier hardships. + +"Well, it's this way, Gail. Mat doesn't know the straight of it," +Beverly began, dramatically. "There's going to be a war, or something, +in Mexico, or somewhere, and a lot of soldiers are coming here to drill, +and drill, and drill. And then--" + +The boy paused for effect. + +"And then, and then, _and_ then--or some time," Mat Nivers mimicked, +jumping into the pause. "Why, they'll go to Mexico, or somewhere. And +what Bev is really trying to tell hasn't anything to do with it--not +directly, anyhow," she added, wisely. "The only new thing is that Uncle +Esmond is going to Santa Fé right away. You know he has bought goods of +the Santa Fé traders since we couldn't remember. And now he's going down +there himself, and he's going to take you boys with him. That's what +Bev is trying to get out, or keep back." + +"Whoopee-diddle-dee!" Beverly shouted, throwing himself backward and +kicking up his heels. + +I jumped up and capered about in glee at the thought of such a journey. +But my heart-throb of childish delight was checked, mid-beat. + +"Won't Mat go, too?" I asked, with a sudden pain at my throat. Mat +Nivers was a part of life to me. + +The smile fell away from the girl's lips. Her big, sunshiny gray eyes +and her laughing good nature always made her beautiful to Beverly and +me. + +"I don't want to go and leave Mat," I insisted. + +"Oh, I do," Beverly declared, boastingly. "It would be real nice and +jolly without her. And what could a little girl do 'way out on the +prairies, and no mother to take care of her, while we were shooting +Indians?" + +He sprang up and took aim at the fort with an imaginary bow and arrow. +But there was a hollow note in his voice as if it covered a sob. + +"She can shoot Indians as good as you can, Beverly Clarenden, and, +besides, there isn't anybody to mother her here but Jondo, and I reckon +he'll go with us, won't he?" I urged. + +Mothering was not in my stock of memories. The heart-hunger of the +orphan child had been eased by the gentleness of Jondo, the championship +of Mat Nivers, and the sure defense of Esmond Clarenden, who said little +to children, and was instinctively trusted by all of them. + +With Beverly's banter the smile came back quickly to Mat's eyes. It was +never lost from them long at a time. + +"Beverly Clarenden, you keep _your_ little mouth shut and _your_ big +ears open," she began, laughingly. "I know the whole sheboodle better 'n +any of you, and I'm not teasing and whimpering both at the same time, +neither. Bev doesn't know anything except what I've told him, and I +wasn't through when you got here, Gail. There is going to be a big war +in Texas, and our soldiers are going to go, and to win, too. Just look +up at that flag there, and remember now, boys, that wherever the Stars +and Stripes go they _stay_." + +"Who told you all that?" Beverly inquired. + +"The stars up in the sky told me that last night," Mat replied, pulling +down the corners of her mouth solemnly. "But Uncle Esmond hasn't +anything to do with the war, nor soldiers, only like he has been doing +here," the girl went on. "He's a store-man, a merchant, and I guess he's +just about as good as a general--a colonel, anyhow. But he's too short +to fight, and too fat to run." + +"He isn't any coward," Beverly objected. + +"Who said he was?" Mat inquired. "He's one of them usefulest men that +keeps things going everywhere." + +"I saw a real Mexican come up out of the ravine awhile ago and go +straight over toward Uncle Esmond's store. What do you suppose he came +here for? Is he a soldier from down there?" I asked. + +"Oh, just one Mexican don't mean anything anywhere, but the war in +Mexico has something to do with our going to Santa Fé, even if Uncle +Esmond is just a nice little store-man. That's all a girl knows about +things," Beverly insisted. + +Mat opened her big eyes wide and looked straight at the boy. + +"I don't pretend to know what I don't know, but I'll bet a million +billion dollars there is something else besides just all this war stuff. +I can't tell it, I just feel it. Anyhow, I'm to stay here with Aunty +Boone till you come back. Girls can be trusted anywhere, but it may take +the whole Army of the West, yet, to follow up and look after two little +runty boys. And let me tell _you_ something, Bev, something I heard +Aunty Boone say this morning." She said: "Taint goin' to be more 'n a +minnit now till them boys grows up an' grows together, same size, same +age. They been little and big, long as they goin' to be. Now you know +what you're coming to." + +Mat was digging in the ground with a stick, and she flipped a clod at +Beverly with the last words. Both of us had once expected to marry her +when we grew up, unless Jondo should carry her away as his bride before +that time. He was a dozen years older than Mat, who was only fourteen +and small for her age. A flush always came to her cheeks when we talked +of Jondo in that way. We didn't know why. + +We sat silent for a little while. A vague sense of desolateness, of the +turning-places of life, as real to children as to older folk, seemed to +press suddenly down upon all three of us. Ours was not the ordinary +child-life even of that day. And that was a time when children had no +world of their own as they have to-day. Whatever developed men and women +became a part of the younger life training as well. And while we were +ignorant of much that many children then learned early, for we had lived +mostly beside the fort on the edge of the wilderness, we were alert, and +self-dependent, fearless and far-seeing. We could use tools readily: we +could build fires and prepare game for cooking; we could climb trees, +set traps, swim in the creek, and ride horses. Moreover, we were bound +to one another by the force of isolation and need for playmates. Our +imagination supplied much that our surroundings denied us. So we felt +more deeply, maybe, than many city-bred children who would have paled +with fear at dangers that we only laughed over. + +No ripple in the even tenor of our days, however, had given any hint of +the coming of this sudden tense oppression on our young souls, and we +were stunned by what we could neither express nor understand. + +"Whatever comes or doesn't come," Beverly said at last, stretching +himself at full length, stomach downward, on the bare ground, "whatever +happens to us, we three will stand by each other always and always, +won't we, Mat?" + +He lifted his face to the girl's. Oh, Beverly! I saw him again one day +down the years, stretched out on the ground like this, lifting again a +pleading face. But that belongs--down the years. + +"Yes, always and always," Mat replied, and then because she had a +Spartan spirit, she added: "But let's don't say any more that way. Let's +think of what you are going to see--the plains, the Santa Fé Trail, the +mountains, and maybe bad Indians. And even old Santa Fé town itself. You +are in for 'the big shift,' as Aunty Boone says, and you've got to be +little men and take whatever comes. It will come fast enough, you can +bet on that." + +Yesterday I might have sobbed on her shoulder. I did not know then that +out on the bluff an hour ago I had come to the first turn in my +life-trail, and that I could not look back now. I did know that I +_wanted to go with Uncle Esmond._ I looked away from Mat's gray eyes, +and Beverly's head dropped on his arms, face downward--looked at nothing +but blue sky, and a graceful drooping flag; nothing but a half-sleepy, +half-active fort; nothing but the yellow April floods far up-stream, +between wooded banks tenderly gray-green in the spring sunshine. But I +did not see any of these things then. Before my eyes there stretched a +vast level prairie, with dim mountain heights beyond them. And marching +toward them westward, westward, past lurking danger, Indians here and +wild beasts there, went three men: the officer on his cavalry mount; +Jondo on his big black horse; Esmond Clarenden, neither mounted nor on +foot, it seemed, but going forward somehow. And between these three and +the misty mountain peaks there was a face--not Mat Nivers's, for the +first time in all my day-dreams--a sweet face with dark eyes looking +straight into mine. And plainly then, just as plainly as I have heard it +many times since then, came a call--the first clear bugle-note of the +child-soul--a call to service, to patriotism, and to love. + +All that afternoon while Mat Nivers sang about her tasks Beverly and I +tried to play together among the elm and cottonwood trees about our +little home, but evening found us wide awake and moping. Instead of the +two tired little sleepy-heads that could barely finish supper, awake, +when night came, we lay in our trundle-bed, whispering softly to each +other and staring at the dark with tear-wet eyes--our spiritual +barometers warning us of a coming change. Something must have happened +to us that night which only the retrospect of years revealed. In that +hour Beverly Clarenden lost a year of his life and I gained one. From +that time we were no longer little and big to each other--we were +comrades. + +It must have been nearly midnight when I crept out of bed and slipped +into the big room where Uncle Esmond and Jondo sat by the fireplace, +talking together. + +"Hello, little night-hawk! Come here and roost," Jondo said, opening his +arms to me. + +I slid into their embrace and snuggled my head against his broad +shoulder, listening to all that was said. Three months later the little +boy had become a little man, and my cuddling days had given place to +the self-reliance of the fearless youngster of the trail. + +"Why do you make this trip now, Esmond?" Jondo asked at length, looking +straight into my uncle's face. + +"I want to get down there right now because I want to get a grip on +trade conditions. I can do better after the war if I do. It won't last +long, and we are sure to take over a big piece of ground there when it +is over. And when that is settled commerce must do the real building-up +of the country. I want to be a part of that thing and grow with it. Why +do you go with me?" + +My uncle looked directly at Jondo, although he asked the question +carelessly. + +"To help you cross the plains. You know the redskins get worse every +trip," Jondo answered, lightly. + +I stared at both of them until Jondo said, laughingly: + +"You little owl, what are you thinking about?" + +"I think you are telling each other stories," I replied, frankly. + +For somehow their faces made me think of Beverly's face out on the +parade-ground that morning, when he had lifted it and looked at Mat +Nivers; and their voices, deep bass as they were, sounded like Beverly's +voice whispering between his sobs, before he went to sleep. + +Both men smiled and said nothing. But when I went to my bed again Jondo +tucked the covers about me and Uncle Esmond came and bade me good +night. + +"I guess you have the makings of a plainsman," he said, with a smile, as +he patted me on the head. + +"The beginnings, anyhow," Jondo added. "He can see pretty far already." + +For a long time I lay awake, thinking of all that Uncle Esmond and Jondo +had said to me. It is no wonder that I remember that April day as if it +were but yesterday. Such days come only to childhood, and oftentimes +when no one of older years can see clearly enough to understand the +bigness of their meaning to the child who lives through them. + +All of my life I had heard stories of the East, of New York and St. +Louis, where there were big houses and wonderful stores. And of +Washington, where there was a President, and a Congress, and a strange +power that could fill and empty Fort Leavenworth at will. I had heard of +the Great Lakes, and of cotton-fields, and tobacco-plantations, and +sugar-camps, and ships, and steam-cars. I had pictured these things a +thousand times in my busy imagination and had longed to see them. But +from that day they went out of my life-dreams. Henceforth I belonged to +the prairies of the West. No one but myself took account of this, nor +guessed that a life-trend had had its commencement in the small events +of one unimportant day. + + + + +II + +A DAUGHTER OF CANAAN + + + One stone the more swings to her place + In that dread Temple of Thy worth; + It is enough that through Thy grace + I saw naught common on Thy earth. + + +The next morning I was wakened by the soft voice of Aunty Boone, our +cook, saying: + +"You better get up! Revilly blow over at the fort long time ago. Wonder +it didn't blow your batter-cakes clear away. Mat and Beverly been up +since 'fore sunup." + +Aunty Boone was the biggest woman I have ever seen. Not the tallest, +maybe--although she measured up to a height of six feet and two +inches--not the fattest, but a woman with the biggest human frame, +overlaid with steel-hard muscles. Yet she was not, in her way, clumsy or +awkward. She walked with a free stride, and her every motion showed a +powerful muscular control. Her face was jet-black, with keen shining +eyes, and glittering white teeth. In my little child-world she was the +strangest creature I had ever known. In the larger world whither the +years of my manhood have led me she holds the same place. + +She had been born a princess of royal blood, heir to a queenship in her +tribe in a far-away African kingdom. In her young womanhood, so the tale +ran, the slave-hunter had found her and driven her aboard a slave-ship +bound for the American coast. He never drove another slave toward any +coast. In Virginia her first purchaser had sold her quickly to a Georgia +planter whose _heirs_ sent her on to Mississippi. Thence she soon found +her way to the Louisiana rice-fields. Nobody came to take her back to +any place she had quitted. "Safety first," is not a recent practice. She +had enormous strength and capacity for endurance, she learned rapidly, +kept her own counsel, obeyed no command unless she chose to do so, and +feared nothing in the Lord's universe. The people of her own race had +little in common with her. They never understood her and so they feared +her. And being as it were outcast by them, she came to know more of the +ways and customs, and even the thoughts, of the white people better than +of her own. Being quick to imitate, she spoke in the correcter language +of those whom she knew best, rather than the soft, ungrammatical dialect +of the plantation slave or the grunt and mumble of the isolated African. +Realizing that service was to be her lot, she elected to render that +service where and to whom she herself might choose. + +One day she had walked into New Orleans and boarded a Mississippi +steamer bound for St. Louis. It took three men to eject her bodily from +the deck into a deep and dangerous portion of the stream. She swam +ashore, and when the steamer made its next stop she walked aboard again. +The three men being under the care of a physician, and the remainder of +the crew burdened with other tasks, she was not again disturbed. Some +time later she appeared at the landing below Fort Leavenworth, and +strode up the slope to the deserted square where Esmond Clarenden stood +before his little store alone in the deepening twilight. + +I have heard that she had had a way of appearing suddenly, like a beast +of prey, in the dusk of the evening, and that few men cared to meet her +at that time alone. + +My uncle was a snug-built man, sixty-two inches high, with small, +shapely hands and feet. Towering above him stood this great, strange +creature, barefooted, ragged, half tiger, half sphinx. + +"I'm hungry. I'll eat or I kill. I'm nobody's slave!" + +The soft voice was full of menace, the glare of famine and fury was in +the burning eyes, and the supple cruelty of the wild beast was in the +clenched hands. + +Esmond Clarenden looked up at her with interest. Then pointing toward +our house he said, calmly: + +"Neither are you anybody's master. Go over there to the kitchen and get +your supper. If you can cook good meals, I'll pay you well. If you +can't, you'll leave here." + +Possibly it was the first time in her strange and varied career that she +had taken a command kindly, and obeyed because she must. And so the +savage African princess, the terror of the terrible slave-ship, the +untamed plantation scourge, with a record for deeds that belong to +another age and social code, became the great, silent, faithful, +fearless servant of the plains; with us, but never of us, in all the +years that followed. But she fitted the condition of her day, and in her +place she stood, where the beloved black mammy of a gentler mold would +have fallen. + +She announced that her name was Daniel Boone, which Uncle Esmond +considered well enough for one of such a westward-roving nature. But +Jondo declared that the "Daniel" belonged to her because, like unto the +Bible Daniel, no lion, nor whole den of lions, would ever dine at her +expense. To us she became Aunty Boone. With us she was always +gentle--docile, rather; and one day we came to know her real measure, +and--we never forgot her. + +I bounced out of bed at her call this morning, and bounced my breakfast +into a healthy, good-natured stomach. The sunny April of yesterday had +whirled into a chilly rain, whipped along by a raw wind. The skies were +black and all the spring verdure was turned to a sickish gray-green. + +"Weather always fit the times," Aunty Boone commented as she heaped my +plate with the fat buckwheat cakes that only she could ever turn off a +griddle. "You packin' up for somepin' now. What you goin' to get is +fo'casted in this here nasty day." + +"Why, we _are_ going away!" I cried, suddenly recalling the day before. +"I wish, though, that Mat could go. Wouldn't you like to go, too, Aunty? +Only, Bev says there's deserts, where there's just rocks and sand and +everything, and no water sometimes. You and Mat couldn't stand that +'cause you are women-folks." + +I stiffened with importance and clutched my knife and fork hard. + +"Couldn't!" Aunty Boone gave a scornful grunt. "Women-folks stands +double more 'n men. You'll see when you get older. I know about you +freightin' off to Santy Fee. _You_ don't know what desset is. _You_ +never _see sand_. You never _feel_ what it is to _want watah_. Only +folks 'cross the ocean in the real desset knows that. Whoo-ee!" + +I remembered the weird tales she had told us of her girlhood--tales that +had thrilled me with wonder--told sometimes in the twilight, sometimes +by the kitchen fire on winter nights, sometimes on long, still, +midsummer afternoons when the air quivered with heat and the Missouri +hung about hot sand-bars, half asleep. + +"What do you know about this trip, Aunty Boone?" I asked, eagerly; for +although she could neither read nor write, she had a sponge-like +absorbing power for keeping posted on all that happened at the fort. + +"Cla'n'den"--the woman never called my uncle by any other name--"he's +goin' to Santy Fee, an' you boys with him, 'cause--" + +She paused and her shining eyes grew dull as they had a way of doing in +her thoughtful or prophetic moments. + +"He knows what for--him an' Jondo. One of 'em's storekeeper an' t'other +a plainsman, but they tote together always--an' they totin' now. You +can't see what, but they totin', they totin', just the same. Now run out +to the store. Things is stirrin'. Things is stirrin'." + +I bolted my cakes, sodden with maple syrup, drank my mug of milk, and +hurried out toward the storehouse. + +Fort Leavenworth in the middle '40's was sometimes an indolent place, +and sometimes a very busy one, depending upon the activity of the +Western frontier. On this raw April morning everything was fairly ajerk +with life and motion. And I knew from child-experience that a body of +soldiers must be coming up the river soon. Horses were rushed to-day +where yesterday they had been leisurely led. Orders were shouted now +that had been half sung a week ago. Military discipline took the place +of fatigue attitudes. There was a banging of doors, a swinging of +brooms, a clatter of tin, and a clanging of iron things. And everywhere +went that slapping wind. And every shallow place in the ground held a +chilly puddle. The government buildings always seemed big and bare and +cold to me. And this morning they seemed drearier than ever, beaten upon +by the fitful swish of the rain. + +In contrast with these were my uncle's snug quarters, for warmth was a +part of Esmond Clarenden's creed. I used to think that the little +storeroom, filled with such things as a frontier fort could find use +for, was the biggest emporium in America, and the owner thereof suffered +nothing, in my eyes, in comparison with A.T. Stewart, the opulent New +York merchant of his day. + +As I ran, bareheaded and coatless, across the wide wet space between our +home and the storehouse a soldier came dashing by on horseback. I dodged +behind him only to fall sprawling in a slippery pool under the very feet +of another horseman, riding swiftly toward the boat-landing. + +Neither man paid any attention to me as I slowly picked myself up and +started toward the store. The soldier had not seen me at all. The other +man's face was dark, and he wore the dress of the Mexican. It was only +by his alertness and skill that his horse missed me, but as he hurried +away he gave no more heed to me than if I had been a stone in his path. + +I had turned my ankle in the fall and I could only limp to the +storehouse and drop down inside. I would not cry out, but I could not +hold back the sobs as I tried to stand, and fell again in a heap at +Jondo's feet. + +"Things were stirrin'" there, as Aunty Boone had said, but withal there +was no disorder. Esmond Clarenden never did business in that way. No +loose ends flapped about his rigging, and when a piece of work was +finished with him, there was nothing left to clear away. Bill Banney, +the big grown-up boy from Kentucky, who, out of love of adventure, had +recently come to the fort, was helping Jondo with the packing of certain +goods. Mat and Beverly were perched on the counter, watching all that +was being done and hearing all that was said. + +"What's the matter, little plainsman?" Jondo cried, catching me up and +setting me on the counter. "Got a thorn in your shoe, or a stone-bruise, +or a chilblain?" + +"I slipped out there behind a soldier on horseback, right in front of a +little old Mexican who was just whirling off to the river," I said, the +tears blinding my eyes. + +"Why, he's turned his ankle! Looks like it was swelling already," Mat +Nivers declared, as she slid from the counter and ran toward me. + +"It's a bad job," Jondo declared. "Just when we want to get off, too." + +"Can't I go with you to Santa Fé, Uncle Esmond?" I wailed. + +"Yes, Gail, we'll fix you up all right," my uncle said, but his face was +grave as he examined my ankle. + +It was a bad job, much worse than any of us had thought at first. And as +they all gathered round me I suddenly noticed the same Mexican standing +in the doorway, and I heard some one, I think it was Uncle Esmond, say: + +"Jondo, you'd better take Gail over to the surgeon right away--" His +voice trailed off somewhere and all was blank nothingness to me. But my +last impression was that my uncle stayed behind with the strange +Mexican. + +In the excitement everybody forgot that I had on neither hat nor coat as +they carried me through the raw wet air to the army surgeon's quarters +beyond the soldiers' barracks. + +A chill and fever followed, and for a week there was only pain and +trouble for me. Nothing else hurt quite so deeply, however, as the fear +of being left behind when the Clarendens should start for Santa Fé. I +would ask no questions, and nobody mentioned the trip, for which +everything was preparing. I began at last to have a dread of being left +in the night, of wakening some morning to find only Mat and myself with +Aunty Boone in the little log house. Uncle Esmond had already been away +for three days, but nobody told me where he had gone, nor why he went, +nor when he would come back. It kept me awake at night, and the loss of +sleep made me nervous and feverish. + +One afternoon about a week after my accident, when Beverly and Mat were +putting the room in order and chattering like a couple of squirrels, +Beverly said, carelessly: + +"Gail, it's been a half a week since Uncle Esmond went down to our other +store in Independence, and we are going to start on our trip just as +soon as he gets back, unless he sends for me and Jondo." + +I knew that he was trying to tell me that they meant to go without me, +for he hurried out with the last words. No boy wants to talk to a +disappointed boy, and I had to clinch my teeth hard to keep back the +tears. + +"I want to get well quicker, Mat. I want to go to Santa Fé with +Beverly," I wailed, making a desperate effort to get out of bed. + +"You cuddle right down there, Gail Clarenden, if you want to get well at +all. If you're real careful you'll be all right in a day or two. Let's +wait for Uncle Esmond to come home before we start any worries." + +It was in her voice, girl or woman, that comforting note that could +always soothe me. + +"Mat, won't you try to get them to let me go?" I pleaded. + +She made no promises, but busied herself with getting my foot into its +place again, singing softly to herself all the while. Then she read me +stories from our few story-books till I fell asleep. + +It was twilight when I wakened. Where I lay I could hear Esmond +Clarenden and Aunty Boone talking in the kitchen, and I listened eagerly +to all they said. + +"But it's no place for a woman," my uncle was urging, gravely. + +"I ain't a woman, I'm a cook. You want cooks if you eats. Mat ain't a +woman, she's a girl. But she's stronger 'n Beverly. If you can't leave +him, how can you leave her? An' Gail never get well if he's left here, +Cla'n'den, now he's got the goin' fever. Never! An' if you never got +back--" + +"I don't believe he would get well, either." Then Uncle Esmond spoke +lower and I could not hear any more. + +Pretty soon Mat and Beverly burst open the door and came dancing in +together, the sweet air of the warm April evening coming in with them, +and life grew rose-colored for me in a moment. + +"We are all going to Santa Fé over the long trail. Every last gun of us. +Aunty Boone, and Mat, and you, and me, and Jondo, and Uncle Esmond, +rag-tag and bobtail. Whoop-ee-diddle-dee!" Beverly threw up his cap, +and, catching Mat by the arms, they whirled around the room together. + +"Who says so, Bev?" I asked, eagerly. + +"Them as knows and bosses everything in this world. Jondo told me, and +he's just the boss's shadow. Now guess who," Beverly replied. + +"It's all true, Gail," Mat assured me. "Esmond Clarenden _is_ going to +Santa Fé in spite of 'war, pestilence, famine, and sword,' as my +_History of the World_ says, and he _is_ going to take son Beverly, and +son Gail to watch son Beverly; and Miss Mat Nivers to watch both of them +and shoo Indians away; and Aunt Daniel Boone to scare the Mexicans into +the Gulf of California, if they act ugly, see!" + +She capered about the room, and as she passed me she stooped and patted +me on the forehead. I didn't want her to do that. I had taken a long +jump away from little-boy-dom a week ago, but I was supremely content +now that all of us were to take the long trail together. + +That evening while Mat and Beverly went to look after some fishing-lines +they had set--Mat and Bev were always going fishing--and Jondo was down +at the store, the officer in command of the fort came in. He paid no +attention to me lying there, all eyes and ears whenever shoulder-straps +were present. + +"What did you decide to do about the trip to Santa Fé?" he asked, as he +tipped back in his chair and settled down to cigars and an evening chat. + +"We shall be leaving on the boat in the morning," my uncle replied. + +The colonel's chair came down with a crack. "You don't mean it!" he +exclaimed. + +"I told you a week ago that I would be starting as soon as possible," +Esmond Clarenden said, quietly. + +"But, man, the war is raging, simply raging, down in Mexico right now. +Our division will be here to commence drill in a few weeks, and we start +for the border in a few months. You are mad to take such a risk." The +commander's voice rose. + +"We must go, that's all!" my uncle insisted. + +"We? We? Who the devil are 'we'? None of my companies mutinied, I hope." + +The words did not sound like a joke, and there was little humor in the +grim face. + +"'We' means Jondo, Banney, a young fellow from Kentucky--" Uncle Esmond +began. + +"Humph! Banney's father carried a gun at Fort Dearborn in 1812. I +thought that young fellow came here for military service," the colonel +commented, testily. + +"Rather say he came for adventure," Esmond Clarenden suggested. + +"He'll get a deuced lot of it in a hurry, if you persuade him off with +you." + +A flush swept over Esmond Clarenden's face, but his good-natured smile +did not fail as he replied: + +"I don't persuade anybody. The rest of the company are my two nephews +and the little girl, my ward, with our cook, Daniel Boone, as +commander-in-chief of the pots and pans and any Indian meat foolish +enough to fall in her way." + +Then came the explosion. Powder would have cost less than the energy +blown off there. The colonel stamped and swore, and sprang to his feet +in opposition, and flung himself down in disgust. + +"Women and children!" he gasped. "Why do you sacrifice helpless innocent +ones?" + +Just then Aunty Boone strode in carrying a log of wood as big as a man's +body, which she deftly threw on the fire. As the flame blazed high she +gave one look at the young officer sitting before it, and then walked +out as silently and sturdily as she had entered. It was such a look as a +Great Dane dog full of superiority and indifference might have given to +a terrier puppy, and from where I lay I thought the military man's face +took on a very strange expression. + +"I 'sacrifice my innocent ones,'" my uncle answered the query, "because +they will be safer with me than anywhere else. Young as they are, there +are some forces against them already." + +"Well, you are going to a perilous place, over a most perilous trail, in +a most perilous time of national affairs, to meet such treacherously +villainous men as New Mexico offers in her market-places right now? And +all for the sake of the commerce of the plains? Why do you take such +chances to do business with such people, Clarenden?" + +Esmond Clarenden had been staring at the burning logs in the big +fireplace during this conversation. He turned now and faced the young +army officer squarely as he said in that level tone that we children had +learned long ago was final: + +"Colonel, I'd go straight to hell and do business with the devil himself +if I had any business dealings with him." + +The colonel's face fell. Slowly he relighted his cigar, and leaned back +again in his chair, and with that diplomacy that covers a skilful +retreat he said, smilingly: + +"If any man west of the Missouri River ever could do that it would be +you, Clarenden. By the holy Jerusalem, the military lost one grand +commander when you chose a college instead of West Point, and the East +lost one well-bred gentleman from its circles of commerce and culture +when you elected to do business on the old Santa Fé Trail instead of +Broadway. But I reckon the West will need just such men as you long +after the frontier fort has become a central point in the country's +civilized area. And, blast you, Clarenden, blast your very picture! No +man can help liking you. Not even the devil if he had the chance. Not +one man in ten thousand would dare to make that trip right now. You've +got the courage of a colonel and the judgment of a judge. Go to Santa +Fé! We may meet you coming back. If we do, and you need us, command us!" + +He gave a courteous salute, and the two began to talk of other things; +among them the purposes that were bringing young men westward. + +"So Banney, right out of old blue-grassy Kentucky, is going to back out +of here and go with you," the colonel remarked. + +"I've hired him to drive one team. It's a lark for him, but the army +would be a lark just the same," Esmond Clarenden declared. "He says he +is to kill rattlesnakes and Mexicans, while Jondo kills Indians and I +sit tight on top of the bales of goods to keep the wind from blowing +them away. And the boys are to be made bridle-wise, _plains-broke_ for +future freighting. That's all that life means to him right now." + +I do not know what else was said, nor what I heard and what I dreamed +after that. If this journey meant a lark to a grown-up boy, it meant a +pilgrimage through fairyland to a young boy like myself. + +And so the new life opened to us; and if the way was fraught with +hardship and danger, it also taught us courage and endurance. Nor must +we be measured by the boy life of to-day. Children lived the grown-up +life then. It was all there was for them to live. + +The yellow Missouri boiled endlessly along by the foot of the bluff. The +flag flapped broadly in the strong breeze that blew in from the west; +the square log house--the only home we had ever known--looked forlornly +after us, with its two front windows with blinds half drawn, like two +half-closed, watching eyes; the cottonwoods and elms, the tiny +storehouse--everything--grew suddenly very dear to us. The fort +buildings throwing long shadows in the early morning, the level-topped +forests east of the Missouri River, and the budding woodland that +overdraped the ravines to the west, even in their silence, seemed like +sentient things, loving us, as we loved them. + +We children had gone all over the place before sunrise and touched +everything, in token of good-by; from some instinct tarrying longest at +the flagpole, where we threw kisses to the great, beautiful banner high +above us. Now, at the moment of leaving all these familiar things of all +our years, a choking pain came to our throats. Mat's eyes filled with +tears and she looked resolutely forward. Beverly and I clutched hands +and shut our teeth together, determined to overcome this home-grip on +our hearts. Aunty Boone sat in a corner of the deck as the boat swung +out into the stream, her eyes dull and unseeing. She never spoke of her +thoughts, but I have wondered often, since that big day of my young +years, if she might not have recalled other voyages: the slave-ship +putting out to sea with the African shores fading behind her; and the +big river steamer at the New Orleans dock where brutal hands had hurled +her from the deck into the dangerous floods of the Mississippi. This was +her third voyage, a brief run from Fort Leavenworth to Independence. She +was apart from her fellow-passengers as in the other two, but now nobody +gave her a curse, nor a blow. + + + + +III + +THE WIDENING HORIZON + + + Whose furthest footsteps never strayed + Beyond the village of his birth, + Is but a lodger for the night + In this old Wayside Inn of Earth. + + +The broad green prairies of the West roll back in huge billows from the +Missouri bluffs, and ripple gently on, to melt at last into the level +grassy plains sloping away to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Up +and down these land-waves, and across these ripples, the old Santa Fé +Trail, the slender pathway of a wilderness-bridging commerce, led out +toward the great Southwest--a thousand weary miles--to end at last, +where the narrow thoroughfare reached the primitive hostelry at the +corner of the plaza in the heart of the capital of a Spanish-Mexican +demesne. + +It was a strange old highway, tying the western frontier of a new, +self-reliant American civilization to the eastern limit of an autocratic +European offshoot, grafted upon an ancient Indian stock of the Western +Hemisphere. In language, nationality, social code, political faith, and +prevailing spiritual creed, the terminals of this highway were as +unlike as their geographical naming. For the trail began at +_Independence_, in Missouri, and ended at Santa Fé, the "_City of the +Holy Faith_," in New Mexico. + +The little trading town of Independence was a busy place in the frontier +years of the Middle West. Ungentle and unlovely as it was, it was the +great gateway between the river traffic on the one side, and the plains +commerce of the far Southwest on the other. At the wharf at Westport, +only a few miles away, the steamers left their cargoes of flour and +bacon, coffee and calicoes, jewelry and sugar--whatever might have a +market value to merchants beyond the desert lands. And here these same +steamers took on furs, and silver bullion, and such other produce of the +mountains and mines and open plains as the opulently laden caravans had +toiled through long days, overland, to bring to the river's wharf. + +To-day the same old gateway stands as of yore. But it may be given only +to men who have seen what I have seen, to know how that our Kansas City, +the Beautiful, could grow up from that old wilderness outpost of +commerce threescore and more years ago. + +The Clarenden store was the busiest spot in the center of this busy +little town. Goods from both lines of trade entered and cleared here. In +front of the building three Conestoga wagons with stout mule teams stood +ready. A fourth wagon, the Dearborn carriage of that time, filled +mostly with bedding, clothing, and the few luxuries a long camping-out +journey may indulge in, waited only for a team, and we would be off to +the plains. + +Jondo and Bill Banney were busy with the last things to be done before +we started. Aunty Boone sat on a pile of pelts inside the store, smoking +her pipe. Beverly and Mat stood waiting in the big doorway, while I sat +on a barrel outside, because my ankle was still a bit stiff. A crowd had +gathered before the store to see us off. It was not such a company as +the soldier-men at the fort. The outlaw, the loafer, the drunkard, the +ruffian, the gambler, and the trickster far outnumbered the stern-faced +men of affairs. When the balance turns the other way the frontier +disappears. Mingling with these was a pale-faced invalid now and then, +with the well-appointed new arrivals from the East. + +"What are we waiting for, Bev?" I asked, as the street filled with men. + +"Got to get another span of moolies for our baby-cart. Uncle Esmond +hadn't counted on the nurse and the cook going, you know, but he rigged +this littler wagon out in a twinkle." + +"That's the family carriage, drawn by spirited steeds. Us children are +to ride in it, with Daniel Boone to help with the driving," Mat added. + +Just then Esmond Clarenden appeared at the door. + +"How soon do you start, Clarenden?" some one in the crowd inquired. + +"Just as soon as I can get a pair of well-broken mules," he replied. +"I'm looking for the man who has them to sell quick. I'm in a hurry." + +"What's your great rush?" a well-dressed stranger asked. "They tell me +things look squally out West." + +"All the more reason for my being in a hurry then," Uncle Esmond +returned. + +"They ain't but three men of you, is they? What do you want of more +mules?" put in an inquisitive idler of the trouble-loving class who +sooner or later turn arguments into bitter brawls. + +"These three children and the cook in there have this wagon. They are +all fair drivers, if I can get the right mules," my uncle said. + +Women and children did not cross the plains in those days, nor could +public welfare allow that so valuable a piece of property as Aunty Boone +would be in the slave-market should be lost to commerce, and the storm +of protest that followed would have overcome a less determined man. It +was not on account of sympathy for the weak and defenseless that called +out all this abuse, but the lawless spirit that stirs up a mob on the +slightest excuse. + +I slid away to the door, where, with Mat and Beverly, I watched Esmond +Clarenden, who was listening with his good-natured smile to all of that +loud street talk. + +"No man's life is insurable in these troublesome times, with our troops +right now down in Mexico," a suave Southern trader urged. "Better sell +your slave and put that nice little gal in a boardin'-school somewhere +in the South." + +"I'll give you a mighty good bargain for that wench, Clarenden. She +might be worth a clare fortune in New Orleans. What d'ye say to a cool +thousand?" another man declared, with a slow. Southern drawl. + +Aunty Boone took the pipe from her lips and looked at the stranger. + +"Y'would!" she grunted, stretching her big right hand across her lap, +like a huge paw with claws ready underneath. + +"Them plains Injuns never was more _hostile_ than they air right now. I +just got in from the mountains an' I know. An' they're bein' set on by +more _hostile_ Mexican devils, and political _intrigs_," a bearded +mountaineer trapper argued. + +"'Sides all that," interposed the suave Southern gentleman, "it's too +early in the spring. Freightin's bound to be delayed by rains--and a +nice little gal with only a nigger--" He was not quite himself, and he +did not try to say more. + +"Seems like some of these gentlemen consider you are some sort of a +fool," a tall, lean Yankee youth observed, as he listened to the babble. + +I had climbed back on the barrel again to see the crowd better, and I +stared at the last speaker. His voice was not unpleasant, but he +appeared pale and weak and spiritless in that company of tanned, rugged +men. Evidently he was an invalid in search of health. We children had +seen many invalids, from time to time, at the fort harmless folk, who +came to fuss, and stayed to flourish, in our gracious land of the open +air. + +"You are a dam' fool," roared a big drunken loafer from the edge of the +crowd. "An' I'd lick you in a minnit if you das step into the middle of +the street onct. Ornery sneak, to take innocent children into such +perils. Come on out here, I tell ye!" + +A growl followed these words. Many men in that company were less than +half sober, and utterly irresponsible. + +"Le's jes' hang the fool storekeepin' gent right now; an' make a +free-fur-all holiday. I'll begin," the drunken ruffian bawled. He was of +the sort that always leads a mob. + +The growl deepened, for blood-lust and drunkenness go together. + +Terrified for my uncle's safety, I stood breathless, staring at the +evil-faced crowd of men going suddenly mad, without excuse. At the +farthest edge of the insipient mob, sitting on his horse and watching my +uncle's face intently, was the very Mexican whom I had twice seen at +Fort Leavenworth. At the drunken rowdy's challenge, I thought that he +half-lifted a threatening hand. But Esmond Clarenden only smiled, with a +mere turn of his head as if in disapproval. In that minute I learned my +first lesson in handling ruffians. I knew that my uncle was not afraid, +and because of that my faith in his power to take care of himself came +back. + +"I want to leave here in half an hour. If you have any good +plains-broke mules you will sell for cash, I can do business with you +right now. If not, the sooner you leave this place the better." + +He lifted his small, shapely hand unclenched, his good-natured smile and +gentlemanly bearing unchanged, but his low voice was stronger than all +the growls of the crowd that fell back like whipped dogs. + +As he spoke a horse-dealer, seeing the gathering before the store, came +galloping up. + +"I'm your man. Money talks so I can understand it. Wait five minutes and +ten seconds and I'll bring a whole strand of mules." + +A rattling of wagons and roar of voices at the far end of the street +told of the arrival of a company coming in from the wharf at Westport, +and the crowd whirled about and made haste toward the next scene of +interest. + +Only two men remained behind, the tall New England youth and the Mexican +on the farther side of the street sitting motionless on his horse. A +moment later he was gone, and the street was empty save for the +pale-faced invalid who had come over to the doorway where Mat and +Beverly and I waited together. + +"Why don't you youngsters stay home with your mother, or is she going +with you?" he asked, a gleam of interest lighting his dull face as he +looked at Mat Nivers. + +"We haven't any of us got a mother," Mat replied, timidly, lifting her +gray eyes to his. + +"Mother! Ain't you all one family?" the young man questioned in +surprise. + +"No, we are three orphan children that Uncle Esmond has adopted all our +lives, I guess." Beverly informed him. + +A wave of sympathy swept over his face. + +"You poor, lonely, unhappy cubs! You've never had a mother to love you!" +he exclaimed, in kindly pity. + +"We aren't poor nor lonely nor unhappy. We have always had Uncle Esmond +and we didn't need a mother," I exclaimed, earnestly. + +The young man stared at me as I spoke. "What's he, a bachelor or married +man?" he inquired. + +"He couldn't be married and keep us, I reckon, and he's taking us with +him so nothing will happen to us while he's gone. He's really truly +Bev's uncle and mine, but he's just the same as uncle to Mat, who hasn't +anybody else," I declared, enthusiastically. Uncle Esmond was my pride, +and I meant that he should be fully appreciated. + +The Yankee gazed at all three of us, his eyes resting longest on Mat's +bright face. The listlessness left his own that minute and a new light +shone on his countenance. But when he turned to my uncle the seeming +lack of all interest in living returned to his face again. + +"Say," he drawled, looking down at the stubborn little merchant from his +slim six feet of altitude, "you are such a dam' fool as our friend, the +tipsy one, says, that I believe I'll go along 'cross the plains with +you, if you'll let me. I've not got a darned thing to lose out there but +a sick carcass that I'm pretty tired of looking after," he went on, +wearily. "I reckon I might as well see the fun through if I never set a +hoof on old Plymouth Rock again. My granddaddy was a minute-man at +Lexington. Say"--he paused, and his sober face turned sad--"if all the +bean-eaters who claim their grandpas were minute-men tell the truth, +there wasn't no glory in winning at Lexington, there was such a +tremendous sight of 'em. I've heard about eight million men myself make +the same claim. But my granddad was the real article in the minute-men +business. And I've always admired his grit most of any man in the world. +He was about your shape, I reckon, from his picture that old man Copley +got out. But, man! he wasn't a patchin' on your coat-sleeve. You are the +preposterous-est unlawful-est infamous-est man I ever saw. It's just +straight murder and suicide you are bent on, takin' this awful chance of +plungin' into a warrin', snake-eatin' country like New Mexico, and I +like you for it. Will you take me as an added burden? If you will, I'll +deposit the price of my state-room right now. I've got only a little wad +of money to get well on or die on. I can spend it either way--not much +difference which. My name is Krane, Rex Krane, and in spite of such a +floopsy name I hail from Boston, U.S.A." + +There was a hopeless sagging about the young man's mouth, redeemed only +by the twinkle in his eye. + +Esmond Clarenden gave him a steady measuring look. He estimated men +easily, and rarely failed to estimate truly. + +"I'll take you on your face value," he answered, "and if you want to +turn back there will be a chance to do it out a hundred miles or more on +the trail. You can try it that far and see how you like it. I'll furnish +you your board. There are always plenty of bedrooms on the ground floor +and in one of the wagons on rainy nights. You can take a shift driving a +team now and then, and every able-bodied man has to do guard duty some +of the time. You understand the dangers of the situation by this time. +Here comes my man," he added, as the horse-dealer appeared, leading a +string of mules up the street. + +"Here's your critters. Take your choice," the dealer urged. + +"I'll take the brown one," my uncle replied, promptly. And the bargain +was closed. + +Mat and Beverly and I had already climbed into our wagon, and Aunty +Boone appeared now at the store door, ready to join us. + +"You takin' that nigger?" the trader asked. + +"Yes. Lead out your best offer now. I want another mule," Esmond +Clarenden replied. + +But the horse-merchant proved to be harder to deal with than the crowd +had been. The foolish risk of losing so valuable a piece of property as +Daniel Boone ought to be in the slave-market taxed his powers of +understanding, profanity, and abuse. + +"Cussin' solid, an' in streaks," Aunty Boone chuckled, softly, as she +listened to him unmoved. + +Equally unmoved was Esmond Clarenden. But his genial smile and +diplomatic power of keeping still did not prevent him from being as set +as the everlasting hills in his own purpose. + +"This here critter is all I'll sell you," the trader declared at last, +pulling a big white-eyed dun animal out of the group. "An' nobody's +goin' to drive her easy." + +"I'll take it," Uncle Esmond said, promptly, and the vicious-looking +beast was brought to where Aunty Boone stood beside the wagon-tongue. + +It was a clear case of hate at first sight, for the mule began to plunge +and squeal the instant it saw her. The woman hesitated not a minute, but +lifting her big ham-like foot, she gave it one broadside kick that it +must have mistaken for a thunderbolt, and in that low purr of hers, that +might frighten a jungle tiger, she laid down the law of the journey. + +"You tote me to Santy Fee, or be a dead mule. Take yo' choice right now! +Git up!" + +For fifty days the one dependable, docile servant of the Clarendens was +the big dun mule, as gentle and kitten-like as a mule can be. + +And so, in spite of opposing conditions and rabble protest and doleful +prophecy and the assurance of certain perils, we turned our faces +toward the unfriendly land of the sunset skies, the open West of my +childish day-dreams. + + * * * * * + +The prairies were splashed with showers and the warm black soil was +fecund with growths as our little company followed the windings of the +old trail in that wondrous springtime of my own life's spring. There +were eight of us: Clarenden, the merchant; Jondo, the big plainsman; +Bill Banney, whom love of adventure had lured from the blue grass of +Kentucky to the prairie-grass of the West; Rex Krane, the devil-may-care +invalid from Boston; and the quartet of us in the "baby cab," as Beverly +had christened the family wagon. Uncle Esmond had added three swift +ponies to our equipment, which Jondo and Bill found time to tame for +riding as we went along. + +We met wagon-trains, scouts, and solitary trappers going east, but so +far as we knew our little company was the only westward-facing one on +all the big prairies. + +"It's just like living in a fairy-story, isn't it, Gail?" Beverly said +to me one evening, as we rounded a low hill and followed a deep little +creek down to a shallow fording-place. "All we want is a real princess +and a real giant. Look at these big trees all you can, for Jondo says +pretty soon we won't see trees at all." + +"Maybe we'll have Indians instead of giants," I suggested. "When do you +suppose we'll begin to see the real _bad_ Indians; not just Osages and +Kaws and sneaky little Otoes and Pot'wat'mies like we've seen all our +lives?" + +"Sooner than we expect," Beverly replied. "Could Mat Nivers ever be a +real princess, do you reckon?" + +"I know she won't," I said, firmly, the vision of that fateful day at +Fort Leavenworth coming back as I spoke--the vision of level green +prairies, with gray rocks and misty mountain peaks beyond. And +somewhere, between green prairies and misty peaks, a sweet child face +with big dark eyes looking straight into mine. I must have been a +dreamer. And in my young years I wondered often why things should be so +real to me that nobody else could ever understand. + +"I used to think long ago at the fort that I'd marry Mat some day," +Beverly said, reminiscently, as if he were looking across a lapse of +years instead of days. + +"So did I," I declared. "But I don't want to now. Maybe our princess +will be at the end of the trail, Bev, a real princess. Still, I love Mat +just as if she were my sister," I hastened to add. + +"So do I," Beverly responded, heartily. + +A little grain of pity for her loss of prestige was mingling with our +subconscious feeling of a need for her help in the day of the giant, if +not in the reign of the princess. + +We were trudging along behind our wagon toward the camping-place for the +night, which lay beyond the crossing of the stream. We had lived much +out of doors at Fort Leavenworth, but the real out of doors of this +journey was telling on us already in our sturdy, up-leaping strength, to +match each new hardship. We ate like wolves, slept like dead things, and +forgot what it meant to be tired. And as our muscles hardened our minds +expanded. We were no longer little children. Youth had set its seal upon +us on the day when our company had started out from Independence toward +the great plains of the Middle West. Little care had we for the +responsibility and perils of such a journey; and because our thoughts +were buoyant our bodies were vigorous. + +Our camp that night was under wide-spreading elm-trees whose roots +struck deep in the deep black loam. After supper Mat and Beverly went +down to fish in the muddy creek. Fishing was Beverly's sport and solace +everywhere. I was to follow them as soon as I had finished my little +chores. The men were scattered about the valley and the camp was +deserted. Something in the woodsy greenness of the quiet spot made it +seem like home to me--the log house among the elms and cottonwoods at +the fort. As I finished my task I wondered how a big, fine house such as +I had seen in pictures would look nestled among these beautiful trees. I +wanted a home here some day, a real home. It was such a pleasant place +even in its loneliness. + +To the west the ground sloped up gently toward the horizon-line, +shutting off the track of the trail beyond the ridge. A sudden longing +came over me to see what to-morrow's journey would offer, bringing back +the sense of being _shut in_ that had made me lose interest in fishes +that wouldn't play leap-frog on the sand-bars. And with it came a +longing to be alone. + +Instead of following Mat and Beverly to the creek I went out to the top +of the swell and stood long in the April twilight, looking beyond the +rim of the valley toward the darkening prairies with the great splendor +of the sunset's afterglow deepening to richest crimson above the +purpling shadows. + +Oh, many a time since that night have I looked upon the Kansas plains +and watched the grandeur of coloring that only the Almighty artist ever +paints for human eyes. And always I come back, in memory, to that April +evening. The soul of a man must have looked out through the little boy's +eyes on that night, and a new mile-stone was set there, making a +landmark in my life trail. For when I turned toward the darkening east +and the shadowy camp where the evening fires gleamed redly in the dusk, +I knew then, as well as I know now, if I could only have put it into +words, that I was not the same little boy who had run up the long slope +to see what lay next in to-morrow's journey. + +I walked slowly back to the camp and sat down beside Esmond Clarenden. + +"What are you thinking about, Gail?" he asked, as I stared at the fire. + +"I wish I knew what would happen next," I replied. + +Jondo was lying at full length on the grass, his elbow bent, and his +hand supporting his head. What a wonderful head it was with its crown of +softly curling brown hair! + +"I wonder if we have done wrong by the children, Clarenden," the big +plainsman said, slowly. + +Uncle Esmond shook his head as he replied: + +"I can't believe it. They may not be safe with us, but we know they +would not have been safe without us." + +Just then Beverly and Mat came racing up from the creek bank. + +"Let us stay up awhile," Mat pleaded. "Maybe we'll be less trouble some +of these days if we hear you talk about what's coming." + +"They are right, Jondo. Gail here wants to know what is coming next, and +Mat wants a share in our councils. What do you want, Beverly?" + +"I want to practise shooting on horseback. I can hit a mark now standing +still. I want to do it on the run," Beverly replied. + +I can see now the earnest look in Esmond Clarenden's eyes as he +listened. I've seen it in a mother's eyes more than once since then, as +she kissed her eldest-born and watched it toddle off alone on its first +day of school; or held her peace, when, breaking home ties, the son of +her heart bade her good-by to begin life for himself in the world +outside. + +The last light of day was lost over the western ridge. The moon was +beginning to swell big and yellow through the trees. Twilight was +darkening into night. Bill Banney and Rex Krane had joined us now, for +every hour we were learning to keep closer together. Jondo threw more +wood on the fire, and we nestled about it in snug, homey fashion as if +we were to listen to a fairy-tale--three children slipping fast out of +childhood into the stern, hard plains life that tried men's souls. As we +listened, the older men told of the perils as well as the fascinating +adventures of trail life, that we might understand what lay before us in +the unknown days. And then they told us stories of the plains, and of +the quaint historic things of Santa Fé; of El Palacio, home of all the +Governors of New Mexico; an Indian pueblo first, it may have been +standing there when William the Norman conquered Harold of the Saxon +dynasty of England; or further back when Charlemagne was hanging heathen +by the great great gross to make good Christians of them; or even when +old Julius Cæsar came and saw and conquered, on either side of the +Rubicon, this same old structure may have sheltered rulers in a world +unknown. They told us of the old, old church of San Miguel, a citadel +for safety from the savage foes of Spain, a sanctuary ever for the +sinful and sorrowing ones. And of the Plaza--sacred ground whereon by +ceremonial form had been established deeds that should change the +destinies of tribes and shape the trend of national pride and power in a +new continent. And of La Garita, place of execution, facing whose blind +wall the victims of the Spanish rule made their last stand, and, +helpless, fell pierced by the bullets of the Spanish soldiery. + +And we children looked into the dying camp-fire and builded there our +own castles in Spain, and hoped that that old flag to which we had +thrown good-by kisses such a little while ago would one day really wave +above old Santa Fé and make it ours to keep. For, young as we were, the +flag already symbolized to us the protecting power of a nation strong +and gentle and generous. + +"The first and last law of the trail is to 'hold fast,'" Jondo said, as +we broke up the circle about the camp-fire. + +"If you can keep that law we will take you into full partnership +to-night," Esmond Clarenden added, and we knew that he meant what he +said. + + + + +IV + +THE MAN IN THE DARK + + + A stone's throw from either hand, + From that well-ordered road we tread, + And all the world is wide and strange. + --KIPLING + + +"We shall come to the parting of the ways to night if we make good time, +Krane," Esmond Clarenden said to the young Bostonian, as we rested at +noon beside the trait. "To-night we camp at Council Grove and from there +on there is no turning back. I had hoped to find a big crowd waiting to +start off from that place. But everybody we have met coming in says that +there are no freighters going west now. Usually there is no risk in +coming alone from Council Grove to the Missouri River, and there is +always opportunity for company at this end of the trail." + +We were sitting in a circle under the thin shade of some +cottonwood-trees beside a little stream; the air of noon, hot above our +heads, was tempered with a light breeze from the southwest. As my uncle +spoke, Rex glanced over at Mat Nivers, sitting beside him, and then +gazed out thoughtfully across the stream. I had never thought her +pretty before. But now her face, tanned by the sun and wind, had a +richer glow on cheek and lip. Her damp hair lay in little wavelets about +her temples, and her big, sunny, gray eyes were always her best feature. + +Girls made their own dresses on the frontier, and I suppose that +anywhere else Mat would have appeared old-fashioned in the neat, +comfortable little gowns of durable gingham and soft woolen stuffs that +she made for herself. But somehow in all that long journey she was the +least travel-soiled of the whole party. + +At my uncle's words she looked up questioningly and I saw the bloom +deepen on her cheek as she met the young man's eyes. Somebody else saw +that shadow of a blush--Bill Banney lying on the ground beside me, and +although he pulled his hat cautiously over his face, I thought he was +listening for the answer. + +The young New-Englander stared long at the green prairie before he +spoke. I never knew whether it was ignorance, or a lack of energy, that +was responsible for his bad grammar in those early days, for Rex Krane +was no sham invalid. The lines on his young face told of suffering, and +the thin, bony hands showed bodily weakness. At length he turned to my +uncle. + +"I started out sort of reckless on this trip," he said, slowly. "I'm +nearly twenty and never been worth a dang to anybody anywhere on God's +earth; so I thought I might as well be where things looked interestin'. +But"--he hesitated--"I'm gettin' a lot stronger every day, a whole lot +stronger. Mebby I'd be of some use afterwhile--I don't know, though. I +reckon I'd better wait till we get to that Council Grove place. Sounds +like a nice locality to rest and think in. Are you goin' on, anyhow, +Clarenden, crowd or no crowd?" + +"Though the heavens fall," my uncle answered, simply. + +Jondo had turned quickly to hear this reply and a great light leaped +into his deep-set blue eyes. I glanced over at Aunty Boone, sitting +apart from us, as she ever chose to do, her own eyes dull, as they +always were when she saw keenest; and I remembered how, back at Fort +Leavenworth, she had commented on this journey, saying: "They tote +together always, an' they're totin' now." Child though I was, I felt +that a something more than the cargo of goods was leading my uncle to +Santa Fé. What I did not understand was his motive for taking Beverly +and Mat and me with him. I had been satisfied before just to go, but now +I wanted very much to know why I was going. + +Council Grove by the Neosho River was the end of civilization for the +freighter. Beyond it the wilderness spread its untamed lengths, and +excepting Bent's Fort far up the Arkansas River on the line of the first +old trail, rarely followed now, it held not a sign of civilization for +the traveler until he should reach the first outposts of the Mexican +almost in the shadow of Santa Fé. It is no wonder that wagon-trains +mobilized here, waiting for an increase in numbers before they dared to +start on westward. And now there were no trains waiting for our coming. +Only a gripping necessity could have led a man like Esmond Clarenden to +take the trail alone in the certain perils of the plains during the +middle '40's. I did not know until long afterward how brave was the +loving heart that beat in that little merchant's bosom. A devotee of +ease and refinement, he walked the prairie trails unafraid, and made the +desert serve his will. + +The dusk of evening had fallen long before we pitched camp that night +under the big oak-trees in the Neosho River valley outside of the little +trading-post. Up in the village a light or two gleamed faintly. From +somewhere in the darkness came the sound of a violin, mingling with loud +talking and boisterous laughter in a distant drinking-den. It would be +some time until moon-rise, and the shadowy places thickened to +blackness. + +In fair weather all of us except Mat Nivers slept in the open. On stormy +nights the younger men occupied one of the wagons, Jondo and Beverly +another, and my uncle and myself the third. Mat had the "baby-cab" as +Beverly called it, with Aunty Boone underneath it. The ground was Aunty +Boone's kingdom. She sat upon it, ate from it, slept on it, and seemed +no more soiled than a snake would be by the contact with it. + +"Some day I goes plop under it, and be ground myself," she used to say. +"Good black soil I make, too," she always added, with her low chuckle. + +To-night we were all in the wagons, for the spring rains had made the +Neosho valley damp and muddy. I was just on the edge of dreamless +slumber when a low voice that seemed to cut the darkness caught my ear. + +"Cla'nden! Cla'nden!" it hissed, softly. + +My uncle slipped noiselessly out to where Aunty Boone stood, her head so +near to the canvas wagon-cover inside of which I lay that I could hear +all that was said. + +She was always a night prowler. What other women learn now from the +evening newspaper or from neighborly gossip she, being created without a +sense of fear, went forth in her time and gathered at first hand. + +"I been prospectin' up 'round the saloon, Cla'nden. They's a nasty mess +of Mexicans in town, all gettin' drunk." + +Then I heard a faint rustle of the bushes and I knew that the woman was +slipping away to her place under the wagon. I remembered the Mexican +whom I had last seen across the street from the Clarenden store in +Independence. These were bad Mexicans, as Aunty Boone had said, and that +man had seemed in a silent way a friend of my uncle. I wondered what +would happen next. It soon happened. My uncle Esmond came inside the +wagon and called, softly: + +"Gail, wake up." + +"I'm awake," I replied, in a half-whisper, as alert as a mystery-loving +boy could be. + +"Slip over to Jondo and tell him there are Mexicans in town, and I'm +going across the river to see what's up. Tell him to wake up everybody +and have them stay in the wagons till I get back." + +He slid away and the shadows ate him. I followed as far as Jondo's +wagon, and gave my message. As I came back something seemed to slip away +before me and disappear somewhere. I dived into our wagon and crouched +down, waiting with beating heart for Uncle Esmond to come back. Once I +thought I heard the sound of a horse's feet on the trail to the +eastward, but I was not sure. + +All was still and black in the little camp for a long time, and then +Esmond Clarenden and Rex Krane crept into the wagon and dropped the flap +behind them. + +"Krane, have you decided about this trip yet?" Uncle Esmond asked. "If +not, you'd better get right up into town and forget us. You can't be too +quick about it, either." + +"Ain't we going to stay here a few days? Why do you want to know +to-night?" + +Rex Krane, Yankee-like, met the query with a query. + +"Because there's a pretty strong party of Mexican desperadoes here who +are going on east, and they mean trouble for somebody. I shouldn't care +to meet them with our strength alone. They are all pretty drunk now and +getting wilder every minute. Listen to that!" + +A yell across the river broke the night stillness. + +"There is no telling how soon they may be over here, hunting for us. We +must get by them some way, for I cannot risk a fight with them here. +Which chance will you choose, the possibility of being overtaken by that +Mexican gang going east, or the perils of the plains and the hostility +of New Mexico right now? It's about as broad one way as the other for +safety, with staying here for a time as the only middle course at +present. But that is a perfectly safe one for you." + +"I am going on with you," Rex Krane said, with his slow Yankee drawl. +"When danger gets close, then I scatter. There's more chance in seven +hundred miles to miss somethin' than there is in a hundred and fifty. +And even a half-invalid might be of some use. Say, Clarenden, how'd you +get hold of this information? You turned in before I did." + +"Daniel Boone went out on scout duty--self-elected. You know she +considers that the earth was made for her to walk on when she chooses to +use it that way. She spied trouble ahead and came back, and gave me the +key to the west door of Council Grove so I could get out early," my +uncle replied. + +"I reckoned as much," Rex declared. + +In the dark I could feel Esmond Clarenden give a start. + +"What do you mean?" he inquired. + +"Oh, I saw the fat lady start out, so I followed her, but I located the +nest of Mexicans before she did, and got a good deal out of their +drunken jargon. And then I cat-footed it back after a snaky-looking, +black Spaniard that seemed to be following her. There were three of us +in a row, but the devil hasn't got the hindmost one, not yet--that's +me." + +"You saw some one follow Daniel into camp?" my uncle broke in, +anxiously. But no threatening peril ever hurried Rex Krane's speech. + +"Yes, and I also followed some one; but I lost him in this ink-well of a +hole, and I was waitin' till he left so I could put the cat out, an' +shut the door, when you cut across the river. I've been sittin' round +now to see that nothin' broke loose till you got back. Meantime, the +thing sort of faded away. I heard a horse gallopin' off east, too. Mebby +they are outpostin' to surround our retreat. I didn't wake Bill. He's +got no more imagination than Bev. If I had needed anybody I'd have +stirred up Gail, here." + +In the dark I fairly swelled with pride, and from that moment Rex Krane +was added to my little list of heroes that had been made up, so far, of +Esmond Clarenden and Jondo and any army officer above the rank of +captain. + +"Krane, you'll do. I thought I had your correct measure back in +Independence," Uncle Esmond said, heartily. "As to the boys, I can risk +them; they are Clarendens. My anxiety is for the little orphan girl. She +is only a child. I couldn't leave her behind us, and I must not let a +hair of her head be harmed." + +"She's a right womanly little thing," Rex Krane said, carelessly; but I +wondered if in the dark his eyes might not have had the same look they +had had at noon when he turned to Mat sitting beside my uncle. Maybe +back at Boston he had a little sister of his own like her. Anyhow, I +decided then that men's words and faces do not always agree. + +Again the roar of voices broke out, and we scrambled from the wagon and +quickly gathered our company together. + +"What did you find out?" Jondo asked. + +"We must clear out of here right away and get through to the other side +of town and be off by daylight without anybody knowing it. They are a +gang of ugly Mexicans who would not let us cross the river if we should +wait till morning. They have already sent a spy over here, and they are +waiting for him to report." + +"Where is he now?" Bill Banney broke in. + +"They's two of him--I know there is," Rex Krane declared. "One of him +went east, to cut us off I reckon; an' t'other faded into nothin' toward +the river. Kind of a double deal, looks to me." + +Both men looked doubtingly at the young man; but without further words, +Jondo took command, and we knew that the big plainsman would put through +whatever Esmond Clarenden had planned. For Aunty Boone was right when +she said, "They tote together." + +"We must snake these wagons through town, as though we didn't belong +together, but we mustn't get too far apart, either. And remember now, +Clarenden, if anybody has to stop and visit with 'em, I'll do it +myself," Jondo said. + +"Why can't we ride the ponies? We can go faster and scatter more," I +urged, as we hastily broke camp. + +"He is right, Esmond. They haven't been riding all their lives for +nothing," Jondo agreed, as Esmond Clarenden turned hesitatingly toward +Mat Nivers. + +In the dim light her face seemed bright with courage. It is no wonder +that we all trusted her. And trust was the large commodity of the plains +in those days, when even as children we ran to meet danger with +courageous daring. + +"You must cross the river letting the ponies pick their own ford," Jondo +commanded us. "Then go through to the ridge on the northwest side of +town. Keep out of the light, and if anybody tries to stop you, ride like +fury for the ridge." + +"Lemme go first," Aunty Boone interposed. "Nobody lookin' for me this +side of purgatory. 'Fore they gets over their surprise I'll be gone. +Whoo-ee!" + +The soft exclamation had a breath of bravery in it that stirred all of +us. + +"You are right, Daniel. Lead out. Keep to the shadows. If you must run +make your mules do record time," Uncle Esmond said. + +"You'll find me there when you stop," Rex Krane declared. No sick man +ever took life less seriously. "I'm goin' ahead to John-the-Baptist this +procession and air the parlor bedrooms." + +"Krane, you are an invalid and a fool. You'd better ride in the wagon +with me," Bill Banney urged. + +"Mebby I am. Don't throw it up to me, but I'm no darned coward, and I'm +foot-loose. It's my job to give the address of welcome over t'other side +of this Mexican settlement." + +The tall, thin young man slouched his cap carelessly on his head and +strode away toward the river. Youth was reckless in those days, and the +trail was the home of dramatic opportunity. But none of us had dreamed +hitherto of Rex Krane's degree of daring and his stubborn will. + +The big yellow moon was sailing up from the east; the Neosho glistened +all jet and silver over its rough bed; the great shadowy oaks looked +ominously after us as we moved out toward the threatening peril before +us. Slowly, as though she had time to kill, Aunty Boone sent the brown +mule and trusty dun down to the river's rock-bottom ford. Slowly and +unconcernedly she climbed the slope and passed up the single street +toward the saloon she had already "prospected." Pausing a full minute, +she swung toward a far-off cabin light to the south, jogging over the +rough ground noisily. The door of the drinking-den was filled with dark +faces as the crowd jostled out. Just a lone wagon making its way +somewhere about its own business, that was all. + +As the crowd turned in again three ponies galloped up the street toward +the slope leading out to the high level prairies beyond the Neosho +valley. But who could guess how furiously three young hearts beat, and +how tightly three pairs of young hands clutched the bridle reins as we +surged forward, forgetting the advice to keep in the shadow. + +Just after we had crossed the river, a man on horseback fell in behind +us. We quickened our speed, but he gained on us. Before we reached the +saloon he was almost even with us, keeping well in the shadow all the +while. In the increasing moonlight, making everything clear to the eye, +I gave one quick glance over my shoulder and saw that the horseman was a +Mexican. I have lived a life so fraught with danger that I should hardly +remember the feeling of fear but for the indelible imprint of that one +terrified minute in the moonlit street of Council Grove. + +Two ruffians on watch outside the saloon sprang up with yells. The door +burst open and a gang of rowdies fairly spilled out around us. We three +on our ponies had the instinctive security on horseback of children born +to the saddle, else we should never have escaped from the half-drunken +crew. I recall the dust of striking hoofs, the dark forms dodging +everywhere, the Mexican rider keeping between us and the saloon door, +and most of all I remember one glimpse of Mat Nivers's face with big, +staring eyes, and firm-set mouth; and I remember my fleeting impression +that she could take care of herself if we could; and over all a sudden +shadow as the moon, in pity of our terror, hid its face behind a tiny +cloud. + +When it shone out again we were dashing by separate ways up the steep +slope to the west ridge, but, strangely enough, the Mexican horseman +with a follower or two had turned away from us and was chasing off +somewhere out of sight. + +Up on top of the bluff, with Rex Krane and Aunty Boone, we watched and +waited. The wooded Neosho valley full of inky blackness seemed to us +like a bottomless gorge of terror which no moonlight could penetrate. We +strained our ears to catch the rattle of the wagons, but the noise from +the saloon, coming faintly now and then, was all the sound we could hear +save the voices of the night rising up from the river, and the +whisperings of the open prairie to the west. + +In that hour Rex Krane became our good angel. + +"Keep the law, 'Hold fast'! You made a splendid race of it, and if +Providence made that fellow lose you gettin' out, and led him and his +gang sideways from you, I reckon she will keep on takin' care of you +till Clarenden resumes control, so don't you worry." + +But for his brave presence the terror of that lonely watch would have +been harder than the peril of the street, for he seemed more like a +gentle mother than the careless, scoffing invalid of the trail. + +Midnight came, and the chill of midnight. We huddled together in our +wagon and still we waited. Down in the village the lights still burned, +and angry voices with curses came to our ears at intervals. + +Meantime the three men across the river moved cautiously, hoping that +we were safe on the bluff, and knowing that they dared not follow us too +rapidly. The wagons creaked and the harness rattled noisily in the night +stillness, as slowly, one by one, they lumbered through the darkness +across the river and up the bank to the village street. Here they halted +and grouped together. + +"We must hide out and wait, Clarenden," Jondo counciled. "I hope +the ponies and the wagon ahead are safe, but they stirred things up. If +we go now we'll all be caught." + +The three wagons fell apart and halted wide of the trail where the +oak-trees made the blackest shade. The minutes dragged out like hours, +and the anxiety for the unprotected group on the bluff made the three +men frantic to hurry on. But Jondo's patience equaled his courage, and +he always took the least risk. It was nearly midnight, and every noise +was intensified. If a mule but moved it set up a clatter of harness +chains that seemed to fill the valley. + +At last a horseman, coming suddenly from somewhere, rode swiftly by each +shadow-hidden wagon, half pausing at the sound of the mules stamping in +their places, and then he hurried up the street. + +"Three against the crowd. If we must fight, fight to kill," Jondo urged, +as the ready firearms were placed for action. + +In a minute or two the crew broke out of the saloon and filled the +moonlit street, all talking and swearing in broken Spanish. + +"Not come yet!" + +"Pedro say they be here to-morrow night!" "We wait till to-morrow +night!" + +And with many wild yells they fell back for a last debauch in the +drinking-den. + +"I don't understand it," Jondo declared. "That fellow who rode by here +ought to have located every son of us, but if they want to wait till +to-morrow night it suits me." + +An hour later, when the village was in a dead sleep, three wagons slowly +pulled up the long street and joined the waiting group at the top, and +the crossing over was complete. + +Dawn was breaking as our four wagons, followed by the ponies, crept away +in the misty light. As we trailed off into the unknown land, I looked +back at the bluff below which nestled the last houses we were to see for +seven hundred miles. And there, outlined against the horizon, a Mexican +stood watching us. I had seen the same man one day riding up from the +ravine southwest of Fort Leavenworth. I had seen him dashing toward the +river the next day. I had watched him sitting across the street from the +Clarenden store in Independence. + +I wondered if it might have been this man who had hung about our camp +the evening before, and if it might have been this same man who rode +between us and the saloon mob, leading the crowd after him and losing us +on the side of the bluff. And as we had eluded the Council Grove danger, +I wondered what would come next, and if he would be in it. + + + + +V + +WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST + + + "So I draw the world together, link by link." + --KIPLING. + + +Day after day we pushed into the unknown wilderness. No wagon-trains +passed ours moving eastward. No moccasined track in the dust of the +trail gave hint of any human presence near. Where to-day the Pullman car +glides in smooth comfort, the old Santa Fé Trail lay like a narrow brown +ribbon on the green desolation of Nature's unconquered domain. Out +beyond the region of long-stemmed grasses, into the short-grass land, we +pressed across a pathless field-of-the-cloth-of-green, gemmed with +myriads of bright blossoms--broad acres on acres that the young years of +a coming century should change into great wheat-fields to help fill the +granaries of the world. How I reveled in it--that far-stretching plain +of flower-starred verdure! It was my world--mine, unending, only +softening out into lavender mists that rimmed it round in one unbroken +fold of velvety vapor. + +At last we came to the Arkansas River--flat-banked, sand-bottomed, +wide, wandering, impossible thing--whose shallow waters followed +aimlessly the line of least resistance, back and forth across its bed. +Rivers had meant something to me. The big muddy Missouri for +Independence and Fort Leavenworth, that its steamers might bring the +soldiers, and my uncle's goods to their places. The little rivers that +ran into the big ones, to feed their currents for down-stream service. +The creeks, that boys might wade and swim and fish, else Beverly would +have lived unhappily all his days. But here was a river that could +neither fetch nor carry. Nobody lived near it, and it had no deep waters +like our beloved, ugly old Missouri. I loved the level prairies, but I +didn't like that river, somehow. I felt exposed on its blank, treeless +borders, as if I stood naked and defenseless, with no haven of cover +from the enemies of the savage plains. + +The late afternoon was hot, the sky was dust-dimmed, the south wind +feverish and strength-sapping. At dawn we had sighted a peak against the +western horizon. We were approaching it now--a single low butte, its +front a sheer stone bluff facing southward toward the river, it lifted +its head high above the silent plains; and to the north it stretched in +a long gentle slope back to a lateral rim along the landscape. The trail +crept close about its base, as if it would cling lovingly to this one +shadow-making thing amid all the open, blaring, sun-bound miles +stretching out on either side of it. + +As Beverly and I were riding in front of Mat's wagon, of which we had +elected ourselves the special guardians, Rex Krane came up alongside +Bill Banney's team in front of us. The young men were no such +hard-and-fast friends as Beverly and I. For some reason they had little +to say to each other. + +"Is that what you call Pike's Peak, Bill?" Rex asked. + +"No, the mountains are a month away. That's Pawnee Rock, and I'll +breathe a lot freer when we get out of sight of that infernal thing," +Bill replied. + +"What's its offense?" Rex inquired. + +"It's the peak of perdition, the bottomless pit turned inside out," Bill +declared. + +"I don't see the excuse for a rock sittin' out here, sayin' nothin', +bein' called all manner of unpleasant names," the young Bostonian +insisted. + +"Well, I reckon you'd find one mighty quick if you ever heard the +soldiers at Fort Leavenworth talk about it once. All the plainsmen dread +it. Jondo says more men have been killed right around this old stone +Sphinx than any other one spot in North America, outside of +battle-fields." + +"Happy thought! Do their ghosts rise up and walk at midnight? Tell me +more," Rex urged. + +"Nobody walks. Everybody runs. There was a terrible Indian fight here +once; the Pawnees in the king-row, and all the hosts of the Midianites, +and Hivites, and Jebusites, Kiowa, Comanche, and Kaw, rag-tag and +bobtail, trying to get 'em out. I don't know who won, but the citadel +got christened Pawnee Rock. It took a fountain filled with blood to do +it, though." + +Rex Krane gave a long whistle. + +"I believe Bill is trying to scare him, Bev," I murmured. + +"I believe he's just precious wasting time," Beverly replied. + +"And so," Bill continued, "it came to be a sort of rock of execution +where romances end and they die happily ever afterward. The Indians get +up there and, being able to read fine print with ease as far away as +either seacoast, they can watch any wagon-train from the time it leaves +Council Grove over east to Bent's Fort on the Purgatoire Creek out west; +and having counted the number of men, and the number of bullets in each +man's pouch, they slip down and jump on the train as it goes by. If the +men can make it to beat them to the top of the rock, as they do +sometimes, they can keep the critters off, unless the Indians are strong +enough to keep them up there and sit around and wait till they starve +for water, and have to come down. It's a grim old fortress, and never +needs a garrison. Indians or white men up there, sometimes they defend +and sometimes attack. But it's a bad place always, and on account of +having our little girl along--" Bill paused. "A fellow gets to see a lot +of country out here," he added. + +"Banney, just why didn't you join the army? You'd have a chance to see a +lot more of the country, if this Mexican War goes on," Rex Krane said, +meditatively. + +"I'd rather be my own captain and order myself to the front, and +likewise command my rear-guard to retire, whenever I doggone please," +Bill said. "It isn't the soldiers that'll do this country the most good. +They are useful enough when they are useful, Lord knows. And we'll +always need a decent few of 'em around to look after women and children, +and invalids," he went on. "I tell you, Krane, it's men like Clarenden +that's going to make these prairies worth something one of these days. +The men who build up business, not them that shoot and run to or from. +That's what the West's got to have. I'm through going crazy about army +folks. One man that buys and sells, if he gives good weight and measure, +is, himself, a whole regiment for civilization." + +Just then Jondo halted the train, and we gathered about him. + +"Clarenden, let's pitch camp at the rock. The horses are dead tired and +this wind is making them nervous. There's a storm due as soon as it lays +a bit, and we would be sort of protected here. A tornado's a giant out +in this country, you know." + +"This tavern doesn't have a very good name with the traveling public, +does it, Clarenden?" Rex Krane suggested. + +"Not very," my uncle replied. "But in case of trouble, the top of it +isn't a bad place to shoot from." + +"What if the other fellow gets there first?" Bill Banney inquired. + +"We can run from here as easily as any other place," Jondo assured us. +"I haven't seen a sign of Indians yet. But we've got to be careful. This +point has a bad reputation, and I naturally begin to _feel_ Indians in +the air as soon as I come in sight of it. If we need the law of the +trail anywhere, we need it here," he admonished. + +Beverly and I drew close together. We were in the land of _bad_ Indians, +but nothing had happened to us yet, and we could not believe that any +danger was near us now, although we were foolishly half hoping that +there might be, for the excitement of it. + +"There's no place in a million miles for anybody to hide, Bill. Where +would Jondo's Indians be?" Beverly asked, as we were getting into camp +order for the night. + +Beverly's disposition to demand proof was as strong here as it had been +in the matter of rivers turning their courses, and fishes playing +leap-frog. + +"They might be behind that ridge out north, and have a scout lying flat +on the top of old Pawnee Rock, up there, lookin' benevolently down at us +over the rim of his spectacles right now," Bill replied, as he pulled +the corral ropes out of the wagon. + +"What makes you think so?" I asked, eagerly. + +"What Jondo said about his _feeling Indians_, I guess, but he reads +these prairie trails as easy as Robinson Crusoe read Friday's footprints +in the sand, and he hasn't read anything in 'em yet. Indians don't +fight at night, anyhow. That's one good thing. Get hold of that rope, +Bev, and pull her up tight," Bill replied. + +Every night our four wagons in camp made a hollow square, with space +enough allowed at the corners to enlarge the corral inside for the +stock. These corners were securely roped across from wagon to wagon. +To-night, however, the corral space was reduced and the quartet of +vehicles huddled closer together. + +At dusk the hot wind came sweeping in from the southwest, a wild, +lashing fury, swirling the sand in great spirals from the river bed. Our +fire was put out and the blackness of midnight fell upon us. The horses +were restless and the mules squealed and stamped. All night the very +spirit of fear seemed to fill the air. + +Just before daybreak a huge black storm-cloud came boiling up out of the +southwest, with a weird yellow band across the sky before it. Overhead +the stars shed a dim light on the shadowy face of the plains. A sudden +whisper thrilled the camp, chilling our hearts within us. + +"Indians near!" We all knew it in a flash. + +Jondo, on guard, had caught the sign first. Something creeping across +the trail, not a coyote, for it stood upright a moment, then bent again, +and was lost in the deep gloom. Jondo had shifted to another angle of +the outlook, had seen it again, and again at a third point. It was +encircling the camp. Then all of us, except Jondo, began to see moving +shapes. He saw nothing for a long time, and our spirits rose again. + +"You must have been mistaken, Jondo," Rex Krane ventured, as he stared +into the black gloom. "Maybe it was just this infernal wind. It's one +darned sea-breeze of a zephyr." + +"I've crossed the plains before. I wasn't mistaken," the big plainsman +replied. "If I had been, you'd still see it. The trouble is that it is +watching now. Everybody lay low. It will come to life again. I hope +there's only one of it." + +We had hardly moved after the first alarm, except to peer about and +fancy that dark objects were closing in upon us. + +It did come to life again. This time on Jondo's side of the camp. +Something creeping near, and nearer. + +The air was motionless and hot above us, the upper heavens were +beginning to be threshed across by clouds, and the silence hung like a +weight upon us. Then suddenly, just beyond the camp, a form rose from +the ground, stood upright, and stretched out both arms toward us. And a +low cry, "Take me. I die," reached our ears. + +Still Jondo commanded silence. Indians are shrewd to decoy their foes +out of the security of the camp. The form came nearer--a little girl, no +larger than our Mat--and again came the low call. The voice was Indian, +the accent Spanish, but the words were English. + +"Come to us!" Esmond Clarenden answered back in a clear, low tone; and +slowly and noiselessly the girl approached the camp. + +I can feel it all now, although that was many years ago: the soft +starlight on the plains; the hot, still air holding its breath against +the oncoming tornado; the group of wagons making a deeper shadow in the +dull light; beyond us the bold front of old Pawnee Rock, huge and gray +in the gloom; our little company standing close together, ready to hurl +a shower of bullets if this proved but the decoy of a hidden foe; and +the girl with light step drawing nearer. Clad in the picturesque garb of +the Southwest Indian, her hair hanging in a great braid over each +shoulder, her dark eyes fixed on us, she made a picture in that dusky +setting that an artist might not have given to his brush twice in a +lifetime on the plains. + +A few feet from us she halted. + +"Throw up your hands!" Jondo commanded. + +The slim brown arms were flung above the girl's head, and I caught the +glint of quaintly hammered silver bracelets, as she stepped forward with +that ease of motion that generations of moccasined feet on sand and sod +and stone can give. + +"Take me," she cried, pleadingly. "The Mexicans steal me from my people +and bring me far away. They meet Kiowa. Kiowa beat me; make me slave." + +She held up her hands. They were lacerated and bleeding. She slipped the +bright blanket from her brown shoulder. It was bruised and swollen. + +"You go to Santa Fé? Take me. I do you good, not bad." + +"What would these Kiowas do to us, then?" + +It was Bill Banney who spoke. + +"They follow you--kill you." + +"Oh, cheerful! I wish you were twins," Rex Krane said, softly. + +Jondo lifted his hand. + +"Let me talk to her," he said. + +Then in her own language he got her story. + +"Here we are." He turned to us. "Stolen from her people by the Mexicans, +probably the same ones we passed in Council Grove; traded to the Kiowas +out here somewhere, beaten, and starved, and held for ransom, or trade +to some other tribe. They are over there behind Pawnee Rock. They got +sight of us somehow, but they don't intend to bother us. They are on the +lookout for a bigger train. She has slipped away while they sleep. If we +send her back she will be beaten and made a slave. If we keep her, they +will follow us for a fight. They are fifty to our six. What shall we +do?" + +"We don't need any Indians to help us get into trouble. We are sure +enough of it without that," Bill Banney declared. "And what's one +Indian, anyhow? She's just--" + +"Just a little orphan girl like Mat," Rex Krane finished his sentence. + +Bill frowned, but made no reply. + +The Indian girl was standing outside the corral, listening to all that +was said, her face giving no sign of the struggle between hope and +despair that must have striven within her. + +"Uncle Esmond, let's take her, and take our chances." Beverly's boyish +voice had a defiant tone, for the spirit of adventure was strong within +him. The girl turned quickly and a great light leaped into her eyes at +the boy's words. + +"Save a life and lose ours. It's not the rule of the plains, +but--there's a higher law like that somewhere, Clarenden," Jondo said, +earnestly. + +The girl came swiftly toward Uncle Esmond and stood upright before him. + +"I will not hide the truth. I go back to Kiowas. They sell me for big +treasure. They will not harm you," she said. "I stay with you, they say +you steal me, and they come at the first bird's song and kill you every +one. They are so many." + +She stood motionless before him, the seal of grim despair on her young +face. + +"What's your name?" Esmond Clarenden asked. "Po-a-be. In your words, +'Little Blue Flower,'" the girl said. + +"Then, Little Blue Flower, you must stay with us." + +She pointed toward the eastern sky where a faint light was beginning to +show above the horizon. "See, the day comes!" + +"Then we will break camp now," my uncle said. + +"Not in the face of this storm, Clarenden," Jondo declared. "You can +fight an Indian. You can't do a thing but 'hold fast' in one of these +hurricanes." + +The air was still and hot. The black cloud swept swiftly onward, with +the weird yellow glow before it. In the solitude of the plains the trail +showed like a ghostly pathway of peril. Before us loomed that grim rock +bluff, behind whose crest lay the sleeping band of Kiowas. It was only +because they slept that Little Blue Flower could steal away in hope of +rescue. + +Hotter grew the air and darker the swiftly rolling clouds; black and +awful stood old Pawnee Rock with the silent menace of its sleeping +enemy. In the stillness of the pause before the storm burst we heard +Jondo's voice commanding us. With our first care for the frightened +stock, we grouped ourselves together as he ordered close under the +bluff. + +Suddenly an angry wind leaped out of the sky, beating back the hot dead +air with gigantic flails of fury. Then the storm broke with tornado rage +and cloudburst floods, and in its track terror reigned. Beverly and I +clung together, and, holding a hand of each, Mat Nivers crouched beside +us, herself strong in this second test of courage as she had been in the +camp that night at Council Grove. + +I have never been afraid of storms and I can never understand why timid +folk should speak of them as of a living, self-directing force bent +purposely on human destruction. I love the splendor of the lightning and +the thunder's peal. From our earliest years, Beverly and Mat and I had +watched the flood-waters of the Missouri sweep over the bottomlands, and +we had heard the winds rave, and the cannonading of the angry heavens. +But this mad blast of the prairie storm was like nothing we had ever +seen or heard before. A yellow glare filled the sky, a half-illumined, +evil glow, as if to hide what lay beyond it. One breathed in fine sand, +and tasted the desert dust. Behind it, all copper-green, a broad, lurid +band swept up toward the zenith. Under its weird, unearthly light, the +prairies, and everything upon them, took on a ghastly hue. Then came the +inky-black storm-cloud--long, funnel-shaped, pendulous--and in its +deafening roar and the thick darkness that could be felt, and the awful +sweep of its all-engulfing embrace, the senses failed and the very +breath of life seemed beaten away. The floods fell in streams, hot, then +suddenly cold. And then a fusillade of hail bombarded the flat prairies, +defenseless beneath the munitions of the heavens. But in all the wild, +mad blackness, in the shriek and crash of maniac winds, in the swirl of +many waters, and chill and fury of the threshing hail, the law of the +trail failed not: "Hold fast." And with our hands gripped in one +another's, we children kept the law. + +Just at the moment when destruction seemed upon us, the long swinging +cloud--funnel lifted. We heard it passing high above us. Then it dropped +against the face of old Pawnee Rock, that must have held the trail law +through all the centuries of storms that have beaten against its bold, +stern front. One tremendous blast, one crashing boom, as if the +foundations of the earth were broken loose, and the thing had left us +far behind. + +Daylight burst upon us in a moment, and the blue heavens smiled down on +the clean-washed prairies. No homes, no crops, no orchards were left in +ruins in those days to mark the cyclone's wrath on wilderness trails. As +the darkness lifted we gathered ourselves together to take hold of life +again and to defend ourselves from our human enemy. + +A shower of arrows from the top of the bluff might rain upon us at any +moment, yelling warriors might rush upon us, or a ring of riders +encircle us. It was in times like this that I learned how quickly men +can get the mastery. + +Jondo and Esmond Clarenden did not delay a minute in protecting the camp +and setting it in order, taking inventory of the lost and searching for +the missing. Three of our number, with one of the ponies, were missing. + +Aunty Boone had crouched in a protected angle at the base of the bluff, +and when we found her she was calmly smoking her pipe. + +"Yo' skeered of this little puff?" she queried. "Yo' bettah see a simoon +on the desset, then. This here--just a racket. What's come of that +little redskin?" + +She was not to be found. Nor was there any trace of Rex Krane anywhere. +In consternation we scanned the prairies far and wide, but only level +green distances were about us, holding no sign of life. We lived hours +in those watching minutes. + +Suddenly Beverly gave a shout, and we saw Little Blue Flower running +swiftly from the sloping side of the bluff toward the camp. Behind her +stalked the young New-Englander. + +"I went up to see what she was in such a hurry for to see," he +explained, simply. "I calculated it would be as interestin' to me as to +her, and if anything was about to cut loose"--he laid a hand carelessly +on his revolver--"why, I'd help it along. The little pink pansy, it +seems, went to look after our friends, the enemy," Rex went on. "The +hail nearly busted that old rock open. I thought once it had. The ponies +are scattered and likewise the Kiowas. Gone helter-skelter, like +the--tornado. The thing hit hard up there. Some ponies dead, and mebby +an Indian or two. I didn't hunt 'em up. I can't use 'em that way," he +added. "So I just said, 'Pax vobiscum!' and a lot of it, and came +kittering back." + +Little Blue Flower's eyes glistened. + +"Gone, all gone. The rain god drove them away. Now I know I may go with +you. The rain god loves you." + +It was to Beverly, and not to my uncle, that her eyes turned as she +spoke, but he was not even listening to her. To him she was merely an +Indian. She seemed more than that to me, and therein lay the difference +between us. + +If she had been interesting under the starlight, in the light of day she +became picturesque, a beautiful type of her race, silent, alert of +countenance, with big, expressive, black eyes, and long, heavy braids of +black hair. With her brilliant blanket about her shoulders, a turquoise +pendant on a leather band at her throat, silver bracelets on her brown +arms, she was as pleasing as an Indian maiden could be--adding a touch +of picturesque life to that wonderful journey westward from Pawnee Rock +to Santa Fé. Aunty Boone alone resented her presence among us. + +"You can trust a nigger," she growled, "'cause you know they none of 'em +no 'count. But you can't tell about this Injun, whether she's good or +bad. I lets that sort of fish alone." + +Little Blue Flower looked up at her with steady gaze and made no reply. + +Out of that morning's events I learned a lasting lesson, and I know now +that the influence of Rex Krane on my life began that day, as I recalled +how he had followed Aunty Boone about the dark corners of the little +trading-post on the Neosho; and how he had looked at Mat Nivers once +when Uncle Esmond had suggested his turning back to Independence; and +how he had gone before all of us, the vanguard, to the top of the bluff +west of Council Grove; and now he had followed this Indian girl. From +that time I knew in my boy heart that this tall, careless Boston youth +had a zealous care for the safety of women and children. How much care, +events would run swiftly on to show me. But welded into my life from +that hour was the meaning of a man's high, chivalric duty. And among all +the lessons that the old trail taught to me, none served me more than +this one that came to me on that sweet May morning beneath the shadow of +Pawnee Rock. + + + + +VI + +SPYING OUT THE LAND + + + City of the Holy Faith, + In thy streets so dim with age, + Do I read not Faith's decay, + But the Future's heritage. + --LILIAN WHITING. + + +Day was passing and the shadows were already beginning to grow purple in +the valleys, long before the golden light had left the opal-crowned +peaks of the Sangre-de-Christo Mountains beyond them. + +On the wide crest of a rocky ridge our wagons halted. Behind us the long +trail stretched back, past mountain height and cañon wall, past barren +slope and rolling green prairie, on to where the wooded ravines hem in +the Missouri's yellow floods. + +Before us lay a level plain, edged round with high mesas, over which +snowy-topped mountain peaks kept watch. A sandy plain, checkered across +by verdant-banded arroyos, and splotched with little clumps of trees and +little fields of corn. In the heart of it all was Santa Fé, a mere group +of dust-brown adobe blocks--silent, unsmiling, expressionless--the +city of the Spanish Mexican, centuries old and centuries primitive. + +As our tired mules slackened their traces and drooped to rest after the +long up-climb, Esmond Clarenden called out: + +"Come here, children. Yonder is the end of the trail." + +We gathered eagerly about him, a picture in ourselves, maybe, in an age +of picturesque things; four men, bronzed and bearded; two sturdy boys; +Mat Nivers, no longer a little girl, it seemed now, with the bloom of +health on her tanned cheeks, and the smile of good nature in wide gray +eyes; beside her, the Indian maiden, Little Blue Flower, slim, brown, +lithe of motion, brief of speech; and towering back of all, the +glistening black face of the big, silent African woman. + +So we stood looking out toward that northwest plain where the trail lost +itself among the low adobe huts huddled together beside the glistening +waters of the Santa Fé River. + +Rex Krane was the first to speak. + +"So that's what we've come out for to see, is it?" he mused, aloud. +"That's the precious old town that we've dodged Indians, and shot +rattlesnakes, and sunburnt our noses, and rain-soaked our dress suits +for! That's why we've pillowed our heads on the cushiony cactus and +tramped through purling sands, and blistered our hands pullin' at +eider-down ropes, and strained our leg-muscles goin' down, and busted +our lungs comin' up, and clawed along the top edge of the world with +nothin' but healthy climate between us and the bottom of the bottomless +pit. Humph! That's what you call Santa Fé! 'The city of the Holy Faith!' +Well, I need a darned lot of 'holy faith' to make me see any city there. +It's just a bunch of old yellow brick-kilns to me, and I 'most wish now +I'd stayed back at Independence and hunted dog-tooth violets along the +Big Blue." + +"It's not Boston, if that's what you were looking for; at least there's +no Bunker Hill Monument nor Back Bay anywhere in sight. But I reckon +it's the best they've got. I'm tired enough to take what's offered and +keep still," Bill Banney declared. + +I, too, wanted to keep still. I had only a faint memory of a real city. +It must have been St. Louis, for there was a wharf, and a steamboat and +a busy street, and soft voices--speaking a foreign tongue. But the +pictures I had seen, and the talk I had heard, coupled with a little +boy's keen imagination, had built up a very different Santa Fé in my +mind. At that moment I was homesick for Fort Leavenworth, through and +through homesick, for the first time since that April day when I had sat +on the bluff above the Missouri River while the vision of the plains +descended upon me. Everything seemed so different to-night, as if a gulf +had widened between us and all the nights behind us. + +We went into camp on the ridge, with the journey's goal in plain view. +And as we sat down together about the fire after supper we forgot the +hardships of the way over which we had come. The pine logs blazed +cheerily, and as the air grew chill we drew nearer together about them +as about a home fireside. + +The long June twilight fell upon the landscape. The piñon and scrubby +cedars turned to dark blotches on the slopes. The valley swam in a +purple mist. The silence of evening was broken only by a faint bird-note +in the bushes, and the fainter call of some wild thing stealing forth at +nightfall from its daytime retreat. Behind us the mesas and headlands +loomed up black and sullen, but far before us the Sangre-de-Christo +Mountains lifted their glorified crests, with the sun's last radiance +bathing them in crimson floods. + +We sat in silence for a long time, for nobody cared to talk. Presently +we heard Aunty Boone's low, penetrating voice inside the wagon corral: + +"You pore gob of ugliness! Yo' done yo' best, and it's green corn and +plenty of watah and all this grizzly-gray grass you can stuff in now. +It's good for a mule to start right, same as a man. Whoo-ee!" + +The low voice trailed off into weird little whoops of approval. Then the +woman wandered away to the edge of the bluff and sat until late that +night, looking out at the strange, entrancing New Mexican landscape. + +"To-morrow we put on our best clothes and enter the city," my uncle +broke the silence. "We have managed to pull through so far, and we +intend to keep on pulling till we unload back at Independence again. +But these are unsafe times and we are in an unsafe country. We are going +to do business and get out of it again as soon as possible. I shall ask +you all to be ready to leave at a minute's notice, if you are coming +back with me!" + +"Now you see why I didn't join the army, don't you, Krane?" Bill Banney +said, aside. "I wanted to work under a real general." + +Then turning to my uncle, he added: + +"I'm already contracted for the round trip, Clarenden." + +"You are going to start back just as if there were no dangers to be +met?" Rex Krane inquired. + +"As if there were dangers to be _met_, not run from," Esmond Clarenden +replied. + +"Clarenden," the young Bostonian began, "you got away from that drunken +mob at Independence with your children, your mules, and your big Daniel +Boone. You started out when war was ragin' on the Mexican frontier, and +never stopped a minute because you had to come it alone from Council +Grove. You shook yourself and family right through the teeth of that +Mexican gang layin' for you back there. You took Little Trailing Arbutus +at Pawnee Rock out of pure sympathy when you knew it meant a fight at +sun-up, six against fifty. And there would have been a bloody one, too, +but for that merciful West India hurricane bustin' up the show. You +pulled us up the Arkansas River, and straddled the Gloriettas, with +every danger that could ever be just whistlin' about our ears. And now +you sit there and murmur softly that 'we are in an unsafe country and +these are unsafe times,' so we'd better be toddlin' back home right +soon. I want to tell _you_ something now." + +He paused and looked at Mat Nivers. Always he looked at Mat Nivers, who +since the first blush one noonday long ago, so it seemed, now, never +appeared to know or care where he looked. He must have had such a sister +himself; I felt sure of that now. + +"I want to tell _you_," Rex repeated, "that I'm goin' to stay with you. +There's something _safe_ about you. And then," he added, carelessly, as +he gazed out toward the darkening plain below us, "my mother always said +you could tie to a man who was good to children. And you've been good to +this infant Kentuckian here." + +He flung out a hand toward Bill Banney without looking away from the +open West. "When you want to start back to God's country and the land of +Plymouth Rocks and Pawnee Rocks, I'm ready to trot along." + +"I'm glad to hear you say that, Krane," Esmond Clarenden said. "I shall +need all the help I can get on the way back. Because we got through +safely we cannot necessarily count on a safe return. I may need you in +Santa Fé, too." + +"Then command me," Rex replied. + +He looked toward Mat again, but she and Little Blue Flower were coiling +their long hair in fantastic fashion about their heads, and laughing +like school-girls together. + +Little Blue Flower was as a shy brown fawn following us. She had a way +of copying Mat's manner, and she spoke less of Indian and Spanish and +more of English from day to day. She had laid aside her Indian dress for +one of Mat's neat gingham gowns. I think she tried hard to forget her +race in everything except her prayers, for her own people had all been +slain by Mexican ruffians. We could not have helped liking her if we had +tried to do so. Yet that invisible race barrier that kept a fixed gulf +between us and Aunty Boone separated us also from the lovable little +Indian lass, albeit the gulf was far less deep and impassable. + +To-night when she and Mat scampered away to the family wagon together, +she seemed somehow to really belong to us. + +Presently Jondo and Rex Krane and Bill and Beverly rolled their blankets +about them and went to sleep, leaving Esmond Clarenden and myself alone +beside the dying fire. The air was sharp and the night silence deepened +as the stars came into the skies. + +"Why don't you go to bed, Gail?" my uncle asked. + +"I'm not sleepy. I'm homesick," I replied. "Come here, boy." He opened +his arms to me, and I nestled in their embrace. + +"You've grown a lot in these two months, little man," he said, softly. +"You are a brave-hearted plainsman, and a good, strong little limb when +it comes to endurance, but just once in a while all of us need a +mothering touch. It keeps us sweet, my boy. It keeps us sweet and fit to +live." + +Oh, many a time in the years that followed did the loving embrace and +the gentle words of this gentle, strong man come back to comfort me. + +"Let me tell you something, Gail. I'm going to need a boy like you to +help me a lot before we leave Santa Fé, and I shall count on you." + +Just then a noise at the far side of the corral seemed to disturb the +stock. A faint stir of awakening or surprise--just a hint in the air. +All was still in a moment. Then it came again. We listened. Something, +an indefinite something, somewhere, was astir. The surprise became +unrest, anxiety, fear, among the mules. + +"Wait here, Gail. I'll see what's up," Uncle Esmond said, in a low +voice. + +He hurried away toward the corral and I slipped back in the shadow of a +rock and leaned against it to wait. + +In the dim beams of a starlit New Mexican sky I could see clearly out +toward the valley, but behind the camp all was darkness. As I waited, +hidden by the shadows, suddenly the flap of the family-wagon cover +lifted and Little Blue Flower slid out as softly as a cat walks in the +dust. She was dressed in her own Indian garb now, with her bright +blanket drawn picturesquely about her head and shoulders. Silently she +moved about the camp, peering toward the shadows hiding me. Then with +noiseless step she slipped toward where Beverly Clarenden lay, his +boyish face upturned to the stars, sleeping the dreamless sleep of +youth and health. I leaned forward and stared hard as the girl +approached him. I saw her drop down on one knee beside him, and, bending +over him, she gently kissed his forehead. She rose and gave one hurried +look around the place and then, like a bird lifting its wings for +flight, she threw up her arms, and in another moment she sprang to the +edge of the ridge and slipped from view. I followed, only to see her +gliding swiftly away, farther and farther, along the dim trail, until +the shadows swallowed her from my sight. + +A low whinny from the corral caught my ear, followed by a rush of +horses' feet. As I slipped into my place again to wait for my uncle to +return, the smoldering logs blazed out suddenly, lighting up the form of +a man who appeared just beyond the fire, so that I saw the face +distinctly. Then he, too, was gone, following the way the Indian girl +had taken, until he lost himself in the misty dullness of the plains. + +Presently Esmond Clarenden came back to the camp-fire. + +"Gail, the pony we lost in that storm at Pawnee Rock has come back to +us. It was standing outside the corral, waiting to get in, just as if it +had lost us for a couple of hours. It is in good condition, too." + +"How could it ever get here?" I exclaimed. + +"Any one of a dozen ways," my uncle replied. "It may have run far that +stormy morning when it broke out of the corral, and possibly some party +coming over the Cimarron Trail picked it up and roved on this way. There +is no telling how it got here, since it keeps still itself about the +matter. Losing and finding and losing again is the law of events on the +plains." + +"But why should it find us right here to-night, like it had been led +back?" I insisted. + +"That's the miracle of it, Gail. It is always the strange thing that +really happens here. In years to come, if you ever tell the truth about +this trip, it will not be believed. When this isn't the frontier any +longer, the story of the trail will be accounted impossible." + +Everything seemed impossible to me as I sat there staring at the dying +fire. Presently I remembered what I had seen while my uncle was away. + +"Little Blue Flower has run away," I said, "and I saw the Mexican that +came to Fort Leavenworth the day before I twisted my ankle. He slipped +by here just a minute ago. I know, for I saw his face when the logs +flared up." + +Esmond Clarenden gave a start. "Gail, you have the most remarkable +memory for faces of any child I ever knew," he said. + +"Did he follow us, too, like the pony, or did he ride the pony after +us?" I asked. "He's just everywhere we go, somehow. Did I ever see him +before he came to the fort, or did I dream it?" + +"You are a little dreamer, Gail," my uncle said, kindly. "But dreams +don't hurt, if you do your part whenever you are needed." + +"Bev and Bill Banney make fun of dreams," I said. + +"Yes, they don't have 'em; but Bev and Bill are ready when it comes to +doing things. They are a good deal alike, daring, and a bit reckless +sometimes, with good hard sense enough to keep them level." + +"Don't I do, too?" I inquired. + +"Yes, you do and dream, both. That's all the better. But you mustn't +forget, too, that sometimes the things we long for in our dreams we must +fight for, and even die for, maybe, that those who come after us may be +the better for our having them. What was it you said about Little Blue +Flower?" Uncle Esmond had forgotten her for the moment. + +"She's gone to Santa Fé, I reckon. Is she bad, Uncle Esmond? Tell me all +about things," I urged. + +"We are all here spying out the land, Mexican, Indian, trader, +freighter, adventurer, invalid," Uncle Esmond replied. "I don't know +what started the little Indian girl off, unless she just felt Indian, as +Jondo would say; but I may as well tell you, Gail, that it may have been +the Mexican who got our pony for us. He is a strange fellow, walks like +a cat, has ears like a timber wolf, and the cunning of a fox." + +"Is he our friend?" I asked, eagerly. + +"Listen, boy. He came to Fort Leavenworth on purpose to bring me an +important message, and he waited at Independence to see us off. Do you +remember the two spies Krane talked about at Council Grove? I think he +followed the Mexican spy across the river to our camp and sent him on +east. Then he went back and got the crowd all mixed up by his report, +while their own man scouted the trail out there for miles all night. He +is the man who put you through town and decoyed the ruffians to one +side. He located us after we had crossed the river, and then broke up +their meeting and put the fellows off to wait till the next night. That +is the way I worked out that Council Grove puzzle. He has a wide range, +and there are big things ahead for him in New Mexico. + +"Sooner or later however," my uncle went on, "we will have to reckon +with that Kiowa tribe for stealing their captive. They meant to return +her for a big ransom price.... Great Heavens, Gail! You seem like a man +to me to-night instead of my little boy back at the fort. The plains +bring years to us instead of months, with just one crossing. I am +counting on you not to tell all you've been told and all you've seen. I +can be sure of you if you can keep things to yourself. You'd better get +to sleep now. There will be plenty to see over in Santa Fé. And there is +always danger afoot. But remember, it is the coward who finds the most +trouble in this world. Do your part with a gentleman's heart and a +hero's hand, and you'll get to the end of every trail safely. Now go to +bed." + +Where I lay that night I could see a wide space of star-gemmed sky, the +blue night-sky of the Southwest, and I wondered, as I looked up into +the starry deeps, how God could keep so many bright bodies afield up +there, and yet take time to guard all the wandering children of men. + +With the day-dawn the strange events of the night seemed as unreal as +the vanishing night-shadows. The bluest skies of a blue-sky land curved +in fathomless majesty over the yellow valley of the Santa Fé. Against +its borders loomed the silent mountain ranges--purple-shaddowed, +silver-topped Ortiz and Jemez, Sandia and Sangre-de-Christo. Dusty and +deserted lay the trail, save that here and there a group of dark-faced +carriers of firewood prodded on their fagot-laden burros toward the +distant town. As our wagons halted at the sandy borders of an arroyo the +brown-clad form of a priest rose up from the shade of a group of scrubby +piñon-trees beside the trail. + +Esmond Clarenden lifted his hat in greeting. + +"Are you going our way? We can give you a ride," he paused to say. + +The man's face was very dark, but it was a young, strong face, and his +large, dark eyes were full of the fire of life. When he spoke his voice +was low and musical. + +"I thank you. I go toward the mountains. You stay here long?" + +"Only to dispose of my goods. My business is brief," Esmond Clarenden +declared. + +The good man leaned forward as if to see each face there, sweeping in +everything at one glance. Then he looked down at the ground. + +"These are troublesome days. War is only a temporary evil, but it makes +for hate, and hate kills as it dies. Love lives and gives life." A smile +lighted his eyes, though his lips were firm. "I wish you well. Among +friends or enemies the one haven of safety always is the holy +sanctuary." + +Uncle Esmond bowed his head reverently. + +"You will find it beside the trail near the river. The walls are very +old and strong, but not so old as hate, nor so strong as love. A little +street runs from it, crooked--six houses away. Peace be to all of you." +He broke off suddenly and his last sentence was spoken in a clear, +strong tone unlike the gentler voice. + +"I thank you, Father!" Jondo said, as the priest passed his wagon. + +The holy man gave him one swift, searching glance. Then lifting his +right hand as if in blessing, and slowly dropping it until the +forefinger pointed toward the west, he passed on his way. + +Jondo's brown cheek flushed and the lines about his mouth grew hard. + +"Take my place, Bev," he said, as he left his wagon and joined Esmond +Clarenden. + +The two spoke earnestly together. Then Jondo mounted Beverly's pony. + +"If you need me--" I heard him say, and he turned away and rode in the +direction the priest had taken. + +Uncle Esmond offered no explanation for this sudden action, and his +sunny face was stern. + +Usually wagon-trains were spied out long before they reached the city, +and a rabble attended their entry. To-day we moved along quietly until +the trail became a mere walled lane. On either side one-story adobe huts +sat with their backs to the street. No windows opened to the front, and +only a wooden door or a closed gateway stared in blank unfriendliness at +the passer-by. Little straggling lanes led off aimlessly on either side, +as narrow and silent as the strange terminal of the long trail itself. + +I was only a boy, with the heart of a boy and the eyes of a boy. I could +only feel; I could not understand the spell of that hour. But to me +everything was alluring, wrapt as it was in the mystery of a +civilization old here when Plymouth Rock felt the first Pilgrim's foot, +or Pawnee Rock stared at the first bold plainsman of the pale face and +the conquering soul. + +I was riding beside Beverly's wagon as we neared the quaint, +centuries-old, adobe church of San Miguel, rising tall and silent above +the low huts about it, its rough walls suggesting a fortress of +strength, while its triple towers might be an outlook for a guardsman. + +"Look at that church. Bev, I wonder how old it is," I exclaimed. + +"I should say about a thousand years and a day," Beverly declared. "See +that flopsy steeple thing! It looks like building-blocks stacked up +there." + +"Maybe this is the sanctuary that priest was talking about," I +suggested. "He said the walls were old as hate and strong as love, with +a crooked street beside it somewhere." + +"Oh, you sponge! Soaking up everything you see and hear. I wonder you +sleep nights for fear the wind will tell the pine trees something you'll +miss," Beverly declared. "I can tell a horse's age by its teeth, but +churches don't have teeth. Go and ask Mat about it. She knows when the +De Sotos and Cortéses and all the other Spanish grandaddees came to +Mexico." + +I had just turned back alongside of Mat's wagon--she was always our book +of ready reference--when a little girl suddenly dashed out of a walled +lane opening into the street behind us. She stopped in the middle of the +road, almost under my pony's feet, then with a shout of laughter she +dashed into the deep doorway of the church and stood there, peering out +at me with eyes brimful of mischief. + +I brought my pony back on its haunches suddenly. I had seen this girl +before. The big dark eyes, the straight little nose, the curve of the +pink cheek, the china-smooth chin and neck, and, crowning all, the cloud +of golden hair shading her forehead and falling in tangled curls behind. + +I did not notice all these features now. It was only the eyes, dark +eyes, somewhere this side of misty mountain peaks, and maybe the halo of +hair that had been in my vision on that day when Beverly and Mat Nivers +and I sat on the parade-ground facing a sudden turn in our life trail. + +I stared at the eyes now, only half conscious that the girl was laughing +at me. + +"You big brown bob-cat! You look like you had slept in the Hondo 'royo +all your life," she cried, and turned to run away again. + +As she did so a dark face peered round the corner of the church from the +crooked street beside it. A sudden gleam of white teeth and glistening +eyes, a sudden leap and grip, and a boy, larger than Beverly, caught the +little girl by the shoulders and shook her viciously. + +She screamed and struggled. Then, with a wild shriek as he clutched at +her curls, she wrenched herself away and plunged inside the church. The +boy dived in after her. Another scream, and I had dropped from my pony +and leaped across the road. I pushed open the door against the two +struggling together. With one grip at his coat-collar I broke his hold +on the little girl and flung him outside. + +I have a faint recollection of a priest hurrying down the aisle toward +the fighting children, as the little girl, freed from her assailant, +dashed out of the door. + +"He jumped at her first, and shook her and pulled her hair," I cried, as +the priest caught me by the shoulder. "I'm not going to see anybody +pitched into, not a little girl, anyhow." + +I jerked myself free from his grasp and ran out to my pony. At the +corner of the church stood the girl, her cheeks flushed, her eyes +blazing defiance, her rumpled curls in a tangle about her face. + +"I hate Marcos, he's so cruel, and"--her voice softened and the defiant +eyes grew mischievous--"you aren't a bob-cat. You're a--Look out!" + +She shouted the last words and disappeared up the narrow, crooked +street, just as a fragment of rock whizzed over my shoulder. I jumped on +my pony to dash away, when another rock just missed my head, and I saw +the boy, Marcos, beside the church, ready for a third hurl. His black +eyes flashed fire, and the grin of malice on his face showed all his +fine white teeth. + +I was as mad as a boy can be. Instead of fleeing, I spurred my pony +straight at him. + +"You little beast, I dare you to throw that rock at me! I dare you!" I +cried. + +The boy dropped the missile and sped away after the girl. I followed in +time to see them enter a doorway, six or seven houses up the way. Then I +turned back, and in a minute I had overtaken our wagons trailing down to +the ford of the Santa Fé River. + +"I thought mebby you'd gone back after Jondo and that holy podder," Rex +Krane greeted me. "Better begin to wink naturally and look a little +pleasanter now. We'll be in the Plazzer in two or three minutes." + +The drivers flourished their whips, the mules caught their spirit, and +with bump and lurch and rattle we swung down the narrow crack between +adobe walls that ended before the old Exchange Hotel at the corner of +the Plaza. + +This open square in the center of the city was shaded by trees and +littered with refuse. The Palace of the Governors fronted it along the +entire north side, a long, low, one-story structure whose massive adobe +walls defy the wearing years. Compared to the kingly palaces of my +imagination, this royal dwelling seemed a very commonplace thing, and +the wide portal, or veranda, that ran along its front looked like one of +the sheds about the barracks at the fort rather than an entranceway for +rulers. Yet this was the house of a ruler hostile to that flag to which +I had thrown a good-by kiss, up at Fort Leavenworth. + +On the other three sides of the Plaza were other low adobe buildings, +for the business of the city faced this central square. + +A crowd was gathered there when we reached it. Somebody standing before +the Palace of the Governors was haranguing in fiery Spanish, if gesture +and oral vehemence are true tokens. + +As our wagons rumbled up to the corner of the square the crowd broke up +with a shout. + +"Los Americanos! Los Carros!" + +The cry went up everywhere as the rabble left the speaker to flock about +us--men, women, children, Mexican, Spanish, Indian, with now and then a +Saxon face among them. Our outfit was as well appointed as such a +journey's end permitted. We were in our best clothes--clean-shaven +gentlemen, well-dressed boys, and one girl, neat and comely in a +dark-blue gown of thin stuff with white lace at throat and wrist; and +last, and biggest of all, Aunty Boone, in a bright-green lawn with +little white dots all over it. + +As I sat on my pony beside my uncle's wagon, I caught sight of the slim +figure of Little Blue Flower, well back in the shade of the Plaza. She +was watching Beverly, who sat in Jondo's wagon, staring at the crowd and +seeing no one in particular. A minute later a tall young Indian boy +stepped in front of her, and when he moved away she was gone. + +Many men came forward to greet Esmond Clarenden, and there were many +inquiries regarding his goods and many exclamations of surprise that he +had come alone with so valuable a cargo. + +It was the first time that Beverly and I had seen him among his equals. +At Fort Leavenworth, where the army overruled everything else, men stood +above him in authority or below him in business affairs; and while he +never cringed to the one, nor patronized the other, where there are no +competitors there are no true measures. That day in the Plaza of Santa +Fé the merchant was in his own kingdom, where commerce stood above +everything else. + +Moreover, this American merchant, following a danger-girt trail, had +come in fearlessly, and those men of the Plaza knew that he was one to +exact value for value in all his dealings. But I believe that his real +power lay in his ready smile, his courtesy, his patience, and his +up-bubbling good nature that made him a friendship-builder. + +Among the men who came to make acquaintance with the American trader was +a Mexican merchant. Evidently he was a man of some importance, for an +interpreter hastened to introduce him, explaining that this man had been +away on a journey of some weeks among the mines of New Mexico and the +Southwest, and only the day before he had come in from Taos. + +"You will find him a prince of merchants, a sound, unprejudiced business +man. His name is Felix Narveo," the American interpreter added. + +The two men shook hands, greeting each other in the Spanish tongue. This +Felix Narveo was well dressed and well groomed, but I recognized him at +once as the Mexican of Fort Leavenworth and Independence and Council +Grove. + +There was one man in that company, however, who did not come forward at +all. When I first caught sight of him he was looking at me. I stared +back at him with a boy's curiosity, but he did not take his eyes from me +until I had dropped my own. After that I watched him keenly. He seemed +almost too fair for a Mexican--a tall, spare-built man with black hair, +and eyes so steely blue that they were almost black. Everywhere I saw +him--at the corners of the little crowd and in the thick of it. He was +an easy mark, for he towered above the rest, and, being slender, he +seemed to worm his way quickly from place to place. At sight of him, +Aunty Boone, who had been peering out with shining eyes, drew her head +in as quick as a snake, under the shadow of the wagon cover, and her +eyes grew dull. He had not seen her, but I could see that he was +watching the remainder of us, and especially my uncle; and I began to +feel afraid of him and to wish that he would leave the Plaza. It was +years ago that all this happened, and yet to-day my fear of that man +still sticks in my memory. + +When he turned away, suddenly I caught sight of the boy, whom I had +flung out of the church, standing behind him, the boy whom the little +girl had called Marcos. Although his face was dark and the man's was +fair, there was a strong likeness between the two. + +This Marcos stared insolently at all of us. Then with a laugh and a +grimace at me, he ran after the man and they disappeared together around +the corner of the Palace of the Governors. And in the rush of strange +sights I forgot them both for a time. + + + + +VII + +"SANCTUARY" + + + Our dwelling-place in all generations.--Psalms xc, 1. + + +They are wonderful to me still--those few brief days that followed. +While Esmond Clarenden was forcing his business transactions to a speedy +climax, he was all the time foreseeing Santa Fé under the United States +Government. He had not come here as a spy, nor a speculator, but as a +commerce-builder, knowing that the same business life would go on when +the war cloud lifted, and that the same men who had made the plains +commerce profitable under the Mexican flag would not be exiled when the +Stars and Stripes should float above the old Palace of the Governors. +Belief in the ethics of his calling and trust in manhood were ever a +large part of his stock in trade, making him dare to go where he chose +to go, and to do what he willed to do. + +But no concern for commerce nor extension of national territory +disturbed our young minds in those sunlit days, as Mat and Beverly and I +looked with the big, quick-seeing eyes of youth on this new strange +world at the end of the trail. + +We were all together in the deserted dining-room on our first evening in +Santa Fé when the man whom I had seen on the Plaza strolled leisurely +in. He sat down at one of the farthest tables from us, and his eyes, +glistening like blue-black steel, were fixed on us. + +Once at Fort Leavenworth I had watched in terror as a bird fluttered +helplessly toward a still, steel-eyed snake holding it in thrall. And +just at the moment when its enemy was ready to strike, Jondo had +happened by and shot the snake's head off. The same terror possessed me +now, and I began half-consciously to long for Jondo. + +In the midst of new sights I had hardly thought of him since he had left +us out beyond the big arroyo. He had come into town at dusk, but soon +after supper he had disappeared. His face was very pale, and his eyes +had a strange look that never left them again. Something was different +in Jondo from that day, but it did not change his gentle nature toward +his fellow-men. During our short stay in Santa Fé we hardly saw him at +all. We children were too busy with other things to ask questions, and +everybody but Rex Krane was too busy to be questioned. Having nothing +else to do, Rex became our chaperon, as Uncle Esmond must have foreseen +he would be when he measured the young man in Independence on the day we +left there. + +To-night Esmond Clarenden, smiling and good-natured, paid no heed to the +sharp eyes of this stranger fixed on him. + +"What's the matter now, little weather-vane? You are always first to +sense a coming change," he declared. + +"Uncle Esmond, I saw that man watching us like he knew us, out there on +the Plaza to-day. Who is he?" I asked, in a low tone. + +"His name is Ferdinand Ramero. You will find him watching everywhere. +Let that man alone as you would a snake," my uncle warned us. + +"Is that his boy?" I asked. + +"What boy?" Uncle Esmond inquired. + +"Marcos, the boy I pitched endways out of the church. He's bigger than +Bev, too," I declared, proudly. + +"Gail Clarenden, are you crazy?" Uncle Esmond exclaimed. + +"No, I'm not," I insisted, and then I told what had happened at the +church, adding, "I saw Marcos with that man in the Plaza, and they went +away together." + +Esmond Clarenden's face grew grave. + +"What kind of a looking child was she, Gail?" he asked, after a pause. + +"Oh, she had yellow hair and big sort of dark eyes! She could squeal +like anything. She wasn't a baby girl at all, but a regular little +fighter kind of a girl." + +I grew bashful all at once and hesitated, but my uncle did not seem to +hear me, for he turned to Rex Krane and said, in low, earnest tones: + +"Krane, if you can locate that child for me you will do me an invaluable +service. It was largely on her account that I came here now, and it's a +god-send to have a fellow like you to save time for me. Every man has +his uses. Your service will be a big one to me." + +The young man's face flushed and his eyes shone with a new light. + +"If any of you happen to see that girl let me know at once," my uncle +said, turning to us, "but, remember, don't act as if you were hunting +for her." + +"I know now right where she lives. It's up a crooked street by that +church. I saw her run in there," I insisted. + +"Every hut looks like every other hut, and every little Mex looks like +every other little Mex," Beverly declared. + +Uncle Esmond smiled, but the stern lines in his face hardly broke as he +said, earnestly, "Keep your eyes open and, whatever you do, stay close +to Krane while Bill helps me here, and don't forget to watch for that +little girl when you are sight-seeing." + +"There's not much to see, as Bev says, but the outside of 'dobe walls +five feet thick," Rex Krane observed. "But if you know which wall to +look through, the lookin' may be easy enough. Seein' things is my +specialty, and we'll get this princess if we have to slay a giant and an +ogre and take a few dozen Mexican scalps first. The plot just thickens. +It's a great game." The tall New-Englander would not take life seriously +anywhere, and, with our trust in his guardianship, we could want no +better chaperon. + +That night Beverly Clarenden and I were in fairyland. + +"It's the princess, Bev, the princess we were looking for," I joyously +asserted. "And, oh, Bev, she is beautiful, but snappy-like, too. She +called me a 'big brown bob-cat', and then she apologized, just as nice +as could be." + +"And this little Marcos cuss, he'll be the ogre," Beverly declared. "But +who'll we have for the giant? That priest, footing it out by that dry +creek-thing they call a 'royo?" + +"Oh no, no! He and Jondo made up together, and Jondo's nobody's bad man +even in a story. It will be that Ferdinand Ramero," I insisted. "But, +say, Bev, Jondo wrote a new name on the register this evening, or +somebody wrote it for him, maybe. It wasn't his own writing. 'Jean +Deau.' I saw it in big, round, back-slanting letters. Why did he do +that?" + +"Well, I reckon that's his real name in big, round, back-slanting +letters down here," Beverly replied. "It's French, and we have just been +spelling it like it sounds, that's all." + +"Well, maybe so," I commented, and when I fell asleep it was to dream of +a princess and Jondo by a strange name, but the same Jondo. + +The air of New Mexico puts iron into the blood. The trail life had +hardened us all, but the finishing touch for Rex Krane came in the +invigorating breath of that mountain-cooled, sun-cleansed atmosphere of +Santa Fé. Shrewd, philosophic, brave-hearted like his historic ancestry, +he laid his plans carefully now, sure of doing what he was set to do. +And the wholesome sense of really serving the man who had measured his +worth at a glance gave him a pleasure he had not known before. Of +course, he moved slowly and indifferently. One could never imagine Rex +Krane hurrying about anything. + +"We'll just 'prospect,' as Daniel Boone says," he declared, as he +marshaled us for the day. "We are strangers, sight-seein', got no other +business on earth, least of all any to take us up to this old San Miguel +Church for unholy purposes. 'Course if we see a pretty little dark-eyed, +golden-haired lassie anywhere, we'll just make a diagram of the spot +she's stand'n' on, for future reference. We're in this game to win, but +we don't do no foolish hurryin' about it." + +So we wandered away, a happy quartet, and the city offered us strange +sights on every hand. It was all so old, so different, so silent, so +baffling--the narrow, crooked street; the solid house-walls that hemmed +them in; the strange tongue, strange dress, strange customs; the absence +of smiling faces or friendly greetings; the sudden mystery of seeking +for one whom we must not seem to seek, and the consciousness of an +enemy, Ferdinand Ramero, whom we must avoid--that it is small wonder +that we lived in fairyland. + +We saw the boy, Marcos, here and there, sometimes staring defiantly at +us from some projected angle; sometimes slipping out of sight as we +approached; sometimes quarreling with other children at their play. But +nowhere, since the moment when I had seen the door close on her up that +crooked street beside the old church, could we find any trace of the +little girl. + +In the dim morning light of our fifth day in Santa Fé, a man on +horseback, carrying a big, bulky bundle in his arms, slipped out of the +crooked, shadow-filled street beside the old church of San Miguel. He +halted a moment before the structure and looked up at the ancient crude +spire outlined against the sky, then sped down the narrow way by the +hotel at the end of the trail. He crossed the Plaza swiftly and dashed +out beyond the Palace of the Governors and turned toward the west. + +Aunty Boone, who slept in the family wagon--or under it--in the +inclosure at the rear of the hotel, had risen in time to peer out of the +wooden gate just as the rider was passing. It was still too dark to see +the man's face distinctly, but his form, and the burden he carried, and +the trappings of the horse she noted carefully, as was her habit. + +"Up to cussedness, that man is. Mighty long an' slim. Lemme see! Humph! +I know _him_. I'll go wake up somebody." + +As the woman leaned far out of the gate she caught sight of a little +Indian girl crouching outside of the wall. + +"You got no business here, you, Little Blue Flower! Where do you live +when you _do_ live?" + +Little Blue Flower pointed toward the west. + +"Why you come hangin' 'round here?" the African woman demanded. + +"Father Josef send me to help the people who help me," she said, in her +soft, low voice. + +"Go back to your own folks, then, and tell your Daddy Joseph a man just +stole a big bunch of something and rode south with it. He can look after +that man. We can get along somehow. Now go." + +The voice was like a growl, and the little Indian maiden shrank back in +the shadow of the wall. The next minute Aunty Boone was rapping softly +on the door of the room whose guest had registered as Jean Deau. Ten +minutes later another horseman left the street beside the hotel and +crossed the Plaza, riding erect and open-faced as only Jondo could ride. +Then the African woman sought out Rex Krane, and in a few brief +sentences told him what had been taking place. All of which Rex was far +too wise to repeat to Beverly and me. + +That afternoon it happened that we left Mat Nivers at the hotel, while +Rex Krane and Beverly and I strolled out of town on a well-beaten trail +leading toward the west. + +"It looks interestin'. Let's go on a ways," Rex commented, lazily. + +Nobody would have guessed from his manner but that he was indulgently +helping us to have a good time with certain restriction as to where we +should go, and what we might say, nor that, of the three, he was the +most alert and full of definite purpose. + +We sat down beside the way as a line of burros loaded with firewood from +the mountains trailed slowly by, with their stolid-looking drivers +staring at us in silent unfriendliness. + +The last driver was the tall young Indian boy whom I had seen standing +in front of Little Blue Flower in the crowd of the Plaza. He paid no +heed to our presence, and his face was expressionless as he passed us. + +"Stupid as his own burro, and not nearly so handsome," Beverly +commented. + +The boy turned quietly and stared at my cousin, who had not meant to be +overheard. Nobody could read the meaning of that look, for his face was +as impenetrable as the adobe walls of the Palace of the Governors. + +"Bev, you are laying up trouble. An Indian never forgets, and you'll be +finding that fellow under your pillow every night till he gets your +scalp," Rex Krane declared, as we went on our way. + +Beverly laughed and stiffened his sturdy young arms. + +"He's welcome to it if he can get it," he said, carelessly. "How many +million miles do we go to-day, Mr. Krane?" + +"Yonder is your terminal," Rex replied, pointing to a little settlement +of mud huts huddling together along the trail. "They call that little +metropolis Agua Fria--'pure water'--because there ain't no water there. +It's the last place to look for anybody. That's why we look there. You +will go in like gentlemen, though--and don't be surprised nor make any +great noise over anything you see there. If a riot starts I'll do the +startin'." + +Carelessly as this was said, we understood the command behind it. + +Near the village, I happened to glance back over the way we had come, +and there, striding in, soft-footed as a cat behind us, was that young +Indian. I turned again just as we reached the first straggling houses at +the outskirts of the settlement, but he had disappeared. + +It was a strange little village, this Agua Fria. Its squat dwellings, +with impenetrable adobe walls, had sat out there on the sandy edge of +the dry Santa Fé River through many and many a lagging decade; a single +trail hardly more than a cart-width across ran through it. A church, +mud-walled and ancient, rose above the low houses, but of order or +uniformity of outline there was none. Hands long gone to dust had shaped +those crude dwellings on this sunny plain where only man decays, though +what he builds endures. + +Nobody was in sight and there was something awesome in the very silence +everywhere. Rex lounged carelessly along, as one who had no particular +aim in view and was likely to turn back at any moment. But Beverly and I +stared hard in every direction. + +At the end of the village two tiny mud huts, separated from each other +by a mere crack of space, encroached on this narrow way even a trifle +more than the neighboring huts. As we were passing these a soft Hopi +voice called: + +"Beverly! Beverly!" And Little Blue Flower, peeping shyly out from the +narrow opening, lifted a warning hand. + +"The church! The church!" she repeated, softly, then darted out of +sight, as if the brown wall were but thick brown vapor into which she +melted. + +"Why, it's our own little girl!" Beverly exclaimed, with a smile, just +as Little Blue Flower turned away, but I am sure she caught his words +and saw his smile. + +We would have called to her, but Rex Krane evidently did not hear her, +for he neither halted nor turned his head. So, remembering our command +to be quiet, we passed on. + +"I guess we are about to the end of this 'pure water' resort. It's +gettin' late. Let's go back home now," our leader said, dispiritedly. So +we turned back toward Santa Fé. + +At the narrow opening where we had seen Little Blue Flower the young +Indian boy stood upright and motionless, and again he gave no sign of +seeing us. + +"Let's just run over to that church a minute while we are here. Looks +interestin' over there," Rex suggested. + +I wondered if he could have heard Little Blue Flower, and thought her +suggestion was a good one, or if this was a mere whim of his. + +The church, a crude mission structure, stood some distance from the +trail. As we entered a priest came forward to meet us. + +"Can I serve you?" he asked. + +The voice was clear and sweet--the same voice that we had heard out +beyond the arroyo southeast of town, the same face, too, that we had +seen, with the big dark eyes full of fire. Involuntarily I recalled how +his hand had pointed to the west when he had pronounced a blessing that +day. + +"Thank you, Father--" Rex began. + +"Josef," the holy man said. + +"Yes, thank you, Father Josef. We are just looking at things. No wish to +be rude, you know." + +Rex lifted his cap and stood bareheaded in the priestly presence. + +Father Josef smiled. + +"Look here, then." + +He led us up the aisle to where, cuddled down on a crude seat, a little +girl lay asleep. Her golden hair fell like a cloud about her face, +flowing over the edge of the seat almost to the floor. Her cheeks were +pink and warm, and her dimpled white hands were clasped together. I had +caught Mat Nivers napping many a time, but never in my life had I seen +anything half so sweet as this sleeping girl in the beauty of her +innocence. And I knew at a glance that this was the same girl whom I had +seen before at the door of the old Church of San Miguel. + +"Same as grown-ups when the sermon is dull. Thank you, Father Josef. +It's a pretty picture. We must be goin' now." Rex Krane dropped some +silver in the priest's hand and we left the church. + +At the door we passed the Indian boy again, and a third time he gave no +sign of seeing us. I was the only one who was troubled, however, for Rex +and Beverly did not seem to notice him. As we left the village I caught +sight of him again following behind us. + +"Look there, Bev," I said, in a low voice. Beverly glanced back, then +turned and stared defiantly at the boy. + +"Maybe Rex knows about Indians," he said, lightly. "That's three times I +found him fooling around in less than an hour, but my scalp is still +hanging over one ear." + +He pushed back his cap and pulled at his bright brown locks. Happy Bev! +How headstrong, brave, and care-free he walked the plains that day. + +The evening shadows were lengthening and the peaks of the +Sangre-de-Christo range were taking on the scarlet stains of sunset when +we raced into town at last. Rex Krane went at once to find Uncle Esmond, +and Beverly and I hurried to the hotel to tell Mat of all that we had +seen. + +Her gray eyes were glowing when she met us at the door and led us into a +corner where we could talk by ourselves. + +"Uncle Esmond has sold everything to that Mexican merchant, Felix +Narveo, and we are going to start home just as soon as he can find that +little girl." + +"Oh, we've found her! We've found her!" Beverly burst out. But Mat +hushed him at once. + +"Don't yell it to the sides, Beverly Clarenden. Now listen!" Mat dropped +her voice almost to a whisper. "He's going to take that little girl back +with us as far as Fort Leavenworth, and then send her on to St. Louis +where she has some folks, I guess." + +"Isn't he a clipper, though," Beverly exclaimed. + +"But what if the Indians should get us?" I asked, anxiously. "I heard +the colonel at Fort Leavenworth just give it to Uncle Esmond one night +for bringing us." + +"You are safe or you are not safe everywhere. And if we got in here I +reckon we can get out," Mat reasoned, philosophically. "And Uncle Esmond +isn't afraid and he's set on doing it. We aren't going to take any goods +back, so we can travel lots faster, and everything will be put in the +wagons so we can grab out what's worth most in a hurry if we have to." + +So we talked matters over now as we had done on that April day out on +the parade-ground at Fort Leavenworth. But now we knew something of what +might be before us on that homeward journey. Thrilling hours those were. +It is no wonder that, schooled by their events, young as we were, we put +away childish things. + +That night while we slept things happened of which we knew nothing for +many years. There was no moon and the glaring yellow daytime plain was +full of gray-edged shadows, under the far stars of a midnight blue sky, +as Esmond Clarenden took the same trail that we had followed in the +afternoon. On to the village of Agua Fria, black and silent, he rode +until he came to the church door. Here he dismounted, and, quickly +securing his horse, he entered the building. The chill midnight wind +swept in through the open door behind him, threatening to blot out the +flickering candles about the altar. Father Josef came slowly down the +aisle to meet him, while a tall man, crouching like a beast about to +spring, rather than a penitent at prayer, shrank down in the shadowy +corner inside the doorway. + +The merchant, solid and square-built and fearless, stood before the +young priest baring his head as he spoke. + +"I come on a grave errand, good Father. This afternoon my two nephews +and a young man from New England came in here and saw a child asleep +under protection of this holy sanctuary. That child's name is Eloise St. +Vrain. I had hoped to find her mother able to care for her. She--cannot +do it, as you know. I must do it for her now. I come here to claim what +it is my duty to protect." + +At these words the crouching figure sprang up and Ferdinand Ramero, his +steel-blue eyes blazing, came forward with cat-like softness. But the +sturdy little man before the priest stood, hat in hand, undisturbed by +any presence there. + +"Father Josef," the tall man began, in a voice of menace, "you will not +protect this American here. I have confessed to you and you know that +this man is my enemy. He comes, a traitor to his own country and a spy +to ours. He has risked the lives of three children by bringing them +across the plains. He comes alone where large wagon-trains dare not +venture. He could not go back to the States now. And lastly, good +Father, he has no right to the child that he claims is here." + +"To the child that is here, asleep beside our sacred altar," Father +Josef said, sternly. + +Ferdinand Ramero turned upon the priest fiercely. + +"Even the Church might go too far," he muttered, threateningly. + +"It might, but it never has," the holy man agreed. Then turning to +Esmond Clarenden, he continued: "You must see that these charges do not +stand against you. Our Holy Church offers no protection, outside of +these four walls, to a traitor or a spy or even an unpatriotic +speculator seeking to profit by the needs of war. Nor could it sanction +giving the guardianship of a child to one who daringly imperils his own +life or the lives of children, nor can it sanction any rights of +guardianship unless due cause be given for granting them." + +Ferdinand Ramero smiled as the priest concluded. He was a handsome man, +with the sort of compelling magnetism that gives controlling power to +its possessor. But because I knew my uncle so well in after years, I can +picture Esmond Clarenden as he stood that night before the young priest +in the little mud-walled church of Agua Fria. And I can picture the +tall, threatening man in the shadows beside him. But never have I held +an image of him showing a sign of fear. + +"Father Josef, I am willing to make any explanation to you. As for this +man whom you call Ramero here--up in the States he bears another name +and I finished with him there six years ago--I have no time nor breath +to waste on him. Are these your demands?" my uncle asked. + +"They are," Father Josef replied. + +"Do I take away the little girl, Eloise, unmolested, if you are +satisfied?" Esmond Clarenden demanded, first making sure of his bargain, +like the merchant he was. + +Ferdinand Ramero stiffened insolently at these words, and looked +threateningly at Father Josef. + +"You do," the holy man replied, something of the flashing light in his +eyes alone revealing what sort of a soldier the State had lost when this +man took on churchly orders. + +"I am no traitor to my flag, since my full commerical purpose was +known and sanctioned by the military authority at Fort Leavenworth +before I left there. I brought no aid to my country's enemy because my +full cargo was bargained for by your merchant, Felix Narveo, before the +declaration of war was made. I merely acted as his agent bringing his +own to him. I have come here as a spy only in this--that I shall profit +in strictly legitimate business by the knowledge I hold of commercial +conditions and my acquaintance with your citizens when this war for +territory ends, no matter how its results may run. I deal in wholesome +trade, not in human hate. I offer value for value, not blood for blood." + +Up to this time a smile had lighted the merchant's eyes. But now his +voice lowered, and the lines about his mouth hardened. + +"As to the guardianship of children, Father Josef, I am a bachelor who +for nearly nine years have given a home, education, support, and +affection to three orphan children, until, though young in years, they +are wise and capable. So zealous was I for their welfare, that when word +came to me--no matter how--that a company of Mexicans were on their way +to Independence, Missouri, ostensibly to seek the protection of the +United States Government and to settle on the frontier there, but really +to seize these children in my absence, and carry them into the heart of +old Mexico, I decided at once that they would be safer with me in New +Mexico than without me in Missouri. + +"In the night I passed this Mexican gang at Council Grove, waiting to +seize me in the morning. At Pawnee Rock a storm scattered a band of +Kiowa Indians to whom these same Mexicans had given a little Indian +slave girl as a reward for attacking our train if the Mexicans should +fail to get us themselves. Through every peril that threatens that long +trail we came safely because the hand of the Lord preserved us." + +Esmond Clarenden paused, and the priest bowed a moment in prayer. + +"If I have dared fate in this journey," the merchant went on, "it was +not to be foolhardy, nor for mere money gains, but to keep my own with +me, and to rescue the daughter of Mary St. Vrain, of Santa Fé, and take +her to a place of safety. It was her mother's last pleading call, as +you, Father Josef, very well know, since you yourself heard her last +words and closed her dead eyes. Under the New Mexican law, the +guardianship of her property rests with others. Mine is the right to +protect her and, by the God of heaven, I mean to do it!" + +Esmond Clarenden's voice was deep and powerful now, filling the old +church with its vehemence. + +Up by the altar, the little girl sat up suddenly and looked about her, +terrified by the dim light and the strange faces there. + +"Don't be afraid, Eloise." + +How strangely changed was this gentle tone from the vehement voice of a +moment ago. + +The little girl sprang up and stared hard at the speaker. But no child +ever resisted that smile by which Esmond Clarenden held Beverly and me +in loving obedience all the days of our lives with him. + +Shaking with fear as she caught sight of Ferdinand Ramero, the girl +reached out her hands toward the merchant, who put his arm protectingly +about her. The big, dark eyes were filled with tears; the head with its +sunny ripples of tangled hair leaned against him for a moment. Then the +fighting spirit came back to her, so early in her young life had the +need for defending herself been forced upon her. + +"Where have I been? Where am I going?" she demanded. + +"You are going with me now," Uncle Esmond said, softly. + +"And never have to fight Marcos any more? Oh, good, good, good! Let's go +now!" + +She frowned darkly at Ferdinand Ramero, and, clutching tightly at Esmond +Clarenden's hands, she began pulling him toward the open door. + +"Eloise," Father Josef said, "you are about to go away with this good +man who will be a father to you. Be a good child as your mother would +want you to be." His musical voice was full of pathos. + +Eloise dropped her new friend's hand and sprang down the aisle. + +"I will be good, Father Josef," she said, squeezing his dark hand +between her fair little palms. Then, tossing back the curls from her +face, she reached up a caressing hand to his cheek. + +Father Josef stooped and kissed her white forehead, and turned hastily +toward the altar. + +"Esmond Clarenden!" It was Ferdinand Ramero who spoke, his sharp, bitter +voice filling the church. + +"By order of this priest Eloise St. Vrain is yours to protect so long as +you stay within these walls. The minute you leave them you reckon with +me." + +Father Josef whirled about quickly, but the man made a scoffing gesture. + +"I brought this child here for protection this morning. But for that +sickly Yankee and two inquisitive imps of boys she would have been safe +here. I acknowledge sanctuary privilege. Use it as long as you choose in +the church of Agua Fria. Set but a foot outside these walls and I say +again you reckon with me." + +His tall form thrust itself menacingly before the little man and his +charge clinging to his arm. + +"Set but a foot outside these walls and _you_ will reckon with _me_." + +It was Jondo's clear voice, and the big plainsman, towering up suddenly +behind Ferdinand Ramero, filled the doorway. + +"You meant to hide in the old Church of San Miguel because it is so near +to the home where you have kept this little girl. But Gail Clarenden +blocked your game and found your house and this child in the church door +before our wagon-train had reached the end of the trail. You found this +church your nearest refuge, meaning to leave it again early in the +morning. I have waited here for you all day, protected by the same means +that brought word to Santa Fé this morning. Come out now if you wish. +You dare not follow me to the States, but I dare to come to your land. +Can you meet me here?" Jondo was handsome in his sunny moods. In his +anger he was splendid. + +Ferdinand Ramero dropped to a seat beside Father Josef. + +"I have told you I cannot face that man. I will stay here now," he said, +in a low voice to the priest. "But I do not stay here always, and I can +send where I do not follow," he added, defiantly. + +Esmond Clarenden was already on his horse with his little charge, snugly +wrapped, in his arms. + +Father Josef at the portal lifted his hand in sign of blessing. + +"Peace be with you. Do not tarry long," he said. Then, turning to Jondo, +he gazed into the strong, handsome face. "Go in peace. He will not +follow. But forget not to love even your enemies." + +In the midnight dimness Jondo's bright smile glowed with all its +courageous sweetness. + +"I finished that fight long ago," he said. "I come only to help others." + +Long these two, priest and plainsman, stood there with clasped hands, +the gray night mists of the Santa Fé Valley round about them and all the +far stars of the midnight sky gleaming above them. + +Then Jondo mounted his horse and rode away up the trail toward Santa Fé. + + + + +VIII + +THE WILDERNESS CROSSROADS + + + I will even make a way in the wilderness. + --ISAIAH. + + +Bent's fort stood alone in the wide wastes of the upper Arkansas valley. +From the Atlantic to the Pacific shores there was in America no more +isolated spot holding a man's home. Out on the north bank of the +Arkansas, in a grassy river bottom, with rolling treeless plains +rippling away on every hand, it reared its high yellow walls in solitary +defiance, mute token of the white man's conquering hand in a savage +wilderness. It was a great rectangle built of adobe brick with walls six +feet through at the base, sloping to only a third of that width at the +top, eighteen feet from the ground. Round bastions, thirty feet high, at +two diagonal corners, gave outlook and defense. Immense wooden doors +guarded a wide gateway looking eastward down the Arkansas River. The +interior arrangement was after the Mexican custom of building, with +rooms along the outer walls all opening into a big _patio_, or open +court. A cross-wall separated this court from the large corral inside +the outer walls at the rear. A portal, or porch, roofed with thatch on +cedar poles, ran around the entire inner rectangle, sheltering the rooms +somewhat from the glare of the white-washed court. A little world in +itself was this Bent's Fort, a self-dependent community in the solitary +places. The presiding genius of this community was William Bent, whose +name is graven hard and deep in the annals of the eastern slopes of the +Rocky Mountain country in the earlier decades of the nineteenth century. + +Hither in the middle '40's the wild trails of the West converged: +northward, from the trading-posts of Bent and St. Vrain on the Platte; +south, over the Raton Pass from Taos and Santa Fé; westward, from the +fur-bearing plateaus of the Rockies, where trappers and traders brought +their precious piles of pelts down the Arkansas; and eastward, half a +thousand miles from the Missouri River frontier--the pathways of a +restless, roving people crossed each other here. And it was toward this +wilderness crossroads that Esmond Clarenden directed his course in that +summertime of my boyhood years. + +The heat of a July sun beat pitilessly down on the scorching plains. The +weary trail stretched endlessly on toward a somewhere in the yellow +distance that meant shelter and safety. Spiral gusts of air gathering +out of the low hills to the southeast picked up great cones of dust and +whirled them zigzagging across the brown barren face of the land. Every +draw was bone dry; even the greener growths along their sheltered +sides, where the last moisture hides itself, wore a sickly sallow hue. + +Under the burden of this sun-glare, and through these stifling +dust-cones, our little company struggled sturdily forward. + +We had left Santa Fé as suddenly and daringly as we had entered it, the +very impossibility of risking such a journey again being our, greatest +safeguard. Esmond Clarenden was doing the thing that couldn't be done, +and doing it quickly. + +In the gray dawn after that midnight ride to Agua Fria a little Indian +girl had slipped like a brown shadow across the Plaza. Stopping at the +door of the Exchange Hotel, she leaned against the low slab of petrified +wood that for many a year served as a loafer's roost before the hotel +doorway. Inside the building Jondo caught the clear twitter of a bird's +song at daybreak, twice repeated. A pause, and then it came again, +fainter this time, as if the bird were fluttering away through the Plaza +treetops. + +In that pause, the gate in the wall had opened softly, and Aunty Boone's +sharp eyes peered through the crack. The girl caught one glimpse of the +black face, then, dropping a tiny leather bag beside the stone, she sped +away. + +A tall young Indian boy, prone on the ground behind a pile of refuse in +the shadowy Plaza, lifted his head in time to see the girl glide along +the portal of the Palace of the Governors and disappear at the corner of +the structure. Then he rose and followed her with silent moccasined +feet. + +And Jondo, who had hurried to the hotel door, saw only the lithe form of +an Indian boy across the Plaza. Then his eye fell on the slender bag +beside the stone slab. It held a tiny scrap of paper, bearing a message: + +_Take long trail QUICK. Mexicans follow far_. Trust bearer anywhere. +JOSEF. + +An hour later we were on our way toward the open prairies and the Stars +and Stripes afloat above Fort Leavenworth. + +In the wagon beside Mat Nivers was the little girl whose face had been +clear in the mystic vision of my day-dreams on the April morning when I +had gone out to watch for the big fish on the sand-bars; the morning +when I had felt the first heart-throb of desire for the trail and the +open plains whereon my life-story would later be written. + +We carried no merchandise now. Everything bent toward speed and safety. +Our ponies and mules were all fresh ones--secured for this journey two +hours after we had come into Santa Fé--save for the big sturdy dun +creature that Uncle Esmond, out of pure sentiment, allowed to trail +along behind the wagons toward his native heath in the Missouri bottoms. + +We had crossed the Gloriettas and climbed over the Raton Pass rapidly, +and now we were nearing the upper Arkansas, where the old trail turns +east for its long stretch across the prairies. + +As far as the eye could see there was no living thing save our own +company in all the desolate plain aquiver with heat and ashy dry. The +line of low yellow bluffs to the southeast hardly cast a shadow save for +a darker dun tint here and there. + +At midday we drooped to a brief rest beside the sun-baked trail. + +"You all jus' one color," Aunty Boone declared. "You all like the dus' +you made of 'cep' Little Lees an' me. She's white and I'm black. Nothin' +else makes a pin streak on the face of the earth." + +Aunty Boone flourished on deserts and her black face glistened in the +sunlight. Deep in the shadow of the wagon cover the face of Eloise St. +Vrain--"Little Lees," Aunty Boone had named her--bloomed pink as a wild +rose in its frame of soft hair. She had become Aunty Boone's meat and +drink from the moment the strange African woman first saw her. This +regard, never expressed in caress nor word of tenderness, showed itself +in warding from the little girl every wind of heaven that might visit +her too roughly. Not that Eloise gave up easily. Her fighting spirit +made her rebel against weariness and the hardships of trail life new to +her. She fitted into our ways marvelously well, demanding equal rights, +but no favors. By some gentle appeal, hardly put into words, we knew +that Uncle Esmond did not want us to talk to her about herself. And +Beverly and Mat and I, however much we might speculate among ourselves, +never thought of resisting his wishes. + +Eloise was gracious with Mat, but evidently the boy Marcos had made her +wary of all boys. She paid no attention to Beverly and me at first. All +her pretty smiles and laughing words were for Uncle Esmond and Jondo. +And she was lovely. Never in all these long and varied years have I seen +another child with such a richness of coloring, nor such a mass of +golden hair rippling around her forehead and falling in big, soft curls +about her neck. Her dark eyes with their long black lashes gave to her +face its picturesque beauty, and her plump, dimpled arms and sturdy +little form bespoke the wholesome promise of future years. + +But the life of the trail was not meant for such as she, and I know now +that the assurance of having saved her from some greater misfortune +alone comforted Uncle Esmond and Jondo in this journey. For Aunty Boone +was right when she declared, "They tote together always." + +As we grouped together under that shelterless glare, getting what +comfort we could out of the brief rest, Jondo sprang up suddenly, his +eyes aglow with excitement. + +"What's the matter? Because if it isn't, this is one hot day to pretend +like it is," Rex Krane asserted. + +He was lying on the hot earth beside the trail, his hat pulled over his +face. Beverly and Bill Banney were staring dejectedly across the +landscape, seeing nothing. I sat looking off toward the east, wondering +what lay behind those dun bluffs in the distance. + +"Something is wrong back yonder," Jondo declared, making a half-circle +with his hand toward the trail behind us. + +My heart seemed to stop mid-beat with a kind of fear I had never known +before. Aunty Boone had always been her own defender. Mat Nivers had +cared for me so much that I never doubted her bigger power. It was for +Eloise, Aunty Boone's "Little Lees," that my fear leaped up. + +I can close my eyes to-day and see again the desolate land banded by the +broad white trail. I can see the dusty wagons and our tired mules with +drooping heads. I can see the earnest, anxious faces of Esmond Clarenden +and Jondo; Beverly and Bill Banney hardly grasping Jondo's meaning; Rex +Krane, half asleep on the edge of the trail. I can see Mat Nivers, brown +and strong, and Aunty Boone oozing sweat at every pore. But these are +only the setting for that little girl on the wagon-seat with white face +and big dark eyes, under the curl-shadowed forehead. + +Jondo stared hard toward the hills in the southeast. Then he turned to +my uncle with grim face and burning eyes; His was a wonderful voice, +clear, strong and penetrating. But in danger he always spoke in a low +tone. + +"I've watched those dust-whirls for an hour. The wind isn't making all +of them. Somebody is stirring them up for cover. Every whirl has an +Indian in it. It's all of ten miles to Bent's. We must fight them off +and let the others run for it, before they cut us off in front. Look at +that!" + +The exclamation burst from the plainsman's lips. + +That was my last straight looking. The rest is ever a kaleidoscope of +action thrilled through with terror. What I saw was a swiftly moving +black splotch coming out of the hills, with huge dust-heaps flying here +and there before it. Then a yellow cloud spiral blinded our sight as a +gust of hot wind swept round us. I remember Jondo's stern face and +blazing eyes and his words: + +"Mexicans behind the Indians!" + +And Uncle Esmond's voice: + +"Narveo said they would get us, but I hoped we had outrun them." + +The far plains seemed spotted with Indians racing toward us, and coming +at an angle from the southeast a dozen Mexicans swept in to cut us off +from the trail in front. + +I remember a quick snatching of precious things in boxes placed for such +a moment as this, a quick snapping of halter ropes around the ponies' +necks, a gleaming of gun-barrels in the hot sunlight; a solid cloud of +dust rolling up behind us, bigger and nearer every second; and the +urgent voice of Jondo: "Ride for your lives!" + +And the race began. On the trail somewhere before us was Bent's Fort. We +could only hope to reach it soon. We did not even look behind as we tore +down that dusty wilderness way. + +At the first motion Aunty Boone had seized Eloise St. Vrain with one +hand and the big dun mule's neck-strap with the other. + +"Go to the devil, you tigers and cannibals!" She roared with the growl +of a desert lioness, shaking her big black fist at the band of Mexicans +pouring out of the hills. + +And dun mule and black woman and white-faced, terror-stricken child +became only a dust-cloud far in front of us. Mat and Beverly and I +leaped to the ponies and followed the lead of the African woman. Nearest +to us was Rex Krane, always a shield for the younger and less able. And +behind him, as defense for the rear and protection for the van, came +Esmond Clarenden and Bill Banney, with Jondo nearest the enemy, where +danger was greatest. + +I tell it calmly, but I lived it in a blind whirl. The swift hoof-beat, +the wild Indian yells, the whirl of arrows and whiz of bullets, the +onrush to outrun the Mexicans who were trying to cut us off from the +trail in front. Lived it! I lived ages in it. And then an arrow cut my +pony's flank, making him lurch from the trail, a false step, the pony +staggering, falling. A sharp pain in my shoulder, the smell of fire, a +shriek from demon throats, the glaring sunlight on the rocking plain, +searing my eyes in a mad whirlpool of blinding light, the fading +sounds--and then--all was black and still. + + * * * * * + +When I opened my eyes again I was lying on a cot. Bare adobe walls were +around me, and a high plastered roof resting on cedar poles sheltered +that awful glare from my eyes. Through the open door I could see the +rain falling on the bare ground of the court, filling the shallow places +with puddles. + +I tried to lift myself to see more as shrieks of childish laughter +caught my ear, but there was a sickish heat in my dry skin, an evil +taste in my throat, and a sharp pain in my left shoulder; and I fell +back again. + +Another shriek, and Eloise St. Vrain came before my doorway, pattering +with bare white feet out into the center of the _patio_ puddles and +laughing at the dashing summer shower. Her damp hair, twisted into a +knot on top of her head, was curling tightly about her temples and neck, +her eyes were shining; her wet clothes slapping at her bare white +knees--a picture of the delicious happiness of childhood. A little child +of three or four years was toddling after her. He was brown as a berry, +and at first I thought he was a little Indian. I could hear Mat and +Beverly splashing about safe and joyous somewhere, and I forgot my fever +and pain and the dread of that awful glare coming again to sear my +burning eyeballs as I watched and listened. A louder shriek as the +little child ran behind Eloise and gave her a vigorous shove for one so +small. + +"Oh, Charlie Bent, see what you've done," Mat cried; and then Beverly +was picking up "Little Lees," sprawling, all mud-smeared and happy, in +the very middle of the court. + +The child stood looking at her with shining black eyes full of a wicked +mischief, but he said not a word. + +Just then a dull grunt caught my ear, and I half-turned to see a cot +beyond mine. An Indian boy lay on it, looking straight at me. I stared +back at him and neither of us spoke. His head was bandaged and his cheek +was swollen, but with my memory for faces, even Indian faces, I knew him +at once for the boy who had followed us into Agua Fria and out of it +again. + +Just then the frolickers came to the door and peered in at me. + +"Are you awake?" Eloise asked. + +Then seeing my face, she came romping in, followed by Mat and Beverly +and little Charlie Bent, all wet and hilarious. They gave no heed to the +Indian boy, who pretended to be asleep. Once, however, I caught him +watching Beverly, and his eyes were like dagger points. + +"We are having the best times. You must get well right away, because we +are going to stay." They all began to clatter, noisily. + +Rex Krane appeared at the door just then and they stopped suddenly. + +"Clear out of here, you magpies," he commanded, and they scuttled away +into the warm rain and the puddles again. + +"Do you want anything, Gail?" Rex asked, bending over me. + +I drew his head down with my right arm. + +"I want that Indian out of here," I whispered. + +"Out he goes," Rex returned, promptly, and almost before I knew it the +boy was taken away. When we were alone the tall young man sat down +beside me. + +"You want to ask me a million questions. I'll answer 'em to save you +the trouble," he began, in his comfortable way. + +"You are wounded in your shoulder. Slight, bullet, that's Mexican; deep, +arrow, that's Indian. But you are here and pretty much alive and you +will be well soon." + +"And Uncle Esmond? Jondo? Bill?" I began, lifting myself up on my well +arm. + +"Keep quiet. I'll answer faster. Everybody all right. Clarenden and +Jondo leave for Independence the minute you are better, and a military +escort permits." + +I dropped down again. + +"The U.S. Army, en route for perdition, via Santa Fé, is camping in the +big timbers down-stream now. Jondo and Esmond Clarenden will leave you +boys and girls here till it's safe to take you out again. And I and +Daniel Boone, vestal god and goddess of these hearth-fires, will keep +you from harm till that time. Bill's joining the army for sure now, and +our happy family life is ended as far as the Santa Fé Trail is +concerned. I'm a well man now, but not quite army-well yet, they tell +me." + +"Tell me about this." I pointed to my shoulder. + +"All in good time. It was a nasty mess of fish. A dozen Mexicans and as +many Indians had followed us all the way from the sunny side of the +Gloriettas. You and Bev and Mat had got by the Mexics. Daniel Boone and +'Little Lees' were climbing the North Pole by that time. The rest of us +were giving battle straight from the shoulder; and someway, I don't know +how, just as we had the gang beat back behind us--you had a sniff of a +bullet just then--an Indian slipped ahead in the dust. I was tendin' to +mite of an arrow wound in my right calf, and I just caught him in time, +aimin' at Bev; but he missed him for you. I got him, though, and clubbed +his scalp a bit loose." + +Rex paused and stared at his right leg. + +"How did that boy get here, Rex? Is he a friendly Indian?" I asked. + +"Oh, Jondo brought him in out of the wet. Says the child was made to +come along, and as soon as he could get away from the gang he had to run +with up here; he came right into camp to help us against them. Fine +young fellow! Jondo has it from them in authority that we can trust him +lyin' or tellin' the truth. _He's all right._" + +"How did he get hurt?" I inquired, still remembering in my own mind the +day at Agua Fria. + +"He'd got into our camp and was fightin' on our side when it happened," +Rex replied. + +"Some of them shot at him, then?" I insisted. "No, I beat him up with +the butt of my gun for shootin' you," Rex said, lazily. + +"At me! Why don't you tell Jondo?" + +"I tried to," Rex answered, "but I can't make him see it that way. He's +got faith in that redskin and he's going to see that he gets back to New +Mexico safely--after while." + +"Rex, that's the same boy that was down in Agua Fria, the one Bev +laughed at. He's no good Indian," I declared. + +"You are too wise, Gail Clarenden," Rex drawled, carelessly. "A boy of +your brains had ought to be born in Boston. Jondo and I can't agree +about him. His name, he says, is Santan. There's one 'n' too many. If +you knock off the last one it makes him Santa--'holy'; but if you knock +out the middle it's Satan. We don't knock out the same 'n', Jondo and +me." + +Just then the little child came tumbling noisily into the room. + +"Look here, youngun. You can't be makin' a racket here," Rex said. + +The boy stared at him, impudently. + +"I will, too," he declared, sullenly, kicking at my cot with all his +might. + +Rex made no reply but, seizing the child around the waist, he carried +him kicking and screaming outside. + +"You stay out or I'll spank you!" Rex said, dropping him to the ground. + +The boy looked up with blazing eyes, but said nothing. + +"That's little Charlie Bent. His daddy runs this splendid fort. His +mother is a Cheyenne squaw, and he's a grim clinger of a half-breed. +Some day he'll be a terror on these plains. It's in him, I know. But +that won't interfere with us any. And you children are a lot safer here +than out on the trail. Great God! I wonder we ever got you here!" Rex's +face was very grave. "Now go to sleep and wake up well. No more thinkin' +like a man. You can be a child again for a while." + +Those were happy days that followed. Safe behind the strong walls of old +Fort Bent, we children had not a care; and with the stress and strain of +the trail life lifted from our young minds, we rebounded into happy +childhood living. Every day offered a new drama to our wonder-loving +eyes. We watched the big hide-press for making buffalo robes and furs +into snug bales. We climbed to the cupola of the headquarters department +and saw the soldiers marching by on their way to New Mexico. We saw the +Ute and the Red River Comanche come filing in on their summer +expeditions from the mountains. We saw the trade lines from the far +north bearing down to this wilderness crossroads with their early fall +stock for barter. + +Our playground was the court off which all the rooms opened. And however +wild and boisterous the scenes inside those walls in that summer of +1846, in four young lives no touch of evil took root. Stronger than the +six-feet width of wall, higher than the eighteen feet of adobe brick +guarding us round about, was the stern strength of the young Boston man +interned in the fort to protect us from within, as the strength of that +structure defended us from without. + +And yet he might have failed sometimes, had it not been for Aunty Boone. +Nobody trifled with her. + +"You let them children be. An give 'em the run of this shack," she +commanded of the lesser powers whose business was to domineer over the +daily life there. "The man that makes trouble wide as a needle is across +is goin' to meet me an' the Judgment Day the same minute." + +"When Daniel gets on her crack-o'-doom voice, the mountains goin' to +skip like rams and the little hills like lambs, an' the Army of the West +won't be necessary to protect the frontier," Rex declared. But he knew +her worth to his cause, and he welcomed it. + +And so with her brute force and his moral strength we were unconsciously +intrenched in a safety zone in this far-isolated place. + +With neither Uncle Esmond nor Jondo near us for the first time in our +remembrance, we gained a strength in self-dependence that we needed. For +with the best of guardianship, there are many ways in which a child's +day may be harried unless the child asserts himself. We had the years of +children but the sturdy defiance of youth. So we were happy within our +own little group, and we paid little heed to the things that nobody else +could forestall for us. + +Outside of our family, little Charlie Bent, the half-breed child of the +proprietor of the fort, was a daily plague. He entered into all of our +sports with a quickness and perseverance and wilfulness that was +thoroughly American. He took defeat of his wishes, and the equal measure +of justice and punishment, with the silent doggedness of an Indian; and +on the edge of babyhood he showed a spirit of revenge and malice that +we, in our rollicking, affectionate lives, with all our teasing and +sense of humor, could not understand; so we laughed at his anger and +ignored his imperious demands. + +Behind him always was his Cheyenne mother, jealously defending him in +everything, and in manifold ways making life a burden--if we would +submit to the making, which we seldom did. + +And lastly Santan, the young boy who had deserted his Mexican masters +for Jondo's command, contrived, with an Indian's shrewdness, never to +let us out of his sight. But he gave us no opportunity to approach him. +He lived in his own world, which was a savage one, but he managed that +it should overlap our world and silently grasp all that was in it. +Beverly had persistently tried to be friendly for a time, for that was +Beverly's way. Failing to do it, he had nick-named the boy "Satan" for +all time. + +"We found Little Blue Flower a sweet little muggins," Beverly told the +Indian early in our stay at the fort. "We like good Indians like her. +She's one clipper." + +Santan had merely looked him through as though he were air, and made no +reply, nor did he ever by a single word recognize Beverly from that +moment. + +The evening before we left Fort Bent we children sat together in a +corner of the court. The day had been very hot for the season and the +night was warm and balmy, with the moonlight flooding the open space, +edging the shadows of the inner portal with silver. There was much noise +and boisterous laughter in the billiard-room where the heads of affairs +played together. Rex Krane had gone to bed early. Out by the rear gate +leading to the fort corral, Aunty Boone was crooning a weird African +melody. Crouching in the deep shadows beside the kitchen entrance, the +Indian boy, Santan, listened to all that was said. + +To-night we had talked of to-morrow's journey, and the strength of the +military guard who should keep us safe along the way. Then, as children +will, we began to speculate on what should follow for us. + +"When I get older I'm going to be a freighter like Jondo, Bill and me. +We'll kill every Indian who dares to yell along the trail. I'm going +back to Santa Fé and kill that boy that stared at me like he was crazy +one day at Agua Fria." + +In the shadows of the porchway, I saw Santan creeping nearer to us as +Beverly ran on flippantly: + +"I guess I'll marry a squaw, Little Blue Flower, maybe, like the Bents +do, and live happily ever after." + +"I'm going to have a big fine house and live there all the time," Mat +Nivers declared. Something in the earnest tone told us what this long +journey had meant to the brave-hearted girl. + +"I'm going to marry Gail when I grow up," Eloise said, meditatively. "He +won't ever let Marcos pull my hair." She shook back the curly tresses, +gold-gleaming in the moonlight, and squeezed my hand as she sat beside +me. + +"What will you be, Gail?" Mat asked. + +"I'll go and save Bev's scalp when he's gunning too far from home," I +declared. + +"Oh, he'll be 'Little Lees's' husband, and pull that Marcos cuss's nose +if he tries to pull anybody's curls. Whoo-ee! as Aunty Boone would say," +Beverly broke in. + +I kept a loving grip on the little hand that had found mine, as I would +have gripped Beverly's hand sometimes in moments when we talked together +as boys do, in the confidences they never give to anybody else. + +A gray shadow dropped on the moon, and a chill night wind crept down +inside the walls. A sudden fear fell on us. The noises inside the +billiard room seemed far away, and all the doors except ours were +closed. Santan had crept between us and the two open doorways leading to +our rooms. What if he should slip inside. A snake would have seemed +better to me. + +A silence had fallen on us, and Eloise still clung to my hand. I held it +tightly to assure her I wasn't afraid, but I could not speak nor move. +Aunty Boone's crooning voice was still, and everything had grown weird +and ghostly. The faint wailing cry of some wild thing of the night +plains outside crept to our ears, making us shiver. + +"When the stars go to sleep an' the moon pulls up the gray covers, it's +time to shut your eyes an' forget." Aunty Boone's soft voice broke the +spell comfortingly for us. "Any crawlin' thing that gits in my way now, +goin' to be stepped on." + +At the low hissing sound of the last sentence there was a swift +scrambling along the shadows of the porch, and a door near the kitchen +snapped shut. The big shining face of the African woman glistened above +us and the court was flooded again with the moon's silvery radiance. As +we all sprang up to rush for our rooms, "Little Lees" pulled me toward +her and gently kissed my cheek. + +"You never would let Marcos in if he came to Fort Leavenworth, would +you?" she whispered. + +"I'd break his head clear off first," I whispered back, and then we +scampered away. + +That night I dreamed again of the level plains and Uncle Esmond and +misty mountain peaks, but the dark eyes were not there, though I watched +long for them. + +The next day we left Fort Bent, and when I passed that way again it was +a great mass of yellow mounds, with a piece of broken wall standing +desolately here and there, a wreck of the past in a solitary land. + + + + +II + +BUILDING THE TRAIL + + + + +IX + +IN THE MOON OF THE PEACH BLOSSOM + + + Love took me softly by the hand, + Love led me all the country o'er, + And showed me beauty in the land, + That I had never seen before. + --ANONYMOUS. + + +You might not be able to find the house to-day, nor the high bluff +whereon it stood. So many changes have been wrought in half a century +that what was green headland and wooded valley in the far '50's may be +but a deep cut or a big fill for a new roadway or factory site to-day. +So diligently has Kansas City fulfilled the scriptural prophecy that +"every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be +made low." + +Where the great stream bends to the east, the rugged heights about its +elbow, Aunty Boone, in those days, was wont to declare, did not offer +enough level ground to set a hen on. Small reason was there then to hope +that a city, great and gracious, would one day cover those rough ravines +and grace those slopes and hilltops in the angle between the Missouri +and the Kaw. + +Aunty Boone had resented leaving Fort Leavenworth when the Clarenden +business made the young city at the Kaw's mouth more desirable for a +home. But Esmond Clarenden foresaw that a military post, when the +protection it offers is no longer needed, will not, in itself, be a +city-builder. The war had brought New Mexico into United States +territory; railroads were slowly creeping westward toward the +Mississippi River; steamboats and big covered wagons were bringing +settlers into Kansas, where little cabins were beginning to mark the +landscape with new hearth-stones. Congress was wrangling over the great +slavery question. The Eastern lawmakers were stupidly opposing the +efforts of Missouri statesmen to extend mail routes westward, or to +spend any energy toward developing that so-called worthless region which +they named "the great American desert." And the old Santa Fé Trail was +now more than ever the highway for the commerical treasures of the +Rocky Mountains and the great Southwest. + +It was the time of budding things. In the valley of the Missouri the +black elm boughs, the silvery sycamores and cottonwoods, and the vines +on the gray rock-faced cliffs were veiled in shimmering draperies of +green, with here and there a little group of orchard trees faintly pink +against the landscape's dainty verdure. + +Beverly Clarenden and I stood on the deck of a river steamer as it made +the wharf at old Westport Landing, where Esmond Clarenden waited for us. +And long before the steamer's final bump against the pier we had noted +the tall, slender girl standing beside him. We had been away three +years, the only schooling outside of Uncle Esmond's teaching we were +ever to have. We were big boys now, greatly conscious of hands and feet +in our way, "razor broke," Aunty Boone declared, brimful of hilarity and +love of adventure, and eager for the plains life, and the dangers of the +old trail by which we were to conquer or be conquered. In the society of +women we were timid and ill at ease. Aside from this we were +self-conceited, for we knew more of the world and felt ourselves more +important on that spring morning than we ever presumed to know or dared +to feel in all the years that followed. + +"Who is she, Gail, that tall one by little fat Uncle Esmond?" Beverly +questioned, as we neared the wharf. + +"You don't reckon he's married, Bev? He's all of twenty-four or five +years older than we are, and we aren't calves any more." I replied, +scanning the group on the wharf. + +But we forgot the girl in our eagerness to bound down the gang-plank and +hug the man who meant all that home and love could mean to us. In our +three growing years we had almost eliminated Mat Nivers, save as a happy +memory, for mails were slow in those days and we were poor +letter-writers; and we had wondered how to meet her properly now. But +when the tall, slender girl on the wharf came forward and we looked into +the wide gray eyes of our old-time playmate whom, as little boys, we +had both vowed to marry, we forgot everything in our overwhelming love +for our comrade-in-arms, our jolliest friend and counselor. + +"Oh, Mat, you miserable thing!" Beverly bubbled, hugging her in his +arms. + +"You are just bigger and sweeter than ever. I mistook you for Aunty +Boone at first," I chimed in, kissing her on each cheek. And we all +bundled away in an old-fashioned, low-swung carriage, happy as children +again, with no barrier between us and the dear playmate of the past. + +The new home, on the high crest overlooking the Missouri valley, nestled +deep in the shade of maple and elm trees, a mansion, compared to that +log house of blessed memory at Fort Leavenworth. A winding road led up +the steep slope from a wooded ravine where a trail ran out from the +little city by the river's edge. Vistas of sheer cliff and stretches of +the muddy on-sweeping Missouri and the full-bosomed Kaw, with scrubby +timbered ravines and growing groves of forest trees, offered themselves +at every turn. And from the top of the bluff the world unrolled in a +panorama of nature's own shaping and coloring. + +The house was built of stone, with vines climbing about its thick walls, +and broad veranda. And everywhere Mat's hands had put homey touches of +comfort and beauty. An hundredfold did she return to Esmond Clarenden +all the care and protection he had given to her in her orphaned +childhood. And, after all, it was not military outposts, nor railroads, +nor mail-lines alone that pushed back the wilderness frontier. It was +the hand of woman that also builded empire westward. + +"Mat's got her wish at last," I said, as we sat with Uncle Esmond after +dinner under a big maple tree and looked out at the far yellow Missouri, +churning its spring floods to foam against the snags along its +high-water bound. + +"What's Mat's wish?" Uncle Esmond asked. + +"To have a good home and _stay there_. She wished that one night, years +ago back in old Fort Bent. Don't you remember, Bev, when we were out in +the court, and how scared blue we all were when the moon went under a +cloud, and that Indian boy, Santan, was creeping between us and the home +base?" + +"No, I don't remember anything except that we were in Fort Bent. Got in +by the width of a hair ahead of some Mexicans and Indians, and got out +again after a jolly six weeks. What's the real job for us now, Uncle +Esmond?" + +Uncle Esmond was staring out toward the Kaw valley, rimmed by high +bluffs in the distance. + +"I don't know about Mat having her wish," he said, thoughtfully, "but +never mind. Trade is booming and I'm needing help on the trail this +spring. Jondo starts west in two weeks." + +Beverly and I sprang up. Six feet of height, muscular, adventure-loving, +fearless, we had been made to order for the Santa Fé Trail. And if I was +still a dreamer and caught sometimes the finer side of ideals, where +Beverly Clarenden saw only the matter-of-fact, visible things, no +shrewder, braver, truer plainsman ever walked the long distances of the +old Santa Fé Trail than this boy with his bright face and happy-go-lucky +spirit unpained by dreams, untrammeled by fancies. + +"Two weeks! We are ready to start right after supper," we declared. + +"Oh, I have other matters first," Uncle Esmond said. "Beverly, you must +go up to Fort Leavenworth and arrange a lot of things with Banney for +this trip. He's to go, too, because military escort is short this +season." + +"Suits me!" Beverly declared. "Old Bill Banney and I always could get +along together. And this infant here?" + +"I'm going to send Gail down to the Catholic Mission, in Kansas. You +remember little Eloise St. Vrain, of course?" Uncle Esmond asked. + +"We do!" Beverly assured him. "Pretty as a doll, gritty as a sand-bar, +snappy as a lobster's claw--she dwells within my memory yet." + +All girls were little children to us, for the scheme of things had not +included them in our affairs. + +I threw a handful of grass in the boy's face, and Uncle Esmond went on. + +"She's been at St. Ann's School at the Osage Mission down on the Neosho +River for two or three years, and now she is going to St. Louis. In +these troublesome times on the border, if I have a personal interest, I +feel safer if some big six-footer whom I can trust comes along as an +escort from the Neosho to the Missouri," Uncle Esmond explained. + +And then we spoke of other things: the stream of emigration flowing into +the country, the possibilities of the prairies, the future of the city +that should hold the key to the whole Southwest, and especially of the +chance and value of the trail trade. + +"It's the big artery that carries the nation's life-blood here," Esmond +Clarenden declared. "Some day when the West is full of people, and +dowered with prosperity, it may remember the men who built the highway +for the feet of trade to run in. And the West may yet measure its +greatness somewhat by the honesty and faithfulness of the merchant of +the frontier, and more by the courage and persistence of the boys who +drove the ox-teams across the plains. Don't forget that you yourselves +are State-builders now." + +He spoke earnestly, but his words meant little to me. I was looking out +toward the wide-sweeping Kaw and thinking of the journey I must make, +and wondering if I should ever feel at ease in the society of women. +Wondering, too, what I should say, and how I should really take care of +"Little Lees," who had crossed the plains with us almost a decade ago; +the girl who had held my hand tightly one night at old Fort Bent when +the shadow had slipped across the moon and filled the silvery court with +a gray, ghostly light. + +That night the old heart-hunger of childhood came back to me, the +visions of the day-dreaming little boy that were almost forgotten in the +years that had brought me to young manhood. And clearly again, as when I +heard Uncle Esmond's voice that night on the tableland above the valley +of the Santa Fé, I heard his gentle words: + +"Sometimes the things we long for in our dreams we must fight for, and +even die for, that those who come after us may be the better for our +having them." + +But these thoughts passed with the night, and in my youth and +inexperience I took on a spirit of fatherly importance as I went down to +St. Ann's to safeguard a little girl on her way through the Kansas +territory to the Missouri River. + +It had been a beautiful day, and there was a freshness in the soft +evening breeze, and an up-springing sweetness from the prairies. A +shower had passed that way an hour before, and the spirit of growing +things seemed to fill the air with a voiceless music. + +Just at sunset the stage from the north put me down in front of St. +Ann's Academy in the little Osage Mission village on the Neosho. + +A tall nun, with commanding figure and dignified bearing, left the +church steps across the road and came slowly toward me. + +"I am looking for Mother Bridget, the head of this school," I said, +lifting my hat. + +"I am Mother Bridget." The voice was low and firm. One could not imagine +disobedience under her rule. + +"I come from Mr. Esmond Clarenden, to act as escort for a little girl, +Eloise St. Vrain, who is to leave here on the stage for Kansas City +to-morrow," I hesitatingly offered my letter of introduction, which +told all that I had tried to say, and more. + +The woman's calm face was gentle, with the protective gentleness of the +stone that will not fail you when you lean on it. One felt sure of +Mother Bridget, as one feels sure of the solid rock to build upon. She +looked at me with keen, half-quizzical eyes. Then she said, quietly: + +"You will find the little girl down by Flat Rock Creek. The Indian girl, +Po-a-be, is with her. There may be several Indian girls down there, but +Po-a-be is alone with little Eloise." + +I bowed and turned away, conscious that, with this good nun's sincerity, +she was smiling at me back of her eyes somehow. + +As I followed the way leading to the creek I passed a group or two of +Indian girls--St. Ann's, under the Loretto Sisterhood, was fundamentally +a mission school for these--and a trio of young ladies, pretty and +coquettish, with daring, mischievous eyes, whose glances made me flush +hot to the back of my neck as I stumbled by them on my way to the +stream. + +The last sun rays were glistening on the placid waters of the Flat Rock, +and all the world was softly green, touched with a golden glamour. I +paused by a group of bushes to let the spell of the hour have its way +with me. I have always loved the beautiful things of earth; as much now +as in my childhood days, when I felt ashamed to let my love be known; as +now I dare to tell it only on paper, and not to that dear, great circle +of men and women who know me best to-day. + +The sound of footsteps and the murmur of soft voices fitted into the +sweetness of that evening hour as two girls, one of them an Indian, came +slowly down a well-worn path from the fields above the Flat Rock Valley. +They did not see me as they sat down on some broad stones beside the +stream. + +I started forward to make myself known, but caught myself mid-step, for +here was a picture to make any man pause. + +The Indian girl facing me was Little Blue Flower, the Kiowas' captive, +whom we had rescued at Pawnee Rock. Her heavy black hair was coiled low +on her neck, a headband of fine silverwork with pink coral pendants was +bound about her forehead and gleaming against her jetty hair. With her +well-poised head, her pure Indian features, her lustrous dark eyes, her +smooth brown skin, her cheeks like the heart of those black-red roses +that grow only in richest soil--surely there was no finer type of that +vanishing race in all the Indian pueblos of the Southwest. But the girl +beside her! Was it really so many years ago that I stood by the bushes +on the Flat Rock's edge and saw that which I see so clearly now? Then +these years have been gracious indeed to me. The sun's level beams fell +on the masses of golden waves that swept in soft little ripples back +from the white brow to a coil of gold on the white neck, held, like the +Indian girl's, with a headband of wrought silver, and goldveined +turquoise; it fell on the clear, smooth skin, the pink bloom of the +cheek, the red lips, the white teeth, the big dark eyes with their +fringe of long lashes beneath straight-penciled dark brows; on the +curves of the white throat and the round white arms. Only a master's +hand could make you see these two, beautiful in their sharp contrast of +deep brown and scarlet against the dainty white and gold. + +"Oh, Little Blue Flower, it will not make me change." + +I caught the words as I stepped toward the two, and the Indian's soft, +mournful answer: + +"But you are Miss St. Vrain now. You go away in the morning--and I love +you always." + +The heart in me stopped just when all its flood had reached my face. + +"Miss St. Vrain," I repeated, aloud. + +The two sprang up. That afternoon they had been dressed for a girls' +frolic in some Grecian fashion. I cannot tell a Watteau pleat from +window-curtain. I am only a man, and I do not name draperies well. But +these two standing before me were gowned exactly alike, and yet I know +that one was purely and artistically Greek, and one was purely and +gracefully Indian. + +"I beg your pardon. I am Mr. Clarenden," I managed to say. + +At the name Little Blue Flower's eyes looked as they did on that hot May +night out at Pawnee Rock when she heard Beverly Clarenden's boyish voice +ring out, defiantly: + +"Uncle Esmond, let's take her, and take our chances." + +But the great light that had leaped into the girl's eyes died slowly out +as she gazed at me. + +"You are not Beverly Clarenden," she said, in a low voice. + +"No, I'm Gail, the little one. Bev is up at Fort Leavenworth now," I +replied. + +She turned away without a word and, gathering her draperies about her, +sped up the pathway toward the fields above the creek. + + * * * * * + +And we two were alone together--the dark-eyed girl of my boyhood vision, +deep-shrined in the boy-heart's holy of holies, and I who had waited for +her coming. It was the hour of golden sunset and long twilight afterglow +on the glistening Flat Rock waters and the green prairies beyond the +Neosho. + +A sudden awakening came over me, and in one swift instant I understood +my boyhood dreams and hopes and visions. + +"You will pardon me for coming so abruptly, Miss St. Vrain," I said. +"Mother Bridget told me I would find you here." + +The girl listened to my stumbling words with eyes full of laughter. + +"Don't call me Miss St. Vrain, please. Let me be Eloise, and I can call +you Gail. Even with your height and your broad shoulders you haven't +changed much. And in all these years I was always thinking of you +growing up just as you are. Let's sit down and get acquainted again." + +She offered me her hand and we sat down together. I could not speak +then, for one sentence was ringing in my ears--"I was always thinking of +you." In those years when Beverly and I had put away all thoughts of +sweethearts--they could not be a part of the plainsman's life before +us--sweethearts such as older boys in school boasted about, "she was +always thinking of me." The thought brought a keen hurt as if I had done +her some great wrong, and it held me back from words. + +She could not interpret my silence, and a look of timidity crept over +her young face. + +"I didn't mean to be so--so bold with a stranger," she began. + +"You aren't bold, and we aren't strangers. I was just too stupid to +think anybody else could get out of childhood except old Bev Clarenden +and myself," I managed to say at last. "I even forgot Mat Nivers, who is +a young lady now, and Aunty Boone, who hasn't changed a kink of her +woolly hair. But we couldn't be strangers. Not after that trip across +the plains and living at old Fort Bent as we did." + +I paused, and the memory of that last night at the fort made me steal a +glance at Eloise to see if she, too, remembered. + +She was fair to see just then, with the pink clouds mirrored on the +placid waters reflected in the pink of her cheeks. + +"Do you remember what I called you the first time I saw you?" She +looked up with shining eyes. + +"You called me a big brown bob-cat, and you said I looked like I'd slept +in the Hondo 'royo all my life. I know I looked it, too. I'll forgive +you if you will excuse my blunder to-day. What became of that boy, +Marcos? Have you ever seen him since you left Santa Fé?" I asked. + +The fair face clouded, and a look of longing crept into the big, dark +eyes lifted pleadingly a moment to mine. I wanted to take her in my arms +right then and look about for something to kill for her sake. Yet I +would not, for the gold of all the Mexicos, have touched the hem of her +Grecian robe. + +"Yes, I have seen Marcos many times. His father went to old Mexico after +the war, but the Rameros do not stay long anywhere. Marcos made life +miserable for me sometimes." She paused suddenly. + +"The Rameros. Then he was the son of the man who was my uncle's enemy. +Maybe you did as much for him, too, sometimes. You had the spirit to do +it, anyhow," I said, lightly, to hide my real feeling. + +"I was a little cat. I'm a lot better now. Let's not go too much into +that time. Tell me where you have been and where you are going." Eloise +changed the subject easily. + +"I've been in Cincinnati, attending a boys' school for three years. I +start for Santa Fé in two weeks. My uncle's store is doing a big over +land business, and he keeps the ox-teams just fanning one another, +coming and going across the prairies. I'm crazy to go and see the open +plains again. Cincinnati is a city on stilts, and our little +Independence-Westport Landing-Kansas City place, as the Cincinnati of +the great American desert, is also pretty bumpy, the last place on earth +to put a town--only we can see almost to Santa Fé, New Mexico, from the +hilltops. Won't it be great to view that mud-walled town again? Bev is +going, too--to kill a few Indians for our winter's meat, he says, in his +wicked, blood-thirsty way." So I ran on, glad to be alive in the +delicious beauty of that spring evening as we together went back over +the days of our young years. + +"Gail, may we take another passenger to-morrow?" Eloise asked, suddenly. + +"Why, as many as the stage will hold! There's to be a nun and a priest +and yourself. I'm chaperon. I could take the priest on my lap if he +isn't too bulky," I answered. + +"I want to take Po-a-be. I can't tell you why now." + +The lashes dropped over the brown eyes, and I wondered how she could +think that I could refuse her anything. + +"Oh, we'll take her on faith and the stage-coach. She can come right to +Castle Clarenden and stay till she gets ready to hurdle off to her own +'wickie up'. She has grown into a beautiful Indian woman, though I +couldn't call her a squaw." + +"She isn't a squaw. I'm glad to hear you say that. I think it will make +her very happy to stay at your home for a while. She will miss me a +little when we leave here, maybe," Eloise said, looking at me with a +grateful smile that sent a tingle to my fingertips. + +"Won't you stay, too?" I asked, suddenly realizing that this beautiful +girl might slip away as easily as she had come into my life here. + +Eloise laughed at my earnestness. + +"I couldn't stay long," she said, lightly. + +"And why not?" I burst in, eagerly. "What have you in Santa Fé?" + +"A little money and a lot of memories," she replied, seriously. + +"Oh, I can bring the money up to Kansas for you in an ox-train easily +enough, and you could blow up the old mud-box of a town and not hurt a +hair on the head of a single memory. You know you can take them anywhere +you go. I do mine." + +"I'm going to St. Louis, anyhow," Eloise returned, "and you have no +sacred memories--boys don't care for things like girls do." + +"They don't? They don't? And I have forgotten the little girl who was +afraid one moonlit night out in the court at Fort Bent and asked me that +I shouldn't ever let Marcos pull her hair. Yes, boys forget." + +I laid my hand on her arm and bent forward to look into her face. For +just one flash those big dark eyes looked straight at me, with something +in their depths that I shall never forget. + +Then she moved lightly from me. + +"Oh, all children remember, I suppose. I do, anyhow--a thousand things +I'd like to forget. It is lovely by the river. Suppose we go down there +for a little while. I must not stay out here too long." + +I took her arm and we strolled down the quiet path in the twilight +sweetness to where the broad Neosho, brim full from the spring rains, +swept on between picturesque banks. The afterglow of sunset was flaming +gorgeously above the western prairies, and the mists along the Neosho +were lavender and mother-of-pearl. And before all this had deepened to +purple darkness the full moon would swing up the sky, swathing the earth +with a softened radiance. All the beauty of this warm spring night +seemed but a setting for this girl in her graceful Greek draperies, with +the waving gold of her hair and her dainty pink-and-white coloring. + +A new heaven and a new earth had begun for me, and a delicious longing, +clean and sweet, that swept every commoner feeling far away. What matter +that the life before me be filled with danger, and all the coarse and +cruel things of the hard days of the Santa Fé Trail? In that hour I knew +the best of life that a young man can know. Its benediction after all +these years of change is on me still. Awhile we watched the flashing +ripples on the river, and the sky's darkening afterglow. Then we turned +to the moonlit east. + +"Do you know what the people of Hopi-land call this month?" Eloise +asked. + +"I don't know Hopi words for what is beautiful," I replied. + +"They call it 'the Moon of the Peach Blossom', and they cherish the time +in their calendar." + +"Then we will be Hopi people," I declared, "for it was in their Moon of +the Peach Blossom that you grew up for me from the little girl who +called me a bob-cat down in the doorway of the old San Miguel Church in +Santa Fé, and from Aunty Boone's 'Little Lees' at old Fort Bent, to the +Eloise of St. Ann's by the Kansas Neosho." + +The sound of a sweet-toned bell told us that we must not stay longer, +and together we followed the path from the Flat Rock up to the academy +door. And all the way was like the ways of Paradise to me, for I was in +the peach-blossom moon of my own life. + + + + +X + +THE HANDS THAT CLING + + + The hands that take + No weight from your sad cross, oh, lighter far + It were but for the burden that they bring! + God only knows what hind'ring things they are-- + The hands that cling. + --ESTHER M. CLARK + + +The next morning three of us waited in the stage before the door of St. +Ann's Academy. A thin-faced nun, who was called Sister Anita, sat beside +Eloise St. Vrain, her snowy head-dress, with her black veil and somber +garments, contrasting sharply with the silver-gray hat and traveling +costume of her companion. Hints of pink-satin linings to coat-collar and +pocket-flaps, and the pink facing of the broad hat-brim, seemed borrowed +from the silver and pink of misty morning skies, with the golden hair +catching the glint of all the early sunbeams. There was a tenderness in +the bright face, the sadness which parting puts temporarily into young +countenances. The girl looked lovingly at the church, and St. Ann's, and +the green fields reaching up to the edge of the mission premises. + +As we waited, Mother Bridget and Little Blue Flower came slowly out of +the academy door. The good mother's arm was around the Indian girl, and +her eyes filled with tears as she looked down affectionately at the dark +face. + +Little Blue Flower, true to her heritage, gave no sign of grief save for +the burning light in her big, dry eyes. She listened silently to Mother +Bridget's parting words of advice and submitted without response to the +embrace and gentle good-by kiss on her brown forehead. + +The good woman gazed into my face with penetrating eyes, as if to +measure my trustworthiness. + +"You will see that no harm comes to my little Po-a-be. The wolves of the +forest are not the only danger for the unprotected lambs," she said, +earnestly. + +"I'll do my best, Mother Bridget," I responded, feeling a swelling pride +in my double charge. + +Mother Bridget patted Eloise's hand and turned away. She loved all of +her girls, but her heart went out most to the Indian maidens whom she +led toward her civilization and her sacred creed. + +As she turned away, the priest who was to go with us came out of the +church door to the stage. + +Little Blue Flower sat with the other two women, facing us, her +dark-green dress with her rich coloring making as strong a contrast as +the nun's black robe against the pink-touched silver-gray gown. And the +Indian face, strong, impenetrable, with a faintly feminine softening of +the racial features, and the luminous black eyes, gave setting to the +pure Saxon type of her companion. + +I turned from the three to greet the priest and give him a place beside +me. His face seemed familiar, but it was not until I heard his voice, in +a courteous good-morning, that I knew him to be the Father Josef who had +met us on the way into Santa Fé years before, and who later had shown us +the little golden-haired girl asleep on the hard bench in the old +mission church of Agua Fria. A page of my boyhood seemed suddenly to +have opened there, and I wondered curiously at the meaning of it all. +Life, that for three years had been something of a monotonous round of +action for a boy of the frontier, was suddenly filling each day with +events worth while. I wondered many things concerning Father Josef's +presence there, but I had the grace to ask no questions as we five +journeyed over the rolling green prairies of Kansas in the pleasant time +of year which the Hopi calls the Moon of the Peach Blossom. + +The priest appeared hardly a day older than when I had first seen him, +and he chatted genially as we rode along. + +"We are losing two of our stars," he said, with a gallant little bow. +"Miss St. Vrain goes to St. Louis to relatives, I believe, and Little +Blue Flower, eventually, to New Mexico. St. Ann's under Mother Bridget +is doing a wonderful work among our people, but it is not often that a +girl comes here from such a distance as New Mexico." + +I tried to fancy what the Indian girl's thoughts might be as the priest +said this, but her face, as usual, gave no clue to her mind's activity. + +Where the Santa Fé Trail crossed the Wakarusa Father Josef left us to +join a wagon-train going west. Sister Anita, who was hurrying back to +Kentucky, she said, on some churchly errand, took a steamer at Westport +Landing, and the three of us came to the Clarenden home on the crest of +the bluff. + +We had washed off our travel stains and come out on the veranda when we +saw Beverly Clarenden standing in the sunlight, waiting for us. I had +never seen him look so handsome as he did that day, dressed in the full +regalia of the plains: a fringed and beaded buckskin coat, dark +pantaloons held inside of high-topped boots, a flannel shirt, with a +broad black silk tie fastened in a big bow at his throat, and his +wide-brimmed felt hat set back from his forehead. Clean-shaven, his +bright brown hair--a trifle long, after the custom of the +frontier--flung back from his brow, his blooming face wearing the happy +smile of youth, his tall form easily erect, he seemed the very +embodiment of that defiant power that swept the old Santa Fé Trail clean +for the feet of its commerce to run swiftly along. I am glad that I +never envied him--brother of my heart, who loved me so. + +He was not as surprised as I had been to find the grown-up girl instead +of the little child. That wasn't Beverly's way. + +"I'm mighty glad to meet you again," he said, with jaunty air, grasping +Eloise by the hand. "You look just as--shall I say promising, as ever." + +"I'm glad to see you, Beverly. You and Gail have been my biggest assets +of memory these many years." Eloise was at ease with him in a moment. +Somehow they never misunderstood each other. + +"Oh, I'm always an asset, but Gail here gets to be a liability if you +let him stay around too long." + +"Here is somebody else. Don't you remember Little Blue Flower?" Eloise +interrupted him. + +"Little Blue Flower! Why, I should say I do! And are you that little +blossom?" + +Beverly's face beamed, and he caught the Indian girl's hand in both of +his in a brotherly grasp. He wasn't to blame that nature had made him +frank and unimaginative. + +"I haven't forgotten the last time I saw your face in a wide crack +between two adobe shacks. A 'flower in the crannied wall' in that 'pure +water' sand-pile in New Mexico. I'd have plucked you out of the cranny +right then, if old Rex Krane hadn't given us our 'forward march!' +orders, and an Indian boy, ten feet high and sneaky as a cat, hadn't +been lurking in the middle distance to pluck _me_ as a brand _for_ the +burning. And now you are a St. Ann's girl, a good little Catholic. How +did you ever get away up into Kansas Territory, anyhow?" + +Beverly had unconsciously held the girl's hand as he spoke, but at the +mention of the Indian boy she drew back and her bright face became +expressionless. + +Just then Mat Nivers joined us--Mat, whom the Lord made to smooth the +way for everybody around her--and we sat down for a visit. + +"We are all here, friends of my youthful days," Beverly went on, gaily. +"Bill Banney and Jondo are down in the Clarenden warehouse packing +merchandise for the Santa Fé trade. Even big black Aunty Boone, getting +supper in there, is still a feature of this circus. If only that slim +Yankee, Rex Krane, would appear here now. Uncle Esmond tells me he is to +be here soon, and if all goes well he will go with us to Santa Fé again. +How about it, Mat? Can't you hurry his coming a bit?" + +But Mat was staring at the roadway leading to the ravine below us. Her +wide gray eyes were full of eagerness and her cheeks were pink with +excitement. For, sure enough, there was Rex Krane striding up the hill, +with the easy swing of vigorous health. No longer the slender, slouching +young idol of my boyhood days, with Eastern cut of garment and +devil-may-care dejection of manner, all hiding a loving tenderness for +the unprotected, and a daring spirit that scorned danger. + +"It's the old settlers' picnic, eh! The gathering of the wild +tribes--anything you want to call it, so we smoke the peace pipe." + +Rex greeted all of us as we rushed upon him. But the first hands he +reached for were the hands of our loving big sister Mat. And he held +them close in his as he looked down into her beautiful eyes. + +A sudden rush of memories brought back to me the long days on the trail +in the middle '40's, and I knew now why he had always looked at Mat when +he talked to all of us. And I used to think that he must have had a +little sister like her. Now I knew in an instant why Mat could not meet +his eyes to-day with that unconcern with which she met them when she was +a child to me, and he, all of five years ahead of her, was very grown +up. I knew more, for I had entered a new land myself since the hour by +the shimmering Flat Rock in the Moon of the Peach Blossom, and I was +alive to every tint and odor and musical note for every other wayfarer +therein. + +That was a glorious week that followed, and one to remember on the long +trail days coming to us. I have no quarrel with the happy youth of +to-day, but I feel no sense of loss nor spirit of envy when they tell +me--all young people are my friends--when they tell me of golf-links and +automobile rides, or even the daring hint of airplanes. To the heart of +youth the gasolene-motor or the thrill of the air-craft to-day is no +more than the Indian pony and the uncertain chance of the crude old +canoe on the clear waters of the Big Blue when Kansas City was a village +and the Kansas prairies were in their virgin glory. + +Bill Banney had come out of the Mexican War, no longer an adventure +lover, but a seasoned frontiersman. His life knew few of the gentler +touches. He gave it to the plains, where so many lives went, unhonored +and unsung, into the building of an enduring empire. + +We would have included him in all the frolic of that wonderful week in +the Moon of the Peach Blossom--but he gave us no opportunity to do so. +And we were young, and the society of girls was a revelation to us. So +with the carelessness of youth we forgot him. We forgot many things that +week that, in Heaven's name, we had cause enough to remember in the +years that followed after. + +"There's a theatrical troupe come up from St. Louis to play here +to-night," Rex Krane announced, after supper. "Mat, will you let me take +you down to see the villain get what's due all villains? Then if we have +to kill off Gail and Bev, it will not be so awkward." + +"Can't we all go?" Mat suggested. + +"Never mind us, Lady Nivers. Little Blue Flower, may I have the pleasure +of your company? I need protection to-night," Beverly said, with much +ceremony. + +Little Blue Flower was sitting next to him, or it might not have begun +that way. + +"Oh, say yes. He's no poorer company than that company of actors down +town," Rex urged. + +The Indian girl assented with a smile. + +She did not smile often and when she did her eyes were full of light, +and her red lips and perfect white teeth were beautiful enough for a +queen to envy. + +"Little Lees, it seems you are doomed to depend on Gail or jump in the +Kaw. I'd prefer the Kaw myself, but life is full of troubles. One more +can be endured." Rex had turned to Eloise St. Vrain. + +"Seems to me, having first choice, you might have been more considerate +of my lot yourself," Eloise declared. + +"He was. He saved you from a worse fate when he chose Mat," I broke in. + +"May we have a song by the choir?" Beverly interrupted, and with his +full bass voice he began to roar our some popular tune of that time. + +And it went on as it began, the rambles about the rugged bluffs and +picturesque ravines, where to-day the hard-surfaced Cliff Drive makes a +scenic highway through the beauty spots of a populous city; the daring +canoe rides on the rivers; the gatherings of the young folk in the town; +and the long twilight hours on the crest of the bluff overlooking the +two great waterways. And as by the first selection, Beverly and Little +Blue Flower were companions. Nobody could be unhappy with Bev, least of +all the shy Indian girl with a face full of sunshine, now. And I? I +walked a pathway strewn with rose petals because the golden-haired +Little Lees was beside me. Each day was a frolic day for us, teasing one +another and making a joke of life, and for the morrow we took no thought +at all. + +One evening Eloise St. Vrain and I sat together on the bluff. It was the +twilight hour, and all the far valley of the Kaw was full of iridescent +misty lights, with gold-tipped clouds of pale lavender above, and the +glistening silver of the river below. We could hear Beverly and Little +Blue Flower laughing together in a big swing among the maples. Aunty +Boone was crooning some African melodies in the bushes half-way down the +slope. Rex and Mat had gone to the ravine below to meet Uncle Esmond. + +"Little Lees, the first time I ever saw you you were away out there in +such a misty light as that, and I saw only your hair and your eyes then, +but as clearly as I see them now." + +Eloise turned questioningly toward me, and the light in her dark eyes +thrilled to the heart of me. In all her stay with us I had hardly spoken +earnestly of anything before. + +"When was that Gail?" she asked, the frivolous spirit gone from her, +too. + +"When I was a little boy, one day at Fort Leavenworth. And when I caught +sight of you at the door of old San Miguel I knew you," I replied. + +The girl turned her face toward the west again and was silent. I felt my +cheeks flush hotly. I had made her think I was only a dream-sick fool, +when I had told her of the sacredest moment of my life, and I had for +the minute foolishly felt that she might understand. How could I know +that it was I who could not understand? + +At last she looked up with a smile as full of mischief as on that day +when she had called me a big brown bob-cat. + +"You must have been having a nightmare in your sleep," she declared. + +"I think I was," I replied, testily. "Let me tell you something, Little +Lees, something really important." + +"I don't believe you know one important thing," Eloise replied, "but +I'll listen, and then if it is I'll tell you something more important." + +"I'm willing to hear it now. Tell me first," I replied, wondering the +while how nature, that gives rough-hewn bearded faces to men, could make +a face so daintily colored, in its youthful roundness, as hers. + +"I'm going to start to St. Louis day after to-morrow at six o'clock in +the morning. Isn't that important?" + +Was there a real earnestness under the lightly spoken words, or did I +imagine it so? If I had only made sure then--but I was young. + +"Important! It's a tragedy! I start west in three days, at eight o'clock +in the morning," I said, carelessly. + +Sometimes the gray shadows fall on us when neither sunlight nor +moonlight nor starlight is dimmed by any film of vapor. They fell on me +then, and I shivered in my soul. How could I speak otherwise than +carelessly and not show what must not be known? And how could the girl +beside me know that I was speaking thus to keep down the shiver of that +cold shadow? I suppose it must always be the same old story, year after +year-- + + till the leaves of the judgment book unfold. + +"What was that important something you were going to tell me? What Mat +told me last night when we were watching the moon rise?" Eloise asked. + +"That Rex and Mat are going to be married to-morrow evening at early +candle-lighting--'early mosquito-biting,' Bev calls it. Rex has loved +Mat since the day when he joined our little wagon-train out of a foolish +sort of notion that he could protect us children, otherwise his life was +useless to him. But something in his own boyhood made him pity all +orphan children. I think it was through neglect in childhood he became +an invalid at nineteen. He doesn't show the marks of it now." + +I paused and looked at the young girl beside me, whose eyes were like +stars in the deepening gloom of the evening. It was delicious to have +her look at me and listen to me. It was delicious to live in a rose-hued +twilight, and I forgot the chill of that gray shadow lurking near. + +The next evening was entrancing with the soft air of spring, a night +made purposely for brides. The wedding itself was simple in its +appointments, as such events must needs be in the frontier years. All +day we had worked to decorate the plain stone house, which the deftness +of Little Blue Flower and the artistic touch of Little Lees turned into +a spring bower, with trailing vines and blossoms everywhere. + +Mat's wedding-gown was neither new nor elaborate, for the affair had +been too hastily decided on, but Eloise had made it bride-like by +draping a filmy veil over Mat's bright brown hair, and Little Blue +Flower had brought her long strands of turquoise beads, "old and +borrowed and blue," to fulfil the needs of every bride. + +In the bridal party Beverly and I walked in front, followed by the two +girls in the white Greek robes which they had worn at the school frolic +at St. Ann's, and wearing their headbands, the one of silver and +turquoise, the other of silver and coral. Then came Rex Krane and Bill +Banney. Poor Bill! Nobody guessed that night that the bridal blossoms +were flowers on the coffin of his dead hope. And last of all, Esmond +Clarenden and Mat Nivers, with shining eyes, leaning on his arm. I had +never seen Uncle Esmond in evening dress before, nor dreamed how +splendid a figure he could make for a drawing-room in the costume in +which he was so much at ease. But the handsomest man of all the large +company gathered there that night was Jondo, big, broad-shouldered +Jondo, his deep-blue eyes bright with joy for these two. And in the +background was Aunty Boone, resplendent in a new red calico besprinkled +with her favorite white dots, her head turbaned in a yellow silk +bandana, and about her neck a strand of huge green glass beads. Her eyes +glistened as she watched that night's events, and her comfortable +ejaculations of approval were like the low purr of a satisfied cat. Then +came the solemn pledges, the benediction and congratulations. There was +merrymaking and singing, cake and unfermented wine of grapes for +refreshing, and much good will that night. + +When the guests were gone and the lights, save one kitchen candle, were +all out, I had slipped from the dining-room with the last burden of +dishes, when I paused a minute beside the open kitchen window to let the +midnight breeze cool my face. + +On the side porch, a little affair made to shelter the doorway, I saw +Beverly Clarenden and Little Blue Flower. He was speaking gently, but +with his blunt frankness, as he patted the two brown hands clinging to +his arm. The Indian girl's white draperies were picturesque anywhere. In +this dramatic setting they were startlingly beautiful, and her face, +outlined in the dim light, was a thing rare to see. I could not hear her +words, but her soft Hopi voice had a tender tone. + +I was waiting to let them pass in when I heard Beverly's voice, and I +saw him bend over the little maiden, and, putting one arm around her, he +drew her close to him and kissed her forehead. I knew it was a brother's +sympathetic act--and all men know how dangerous a thing that is; that +there are no ties binding brother to sister except the bonds of kindred +blood. The girl slipped inside the dining-room door, and a minute later +a candle flickered behind her bedroom window-blind in the gable of the +house. I waited for Beverly to go, determined never to mention what I +had seen, when I caught the clear low voice whose tones could make my +pulse thresh in its walls. + +"Beverly, Beverly, it breaks my heart--" I lost the remainder of the +sentence, but Beverly's words were clear and direct and full of a frank +surprise. + +"Eloise, do you really care?" + +I turned away quickly that I might not hear any more. The rest of that +night I sat wide awake and staring at the misty valley of the Kaw, where +silvery ripples flashed up here and there against the shadowy sand-bars. + + * * * * * + +The steamboat for St. Louis left the Westport Landing wharf at six +o'clock in the morning, before the mists had lifted over the big yellow +Missouri. From our bluff I saw the smoke belch from its stacks as it +pulled away and started down-stream; but only Uncle Esmond and Jondo +waited to wave good-by to the sweet-faced girl looking back at them from +its deck. Beverly had overslept, and Little Blue Flower had left an hour +earlier with a wagon-train starting west toward Council Grove. In her +room lay the white Grecian robe and the headband of wrought silver with +coral pendants. On the little white pin-cushion on the dressing-table +the bright pin-heads spelled out one Hopi word that carries all good +will and blessing, + +LOLOMI. + +Twenty-four hours later Rex Krane left his bride, and he and Bill Banney +and Beverly and I, under command of Jondo, started on our long trip +overland to Santa Fé. And two of us carried some memories we hoped to +lose when new scenes and certain perils should surround us. + + + + +XI + +"OUR FRIENDS--THE ENEMY" + + + And you all know security + Is mortal's chiefest enemy. + + SHAKESPEARE. + + +In St. Louis and Kansas City men of Esmond Clarenden's type were sending +out great caravans of goods and receiving return cargoes across the +plains--pioneer trade-builders, uncrowned sovereigns of national +expansion--against whose enduring power wars for conquest are as +flashlight to daylight. And Beverly Clarenden and I, with the whole +battalion of plainsmen--"bull-whackers," in the common parlance of the +Santa Fé Trail--who drove those caravans to and fro, may also have been +State-builders, as Uncle Esmond had declared we would be. Yet we hardly +looked like makers of empire in those summer days when we followed the +great wagon-trains along the prairies and over the mountain passes. + +Two of us had come home from school hilariously eager for the trail +service. But the silent plains made men thoughtful and introspective. +Days of endless level landscapes under wide-arching skies, and nights +in the open beneath the everlasting silent stars, give a man time to get +close to himself, to relive his childhood, to measure human values, to +hear the voice in the storm-cloud and the song of low-purring winds, to +harden against the monotonous glare of sunlight, to defy the burning +heat, and to feel--aye, to feel the spell of crystal day-dawns and the +sweetness of velvet-shadowed twilights. Beverly and I were typical +plainsmen in that we never spoke of these things to each other--that is +not the way of the plainsman. + +Our company had been organized at Council Grove--three trains of +twenty-six wagons each, drawn by three or four spans of mules or yoke of +oxen, guarded by eightscore of "bull-whackers." And there were a dozen +or more ponies trained for swift riding in cases of emergency. There +were also half a dozen private outfits under protection of the large +body. + +The usual election before starting had made Jondo captain of the whole +company. His was the controlling type of spirit that could have bent a +battalion or swayed a Congress. For all the commanders and lawmakers of +that day were not confined to the army and to Congress. Some of them +escaped to the West and became sovereigns of service there. And Jondo +had need for an intrepid spirit to rule that group of men, as that +journey across the plains proved. + +On the day before we left Council Grove he was sitting with the heads of +the other wagon-trains under a big oak-tree, perfecting final plans for +the journey. + +"Gail, I want you to sign some papers here," he said. "It is the +agreement for the trip among the three companies owning the trains." + +I read aloud the contract setting forth how one Jean Deau, representing +Esmond Clarenden, of Kansas City, with Smith and Davis, representing two +other companies from St. Louis, together agreed to certain conditions +regarding the journey. + +Smith and Davis had already signed, and as I took the pen, a +white-haired old trapper who was sitting near by burst out: + +"Jean Deau! Jean Deau! Who the devil is Jean Deau?" + +Jondo did not look up, but the lines hardened about his mouth. + +"It's a sound. Don't get in the way, old man. Go ahead, Clarenden," +Smith commanded. + +Few questions were asked in those days, for most men on the plains had a +history, and it was what a man could do here, not what he had done +somewhere else, that counted. + +So I, representing Esmond Clarenden, signed the paper and the two +managers hurried away. But the old trapper sat staring at Jondo. + +"Say, I'm gittin' close to the end of the trail, and the divide ain't +fur off for me. D'ye mind if I say somethin'?" he asked at last. + +Jondo looked up with that smile that could warm any man's heart. + +"Say on," he commanded, kindly. + +"You aint never signin' your own name nowhere, it sorter seems." + +Jondo shook his head. + +"Didn't you and this Clarenden outfit go through here 'bout ten years +ago one night? Some Mexican greasers was raisin' hell and proppin' it up +with a whisky-bottle that night, layin' fur you vicious." + +Jondo smiled and nodded assent. + +"Well, them fellers comin' in had a bargain with a passel of Kioways to +git you plenty if they missed you themselves; to clinch their bargain +they give 'em a pore little Hopi Injun girl they'd brung along with a +lot of other Mexicans and squaws." + +"I had that figured out pretty well at the time," Jondo said, with a +smile. + +"But, Jean Deau--" the old man began. + +"No, Jondo. Go on. I'm busy," Jondo interrupted. + +The old man's watery eyes gleamed. + +"I just want to say friendly-like, that them Kioways never forgot the +trick you worked on 'em, an' the _tornydo_ that busted 'em at Pawnee +Rock they laid to your bad medicine. They went clare back to Bent's Fort +to fix you. Them and that rovin' bunch of Mexicans that scattered along +the trail with 'em in time of the Mexican War. They'd 'a' lost you but +fur a little Apache cuss they struck out there who showed 'em to you." + +Jondo looked up quickly now. Santan, Beverly's "Satan," whom our +captain had defended, flashed to my mind, but I knew by Jondo's face +that he did not believe the old trapper's story. + +"Them Kioways is still layin' fur you ever' year, I tell you, an' +they're bound to git you sooner or later. I'm tellin' ye in kindness." + +The old man's voice weakened a little. + +"And I'm taking you in kindness," Jondo said. "You may be doing me a +great service." + +"I shore am. Take my word an' keep awake. Keep awake!" + +In spite of his drink-bleared eyes and weakened frame, there was a hint +of the commander in him, a mere shadow of the energy that had gone years +ago into the wild, solitary life of the trapper who foreran the trail +days here. + +"One more trip to the ha'nts of the fur-bearin' and it's good-by to the +mountain trails and the river courses fur me," he said, as he rose and +stalked unsteadily away, and--I never saw him again. + +At daybreak the next morning we were off for Santa Fé. Our wagons, +loaded with their precious burdens, moved forward six abreast along the +old sun-flower bordered trail. Morning, noon, and evening, pitching camp +and breaking camp, yoking oxen and harnessing mules, keeping night vigil +by shifts, hunting buffalo, killing rattlesnakes, watching for signs of +hostile Indians, meeting incoming trains, or solitary trappers, at long +intervals, breathing the sweet air of the prairies, and gathering rugged +strength from sleep on the wholesome earth--these things, with the +jolliest of fellowship and perfect discipline of our captain, Jondo, +made this hard, free life of the plains a fascinating one. We were +unshaven and brown as Indians. We lost every ounce of fat, but we were +steel-sinewed, and fear, that wearing element that disintegrates the +soul, dropped away from us early on the trail. + +But when the full moon came sweeping up the sky, and all the prairie +shadows lay flat to earth under its surge of clear light, in the +stillness of the great lonely land, then the battle with home-sickness +was not the least of the plains' perils. + +One midnight watch of such a night, Jondo sat out my vigil with me. Our +eighty or more wagons were drawn up in a rude ellipse with the stock +corraled inside, for we were nearing the danger zone. And yet to-night +danger seemed impossible in such a peaceful land under such clear +moonlight. + +"Gail, you were always a far-seeing youngster, even in your cub days," +Jondo said, after we had sat silent for a long time. "We are moving into +trouble from to-night, and I'll need you now." + +"What makes you think so, Jondo?" I asked. + +"That train we met going east at noon." + +"Mexicans with silver and skins worth double our stuff, what have they +to do with us?" I inquired. + +"One of the best men I have ever known is a Mexican in Santa Fé. The +worst man I have ever known is an American there. But I've never yet +trusted a Mexican when you bunch them together. They don't fit into +American harness, and it will be a hundred years before the Mexican in +our country will really love the Stars and Stripes. Deep down in his +heart he will hate it." + +"I remember Felix Narveo and Ferdinand Ramero mighty well," I commented. + +Jondo stared at me. + +"Can't a boy remember things?" I inquired. + +"It takes a boy to remember; and they grow up and we forget they have +had eyes, ears, feelings, memories, all keener than we can ever have in +later years. Gail, the Mexican train comes from Felix Narveo, and Narveo +is a man of a thousand. They bring word, however, that the Kiowas are +unusually friendly and that we have nothing to fear this side of the +Cimarron. They don't feel sure of the Utes and Apaches." + +"Good enough!" I exclaimed. + +"Yes, only they lie when they say it. It's a trap to get us. No Kiowa on +the plains will let a Clarenden train through peacefully, because we +took their captive, Little Blue Flower. It's a hatred kept alive in the +Kiowas by one man in Santa Fé through his Mexican agents with Narveo's +train." + +"And that man is Ramero?" I questioned. + +"That man is Ramero, and his capacity for hate is appalling. Gail, +there's only one thing in the world that is stronger than hate, and that +is love." + +Jondo looked out over the moonlit plains, his fine head erect, even in +his meditative moods. + +"When a Mexican says a Kiowa has turned friendly, don't believe him. +And when a Kiowa says it himself--kill him. It's your only safe course," +Jondo said, presently. + +"Jondo, why does Ramero stir up the Indians and Mexicans against Uncle +Esmond?" I asked. + +"Because Clarenden drove him into exile in New Mexico before it was +United States territory," Jondo replied. + +"What did he do that for?" I asked. + +"Because of what Ramero had done to me," Jondo replied. + +"Well, New Mexico is United States territory now. What keeps this Ramero +in Santa Fé, if he is there?" + +"I keep him there. It's safer to know just where a man like that is. So +I put a ring around the town and left him inside of it." + +Jondo paused and turned toward me. + +"Yonder comes Banney to go on guard now. Gail, I'll tell you all about +it some day. I couldn't on a night like this." + +The deep voice sent a shiver through me. There was a pathos in it, too +manly for tears, too courageous for pity. + +The days that followed were hard ones. Word had gotten through the camp +that the Indians were very friendly, and that we need not be uneasy this +side of the Cimarron country. Smith and Davis agreed with the train +captain, Jondo, in taking no chances, but most of the one hundred sixty +bull-whackers stampeded like cattle against precaution, and rebelled at +his rigid ruling. He had begun to tighten down upon us as we went +farther and farther into the heart of a savage domain. The night guard +was doubled and every precaution for the stock was demanded, giving +added cause for grumbling and muttered threats which no man had the +courage to speak openly to Jondo's face. I knew why he had said that he +would need me. Bill Banney was always reliable, but growing more silent +and unapproachable every day. Rex Krane's mind was on the girl-wife he +had left in the stone house on the bluff above the Missouri. Beverly was +too cock-sure of himself and too light-hearted, too eager for an Indian +fight. Jondo could counsel with Smith and Davis of the St. Louis trains, +but only as a last resort would he dictate to them. So he turned to me. + +We were nearing Pawnee Rock, but as yet no hint of an Indian trail could +we find anywhere. Advance-guards and rear-guards had no news to report +when night came, and the sense of security grew hourly. The day had been +very warm, but our nooning was shortened and we went into camp early. +Everything had gone wrong that day: harness had broken; mules had grown +fractious; a wagon had upset on a rough bit of the trail; half a dozen +men, including Smith and Davis of the St. Louis trains, had fallen +suddenly ill; drinking-water had been warm and muddy; and, most of all, +the consciousness of wide-spread opposition to Jondo's strict ruling +where there were no signs of danger made a very ugly-spirited group of +men who sat down together to eat our evening meal. Bets were openly +made that we wouldn't see a hostile redskin this side of Santa Fé. +Covert sneers pointed many comments, and grim silence threatened more +than everything else. Jondo's face was set, but there was a calmness +about his words and actions, and even the most rebellious that night +knew he was least afraid of any man among us. + +At midnight he wakened me. "I want you to help me, Gail," he said. "The +Kiowas will gather for us at Pawnee Rock. They missed us there once +because they were looking for a big train, and it was there we took +their captive girl. The boys are ready to mutiny to-night. I count on +you to stand by me." + +Stand by Jondo! In my helpless babyhood, my orphaned childhood, my +sturdy growing years toward young manhood, Jondo had been father, +mother, brother, playmate, guardian angel. I would have walked on +red-hot coals for his sake. + +"I want you to slip away to-night, when Rex and Bev are on guard, and +find out what's over that ridge to the north. Don't come back till you +do find out. We'll get to Pawnee Rock to-morrow. I must know to-night. +Can you do it? If you aren't back by sunrise, I'll follow your trail +double quick." + +"I'll go," I replied, proud to show both my courage and my loyalty to my +captain. + +The night was gray, with a dying moon in the west, and the north ridge +loomed like a low black shadow against the sky. There was a weird +chanting voice in the night wind, pouring endlessly across the open +plains. And everywhere an eyeless, voiceless, motionless land, whereon +my pony's hoof-beats were big and booming. Nature made my eyes and ears +for the trail life, and matched my soul to its level spaces. To-night I +was alert with that love of mastery that made me eager for this task. So +I rode forward until our great camp was only a dull blot on the +horizon-line, melting into mere nothingness as it grew farther away. And +I was alone on the earth. God had taken out every other thing in it, +save the sky over my head and the uneven short-grass sod under my feet. + +On I went, veering to the northwest from instinct that I should find my +journey's end soonest that way. Over the divide which hid the wide +valley of the Arkansas, and into the deep draws and low bluffs of a +creek with billowy hills beyond, I found myself still instinctively +_smelling_ my way. I grew more cautious with each step now, knowing that +the chance for me to slip along unseen gave also the chance for an enemy +to trail me unseen. + +At last I caught that low breathing sound that goes with the sense of +nearness to life. Leaving my pony by the stream, I climbed to the top of +a little swell, and softly as a cat walks on a carpet, I walked straight +into an Indian camp. It was well chosen for outlook near, and security +from afar. There was a growing light in the sky that follows the +darkness of moonset and runs before the break of dawn. Everything in +the camp was dead still. I saw evidences of war-paint and a recent +war-dance that forerun an Indian attack. I estimated the strength of the +enemy--possibly four hundred warriors, and noted the symbols of the +Kiowa tribe. Then, thrilled with pride at my skill and success, I turned +to retrace my way to my pony--and looked full into the face of an Indian +brave standing motionless in my path. A breath--and two more braves +evolved out of gray air, and the three stood stock-still before me. Out +of the tail of my eye, I caught sight of a drawn bow on either side of +me. I had learned quickness with firearms years ago, but I knew that two +swift arrows would cut my life-line before the sound of my ready +revolver could break the stillness of the camp. Three pairs of snaky +black eyes looked steadily at me, and I stared back as directly into +them. Two arrow-points gently touched my ears. Behind me, a tomahawk +softly marked a ring around my scalp outside of my hat. I was standing +in a circle of death. At last the brave directly before me slowly drew +up his bow and pointed it at me; then dropping it, he snapped the arrow +shaft and threw away the pieces. Pointing to my cocked revolver, he +motioned to me to drop it. At the same time the bows and tomahawks, of +the other warriors were thrown down. It was a silent game, and in spite +of the danger I smiled as I put down my firearms. + +"Can't any of you talk?" I asked. "If you are friendly, why don't you +say so?" + +The men did not speak, but by a gesture toward the tallest tepee--the +chief's, I supposed--I understood that he alone would talk to me. + +"Well, bring him out." I surprised myself at my boldness. Yet no man +knows in just what spirit he will face a peril. + +One of the braves ran to the chief's tent, but the remaining five left +me no chance for escape. It was slowly growing lighter. I thought of +Jondo and his search at sunrise, and the moments seemed like hours. Yet +with marvelous swiftness and stillness a score of Indians with their +chief were mounted, and I, with my pony in the center of a solid ring, +was being hurried away, alive, with friendly captors daubed with +war-paint. + +There was a growing light in the east, while the west was still dark. I +thought of the earth as throwing back the gray shadowy covers from its +morning face and piling them about its feet; I thought of some joke of +Beverly's; and I wondered about one of the oxen that had seemed sick in +the evening. I tried to think of nothing and a thousand things came into +my mind. But of life and death and love and suffering, I thought not at +all. + +Meantime, Jondo waited anxiously for my coming. Rex and Beverly had gone +to sleep at the end of their watch and nobody else in camp knew of my +going. At dawn a breeze began to swing in from the north, and with its +refreshing touch the weariness and worries of yesterday were swept away. +Everybody wakened in a good humor. But Jondo had not slept, and his +face was sterner than ever as the duties of the day began. + +Before sunrise I began to be missed. + +"Where's Gail?" Bill Banney was the first to ask. + +"That's Clarenden's job, not mine," another of the bull-whackers +resented a command of Jondo's. + +"Gail! Gail! Anybody on earth seen Gail Clarenden this morning?" came +from a far corner of the camp. + +"Have you lost a man, Jondo?" Smith, still sick in his wagon, inquired. + +And the sun was filling the eastern horizon with a roseate glow. It +would be above the edge of the plains in a little while, and still I had +not returned. + +Breakfast followed, with many questions for the absent one. There was an +eagerness to be off early and an uneasiness began to pervade the camp. + +"Jondo, you'll have to dig up Gail now. I saw him putting out northwest +about one o'clock," Rex Krane said, aside to the train captain. + +"If he isn't here in ten minutes. I'll have to start out after him," +Jondo replied. + +Ten minutes are long to one who waits. The boys were ready for the camp +order. "Catch up!" to start the harnessing of teams. But it was not +given. The sun's level rays, hot and yellow, smote the camp, and a low +murmur ran from wagon to wagon. Jondo waited a minute longer, then he +climbed to the wagon tongue at the head of the ellipse of vehicles, his +commanding form outlined against the open space, his fine face illumined +by the sunlight. + +"Boys, listen to me." + +Men listened when Jondo spoke. + +"I believe we are in danger, but you have doubted my word. I leave the +days to prove who is right. At midnight I sent Gail Clarenden to find +out what is beyond that ridge--a band of men running parallel with us +that shadows us day by day. If he is not here in ten minutes, we must go +after him." + +A hush fell on the camp. The oxen switched at the first nipping insects +of the morning, and the ponies and mules, with that horse-sense that all +horsemen have observed in them at times, stood as if waiting for a +decision to be made. + +Beverly Clarenden was first to speak. + +"If anybody goes after Gail, it's _me_, and I'll not stop till I get +him," he cried, all the brotherly love of a lifetime in his ringing +voice. + +"And me!" "And me!" "And me!" came from a dozen throats. Plainsmen were +always the truest of comrades in the hour of danger. Nobody questioned +Jondo's wisdom now. All thought was for the missing man. + +Rex Krane had leaped up on the wagon next to Jondo's and stood gazing +toward the northwest. At this outburst of eagerness he turned to the +crowd in the corral. + +"You wait five minutes and Gail will be here. He's gettin' into sight +out yonder now," he declared. + +Another shout, a rush for the open, and a straining of eyes to make sure +of the lone rider coming swiftly down the trail I had followed out at +midnight. And amid a wild swinging of hats and whoops of joy I rode into +camp, hugged by Beverly and questioned by everybody, eager for my story +from the time I left the camp until I rode into it again. + +"They took me to Pawnee Rock before they let me know anything, except +that my scalp would hang to the old chief's war-spear if I tried one +eye-wink to get away from them. But they let me keep my gun, and I took +it for a sign," I told the company. "They had a lot of ceremony getting +seated, and then, without any smoking-tobacco or peace-pipe, they gave +their message." + +"Who said the Kiowas wasn't friendly? They already sent us word enough," +one man broke in. + +Jondo's face, that had been bright and hopeful, now grew grave. + +"They said they mean us no harm. They were grateful to Uncle Sam for the +favors he had given them. That the prairies were wide, and there was +room for all of us on it," I continued. "In proof, they said that we +would pass that old rock to-day unharmed where once they would have +counted us their enemies. And they let me go to bring you all this word. +They are going northeast into the big hunting-ground, and we are safe." + +No man could take defeat better than Jondo. + +"I am glad if I was wrong in my opinion," he said. "Fifteen years on +that trail have made me cautious. I shall still be cautious if I am your +captain. They did not smoke the peace-pipe. In my judgment the Kiowas +lied. Two or three days will prove it. Choose now between me and my +unchanged opinion, and some new train captain." + +"Oh, every man makes some bad guesses, Jondo. We'll keep you, of course, +and it's a joke on you, that's all." So ran the comment, and we +hurriedly broke camp and moved on. + +But with all of our captain's anxiety Pawnee Rock stood like a +protecting shield above us when we camped at its base, and the long +bright days that followed were full of a sense of security and good +cheer as we pulled away for the Cimarron crossing of the Arkansas River, +miles ahead. + +All day Jondo rode wide of the trail, sometimes on one side and +sometimes on the other, watching for signs of an enemy. And the bluff, +jovial crowd of bull-whackers laughed together at his holding on to his +opinion out of sheer stubbornness. + +On the second night he asked for a triple guard and nobody grumbled, for +everybody really liked the big plainsman and they could afford to be +good-natured with him, now that he was unquestioningly in the wrong. + +The camp was in a little draw running down to the river, bordered by a +mere ripple of ground on either side, growing deeper as it neared the +stream and flattening out toward the level prairie in its upper +portion. In spite of the triple guard, Jondo did not sleep that night; +and, strangely enough, I, who had been dull to fear in the hands of the +Indians two nights before, felt nervous and anxious, now when all seemed +secure. + +Just at daybreak a light shower with big bullet-like drops of rain +pattered down noisily on our camp and a sudden flash of lightning and a +thunderbolt startled the sleepy stock and brought us to our feet, dazed +for an instant. Another light volley of rain, another sheet of lightning +and roar of thunder, and the cloud was gone, scattering down the +Arkansas Valley. But in that flash all of Jondo's cause for anxiety was +justified. The widening draw was full of Kiowas, hideous in war-paint, +and the ridges on either side of us were swarming with Indians beating +dried skins to frighten and stampede our stock, and all yelling like +fiends, while a perfect rain of arrows swept our camp. With the river +below us full of holes and quicksands, our enemies had only to hold the +natural defense on either side while they drove us in a harrowing wedge +back to the water. If our ponies and mules should break from the corral +they would rush for the river or be lost in the widening space back from +the deeper draw, where a well-trained corps of thieves knew how to +capture them. I had estimated the Kiowas' strength at four hundred, two +nights before, which was augmented now by a roving band of Dog +Indians--outcasts from all tribes, who knew no law of heaven or hell +that they must obey. And so we stood, shocked wide awake, with the foe +four to one, man for man against us. + +Men remember details acutely in the face of danger. As I write these +words I can hear the sound of Jondo's voice that morning, clear and +strong above the awful din, for nature made him to command in moments of +peril. In a flash we were marshalled, one force to guard the corral, one +to seize and hold either bank and one to charge on the advance of the +Indians down the draw. We were on the defensive, as our captain had +planned we should be, and every man of us realized bitterly now how much +he had done for us, in spite of our distrust of his judgment. + +On came the yelling horde, with rifle-rip and singing arrow. And the +sharp cry of pain and the fierce oath told where these shots had sped +home. Four to one, with every advantage of well-laid plan of action +against an unsuspecting sleeping force, the odds and gods were with +them. Dark clouds hung overhead, but the eastern sky was aflame, casting +a lurid glare across the edges of the draw as a stream of savages with +painted faces and naked bedaubed bodies poured down against the corral. +In an instant the chains and ropes holding the stock were severed, and +our mules and oxen and ponies stampeded wildly. By some adroit movement +they were herded over the low bank, and a cloud of dust hid the entire +battleground as the animals, mad with fright and goaded by arrows, +tossed against one another, stumbled blindly until they had cleared the +ridge. A shriek of savage glee and the thunder of hoofs on the hard +earth told how well the thing had been done and how furiously our +animals were being whirled away. + +"Go, get 'em, Gail! Stay by 'em! Run!" + +Jondo's voice sounded far away, but my work was near. With a dozen +bull-whackers I made a dash out of the draw and, circling wide, we rode +like demons to outflank the cloud of dust that hid our precious +property. On we swept, fleet and sure, in a mad burst of speed to save +our own. We were gaining now, and turning the cloud toward the river. +Another spurt, and we would have them checked, faced about, subdued. I +saw the end, and as the boys swung forward I urged them on. + +"To the river. To the river. Head 'em south!" I cried. + +And Rex Krane, like a centaur, swirled by me to do the thing I ordered. +Behind me rode Beverly Clarenden bareheaded, his face aglow with power. +As I looked back the dust engulfed him for a moment, and then I heard an +arrow sing, and a sharp cry of pain. The dust had lifted and Beverly and +a huge Indian, the tallest I have ever seen, were grappling together, a +scalping-knife gleaming in the morning light. I dashed forward and +felled the savage with the butt of my revolver. He leaped to his feet +and sprang at me just as Beverly, with unerring aim, sent a blaze of +fire between us. As the savage fell again, my cousin seized his pony; +and with an arrow still swinging to his arm, dashed into the chase, and +left it only when the stock, with the loss of less than a fourth, was +driven up the river's sandy bank and over the swell into the camp +inclosure. + +Meantime, Jondo at the front of his men charged into the very center of +the savage battle-line as, furious for blood, they threshed across the +narrow draw--the disciplined arm and courageous heart against a +blood-thirsty foe. A charge, a falling back, another surge to win the +lost ground, a steady holding on and sure advance, and then Jondo, with +one triumphant shout of victory, struck the last fierce blow that sent +the Kiowas into full flight toward the northwest, and the day was won. + +Out by the river, a sudden dullness seized me. I lifted my eyes to see +Beverly free and Rex directing the charge; cattle, mules, and ponies +turned back toward safety, and something crawling and writhing about my +feet; Jondo's great shout of victory far away, it seemed, miles and +miles to the north; a cloud of dust sweeping toward me; the crimson east +aflame like the Day of judgment; the dust cloud rolling nearer; the +yellow sands and slow-moving waters of the Arkansas; and six silent +stalwart Kiowa braves, with snaky black eyes, looking steadily at me. +Shadows, and the dust cloud upon me. Then all was night. + + + + +XII + +THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE PLAINS + + + Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether, + But we do not fall on the neck, nor kiss when we come together. + --"A SONG OF THE ENGLISH." + + +The whole thing was clear now, clear as the big white day that suddenly +beamed along the prairies, scattering the clouds into gray strands +against the upper heavens. The treachery of the Kiowas had been cleverly +executed. Word of their friendliness had come to us through the Mexican +caravan which could have no object in deceiving us, since it was on its +way to Kansas City to do business with the Clarenden house there. And +Jondo had sent a spy by night into the Kiowa camp as if they were not to +be trusted. Yet they had taken no offense; but, letting me keep my +firearms, had led me into their council on the top of Pawnee Rock, where +they had told me in clear English that they had nothing but love for the +white brothers of the plains. And to prove it we should pass unharmed +along the trail where once we had wronged them by stealing their +captive. The prairies were wide enough for all of us and they had +forgotten--as an Indian always forgets--all malice against us. They had +sent me back to camp with greetings to my captain, and had gone on their +way to the heart of the Grand Prairie in the northeast. + +It was only Jondo, as he rode wide of the trail for two days, who could +see any mark of an Indian's track. And we had not believed Jondo. We +never made that mistake again: But trust in his shrewdness now, however, +would not bring back the oxen lost and the mules and ponies captured by +the thieving band of Dog Indians. But there was a greater loss than +these. The Kiowas had come for revenge. It was blood, not plunder, they +wanted. A dozen men with arrow wounds reported at roll call, and six men +lay stark dead under the pitiless sky. Among them Davis of the St. Louis +train, who had been too ill to take part in the struggle. One more loss +was there to report, but it was not discovered until later. + +Indians seldom leave their dead on the field of battle, but the +blood-stained sod beside their fallen ponies told a story of heavy toll. +Blood marked the trail of hoofprints to the northwest in their wild rout +thither. One comrade they had missed in their flight. He lay down near +the river where the ground had been threshed over by the stampeded +stock. He must have been a giant in life, for his was the longest grave +made in the prairie sod that day. At the river's edge the sands were +pricked with hoofprints, where the struggle to carry away the dead +seemed to have reached clear into the thin yellow current of the +Arkansas, although no trail led out on the far side of the stream. + +"That's the very copper cuss with yellow trimmings who had me down when +that arrow stopped me," Beverly exclaimed. "He was seven feet tall and +streaked with yellow just that way. I thought ten million rattlesnakes +and eight billion polecats had hit me. His club was awful. Then I caught +sight of old Gail's face in the dust-storm, coming back to help me. He +gave the Indian one dose and got one back, a good hard bill, and then +the dust closed in and Gail was off again to the northwest out there, +like a hurricane. I could hear him a mile away. Couldn't I Gail? Where +is Gail?" + +Where? + +"Oh, back there with the stock!" + +No? + +"Out there looking over the draw for things that's got all scattered." + +No? Not there? + +"Oh, he's getting breakfast. And we are all hungry enough to eat raw +Kiowas now." + +No? No? + +"Gail would be helping the wounded, anyhow, or straightening out dead +men's limbs. Poor fellows--to lose six! It's awful!" + +No? No? No? + +"Bathing in the river? Where? Over there across the sand-bar?" + +Nowhere! Nowhere! + +"By the eternal God, they've got him!" Jondo's agonized voice rang +through the camp. + +"We can take care of the wounded, and those fellows lying over there +don't need us. But, oh, Gail! They'll torture him to death!" Rex Krane's +voice choked and he ground his teeth. + +"Gail, my Gail!" Beverly sat down white and desparingly calm--Beverly, +whose up-bubbling spirits nobody could repress. + +The others wrung their hands and cursed and groaned aloud. Only Bill +Banney, the unimaginative and stern-hearted, stood motionless with set +jaws and black-frowning brows. Bill, whom the plains had made hard and +unfeeling. + +"We won't give up Gail, will we, Bill?" Jondo spoke sternly, but his +face--they said his face was bright with courage and that his eyes shone +with the inspiration of his will. In all that crowd of eager, faithful +men, he turned now to Bill Banney. Every man had his place on the +plains, and Jondo out of the chrism of his own life-struggle knew that +Bill was bearing a cross in silence, and that his was the martyr spirit +that finds salvation only in deeds. Bill was the man for the place. + +And so while straying animals were slowly recovered, while the camp was +set in order, while the dead were laid with simple reverence in +un-coffined graves, and the sick were crudely ministered to, while +Beverly grew feverish and his arrow wound became a festering sore, and +Rex Krane, master of the company, cared for every thing and everybody +with that big mother-heart of his--Jondo and Bill Banney pushed alone +across the desolate plains toward where the Smoky Hills wrapped in their +dim gray-blue mist mark the low watershed that rims the western valley +of the Kaw. + +They went alone because skill, and not numbers, could save a captive +from the hands of the Kiowas, and the sight of a force would mean death +to the victim before he could be rescued. + +A splash of water against a hot hand hanging down; a sense of light, of +motion; a glimpse of coarse sands and thin straggling weeds beside the +edge of the stream down which the pathway ran; a sharp aching at the +base of the brain; an agony of strained muscles--thus slowly I came to +my senses, to memory, to the knowledge that I was bound hand and foot to +a pony's back; that the sun was hot, and the sands were hotter, and the +glare on the waters blinding; that every splash of the pony's hoofs sent +up glittering sparkles that stabbed my aching eyes like white-hot +dagger-points; that the black and clotted dirt on the pony's shoulder +was not mud, but blood; that before and behind were other splashing +feet, all hiding the trail in the thin current of the wide old Arkansas; +that the quick turns to follow the water and the need for speed gave no +consideration to the helpless rider. The image of six pairs of snaky +black eyes came to help the benumbed brain, and I knew with whom I was +again captive. But there was no question about the friendly motive now, +for there was no friendly motive now. And as we pushed on east, Jondo +and Bill Banney were hurrying toward the northwest, and the space +between us widened every minute. A wave of helplessness and despair +swept over me; then a wild up-leaping prayer for deliverance to a +far-away unpitying Heaven; a sudden sense of the futility of prayer in a +land the Lord had forgotten; and then anger, hot and wholesome, and an +unconquered, dominant will to gain freedom or to die game, swept every +other feeling away, marvelously mastering the sense of pain that had +ground mercilessly at every nerve. Then came that small voice which a +man hears sometimes in the night stillness and sometimes in the blare of +daylight wrangle. And all suddenly I knew that He who notes the +sparrow's fall knew that I was alone with death, slow-lingering, +inch-creeping death, out on that wide, lonely plain. The glare on the +waters softened. The heat fell away. The despair and agony lifted. In +all the world--my world--there was only one, God; not a far, unpitying, +book-made Lord beyond the height of the glaring blue dome above me. God +beside me on, the yellow waters of the Arkansas. His hand in my hot +hand! His strength about me, invisible, unbreakable, infinite. When a +man enters into that shielding Presence, nothing else matters. + +I do not know how many miles we went down-stream, leaving no trail in +the shallow water or along its hard-baked edges. But by the time we +dropped that line I had begun to think coherently and to take note of +everything possible to me, bound as I was, face downward, on the pony's +back. It was when we had left the river that the hard riding began, and +a merciful unconsciousness, against which I fought, softened some +stretches of that long day's journey. We crossed the Santa Fé Trail and +were pushing eastward out of sight of it to the north. No stop, no word, +nothing but ride, ride, ride. Truly, I needed the Presence that went +with me on the way. + +At sunset we stopped, and I was taken from my pony and thrown to the +ground. I managed, in spite of my bonds, to sit up and look about me. + +We were on the top of Pawnee Rock. The heat of the day was spent and all +the radiant tints of evening were making the silent prairies unspeakably +beautiful. I do not know why I should have noted or remembered any of +this, save that the mind sometimes gathers impressions under strange +stress of suffering. I had had no food all day, and when our ponies +stopped to drink, the agony of thirst was maddening. My tongue was +swollen and my lips were cracked and bleeding. The leather thongs that +bound me cut deep now. But--only the men who lived it can know what all +this meant to the pioneer of the trail. + +I have sat on the same spot at sunset many a time in these my sunset +years; have gazed in tranquil joy at the whole panorama of the heavens +that hang over the prairies in the opalescent splendor of the +after-sunset hour; have looked out over the earthly paradise of waving +grain, all glowing with the golden gleam of harvest, in the heart of the +rich Kansas wheat-lands--and somehow I'm glad of soul that I foreran +this day and--maybe--maybe I, too, helped somewhat to build the way--the +way that Esmond Clarenden had helped to clear a decade before and was +building then. + +The six Indians gathered near me. One of them with unmerciful mercy +loosened my bonds a trifle and gave me a sup of water. They did not want +me to die too soon. Then they sat down to eat and drink. I did not shut +my eyes, nor turn my head. I defied their power to crush me, and the +very defiance gave me strength. + +The chill air of evening blew about the brow of the rock, the twilight +deepened, and down in the valley the shadows were beginning to hide the +landscape. But the evening hour is long on the headlands. And there was +ample time for another kind of council than that to which I had listened +three mornings ago, when I had been set free to bear a friendly message +to my chief. + +They carried me--helpless in their hands--to where, unseen myself, and +secured by rock fragment and rawhide thong, I could see far up the trail +to the eastward. But I could give no signal of distress, save for the +feeble call of my swollen, thirst-parched throat. Then the six bronze +sons of the plains sat down before me, and looked at me. Looked! I never +see a pair of beady black eyes to-day--and there are many such--that I +do not long to kill somebody, so vivid yet is the memory of those +murdering eyes looking at me. + +At last they spoke--plains English, it is true--but clear to give their +meaning. + +"Chief Clarenden thinks Kiowas forget. He comes with little train across +the prairies; Kiowas go to meet big train east and fight fair for +Mexican brothers who hate Chief Clarenden. They do not stop to look for +little sneaking coyotes when they seek big game. Clarenden steals away +Kiowas' captive Hopi. Cheat Kiowas of big pay that white Medicine-man +Josef would give for her. Mexican brothers and Kiowa tribe hate +Clarenden. They take his son, _you_, to show Clarenden they can steal, +too. Hopi girl! white brave! all the same." + +The speaker's words came deliberately, and he gave a contemptuous wave +of the hand as he closed. And the six sat silent for a time. Then +another voice broke the stillness. + +"Yonder is your trail. Chief Clarenden and big white chiefs go by to +Santa Fé to buy and sell and grow rich. Indian sell captives to grow +rich! No! White chief not let Indians buy and sell. But we do not kill +white dogs. We leave you here to watch the trail for wagon-trains. They +may not come soon. They may not see you nor hear you. You can see them +pass on their way to get rich. You can watch them. Hopi girl would have +brought us big money. We get no richer. Watch white men go get rich. You +may watch many days till sun dries your eyes. Nothing trouble you here. +Watch the trail. No wild animal come here. No water drown you here. No +fine meat make you ache with eating here. Watch." + +The six looked long at me, and as the light faded their black eyes and +dark faces seemed like the glittering eyes and hooked bills of six great +dark birds of prey. + +When the last sunset glow was in the west the six rose up and walked +backward, still looking at me, until they passed my range of vision and +I could only feel their eyes upon me. Then I heard the clatter of +ponies' feet on the hard rock, the fainter stroke on the thin, sandy +soil, the thud on the thickening sod. Thump, thump, thump, farther and +farther and farther away. The west grew scarlet, deepened to purple and +melted at last into the dull gray twilight that foreruns the darkness of +night. One ray of pale gold shimmered far along toward the zenith and +lost itself in the upper heavens, and the stars came forth in the +blue-black eastern sky. And I was alone with the Presence whose arm is +never shortened and whose ear grows never heavy. + +The trail to the east was only a dull line along the darker earth. I +looked up at the myriad stars coming swiftly out of space to greet me. +The starlit sky above the open prairie speaks the voice of the Infinite +in a grandeur never matched on land or sea. + +I thought of Little Blue Flower on that dim-lighted dawning when she had +showed us her bleeding hands and lashed shoulders. And again I heard +Beverly's boyish voice ring out: + +"Let's take her and take our chances." + +And then I was beside the glistening waters of the Flat Rock, and Little +Blue Flower was there in her white Grecian robe and the wrought-silver +headband with coral pendants. And Eloise. The golden hair, the soft dark +eyes, the dainty peach-bloom cheek. Eloise whom I had loved always and +always. Eloise who loved Beverly--good, big-hearted, sunny-faced +Beverly, who never had visions. Any girl would love him. Most of all, +Little Blue Flower. What a loving message she had left us in the one +word, _Lolomi_. God pity her. + +A thousand sharp pains racked my body. I tried to move. I longed for +water. Then a merciful darkness fell upon me--not sleep, but +unconsciousness. And the stars watched over me through that black night, +lying there half dead and utterly alone. + +Out to the northwest Jondo and Bill Banney rode long on the trail of the +fleeing Kiowas. A picture for an artist of the West, these two rough men +in the garb and mount and trappings of the plainsman, with eyes alert +and strong faces, riding only as men can ride who go to save a life more +eagerly than they would save their own. Not in rash haste, but with +unchecked speed, losing no mark along the trail that should guide them +more quickly to their goal, so they passed side by side, and neither +said a word for hours along the way. Night came, and the needs of their +ponies made them pause briefly. The trail, too, was harder to follow +now. They might lose it in the darkness and so lose time. And those two +men were going forth to victory. Not for one single heart-beat did they +doubt their power to win, and the stead-fast assurance made them calm. + +Daylight again, and a fresher trail made them hurry on. They drank at +every stream and ate a snatch of food as they rode. They reached the +hurriedly quitted Kiowa camp, and searched for the sign of vengeance on +a captive there. Jondo knew those signs, and his heart beat high with +hope. + +"They haven't done it yet," he said to his companion. "They want to get +away first. We are safe for a day." + +And they rode swiftly on again. + +"There's trouble here," Bill Banney declared as he watched the ground. +"Too many feet. Could it be here?" + +His voice was hardly audible. The two men halted and read the ground +with piercing eyes. Something had happened, for there had been a +circling and chasing in and out, and the sod was cut deep with +hoofprints. + +"No council nor ceremony, no open space for anything." Jondo would not +even speak the word he was bound not to know. + +"They've divided, Jondo. Here goes the big crowd, and there a smaller +one," Bill declared. + +"There were a lot of Dog Indians along for thieving. They've split here. +Seem to have fussed a bit over it, too. And yonder runs the Kiowa trail +to the north. Here go the Dogs east." Jondo replied. "We'll follow the +Kiowas a spell," he added, after a thoughtful pause. + +And again they were off. It was nearing noon now, and the trail was +fresher every minute. At last the plainsmen climbed a low swell, halting +out of sight on the hither side. Then creeping to the crest, they looked +down on the Indian camp lying in a little dry valley of a lost stream +whose course ran underground beneath them. + +Lying flat on the ground, each with his head behind a low bush on the +top of the swell, the men read the valley with searching eyes. Then +Jondo, with Bill at his heels, slid swiftly down the slope. + +"Gail Clarenden isn't there. We must take the trail east, and ride +hard," he said, in a hoarse voice. + +And they rode hard until they were beyond the range of the Kiowa +outposts. + +"What's your game, Jondo?" Bill asked, at length. + +"They quarreled back there. Either the Dogs have Gail, or he's lost +somewhere. The Kiowas are waiting for something. I can't quite +understand, but we'll go on." + +It was mid-afternoon and the two riders were faint from the hardship of +the chase, but nobody who knew Jondo ever expected him to give up. The +sun blazed down in the heat of the late afternoon, and the baking earth +lay brown and dry beneath the heat-quivering air. There was no sound +nor motion on the plains as the two faithful brothers--in +purpose--followed hard on the track of the Dog Indian band. + +Ahead of them the trail grew clearer until they saw the object of their +chase, a band nearly a hundred strong, riding slowly, far ahead. Jondo +and Bill halted and dropped to the ground. No cover was in sight, but if +the Indians were unsuspicious they might not be discovered. On went the +outlaw band, and the two white men followed after. Suddenly the Indians +halted and grouped themselves together. The plainsmen watched eagerly +for the cause. Out of the south six Indians came riding swiftly into +view. They, too, halted, but neither group seemed aware that the two +dull, motionless spots to the west were two white men watching them. +White men didn't belong there. + +The six rode forward. There was much parleying and pointing eastward. +Then the six rode rapidly northward and the Dog band spurted east as +rapidly. + +Jondo looked at Bill. + +"I see it clear as day. God help us not to be too late!" he cried, +triumphantly, leaping to his saddle. + +"What in Heaven's name to you see?" Bill asked eagerly. + +"Gail wasn't with the Kiowas back there. He wasn't with the Dogs out +yonder. Don't you remember he told us about six of the devils getting +him in their friendly camp that morning? Yonder go the six. They have +left Gail somewhere to die and they are cutting back to join the tribe. +They have sent the Dogs on east. We'll run down this trail to the south. +Hurry, Bill! For God's sake, hurry! It's the Lord's mercy they didn't +see us back here." + +That day Pawnee Rock saw the same old beauty of sunrise; the same clear +sweeping breeze; the same long shining hours on the green prairies; but +it all meant nothing to me, racked with pain and choking with thirst +through the awful lengths of that summer day. Fitful unconsciousness, +with fever and delirium, seeing mocking faces with snaky black eyes, +looking long at me; food almost touching my lips, and floods of crystal +waters everywhere just out of reach. I was on the bluff above the river +at Fort Leavenworth again, watching for the fish on the sand-bars. They +were Indians instead of fish, and they laughed at me and called me a big +brown bob-cat. Then Mother Bridget and Aunty Boone would have come to me +if I could only make them hear me. But the sun beat hot upon my burning +face, and my swollen lips refused to moan. + +And then I looked to the eastward and hope sprang to life within me. A +wagon-train was crawling slowly toward Pawnee Rock. Tears drenched my +eyes until I could hardly count the wagons--twenty, thirty, forty. It +must be far in the afternoon now, and they might encamp here. But they +seemed to be hurrying. I could not see for pain, but I knew they were +near the headland now. I could hear the rattle of the wagon-chains and +the tramp of feet and shouts of the bull-whackers. I tugged masterfully +at my bonds. It was a useless effort. I tried to shout, but only low +moans came forth from my parched lips. I strove and raged and prayed. +The wagons hurried on and on, a long time, for there were many of them. +Then the rattling grew fainter, the voices were far off, the thud of +hoof-beats ceased. The train had passed the Rock, never dreaming that a +man lay dying in sight of the succor they would so gladly have given. + +The sun began to strike in level rays across the land, and the air was +cooler, but I gave no heed to things about me. Death was waiting--slow, +taunting death. The stars would be kind again to-night as they had been +last night, but death crouching between me and the starlight, was slowly +crawling up Pawnee Rock. Oh, so slowly, yet so surely creeping on. The +sun was gone and a tender pink illumined the sky. The light was soft +now. If death would only steal in before the glare burst forth. I forgot +that night must come first. Pity, God of heaven, pity me! + +And then the Presence came, and a sweet, low voice--I hear it still +sometimes, when sunsets soften to twilight, "_My presence shall go with_ +_thee, and I will give thee rest."_ I felt a thrill of triumph pulse +through my being. Unconquered, strong, and glad is he who trusts. + +"I shall not die. I shall live, and in God's good time I shall be +saved." I tried to speak the words, but I could not hear my voice. My +pains were gone and I lay staring at the evening sky all +mother-of-pearl and gold above my head. And on my lips a smile. + +And so they found me at twilight, as a tired child about to fall asleep. +They did not cry out, nor fall on my neck, nor weep. But Bill Banney's +strong arms carried me tenderly away. Water, food, unbound swollen +limbs, bathed in the warm Arkansas flow, soft grass for a bed, and the +eyes of the big plainsman, my childhood idol, gentle as a girl's, +looking unutterable things into my eyes. + +I've never known a mother's love, but for that loss the Lord gave +me--Jondo. + + + + +XIII + +IN THE SHELTER OF SAN MIGUEL + + + Fear not, dear love, thy trial hour shall be + The dearest bond between my heart and thee. + --ALL THE YEAR ROUND. + + +When we reached the end of the trail and entered a second time into +Santa Fé the Stars and Stripes were floating lazily above the Palace of +the Governors. Out on the heights beyond the old Spanish prison stood +Fort Marcy, whose battlements told of a military might, strong to +control what by its strength it had secured. In its shadow was La +Garita, of old the place of execution, against whose blind wall many a +prisoner had started on the long trail at the word of a Spanish bullet, +La Garita changed now from a thing of legalized horror to a landmark of +history. + +But the city itself seemed unchanged, and there was little evidence that +Yankee thrift and energy had entered New Mexico with the new government. +The narrow street still marked the trail's end before the Exchange +Hotel. San Miguel, with its dun walls and triple-towered steeple, still +good guard over the soul of Santa Fé, as it had stood for three sunny +centuries. The Mexican still drove down the loaded burro-train of +firewood from the mountains. The Indian basked in the sunny corners of +the Plaza. The adobe dwellings clustered blindly along little lanes +leading out to nowhere in particular. The orchards and cornfields, +primitively cultivated, made tiny oases beside the trickling streams and +sandy beds of dry arroyos. The sheep grazed on the scant grasses of the +plain. The steep gray mesa slopes were splotched with clumps of +evergreen shrubs and piñon trees. And over all the silent mountains kept +watch. + +The business house of Felix Narveo, however, did not share in this +lethargy. The streets about the Plaza were full of Conestoga wagons, +with tired ox-teams lying yoked or unyoked before them. Most of the +traffic borne in by these came directly or indirectly to the house of +Narveo. And its proprietor, the same silent, alert man, had taken +advantage of a less restricted government, following the Mexican War, to +increase his interests. So mine and meadow, flock and herd, trappers' +snare and Indian loom and forge, all poured their treasures into his +hands--a clearing-house for the products of New Mexico to swell the +great overland commerce that followed the Santa Fé Trail. + +For all of which the ground plan had been laid mainly by Esmond +Clarenden, when with tremendous daring he came to Santa Fé and spied out +the land for these years to follow. + +A boy's memory is keen, and all the hours of that other journey hither, +with their eager anticipation and youthful curiosity, and love of +surprise and adventure, came back to Beverly Clarenden and me as we +pulled along the last lap of the trail. + +"Was it really so long ago, Bev, that we came in here, all eyes and +ears?" I asked my cousin. + +"No, it was last evening. And not an eyebrow in this Rip Van Winkle town +has lifted since," Beverly replied. "Yonder stands that old church where +the gallant knight on a stiff-legged pony spied Little Lees and knocked +the head off of that tormenting Marcos villain, and kicked it under the +door-step. Say, Gail, I'd like mighty well to see the grown-up Little +Lees, wouldn't you? And I'd as soon this was Saint Louis as Santa Fé." + +Since the night of Mat's wedding, I had been resolutely putting away all +thought of Eloise St. Vrain. I belonged to the plains. All my training +had been for this. I thought I was very old and settled now. But the +mention of her pet name sent a thrill through me; and these streets of +Santa Fé brought back a flood of memories and boyhood dreams and +visions. + +"Bev, how many auld-lang-syners do you reckon we'll meet in this land of +sunshine and _chilly_ beans?" I asked, carelessly. + +"Well, how many of them do you remember, Mr. Cyclopedia of Prominent Men +and Pretty Women?" Beverly inquired. + +"Oh, there was Felix Narveo and Father Josef--and Little Blue +Flower"--A shadow flitted across my cousin's face for a moment, leaving +it sunny as ever again. + +"And there was that black-eyed Marcos boy everywhere, and Ferdinand +Ramero whom we were warned to step wide of," I went on. + +"Oh, that tall thin man with blue-glass eyes that cut your fingers when +he looked at you. Maybe he went out the back door of New Mexico when +General Kearny peeped in at the front transom. There wasn't any fight in +that man." + +"Jondo says he is still in Santa Fé." Just as I spoke an Indian swept by +us, riding with the ease of that born-to-the-horseback race. + +"Beverly, do you remember that Indian boy that we saw out at Agua Fria?" +I asked. + +"The day we found Little Lees asleep in the church?" Beverly broke in, +eagerly. + +In our whole journey he had hardly spoken of Eloise, and, knowing +Beverly as I did, I had felt sure for that reason that she had not been +on his mind. Now twice in five minutes he had called her name. But why +should he not remember her here, as well as I? + +"Yes, I remember there was an Indian boy, sort of sneaky like, and deaf +and dumb, that followed us until I turned and stared him out of it. +That's the way to get rid of 'em, Gail, same as a savage dog," Beverly +said, lightly. + +"What if there are six of them all staring at you?" I asked. + +"Oh, Gail, for the Lord's sake forget that!" + +Beverly cried, affectionately. "When you've got an arrow wound rotting +your arm off and six hundred and twenty degrees of fever in your blood, +and the son of your old age is gone for three days and nights, and you +don't dare to think where, you'll know why a fellow doesn't want to +remember." There were real tears in the boy's eyes. Beverly was deeper +than I had thought. + +"Well, to change gradually, I wonder if that centaur who just passed us +might be that same Indian of Agua Fria of long ago." + +"He couldn't be," Beverly declared, confidently. "That boy got one +square look at my eagle eye and he never stopped running till he jumped +into the Pacific Ocean. 'I shall see him again over there.'" Half +chanting the last words, Beverly, boy-hearted and daring and happy, +cracked his whip, and our mule-team began to prance off in mule style +the journey's latter end. + +Oh, Beverly! Beverly! Why did that day on the parade-ground at Fort +Leavenworth and a boy's pleading face lifted to mine, come back to me at +that moment? Strange are the lines of life. I shall never clearly read +them all. + +Down in the Plaza a tall, slender young man was sitting in the shade, +idly digging at the sod with an open pocket-knife. There was something +magnetic about him, the presence that even in a crowd demands a second +look. + +He was dressed in spotless white linen, and with his handsome mustache, +his well-groomed black hair, and sparkling black eyes, he was a true +type of the leisure son of the Spanish-Mexican grandee. He stared at +our travel-stained caravan as it rolled down the Plaza's edge, but his +careless smile changed to an insolent grin, showing all his perfect +teeth as he caught sight of Beverly and me. + +We laid no claims to manly beauty, but we were stalwart young fellows, +with the easy strength of good health, good habits, clear conscience, +and the frank faces of boys reared on the frontier, and accustomed to +its dangers by men who defied the very devil to do them harm. But even +in our best clothes, saved for the display at the end of the trail, we +were uncouth compared to this young gentleman, and our tanned faces and +hard brown hands bespoke the rough bull-whacker of the plains. + +As our train halted, the young man lighted a cigar and puffed the smoke +toward us, as if to ignore our presence. + +"Its mamma has dressed it up to go and play in the park, but it mustn't +speak to little boys, nor soil its pinafore, nor listen to any naughty +words. And it couldn't hold its own against a kitten. Nice little +clothes-horse to hang white goods on!" + +Beverly had turned his back to the Plaza and was speaking in a low tone, +with the serious face and far-away air of one who referred to a thing of +the past. + +"Bev, you are a mind-reader, a character-sketcher--" I began, but +stopped short to stare into the Plaza beyond him. + +The young man had sprung to his feet and stood there with flashing eyes +and hands clenched. Behind him was the same young Indian who had passed +us on the trail. He was lithe, with every muscle trained to strength and +swiftness and endurance. + +He had muttered a word into the young white man's ear that made him +spring up. And while the face of the Indian was expressionless, the +other's face was full of surprise and anger; and I recognized both faces +in an instant. + +"Beverly Clarenden, there are two auld-lang-syners behind you right now. +One is Marcos Ramero, and the other is Santan of Bent's Fort," I said, +softly. + +Beverly turned quickly, something in his fearless face making the two +men drop their eyes. When we looked again they had left the Plaza by +different ways. + +After dinner that evening Jondo and Bill Banney hurried away for a +business conference with Felix Narveo. Rex and Beverly also disappeared +and I was alone. + +The last clear light of a long summer day was lingering over the valley +of the Rio Grande, and the cool evening breeze was rippling in from the +mountains, when I started out along the narrow street that made the +terminal of the old Santa Fé Trail. I was hardly conscious of any +purpose of direction until I came to the half-dry Santa Fé River and saw +the spire of San Miguel beyond it. In a moment the same sense of loss +and longing swept over me that I had fought with on the night after +Mat's wedding, when I sat on the bluff and stared at the waters of the +Kaw flowing down to meet the Missouri. And then I remembered what Father +Josef had said long ago out by the sandy arroyo: + +"Among friends or enemies, the one haven of safety always is the holy +sanctuary." + +I felt the strong need for a haven from myself as I crossed the stream +and followed the trail up to the doorway of San Miguel. + +The shadows were growing long, few sounds broke the stillness of the +hour, and the spirit of peace brooded in the soft light and sweet air. I +had almost reached the church when I stopped suddenly, stunned by what I +saw. Two people were strolling up the narrow, crooked street that +wanders eastward beside the building--a tall, slender young man in white +linen clothes and a girl in a soft creamy gown, with a crimson scarf +draped about her shoulders. They were both bareheaded, and the man's +heavy black hair and curling black mustache, and the girl's coronal of +golden braids and the profile of her fair face left no doubt about the +two. It was Marcos Ramero and Eloise St. Vrain. They were talking +earnestly; and in a very lover-like manner the young man bent down to +catch his companion's words. + +Something seemed to snap asunder in my brain, and from that moment I +knew myself; knew how futile is the belief that miles of prairie trail +and strength of busy days can ever cast down and break an idol of the +heart. + +In a minute they had passed a turn in the street, and there was only +sandy earth and dust-colored walls and a yellow glare above them, where +a moment ago had been a shimmer of sunset's gold. + +"The one haven of safety always is the holy sanctuary." + +Father Josef's words sounded in my ears, and the face of old San Miguel +seemed to wear a welcoming smile. I stepped into the deep doorway and +stood there, aimless and unthinking, looking out toward where the Jemez +Mountains were outlined against the southwest horizon. Presently I +caught the sound of feet, and Marcos Ramero strode out of the narrow +street and followed the trail into the heart of the city. + +I stared after him, noting the graceful carriage, the well-fitting +clothes, and the proud set of the handsome head. There was no doubt +about him. Did he hold the heart of the golden-haired girl who had +walked into my life to stay? As he passed out of my sight Eloise St. +Vrain came swiftly around the corner of the street to the church door, +and stopped before me in wide-eyed amazement. Eloise, with her clinging +creamy draperies, and the vivid red of her silken scarf, and her +glorious hair. + +"Oh, Gail Clarenden, is it really you?" she cried, stretching out both +hands toward me with a glad light in her eyes. + +"Yes, Little Lees, it is I." + +I took both of her hands in mine. They were soft and white, and mine +were brown and horny, but their touch sent a thrill of joy through me. +She clung tightly to my hands for an instant. Then a deeper pink swept +her cheeks, and she dropped her eyes and stepped back. + +"They told me you were--lost--on the way; that some Kiowas had killed +you." + +She lifted her face again, and heaven had not anything better for me +than the depths of those big dark eyes looking into mine. + +"Who told you, Eloise?" + +The girl looked over her shoulder apprehensively, and lowered her voice +as she replied: + +"Marcos Ramero." + +"He's a liar. I am awfully alive, and Marcos Ramero knows I am, for he +saw me and recognized me down in the Plaza this afternoon," I declared. + +Just then the church door opened and a girl in Mexican dress came out. I +did not see her face, nor notice which way she took, for a priest +following her stepped between us. It was Father Josef. + +"My children, come inside. The holy sanctuary offers you a better +shelter than the open street." + +I shall never forget that voice, nor hear another like it. Inside, the +candles were burning dimly at the altar. The last rays of daylight came +through the high south windows, touching the carved old rafters and gray +adobe with a red glow. Long ago human hands, for lack of trowels, had +laid that adobe surface on the rough stone--hands whose imprint is +graven still on those crudely dented walls. + +We sat down on a low seat inside of the doorway, and Father Josef passed +up the aisle to the altar, leaving us there alone. + +"Eloise, Marcos Ramero is your friend, and I beg your pardon for +speaking of him as I did." + +I resented with all my soul the thought of this girl caring for the son +of the man who in some infamous way had wronged Jondo, but I had no +right to be rude about him. + +"Gail, may I say something to you?" The voice was as a pleading call and +the girl's farce was full of pathos. + +"Say on, Little Lees," was all that I could venture to answer. + +"Do you remember the day you came in here and threw Marcos Ramero out of +that door?" + +"I do," I replied. + +"Would you do it again, if it were necessary? I mean--if--" the voice +faltered. + +I had heard the same pleading tone on the night of Mat's wedding when +Eloise and Beverly were in the little side porch together. I looked up +at the red light on the old church rafters and the rough gray walls. How +like to those hand-marked walls our memories are, deep-dented by the +words they hold forever! Then I looked down at the girl beside me and I +forgot everything else. Her golden hair, her creamy-white dress, and +that rich crimson scarf draped about her shoulders and falling across +her knees would have made a Madonna's model that old Giovanni Cimabue +himself would have joyed to copy. + +"Is it likely to be necessary? Be fair with me, Eloise. I saw you two +strolling up that little goat-run of a street out there just now. +Judging from the back of his head, Marcos looked satisfied. I shouldn't +want to interfere nor make you any trouble," I said, earnestly. + +"It is I who should not make you any trouble, but, oh, Gail, I came here +this evening because I was afraid and I didn't know where else to go, +and I found you. I thought you were dead somewhere out on the Kansas +prairie. Maybe it was to help me a little that you came here to-night." + +Her hands were gripped tightly and her mouth was firm-set in an effort +to be brave. + +"Why, Eloise, I'd never let Marcos Ramero, nor anybody else, make you +one little heart-throb afraid. If you will only let me help you, I +wouldn't call it trouble; I'd call it by another name." The longing to +say more made me pause there. + +The light was fading overhead, but the church lamps gave a soft glow +that seemed to shield off the shadowy gloom. + +"Father Josef came all the way from New Mexico to St. Ann's to have me +come back here, and Mother Bridget sent Sister Anita, you remember her, +up to St. Louis to come with me by way of New Orleans. I didn't tell you +that I might be here when your train came in overland because--because +of some things about my own people--" + +The fair head was bowed and the soft voice trembled. + +"Don't be afraid to tell me anything, Little Lees," I whispered, +assuringly. + +"I never saw my father, but my mother was very beautiful and loving, and +we were so happy together. I was still a very little girl when she fell +sick and they took me away from her. I never knew when she died nor +where she was buried. Ferdinand Ramero had charge of her property. He +controlled everything after she went away, and I have always lived in +fear of his word. I am helpless when he commands, for he has a strange +power over minds; and as to Marcos--you know what a little cat I was. I +had to be to live with him. It wasn't until we were all at Bent's Fort +that I got over my fear of you and Beverly. The day you threw Marcos out +of here was the first time I ever had a champion to defend me." + +I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her what I dared not think she +would let me say. So I listened in sympathetic silence. + +"Then came an awful day out at Agua Fria, and Father Josef took me in +his arms as he would take a baby, and sang me to sleep with the songs my +mother loved to sing. I think it must have been midnight when I wakened. +It was dreary and cold, and Esmond Clarenden and Ferdinand Ramero were +there, and Father Josef and Jondo." + +And then she told me, as she remembered them, the happenings of that +night at Agua Fria, the same story that Jondo told me later. But until +that evening I had known nothing of how Eloise had come to us. + +"You know the rest," Eloise went on "I have had a boarding-school life, +and no real friends, except the Clarenden family, outside of these +schools." + +"You poor little girl! One of the same Clarenden family is ready to be +your friend now," I said, tenderly, remembering keenly how Uncle Esmond +and Jondo had loved and protected three orphan children. + +"The Rameros think nobody but a Ramero can do that now. Marcos is very +much changed. He has been educated in Europe, is handsome, and courtly +in his manners, and as his father's heir he will be wealthy. He came +to-night to ask me, to urge and plead with me, to marry him." Eloise +paused. + +"Do you need the defense of a bull-whacker of the plains against these +things?" I asked. + +"Oh, I could depend on myself if it were only Marcos. He comes with +polished ways and pleasing words," Eloise replied. "It is his father's +iron fist back of him that strikes at me through his graciousness. He +tells me that all the St. Vrain money, which he controls by the terms of +my father's will, he can give to the Church, if he chooses, and leave me +disinherited." + +"We don't mind that a bit as a starter up in Kansas. Come out on our +prairies and try it," I suggested. + +"But, Gail, that isn't all. There is something worse, dreadfully worse, +that I cannot tell you, that only the Rameros know, and hold like a +sword over my head. If I marry Marcos his father will destroy all +evidence of it and I shall have a handsome, talented, rich husband." +Eloise bowed her head and clasped her hands, crushed by the misery of +her lot. + +"And if you refuse to marry this scoundrel?" I asked, bluntly. + +"Then I will be a penniless outcast. The Rameros are powerful here, and +the Church will be with them, for it will get my inheritance. I am +helpless and alone and I don't know what to do." + +I think I had never known what anger meant before. This beautiful girl, +homeless, and about to be robbed of her fortune, reared in luxury, with +no chance for developing self-reliance and courage, was being hemmed in +and forced to a marriage by threats of poverty and a secret something +against which she was powerless. All the manhood in me rallied to her +cause, and she was an hundredfold dearer to me now, in her helplessness. + +"Eloise, I'm a horny-handed driver of a bull-team on the Santa Fé Trail, +but you will let me help you if I can. So far as your money is +concerned, there's a lot of it on earth, even if the Church should grab +up your little bit because Ferdinand Ramero says your father's will +permits it. There are evil representatives in every Church, no matter +what its name may be, Catholic, Protestant, Indian, or Jew, but Father +Josef up there is bigger than his priestly coat, and you can trust that +size anywhere. And as to the knowledge of this 'something' known just to +Ferdinand Ramero, if he is the only one who knows it, it is too small to +get far, if it were turned loose. And any man who would use such +infamous means to get what he wants is too small to have much influence +if he doesn't get it. This is a big, wide, good world, Little Lees, and +the father of Marcos Ramero, with all his power and wealth, has a short +lariat that doesn't let him graze wide. Jondo holds the other end of +that lariat, and he knows." + +Eloise listened eagerly, but her face was very white. + +"Gail, you don't know the Ramero blood. I am helpless and terrified with +them in spite of their suave manners and flattering words. Why did +Father Josef bring me back here if the Church is not with them? And then +that awful shadow of some hidden thing that may darken my life. I know +their cruel, pitiless hearts. They stop at nothing when they want their +way. I have known them to do the most cold-blooded deeds." + +Poor Eloise! The net about her had been skilfully drawn. + +"I don't know Father Josef's motive, but I can trust him. And no shadow +shall trouble you long, Little Lees. Jondo and Uncle Esmond tote +together,' Aunty Boone said long ago. They know something about the +Ramero blood, and Jondo has promised to tell me his story some day. He +must do it to-night, and to-morrow we'll see the end of this tangle. +Trust me, Eloise," I said, comfortingly. + +"But, Gail, I'm afraid Ferdinand will kill you if you get in his way." +Eloise clung to my arm imploringly. + +"Six big Kiowas got fooled at that job. Do you think this thin streak of +humanity would try it?" I asked, lightly. + +Eloise stood up beside me. + +"I must go away now," she said. + +"Then I'll go with you. Thank you, Father Josef, for your kindness," I +said as the priest came toward us. + +"You are welcome, my son. In the sanctuary circle no harm can come. +Peace be with both of you." + +There was a world of benediction in his deep tones, and his smile was +genial, as he followed us to the street and stood as if watching for +some one. + +"I will meet you at San Miguel's to-morrow afternoon, Gail," Eloise +said, as we reached a low but pretentious adobe dwelling. "This is my +home now." + +"Your new Mexican homes are thick-walled, and you live all on the +inside," I said, as we paused at the doorway. "They make me think of the +lower invertebrates, hard-shelled, soft-bodied animals. Up on the Kansas +prairies and the Missouri bluffs we have a central vetebra--the family +hearth-stone--and we live all around it. That is the people who have +them do. There isn't much home life for a freighter of the plains +anywhere. Good by, Little Lees." I took her offered hand. "I'm glad you +have let me be your friend, a hard-shelled bull-whacker like me." + +The street was full of shadows and the evening air was chill as the door +closed on that sweet face and cloud of golden hair. But the pressure of +warm white fingers lingered long in my sense of touch as I retraced my +steps to the trail's end. At the church door I saw Father Josef still +waiting, as if watching for somebody. + +All that Eloise had told me ran through my mind, but I felt sure that +neither financial nor churchly influence in Santa Fé could be turned to +evil purposes so long as men like Felix Narveo and Father Josef were +there. And then I thought of Esmond Clarenden, himself neither Mexican +nor Roman Catholic, who, nevertheless, drew to himself such +fair-dealing, high-minded men as these, always finding the best to aid +him, and combating the worst with daring fearlessness. Surely with the +priest and the merchant and Jondo as my uncle's representative, no harm +could come to the girl whom I knew that I should always love. + +And with my mind full of Eloise and her need I sought out Jondo and +listened to his story. + + + + +XIV + +OPENING THE RECORD + + + Fighting for leave to live and labor well, + God flung me peace and ease. + --"A SONG OF THE ENGLISH." + + +I found Jondo in the little piazza opening into the hotel court. + +"Where did you leave Krane and Bev?" he asked, as I sat down beside him. + +"I didn't leave them; they left me," I answered. + +"Oh, you young bucks are all alike. You know just enough to be good to +yourselves. You don't think much about anybody else," Jondo said, with a +smile. + +"I think of others, Jondo, and for that reason I want you to tell me +that story about Ferdinand Ramero that you promised to tell me one night +back on the trail." + +Jondo gave a start. + +"I'd like to forget that man, not talk about him," he replied. + +"But it is to help somebody else, not just to be good to myself, that I +want to know it," I insisted, using his own terms. And then I told him +what Eloise had told me in the San Miguel church. + +"Are the Ramero's so powerful here that they can control the Church in +their scheme to get what they want?" I asked. + +"It would be foolish to underestimate the strength of Ferdinand Ramero," +Jondo replied, adding, grimly, "It has been my lot to know the best of +men who could make me believe all men are good, and the worst of men who +make me doubt all humanity." He clenched his fists as if to hold himself +in check, and something, neither sigh nor groan nor oath nor prayer, but +like them all, burst from his lips. + +"If you ever have a real cross, Gail, thank the Lord for the green +prairies and the open plains, and the danger-stimulus of the old Santa +Fé Trail. They will seal up your wounds, and soften your hard, +rebellious heart, and make you see things big, and despise the narrow +little crooks in your path." + +One must have known Jondo, with his bluff manner and sunny smile and +daring spirit, to feel the force, of these brave sad words. I felt +intuitively that I had laid bare a wound of his by my story. + +"It is for Eloise, not for my curiosity, that I have come to you," I +said, gently. + +"And you didn't come too soon, boy." Jondo was himself in a moment. "It +is another cruel act in the old tragedy of Ramero against Clarenden and +others." + +"Will the Church be bribed by the St. Vrain estate and urge this +wedding?" I asked. + +"The Church considers money as so much power for the Kingdom. I have +heard that the St. Vrain estate was left in Ramero's hands with the +proviso that if Eloise should marry foolishly before she was twenty-five +she, would lose her property. Do you see the trick in the game, and why +Ramero can say that if he chooses he can take her heritage away from +her? But as he keeps everything in his own hands it is hard to know the +truth about anything connected with money matters." + +"Would Father Josef be party to such a transaction?" I asked, angrily. + +"Ramero thinks so, but he is mistaken," Jondo replied. + +"What makes you think he won't be?" I insisted. + +"Because I knew Father Josef before he became a priest, and why he took +the vows," Jondo declared. "Unless a man brings some manhood to the +altar, he will not find it in the title nor the dress there, it makes no +difference whether he be Catholic, Protestant, Hebrew, or heathen. +Father Josef was a gentleman before he was a priest." + +"Well, if he's all right, why did he bring Eloise back here into the +heart of all this trouble?" I questioned. + +Jondo sat thinking for a little while, then he said, assuringly: + +"I don't know his motive, unless he felt he could protect her here +himself; but I tell you, my boy, he can be trusted. Let me tell you +something, Gail. When Esmond Clarenden and I were boys back in a New +England college we knew two fellows from the Southwest whose fathers +were in official circles at Washington. One was Felix Narveo, +thoroughbred Mexican, thoroughbred gentleman, a bit lacking in +initiative sometimes, for he came from the warmer, lazier lands, but as +true as the compass in his character. The other fellow was Dick Verra, +French father, English mother; I think he had a strain of Indian blood +farther back somewhere, but he would have been a prince in any tribe or +nation. A happy, wholesome, red-blooded, young fellow, with the world +before him for his conquest. + +"We knew another fellow, too, Fred Ramer, self-willed, imperious, +extravagant in his habits, greedy and unscrupulous; but he was handsome +and masterful, with a compelling magnetism that made us admire him and +bound us to him. He had never known what it meant to have a single wish +denied him. And with his make-up, he would stop at nothing to have his +own way, until his wilful pride and stubbornness and love of luxury +ruined him. But in our college days we were his satellites. He was +always in debt to all of us, for money was his only god and we never +dared to press him for payment. The only one of us who ever overruled +him was Dick Verra. But Dick was a born master of men. There was one +other chum of ours, but I'll tell you about him later. Boys together, we +had many escapades and some serious problems, until by the time our +college days were over we were bound together by those ties that are +made in jest and broken with choking voices and eyes full of tears." + +Jondo paused and I waited, silent, until he should continue. + +"Things happened to that little group of college men as time went on. +You know your uncle's life, leading merchant of Kansas City and the +Southwest; and mine, plainsman and freighter on the Santa Fé Trail. +Felix Narveo's history is easily read. Esmond Clarenden came down here +at the outbreak of the Mexican War, and together he and Narveo laid the +foundation for the present trail commerce that is making the country at +either end of it rich and strong. Dick Verra is now Father Josef." Jondo +paused as if to gather force for the rest of the story. Then he said: + +"Back at college we all knew Mary Marchland, a beautiful Louisiana girl +who visited in Washington and New England, and all of us were in love +with her. When our life-lines crossed again Clarenden had come to St. +Louis. About that time his two older brothers and their wives died +suddenly of yellow fever, leaving you and Beverly alone. It was Felix +Narveo who brought you up to St. Louis to your uncle." + +"I remember that. The steamboat, and the Spanish language, and Felix +Narveo's face. I recalled that when I saw him years ago," I exclaimed. + +"You always were all eyes and ears, remembering names and faces, where +Beverly would not recall anything," Jondo declared. + +"And what became of your Fred Ramer?" I asked. + +"He is Ferdinand Ramero here. He married Narveo's sister later. She is +not the mother of Marcos, but a second wife. She owned a tract of land +inherited from the Narveo estate down in the San Christobal country. +There is a lonely ranch house in a picturesque cañon, and many acres of +grazing-land. She keeps it still as hers, although her stepson, Marcos, +claims it now. It is for her sake that Narveo doesn't dare to move +openly against Ramero. And in his masterful way he has enough influence +with a certain ring of Mexicans here, some of whom are Narveo's +freighters, to reach pretty far into the Indian country. That's why I +knew those Mexicans were lying to us about the Kiowas at Pawnee Rock. I +could see Ramero's gold pieces in their hands. He joined the Catholic +Church, and plays the Pharisee generally. But the traits of his young +manhood, intensified, are still his. He is handsome, and attractive, and +rich, and influential, but he is also cold-blooded, and greedy for money +until it is his ruling passion, villainously unscrupulous, and +mercilessly unforgiving toward any one who opposes his will; and his +capacity for undying hatred is appalling." + +And this was the man who was seeking to control the life of Eloise St. +Vrain. I fairly groaned in my anger. + +"The failure to win Mary Marchland's love was the first time in his life +that Fred Ramer's will had ever been thwarted, and he went mad with +jealousy and anger. Gail, they are worse masters than whisky and opium, +once they get a man down." + +Jondo paused, and when he spoke again he did it hurriedly, as one who, +from a sense of duty, would glance at the dead face of an enemy and turn +away. + +"When Fred lost his suit with Mary, he determined to wreck her life. He +came between her and the man she loved with such adroit cruelty that +they were separated, and although they loved each other always, they +never saw each other again. Through a terrible network of +misunderstandings she married Theron St. Vrain. He, by the way, was the +other college chum I spoke of just now. He and his foster-brother, +Bertrand, were wards of Fred Ramer's father. But their guardian, the +elder Ramer, had embezzled most of their property and there was bitter +enmity between them and him. Theron and Mary were the parents of Eloise +St. Vrain. It is no wonder that she is beautiful. She had Mary Marchland +for a mother. Theron St. Vrain died early, and the management of his +property fell into Fred Ramer's hands. At Mary's death it would descend +to Eloise, with the proviso I just mentioned of an unworthy marriage. In +that case, Ramer, at his own discretion, could give the estate to the +Church. Nobody knows when Mary Marchland died, nor where she is buried, +except Fred and his confessor, Father Josef." + +"How far can a man's hate run, Jondo?" I asked. + +"Oh, not so far as a man's love. Listen, Gail." Never a man had a truer +eye and a sweeter smile than my big Jondo. + +"Fred Ramer was desperately in need of money when he was plotting to +darken the life of Mary Marchland--that was just before the birth of +Eloise--and through her sorrow to break the heart of the man whom she +loved--I said we college boys were all in love with her, you remember. +Let me make it short now. One night Fred's father was murdered, by whom +was never exactly proven. But he was last seen alive with his ward, +Theron St. Wain, who, with his foster-brother, Bertrand, thoroughly +despised him for his plain robbery of their heritage. + +"The case was strong against Theron, for the evidence was very damaging, +and it would have gone hard with him but for the foster-brother. +Bertrand St. Wain took the guilt upon himself by disappearing suddenly. +He was supposed to have drowned himself in the lower Mississippi, for +his body, recognized only by some clothing, was recovered later in a +drift and decently buried. So _he_ was effaced from the records of man." + +In the dim light Jondo's blue eyes were like dull steel and his face was +a face of stone, but he continued: + +"Just here Clarenden comes into the story. He learned it through Felix +Narveo, and Felix got it from the Mexicans themselves, that Fred Ramer +had plotted with them to put his father out of the way--I said he was +desperately in need of money--and to lay the crime on Theron St. +Vrain, by whose disgrace the life of Mary Marchland would be blighted, +and Fred would have his revenge and his father's money. Narveo was +afraid to act against Ramer, but nothing ever scared Esmond Clarenden +away from what he wanted to do. Through his friendship for St. Vrain, to +whom some suspicion still clung, and that lost foster-brother, Bertrand, +he turned the screws on Fred Ramer that drove him out of the country. He +landed, finally, at Santa Fé, and became Ferdinand Ramero. He managed by +his charming manners to enchant the sister of Felix Narveo--and you know +the rest." + +Jondo paused. + +"Didn't Felix Narveo go to Fort Leavenworth once, just before Uncle +Esmond brought us with him to Santa Fé?" I asked. + +"Yes, he went to warn Clarenden not to leave you there unprotected, for +a band of Ramero's henchmen were on their way then to the Missouri +River--we passed them at Council Grove--to kidnap you three and take you +to old Mexico," Jondo said. "An example of Fred's efforts to get even +with Clarenden and of the loyalty of Narveo to his old college chum. The +same gang of Mexicans had kidnapped Little Blue Flower and given her to +the Kiowas." + +"You told me that Uncle Esmond forced Ferdinand Ramero out of the +country on account of a wrong done to you, Jondo," I reminded the big +plainsman. + +"He did," Jondo replied. "I told you that we all loved Mary Marchland. +Fred Ramer broke under his loss of her, and became the devil's own tool +of hate and revenge, and what generally gets tied up with these sooner +or later, a passion for money and irregular means of getting it. Money +is as great an asset for hate as for love, and Fred sold his soul for it +long ago. Clarenden came to the frontier and lost himself in the +building of the plains commerce, and his heart he gave to the three +orphan children to whom he gave a home. When New Mexico came under our +flag Narveo came with it, a good citizen and a loyal patriot. He married +a Mexican woman of culture and lives a contented life. Dick Verra went +into the Church. I came to the plains, and the stimulus of danger, and +the benediction of the open sky, and the healing touch of the prairie +winds, and the solemn stillness of the great distances have made me +something more of a man than I should have been. Maybe I was hurt the +worst. Clarenden thought I was. Sometimes I think Dick Verra got the +best of all of us." + +Jondo's voice trailed off into silence and I knew what his hurt +was--that he was the man whom Mary Marchland had loved, from whom Fred +Ramer, by his cruel machinations, had separated her--"_and although they +loved each other always, they never saw each other again_." Poor Jondo! +What a man among men this unknown freighter of the plains might have +been--and what a loss to the plains in the best of the trail years if +Jondo had never dared its dangers for the safety of the generations to +come. + +But the thought of Eloise, driven out momentarily by Jondo's story, came +rushing in again. + +"You said you put a ring around Ramero to keep him in Santa Fé. Can't we +get Eloise outside of it?" I urged, anxiously. + +"Maybe I should have said that Father Josef put it around him for me," +Jondo replied. "He confessed his crimes fully to the Church. He couldn't +get by Father Josef. Here he is much honored and secure and we let him +alone. The disgrace he holds the secret of--he alone--is that the father +of Eloise killed his father, the crime for which the foster-brother +fell. Ramero as guardian of Eloise and her property legally could have +kept her here. Only a man like Clarenden would have dared to take her +away, though he had the pleading call of her mother's last wish. Gail, I +have told you the heart-history of half a dozen men. If this had stopped +with us we could forgive after a while, but it runs down to you and +Beverly and Eloise and Marcos, who will carry out his father's plans to +the letter. So the battle is all to be fought over again. Let me leave +you a minute or two. I'll not be gone long." + +I sat alone, staring out at the shadowy court and, above it, the blue +night-sky of New Mexico inlaid with stars, until a rush of feet in the +hall and a shout of inquiry told me that Beverly Clarenden was hunting +for me. + +Meantime the girl in Mexican dress, who had come out of the church with +Father Josef when he came to greet Eloise and me, had passed unnoticed +through the Plaza and out on the way leading to the northeast. Here she +came to the blind adobe wall of La Garita, whose olden purpose one still +may read in the many bullet-holes in its brown sides. Here she paused, +and as the evening shadows lengthened the dress and wall blended their +dull tones together. + +Beverly Clarenden, who had gone with Rex Krane up to Fort Marcy that +evening, had left his companion to watch the sunset and dream of Mat +back on the Missouri bluff, while he wandered down La Garita. He did not +see the Mexican woman standing motionless, a dark splotch against a dun +wall, until a soft Hopi voice called, eagerly, "Beverly, Beverly." + +The black scarf fell from the bright face, and Indian garb--not Po-a-be, +the student of St. Ann's and the guest of the Clarenden home, with the +white Grecian robe and silver headband set with coral pendants, as +Beverly had seen her last in the side porch on the night of Mat's +wedding, but Little Blue Flower, the Indian of the desert lands, stood +before him. + +"Where the devil--I mean the holy saints and angels, did you come from?" +Beverly cried, in delight, at seeing a familiar face. + +"I came here to do Father Josef some service. He has been good to me. I +bring a message." + +She reached out her hand with a letter. Beverly took the letter and the +hand. He put the message in his pocket, but he did not release the +hand. + +"That's something for Jondo. I'll see that he gets it, all right. Tell +me all about yourself now, Little Run-Off-and-Never-Come-Back." It was +Beverly's way to make people love him, because he loved people. + +It was late at last, too late for prudence, older heads would agree, +when these two separated, and my cousin came to pounce upon me in the +hotel court to tell me of his adventure. + +"And I learned a lot of things," he added. "That Indian in the Plaza +to-day is Santan, or Satan, dead sure; and you'd never guess, but he's +the same redskin--Apache red--that was out at Agua Fria that time we +were there long ago. The very same little sneak! He followed us clear to +Bent's Fort. He put up a good story to Jondo, but I'll bet he was +somebody's tool. You know what a critter he was there. But listen now! +He's got his eye on Little Blue Flower. He's plain wild Injun, and she's +a Saint Ann's scholar. Isn't that presumption, though! She's afraid of +him, too. This country fairly teams with romance, doesn't it?" + +"Bev, don't you ever take anything seriously?" I asked. + +"Well, I guess I do. I found that Santan, dead loaded with jealousy, +sneaking after us in the dark to-night when I took Little Blue Flower +for a stroll. I took him seriously, and told him exactly where he'd +find me next time he was looking for me. That I'd stand him up against +La Garita and make a sieve out of him," Beverly said, carelessly. + +"Beverly Clarenden, you are a fool to get that Apache's ill-will," I +cried. + +"I may be, but I'm no coward," Beverly retorted. "Oh, here comes Jondo. +I've got a letter from Father Josef. Invitation to some churchly dinner, +I expect." + +Beverly threw the letter into Jondo's hands and turned to leave us. + +"Wait a minute!" Jondo commanded, and my cousin halted in surprise. + +"When did you get this? I should have had it two hours ago," Jondo said, +sternly. "Father Josef must have waited a long time up at the church +door for his messenger to come back and bring him word from me." + +Beverly frankly told him the truth, as from childhood we had learned was +the easiest way out of trouble. + +Jondo's smile came back to his eyes, but his lips did not smile as he +said: "Gail, you can explain things to Bev. This is serious business, +but it had to come sooner or later. The battle is on, and we'll fight it +out. Ferdinand Ramero is determined that Eloise and his son shall be +married early to-morrow morning. The bribe to the Church is one-half of +the St. Vrain estate. The club over Eloise is the shame of some disgrace +that he holds the key to. He will stop at nothing to have his own way, +and he will stoop to any brutal means to secure it. He has a host of +fellows ready at his call to do any crime for his sake. That's how far +money and an ungovernable passion can lead a man. If I had known this +sooner, we would have acted to-night." + +Beverly groaned. + +"Let me go and kill that man. There ought to be a bounty on such wild +beasts," he declared. + +"He'd do that for you through a Mexican dagger, or an Apache arrow, if +you got in his way," Jondo replied. "But what we must do is this: Twenty +miles south on the San Christobal Arroyo there is a lonely ranch-house +on the old Narveo estate, a forgotten place, but it is a veritable fort, +built a hundred years ago, when every house here was a fort. To-morrow +at daybreak you must start with Eloise and Sister Anita down there. I +will see Father Josef later and tell him where I have sent you. Little +Blue Flower will show you the way. It is a dangerous ride, and you must +make it as quickly and as silently as possible. A bullet from some +little cañon could find you easily if Ramero should know your trail. +Will you go?" + +There was no need for the question as Jondo well knew, but his face was +bright with courage and hope, and a thankfulness he could not express +shone in his eyes as he looked at us, big, stalwart, eager and unafraid. + + + + +XV + +THE SANCTUARY ROCKS OF SAN CHRISTOBAL + + + Mark where she stands! Around her form I draw + The awful circle of our solemn church! + Set but a foot within that holy ground, + And on thy head--yea, though it wore a crown-- + launch the curse of Rome. + --"RICHELIEU." + + +The faint rose hue of early dawn was touching the highest peaks of the +Sandia and Jemez mountain ranges, while the valley of the Rio Grande +still lay asleep under dull night shadows, when five ponies and their +riders left the door of San Miguel church and rode southward in the +slowly paling gloom. In the stillness of the hour the ponies' feet, +muffled in the sand of the way, seemed to clatter noisily, and their +trappings creaked loudly in the dead silence of the place. Little Blue +Flower, no longer in her Mexican dress, led the line. Behind her Beverly +and the white-faced nun of St. Ann's rode side by side; and behind these +came Eloise St. Vrain and myself. From the church door Jondo had watched +us until we melted into the misty shadows of the trail. + +"Go carefully and fearlessly and ride hard if you must. But the +struggle will be here with me to-day, not where you are," he assured us, +when we started away. + +As he turned to leave the church, an Indian rose from the shadows beyond +it and stepped before him. + +"You remember me, Santan, the Apache, at Fort Bent?" he questioned. + +Jondo looked keenly to be sure that his memory fitted the man before +him. + +"Yes, you are Santan. You brought me a message from Father Josef once." + +The Indian's face did not change by the twitch of an eyelash as he +replied. + +"I would bring another message from him. He would see you an hour later +than you planned. The young riders, where shall I tell him they have +gone?" + +"To the old ranch-house on the San Christobal Arroyo," Jondo replied. + +The Indian smiled, and turning quickly, he disappeared up the dark +street. A sudden thrill shook Jondo. + +"Father Josef said I could trust that boy entirely. Surely old Dick +Verra, part Indian himself, couldn't be mistaken. But that Apache lied +to me. I know it now; and I told him where our boys are taking Eloise. I +never made a blunder like that before. Damned fool that I am!" + +He ground his teeth in anger and disgust, as he sat down in the doorway +of the church to await the coming of Ferdinand Ramero and his son, +Marcos. + +Out on the trail our ponies beat off the miles with steady gait. As the +way narrowed, we struck into single file, moving silently forward under +the guidance of Little Blue Flower, now plunging into dark cañons, where +the trail was rocky and perilous, now climbing the steep sidling paths +above the open plain. Morning came swiftly over the Gloriettas. Darkness +turned to gray; shapeless masses took on distinctness; the night chill +softened to the crisp breeze of dawn. Then came the rare June day in +whose bright opening hour the crystal skies of New Mexico hung above us, +and about us lay a landscape with radiant lights on the rich green of +the mesa slopes, and gray levels atint with mother-of-pearl and gold. + +The Indian pueblos were astir. Mexican faces showed now and then at the +doorways of far-scattered groups of adobe huts. Outside of these all was +silence--a motionless land full of wild, rugged beauty, and thrilling +with the spell of mystery and glamour of romance. And overbrooding all, +the spirit of the past, that made each winding trail a footpath of the +centuries; each sheer cliff a watch-tower of the ages; each wide sandy +plain, a rallying-ground for the tribes long ago gone to dust; each +narrow valley a battle-field for the death-struggle between the dusky +sovereigns of a wilderness kingdom and the pale-faced conquerors of the +coat of mail and the dominant soul. The sense of danger lessened with +distance and no knight of old Spain ever rode more proudly in the days +of chivalry than Beverly Clarenden and I rode that morning, fearing +nothing, sure of our power to protect the golden-haired girl, thrilled +by this strange flight through a land of strange scenes fraught with the +charm of daring and danger. Beverly rode forward now with Little Blue +Flower. I did not wonder at her spell over him, for she was in her own +land now, and she matched its picturesque phases with her own +picturesque racial charm. + +I rode beside Eloise, forgetting, in the sweet air and glorious June +sunlight, that we were following an uncertain trail away from certain +trouble. + +The white-faced nun in her somber dress, rode between, with serious +countenance and downcast eyes. + +"What happened to you, Little Lees, after I left you?" I asked, as we +trotted forward toward the San Christobal valley. + +"Everything, Gail," she replied, looking up at me with shy, sad eyes. +"First Ferdinand Ramero came to me with the command that I should +consent to be married this morning. By this time I would have been +Marcos' wife." She shivered as she spoke. "I can't tell you the way of +it, it was so final, so cruel, so impossible to oppose. Ferdinand's eyes +cut like steel when they look at you, and you know he will do more than +he threatens. He said the Church demanded one-half of my little fortune +and that he could give it the other half if he chose. He is as imperious +as a tyrant in his pleasanter moods; in his anger he is a maniac. I +believe he would murder Marcos if the boy got in his way, and his +threats of disgracing me were terrible." + +"But what else happened?" I wanted to turn her away from her wretched +memory. + +"I have not seen anybody else except Little Blue Flower. She has an +Indian admirer who is Ferdinand's tool and spy. He let her come in to +see me late last night or I should not have been here now. I had almost +given up when she brought me word that you and Beverly would meet me at +the church at daylight. I have not slept since. What will be the end of +this day's work? Isn't there safety for me somewhere?" The sight of the +fair, sad face with the hunted look in the dark eyes cut me to the soul. + +"Jondo said last night that the battle was on and he would fight it out +in Santa Fé to-day. It is our work to go where the Hopi blossom leads +us, and Bev Clarenden and I will not let anything happen to you." + +I meant what I said, and my heart is always young when I recall that +morning ride toward the San Christobal Arroyo and my abounding vigor and +confidence in my courage and my powers. + +Our trail ran into a narrow plain now where a yellow band marked the way +of the San Christobal River toward the Rio Grande. On either hand tall +cliffs, huge weather-worn points of rock, and steep slopes, spotted with +evergreen shrubs, bordered the river's course. The silent bigness of +every feature of the landscape and the beauty of the June day in the +June time of our lives, and our sense of security in having escaped the +shadows and strife in Santa Fé, all combined to make us free-spirited. +Only Sister Anita rode, alert and sorrowful-faced, between Beverly and +the gaily-robed Indian girl, and myself with Eloise, the beautiful. + +As we rounded a bend in the narrow valley, Little Blue Flower halted us, +and pointing to an old half-ruined rock structure beside the stream, she +said: + +"See, yonder is the chapel where Father Josef comes sometimes to pray +for the souls of the Hopi people. The house we go to find is farther up +a cañon over there." + +"I remember the place," Eloise declared. "Father Josef brought me here +once and left me awhile. I wasn't afraid, although I was alone, for he +told me I was always safe in a church. But I was never allowed to come +back again." + +Sister Anita crossed herself and, glancing over her shoulder, gave a +sharp cry of alarm. We turned about to see a group, of horsemen dashing +madly up the trail behind us. The wind in their faces blew back the +great cloud of dust made by their horses hoofs, hiding their number and +the way behind them. Their steeds were wet with foam, but their riders +spurred them on with merciless fury. In the forefront Ferdinand Ramero's +tall form, towering above the small statured evil-faced Mexican band he +was leading, was outlined against the dust-cloud following them, and I +caught the glint of light on his drawn revolver. + +"Ride! Ride like the devil!" Beverly shouted. + +At the same time he and the Hopi girl whirled out and, letting us pass, +fell in as a rear guard between us and our pursuers. And the race was +on. + +Jondo had said the lonely ranch-house whither we were tending was as +strong as a fort. Surely it could not be far away, and our ponies were +not spent with hard riding. Before us the valley narrowed slightly, and +on its rim jagged rock cliffs rose through three hundred feet of +earthquake-burst, volcanic-tossed confusion to the high tableland +beyond. + +As we strained forward, half a dozen Mexican horsemen suddenly appeared +on the trail before us to cut off our advance. Down between us and the +new enemy stood the old stone chapel, like the shadow of a great rock in +a weary land, where for two hundred long years it had set up an altar to +the Most High on this lonely savage plain. + +"The chapel! The chapel! We must run to that now," cried Sister Anita. + +Her long veil was streaming back in the wind, and her rosary and +crucifix beating about her shoulders with the hard riding, but her white +face was brave with a divine trust. Yet even as she urged us I saw how +imposible was her plea, for the men in front were already nearer +to the place than we were. At the same time a pony dashed up beside me, +and Little Blue Flower's voice rang in my ears. + +"The rocks! Climb up and hide in the rocks!" She dropped back on one +side of Beverly, with Sister Anita on the other, guarding our rear. As +I turned our flight toward the cliff, I caught sight of an Indian in a +wedge of rock just across the river, and I heard the singing flight of +an arrow behind me, followed almost instantly by another arrow. I looked +back to see Sister Anita's pony staggering and rearing in agony, with +Little Blue Flower trying vainly to catch its bridle-rein, and Sister +Anita, clutching wildly at her rosary, a great stream of blood flowing +from an arrow wound in her neck. + +Men think swiftly in moments like these. The impulse to halt, and the +duty to press on for the protection of the girl beside me, holding me in +doubt. Instantly I saw the dark crew, with Ferdinand Ramero leading +fiercely forward, almost upon us, and I heard Beverly Clarenden's voice +filling the valley--"Run, Gail, run! You can beat 'em up there." + +It was a cry of insistences and assurances and power, and withal there +was that minor tone of sympathy which had sounded in the boy's defiant +voice long ago in the gray-black shadows below Pawnee Rock, when his +chivalric soul had been stirred by the cruel wrongs of Little Blue +Flower and he had cried: + +"Uncle Esmond, let's take her, and take our chances." + +I knew in a flash that the three behind us were cut off, and Eloise St. +Vrain and I pressed on alone. We crossed the narrow strip of rising +ground to where the first rocks lay as they had fallen from the cliff +above, split off by some titanic agony of nature. Up and up we went, our +ponies stumbling now and then, but almost as surefooted as men, as they +climbed the narrow way. Now the rocks hid us from the plain as we crept +sturdily through narrow crevices, and now we clambered up an open path +where nothing concealed our way. But higher still and higher, foot, by +foot we pressed, while with oath and growl behind us came our pursuers. + +At last we could ride no farther, and the miracle was that our ponies +could have climbed so far. Above us huge slabs of stone, by some +internal cataclysm hurled into fragments of unguessed tons of weight, +seemed poised in air, about to topple down upon the plain below. Between +these wild, irregular masses a narrow footing zigzagged upward to still +other wild, irregular masses, a footing of long leaps in cramped spaces +between sharp edges of upright clefts, all gigantic, unbending, now +shielding by their immense angles, now standing sheer and stark before +us, casting no shadows to cover us from the great white glare of the +New-Mexican day. + +I have said no man knows where his mind will run in moments of peril. As +we left our ponies and clambered up and up in hope of safety somewhere, +the face of the rocks cut and carved by the rude stone tools of a race +long perished, seemed to hold groups of living things staring at us and +pointing the way. And there was no end to these crude pictographs. Over +and over and over--the human hand, the track of the little road-runner +bird, the plumed serpent coiled or in waving line, the human form with +the square body and round head, with staring circles for eyes and mouth, +and straight-line limbs. + +We were fleeing for safety through the sacred aisles of a people God had +made; and when they served His purpose no longer, they had perished. I +did not think of them so that morning. I thought only of some +hiding-place, some inaccessible point where nothing could reach the girl +I must protect. But these crawling serpents, cut in the rock surfaces, +crawled on and on. These human hands, poor detached hands, were lifted +up in mute token of what had gone before. These two-eyed, one-mouthed +circles on heads fast to body-boxes, from which waved tentacle limbs, +jigged by us, to give place to other coiled or crawling serpents and +their companion carvings, with the track of the swift road-runner +skipping by us everywhere. + +At last, with bleeding hands and torn clothing, we stood on a level rock +like a tiny mesa set out from the high summit of the cliff. + +Eloise sat down at my feet as I looked back eagerly over the precipitous +way we had come, and watched the band of Mexicans less rapidly swarming +up the same steep, devious trail. + +Three hundred feet below us lay the plain with the thin current of the +San Christobal River sparkling here and there in the sunlight. The black +spot on the trail that scarcely moved must be Beverly and Little Blue +Flower with Sister Anita. No, there was only the Indian girl there, and +something moving in and out of the shadow near them. I could not see for +the intervening rocks. + +"Gail! Gail! You will not let them take you. You will not leave me," +Eloise moaned. + +And I was one against a dozen. I stooped to where she sat and gently +lifted her limp white hand, saying: + +"Eloise, I was on a rock like this a night and a day alone on the +prairie. I could not move nor cry out. But something inside told me to +'hold fast'--the old law of the trail. You must do that with me now." + +A shout broke over the valley and the rocks about us seemed suddenly to +grow men, as if every pictograph of the old stone age had become a +sentient thing, a being with a Mexican dress, and the soul of a devil. +Just across a narrow chasm, a little below us, Ferdinand Ramero stood in +all the insolence of a conqueror, with a smile that showed his white +teeth, and in his steely eyes was the glitter of a snake about to +spring. + +"You have given us a hard race. By Jove, you rode magnificently and +climbed heroically. I admire you for it. It is fine to bring down game +like you, Clarenden. You have your uncle's spirit, and a six-foot body +that dwarfs his short stature. And we come as gentlemen only, if we can +deal with a gentleman. It wasn't our men who struck your nun down there. +But if you, young man, dare to show one ounce of fighting spirit now, +behind you on the rocks--don't look--as I lift my hand are my good +friends who will put a bullet into the brain beneath that golden hair, +and you will follow. Being a game-cock cannot help you now. It will only +hasten things. Deliver that girl to me at once, or my men will close in +upon you and no power on earth can save you." + +Eloise had sprung to her feet and stood beside me, and both of us knew +the helplessness of our plight. A startling picture it must have been, +and one the cliffs above the San Christobal will hardly see again: the +blue June sky arched overhead, unscarred by a single cloud-fleck, the +yellow plain winding between the high picturesque cliffs, where silence +broods all through the long hours of the sunny day; the pictured rocks +with their furnace-blackened faces white--outlined with the story of the +dim beginnings of human strivings. And standing alone and defenseless on +the little table of stone, as if for sacrifice, the tall, stalwart young +plainsman and the beautiful girl with her golden hair in waving masses +about her uncovered head, her sweet face white as the face of the dying +nun beside the sandy arroyo below us, her big dark eyes full of a +strange fire. + +"I order you to close in and take these two at once." The imperious +command rang out, and the rocks across the valley must have echoed its +haughty tone. + +"And I order you to halt." + +The voice of Father Josef, clear and rich and powerful, burst upon the +silence like cathedral music on the still midnight air. The priest's +tall form rose up on a great mass of rock across the cleft before +us--Father Josef with bared head and flashing eyes and a physique of +power. + +Ferdinand Ramero turned like a lion at bay. "You are one man. My force +number a full dozen. Move on," he ordered. + +Again the voice of Father Josef ruled the listening ears. + +"Since the days of old the Church has had the power to guard all that +come within the shelter of the holy sanctuary. And to the Church of God +was given also long ago the might to protect, by sanctuary privilege, +the needy and the defenseless. Ferdinand Ramero, note that little table +of rock where those two stand helpless in your grasp. Around them now I +throw, as I have power to throw, the sacred circle of our Holy Church in +sanctuary shelter. Who dares to step inside it will be accursed in the +sight of God." + +Never, never will I live through another moment like to that, nor see +the power of the Unseen rule things that are seen with such unbreakable +strength. + +The Mexicans dropped to their knees in humble prayer, and Ferdinand +Ramero seemed turned to a man of stone. A hand was gently laid upon my +arm and Jondo and Rex Krane stood beside us. A voice far off was +sounding in my ears. + +"Go back to your homes and meet me at the church to-morrow night. You, +Ferdinand Ramero, go now to the chapel yonder and wait until I come." + +What happened next is lost in misty waves of forgetfulness. + + + + +XVI + +FINISHING TOUCHES + + "_Yet there be certain times in a young man's life when through + great sorrow or sin all the boy in him is burnt and seared away so + that he passes at one step to the more sorrowful state of + manhood."_ + --KIPLING. + + +The heat of midday was tempered by a light breeze up the San Christobal +Valley, and there was not a single cloud in the June skies to throw a +softening shadow on the yellow plain. A little group of Mexicans, riding +northward with sullen faces, urged on their jaded ponies viciously as +they thought of the gold that was to have been paid them for this +morning's work, and of the gold that to-morrow night must go to pay the +priest who should shrive them; and they had nothing gained wherewith to +pay. Their leader, whom they had served, had been trapped in his own +game, and they felt themselves abused and deceived. + +Down by the brown sands of the river Father Josef waited at the door of +the half-ruined little stone chapel for the strange group coming slowly +toward him: Ferdinand Ramero, riding like a captured but unconquered +king, his head erect, his flashing eyes seeing nobody; Jondo who could +make the shabbiest piece of horseflesh take on grace when he mounted it, +his tanned cheek flushed, and the spirit of supreme sacrifice looking +out through his dark-blue eyes; Eloise, drooping like a white flower, +but brave of spirit now, sure that her grief and anxiety would be lifted +somehow. I rode beside her, glad to catch the faint smile in her eyes +when she looked at me. And last of all, Rex Krane, with the same old +Yankee spirit, quick to help a fellow-man and oblivious to personal +danger. So we all came to the chapel, but at the door Rex wheeled and +rode away, muttering, as he passed me: + +"I've got business to look after, and not a darned thing to confess." + +And Beverly! He was not with us. + +When Rex Krane told his bride good-by up in the Clarenden home on the +Missouri bluff, Mat had whispered one last request: + +"Look after Bev. He never sees danger for himself, nor takes anything +seriously, least of all an enemy, whom he will befriend, and make a joke +of it." + +And so it happened that Rex had stayed behind to care for Beverly's +arrow wound when Bill Banney had gone out with Jondo on the Kiowa trail +to search for me this side of Pawnee Rock. + +So also it happened that Rex had strolled down from Fort Marcy the night +before, in time to see Beverly and the girl in the Mexican dress +loitering along the brown front of La Garita. And his keen eyes had +caught sight of Santan crouching in an angle of the wall, watching them. + +"Indians and Mexes don't mix a lot. And Bev oughtn't mix with either +one," Rex commented. "I'll line the boy up for review to-morrow, so Mat +won't say I've neglected him." + +But the Yankee took the precaution to follow the trail to the Indian's +possible abiding-place on the outskirts of Santa Fé. And it was Rex who +most aided Jondo in finding that the Indian had gone with Ramero's men +northward. + +"That fellow is Santan, of Fort Bent, Rex," Jondo said. + +"Yes, you thought he was _Santa_ and I took him for _Satan_ then. We +missed out on which to knock out of him. Bev won't care nothin' about +his name. He will knock hell out of him if he gets in that Clarenden +boy's way," Rex had replied. + +At the chapel door now the Yankee turned away and rode down the trail +toward the little angle where an Indian arrow had whizzed at our party +an hour before. + +In the shadow of a fallen mass of rock below the cliff Little Blue +Flower had spread her blanket, with Beverly's coat tucked under it in a +roll for a pillow, and now she sat beside the dying nun, holding the +crucifix to Sister Anita's lips. The Indian girl's hands were +blood-stained and the nun's black veil and gown were disheveled, and her +white head-dress and coif were soaked with gore. But her white face was +full of peace as the light faded from her eyes. + +And Beverly! The boy forgot the rest of the world when one of the +Apache's arrows struck down the pony and the other pierced Sister +Anita's neck. Tenderly as a mother would lift a babe he quickly carried +the stricken woman to the shelter of the rock, and with one glance at +her he turned away. + +"You can do all that she needs done for her. Give her her cross to +hold," he said, gently, to Little Blue Flower. + +Then he sprang up and dashed across the river, splashing the bright +waters as he leaped to the farther side where Santan stood concealed, +waiting for the return of Ramero's Mexicans. + +At the sound of Beverly's feet he leaped to the open just in time to +meet Beverly's fist square between the eyes. + +"Take that, you dirty dog, to shoot down an innocent nun. And that!" +Beverly followed his first blow with another. + +The Apache, who had reeled back with the weight of the boy's iron fist, +was too quick for the second thrust, struggling to get hold of his +arrows and his scalping-knife. But the space was too narrow and Beverly +was upon him with a shout. + +"I told you I'd make a sieve or you the next time you tried to see me, +and I'm going to do it." + +He seized the Indian's knife and flung it clear into the river, where +it stuck upright in the sands of the bed, parting the little stream of +water gurgling against it; and with a powerful grip on the Apache's +shoulders he wrenched the arrows from their place and tramped on them +with his heavy boot. + +The Indian's surprise and submission were gone in a flash, and the two +clinched in combat. + +On the one hand, jealousy, the inherited hatred of a mistreated race, +the savage instinct, a gloating joy in brute strife, blood-lust, and a +dogged will to trample in the dirt the man who made the sun shine black +for the Apache. On the other hand, a mad rage, a sense of insult, a +righteous greed for vengeance for a cruel deed against an innocent +woman, and all the superiority of a dominant people. The one would +conquer a powerful enemy, the other would exterminate a despicable and +dangerous pest. + +Back and forth across the narrow space hidden from the trail by fallen +rock they threshed like beasts of prey. The Apache had the swiftness of +the snake, his muscles were like steel springs, and there was no rule of +honorable warfare in his code. He bit and clawed and pinched and +scratched and choked and wrenched, with the grim face and burning eyes +of a murderer. But the Saxon youth, slower of motion, heavier of bone +and muscle, with a grip like iron and a stony endurance, with pride in a +conquest by sheer clean skill, and with a purpose, not to take life, but +to humble and avenge, hammered back blow for blow; and there was +nothing for many minutes to show which was offensive and which +defensive. + +As the struggle raged on, the one grew more furious and the other more +self-confident. + +"Oh, I'll make you eat dust yet!" Beverly cried, as Santan in triumph +flung him backward and sprang upon his prostrate form. + +They clinched again, and with a mighty surge of strength my cousin +lifted himself, and the Indian with him, and in the next fall Beverly +had his antagonist gripped and helpless. + +"I can choke you out now as easy as you shot that arrow. Say your +prayers." He fairly growled out the words. + +"I didn't aim at her," the Apache half whined, half boasted. "I wanted +you." + +At that moment Beverly, spent, bruised, and bleeding with fighting and +surcharged with the lust of combat, felt all the instinct of murder +urging him on to utterly destroy a poison-fanged foe to humanity. At +Santan's words he paused and, flinging back the hair from his forehead, +he caught his breath and his better self in the same heart-beat. And the +instinct of the gentleman--he was Esmond Clarenden's brother's son--held +the destroying hand. + +"You aimed at me! Well, learn your lesson on that right now. Promise +never to play the fool that way again. Promise the everlasting God's +truth, or here you go." + +The boy's clutch tightened on Santan's throat. "By all that's holy, +you'll go to your happy hunting-ground _right now, unless you do_!" He +growled out the words, and his blazing eyes glared threateningly at his +fallen enemy. + +"I promise!" Santan muttered, gasping for breath. + +"You didn't mean to kill the nun? Then you'll go with me and ask her to +forgive you before she dies. You will. You needn't try to get away from +me. I let you thrash your strength out before we came to this +settlement. Be still!" Beverly commanded, as Santan made a mad effort to +release himself. + +"Hurry up, and remember she is dying. Go softly and speak gently, or by +the God of heaven, you'll go with her to the Judgment Seat to answer for +that deed right now!" + +Slowly the two rose. Their clothes were torn, their hair disheveled, the +ground at their feet was red with their blood. They were as bitter, as +distrustful now as when their struggle began. For brute force never +conquers anything. It can only hold in check by fear of its power to +destroy the body. Above the iron fist of the fighter, and the sword and +cannon of the soldier, stands the risen Christ who carried his own cross +up Mount Calvary--and "there they crucified him." + +The two young men, spent with their struggle, their faces stained with +dirt and bloody sweat, crossed the river and sought the shadowy place +where Little Blue Flower sat beside Sister Anita. Twice Santan tried to +escape, and twice Beverly brought him quickly to his place. It must +have been here that I caught sight of them from the rock above. + +"One more move like that and the ghost of Sister Anita will walk behind +you on every trail you follow as long as your flat feet hit the earth," +Beverly declared. + +"All Indians are afraid of ghosts and I was just too tired to fight any +more," he said to me afterward when he told me the story of that hour by +the San Christobal River. + +Sister Anita lay with wide-open eyes, her hands moving feebly as she +clutched at her crucifix. Her hour was almost spent. + +Santan stood motionless before her, as Beverly with a grip on his arm +said, firmly: + +"Tell her you did not aim at her, and ask her to forgive you. It will +help to save your own soul sometime, maybe." + +Santan looked at Little Blue Flower. But she gave no heed to him as she +put the dropped crucifix into the weakening fingers. Murder, as such, is +as horrifying to the gentle Hopi tribe as it is sport for the cruel +Apache. + +Beverly loosed his hold now. + +"I did not want to hurt you. Forgive me!" Santan said, slowly, as though +each word were plucked from him by red-hot pincers. + +Sister Anita heard and turned her eyes. + +"Kneel down and tell her again," Beverly said, more gently. + +The Apache dropped on his knees beside the dying woman and repeated his +words. Sister Anita smiled sweetly. + +"Heaven will forgive you even as I do," she murmured, and closed her +eyes. + +"Go softly. This is sacred ground," my cousin said. + +The Indian rose and passed silently down the trail, leaving Little Blue +Flower and Beverly Clarenden together with the dead. At the stream he +paused and pulled his knife from the sands beneath the trickling waters, +and then went on his way. + +But an Indian never forgets. + +Rex Krane, who had hurried hither from the chapel, closed the eyes and +folded the thin hands of the martyred woman, and sent Beverly forward +for help to dispose of the garment of clay that had been Sister Anita. +From that day something manly and serious came into Beverly Clarenden's +face to stay, but his sense of humor and his fearlessness were +unchanged. + +That was a solemn hour in the shadow of the rock down in that yellow +valley, but beautiful in its forgiving triumph. We who had gathered in +the dimly lighted chapel had an hour more solemn for that it was made up +of such dramatic minutes as change the trend of life-trails for all the +years to come. + +The chapel was very old. They tell me that only a broken portion of the +circular wall about the altar stands there to-day, a lonely monument to +some holy padre's faith and courage and sacrifice in the forgotten +years when, in far Hesperia, men dreamed of a Quivera and found only a +Calvary. + +It may be that I, Gail Clarenden, was also changed as I listened to the +deliberations of that day; that something of youth gave place for the +stronger manhood that should stay me through the years that came after. + +Eloise sat where I could see her face. The pink bloom had come back to +it, and the golden hair, disordered by our wild ride and rough climb +among the pictured rocks of the cliff, curled carelessly on her white +brow and rippled about her shapely head. I used to wonder what setting +fitted her beauty best--why wonder that about any beautiful woman?--but +the gracious loveliness of this woman was never more appealing to me +than in the soft light and sacred atmosphere of the church. + +Father Josef's first thought was for her, but he brought water and +coarse linen towels, so that, refreshed and clean-faced, we came in to +his presence. + +"Eloise," his voice was deep and sweet, "so long as you were a child I +tried to protect and direct you. Now that you are a woman, you must +still be protected, but you must live your own life and choose for +yourself. You must meet sorrow and not be crushed by it. You must take +up your cross and bear it. It is for this that I have called you back to +New Mexico at this time. But remember, my daughter, that life is not +given to us for defeat, but for victory; not for tears, but for smiles; +not for idle cringing safety, but for brave and joyous struggle." + +I thought of Dick Verra, the college man, whose own young years were +full of hope and ambition, whose love for a woman had brought him to the +priesthood, but as I caught the rich tones of Father Josef's voice, +somehow, to me, he stood for success, not failure. + +Eloise bowed her head and listened. + +"You must no longer be threatened with the loss of your own heritage, +nor coerced into a marriage for which the Church has been offered a +bribe to help to accomplish. Blood money purifies no altars nor extends +the limits of the Kingdom of the Christ. Your property is your own to +use for the holy purposes of a goodly life wherever your days may lead +you; and whatever the civil law may grant of power to control it for +you, you shall no longer be harassed or annoyed. The Church demands that +it shall henceforth be yours." + +Father Josef's dark eyes were full of fire as he turned to Ferdinand +Ramero. + +"You will now relinquish all claim upon the control of this estate, +whose revenue made your father and yourself to be accounted rich, and +upon which your son has been allowed to build up a life expectation; and +though on account of it, you go forth a poor man in wordly goods, you +may go out rich in the blessing of restoration and repentance." + +Ferdinand Ramero's steel eyes were fixed like the eyes of a snake on the +holy man's face. Restoration and repentance do not belong behind eyes +like that. + +"I can fight you in the courts. You and your Church may go to the +devil;" he seemed to hiss rather than to speak these words. + +"We do go to him every day to bring back souls like yours," Father +Josef's voice was calm. "I have waited a long time for you to repent. +You can go to the courts, but you will not do it. For the sake of your +wife, Gloria Ramero, and Felix Narveo, her brother, we do not move +against you, and you dare not move for yourself, because your own record +will not bear the light of legal investigation." + +Ferdinand Ramero sprang up, the blaze of passion, uncontrolled through +all his years, bursting forth in the tragedy of the hour. Eloise was +right. In his anger he was a maniac. + +"You dare to threaten me! You pen me in a corner to stab me to death! +You hold disgrace and miserable poverty over my head, and cant of +restoration and repentance! Not until here you name each thing that you +count against me, and I have met them point by point, will I restore. I +never will repent!" + +In the vehemence of anger, Ramero was the embodiment of the dramatic +force of unrestraint, and withal he was handsome, with a controlling +magnetism even in his hour of downfall. + +Jondo had said that Father Josef had somewhere back a strain of Indian +blood in his veins. It must have been this that gave the fiber of self +control to his countenance as he looked with pitying eyes at Jondo and +Eloise St. Vrain. + +"The hour is struck," he said, sadly. "And you shall hear your record, +point by point, because you ask it now. First: you have retained, +controlled, misused, and at last embezzled the fortune of Theron St. +Vrain, as it was retained, controlled, misused, and embezzled by your +father, Henry Ramer, in his lifetime. Any case in civil courts must show +how the heritage of Eloise St. Vrain, heir to Theron St. Vrain at the +death of her mother--" + +"Not until the death of her mother--" Ferdinand Ramero broke in, +hoarsely. + +For the first time to-day the priest's cheek paled, but his voice was +unbroken as he continued: + +"I would have been kinder for your own sake. You desire otherwise. Yes, +only after the death of Mary Marchland St. Vrain could you dictate +concerning her daughter's affairs, with most questionable legality even +then. Mary Marchland St. Vrain is not dead." + +The chapel was as silent as the grave. My heart stood still. Before me +was Jondo, big, strong, self-controlled, inured to the tragic deeds of +the epic years of the West. No pen of mine will ever make the picture of +Jondo's face at these words of Father Josef. + +Eloise turned deathly pale, and her dark eyes opened wide, seeing +nothing. It was not I who comforted her, but Jondo, who put his strong +arm about her, and she leaned against his shoulder. Father and daughter +in spirit, stricken to the heart. + +"For many years she has lived in that lonely ranch-house on the Narveo +grant in the little cañon up the San Christobal Arroyo. When the fever +left her with memory darkened forever, you recorded her as dead. But +your wife, Gloria Ramero, spared no pains to make her comfortable. She +has never known a want, nor lived through one unhappy hour, because she +has forgotten." + +"A priest, confessor for men's inmost souls, who babbles all he knows! I +wonder that this roof does not fall on you and strike you dead before +this altar." Ferdinand Ramero's voice rose to a shout. + +"It was too strongly built by one who knew men's inmost souls, and what +they needed most," Father Josef replied. "You drove me to this by your +insistence. I would have shielded you--and these." + +He turned to Eloise and Jondo as he spoke. + +"One more point, since you hold it ready to spring when I am through. +You stand accused of plotting for your father's murder. The evidence +still holds, and some men who rode with you to-day to seize this gentle +girl and drag her back to a marriage with your son--and save your +ill-gotten gold thereby--some of these men who will confess to me and do +penance to-morrow night, are the same men who long ago confessed to +other crimes--you can guess what they were. + +"It pays well to repent before such a holy tattler as yourself." +Ramero's blue eyes burned deep as their fire was centered on the priest. + +"These are the counts against you," Father Josef said in review, +ignoring the last outburst of wrath. "A life of ease and inheritance +through money not your own, nor even rightly yours to control. A +stricken woman listed with the dead, whose memory might have come +again--God knows--if but the loving touch of childish hands had long ago +been on her hands. It is years too late for all that now. A brave young +ward rescued from your direct control by Esmond Clarenden's force of +will and daring to do the right. You know that last pleading cry of Mary +Marchland's, for Jondo to protect her child, and how Clarenden, for love +of this brave man, came to New Mexico on perilous trails to take the +little Eloise from you. And lastly in this matter, the threats to force +a marriage unholy in God's sight, because no love could go with it. Your +mad chase and villainous intention to use brute force to secure your +will out yonder on the rocks above the cliff. You have debauched an +Apache boy, making him your tool and spy. You sanctioned the seizing of +a Hopi girl whose parents you permitted to be murdered, and their child +sold into slavery among foreign tribes. You have stirred up and kept +alive a feud of hatred and revenge among the Kiowa people against the +life and property of Esmond Clarenden and all who belong to him. And, +added to all these, you stand to-day a patricide in spirit, accused of +plotting for the murder of your own father. Do not these things call +for restoration and repentance?" + +Ferdinand Ramero rose to his feet and stood in the aisle near the door. +His face hardened, and all the suave polish and cool concentration and +dominant magnetism fell away. What remained was the man as shaped by the +ruling passions of years, from whose control only divine power could +bring deliverance. And when he spoke there was a remorseless cruelty and +selfishness in his low, even tones. + +"You have called me a plotter for my father's life--based on some lying +Mexican's love of blackmail. You do not even try to prove your charge. +The man who would have killed him was Theron St. Vrain, and his brother, +Bertrand. That Theron was disgraced by the fact you know very well, and +the blackness of it drove him to an early grave. So this young lady +here, whom I would have shielded from this stain upon her name in the +marriage to my son, may know the truth about her father. He was what +you, Father Josef, try to prove me to be." + +He paused as if to gather venom for his last shaft. + +"These two, Theron and Bertrand, were equally guilty, but through tricks +of their own, Theron escaped and Bertrand took the whole crime on +himself. He disappeared and paid the penalty by his death. His body was +recovered from the river and placed in an unmarked grave. Why go back to +that now? Because Bertrand St. Vrain's clothes alone on some poor +drowned unknown man were buried. Bertrand himself sits here beside his +niece, Eloise St. Vrain. John Doe to the world, the man who lives +without a name, and dares not sign a business document, a walking dead +man. I could even pity him if he were real. But who can pity nothing?" + +A look of defiance came into the man's glittering eyes as he took one +step nearer to the door and continued: + +"Esmond Clarenden drove me out of the United States with threats of +implicating me in the death of my father, and I knew his power and +brutal daring to do anything he chose to do. It was but his wish to have +revenge for this nameless thing--" + +The scorn of Ramero's eyes and voice as he looked at Jondo were +withering. + +"And this thing keeps me here by threats of attacks, even when he knows +that by such attacks he will reveal himself. It has been a grim game." +Something of a grin showed all of the man's fine teeth. "A grim game, +and never played to a finish till now. I leave it to you, Father Josef, +to judge who has been the stronger and who comes out of it victor. I +make restoration--of what? I leave the St. Vrain money that I have +guarded for Eloise, the daughter of the man who killed, or helped to +kill, my father. You can control it now, among you: Clarenden, already +rich; your Church, notorious in its robbery of the poor by enriching its +coffers; or this uncle here, who is dead and buried in an unknown grave. +That is all the restoration I can make. Repentance, I do not know what +that word means. Keep it for the poor devils you will gather in +to-morrow night to be shriven. They need it. I do not." + +He turned and strode out of the church and, mounting his horse, rode +like a madman up the yellow valley of the San Christobal. In after years +I could find no term to so well describe that last act as the words of +Beverly Clarenden, who came to the chapel just in time to hear Ferdinand +Ramero's closing declaration, and to see his black scowl and scornful +air, as, in a royal madness, he defied the power of man and denounced +the all-pitying love that is big enough for the most sinful. + +"It was Paradise lost," Beverly declared, "and Satan falling clear to +hell before the Archangel's flaming sword. Only he went east and the +real Satan dropped down to his place. But they will meet up somewhere, +Ramero and the real one, and not be able to tell each other apart." + +And Jondo. My boyhood idol, brave, gentle, unselfish, able everywhere! +Jondo, who had kept my toddling feet from stumbling, who had taught me +to ride and swim and shoot, who had made me wise in plains lore, and +manly and clean among the rough and vulgar things of the Missouri +frontier. Jondo, whose big, cool hand had touched my feverish face, +whose deep blue eyes had looked love into my eyes when I lay dying on +Pawnee Rock! A man without a name! A murderer who had by a trick escaped +the law, and must walk evermore unknown among his fellow-men! Something +went out of my life as I looked at him. The boy in me was burned and +seared away, and only the man-to-be, was left. + +He offered no word of defense from the accusation against him, nor made +a plea of innocence, but sat looking straight at Father Josef, who +looked at him as if expecting nothing. And as they gazed into each +other's eyes, a something strong and beautiful swept the face of each. I +could not understand it, and I was young. My lifetime hero had turned to +nothingness before my eyes. The world was full of evil. I hated it and +all that in it was, my trusting, foolish, short-sighted self most of +all. + +But Eloise--the heart of woman is past understanding--Eloise turned to +the man beside her and, putting both arms around his neck, she pressed +one fair cheek against his brown bearded one, and kissed him gently on +the forehead. Then turning to Father Josef, no longer the dependent, +clinging maiden, but the loving woman, strong and sure of will, she +said: + +"I must go to my mother. So long as she lives I will never leave her +again." + +She did not even look at me, nor speak a word of farewell, as if I were +the murderer instead of that man, Jondo, whom she had kissed. + +I saw her ride away, with Little Blue Flower beside her. I saw the green +mesa, the red cliffs above the growing things, the glitter of the San +Christobal water on yellow sands, the level plain where the narrow white +trail crept far away toward Gloria Narveo's lonely ranch-house, strong +as a fort built a hundred years ago, in a little cañon of the valley. I +saw a young, graceful figure on horseback, and the glint of sunlight on +golden hair. But the rider did not turn her head and I could not get one +glance of those beautiful dark eyes. A great mass of rock hid the line +of the trail, and the two, Eloise and Little Blue Flower, rounded the +angle and rode on out of my sight. + +I helped to dig open the curly mesquite and to shovel out the sand. I +heard the burial service, and saw a rudely coffined form lowered into an +open grave. I saw Rex Krane at the head, and Jondo at the foot, and +Beverly's bleeding hands as he scraped the loose earth back and heaped +it over that which had been called Sister Anita; I heard Father Josef's +voice of music repeating the "Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust." And +then we turned away and left the spot, as men turn every day to the +common affairs of life. + +Four days later Little Blue Flower came to me as I, still numb and cold +and blankly unthinking, sat beside Fort Marcy and looked out with +unseeing eyes at the glory of a New-Mexican sunset. + +"I come from Eloise." The sadness of her face and voice even the +Indian's self-control could not conceal. + +"She is sad, but brave, and her mother loves her and calls her 'Little +One.' She will never grow up to her mother. But"--Little Blue Flower's +voice faltered and she gazed out at the far Sandia peaks wrapped in the +rich purple folds of twilight, with the scarlet of the afterglow beyond +them--"Eloise loves Beverly. She will always love him. Heaven meant him +for her." There were some other broken sentences, but I did not grasp +them clearly then. + +The world was full of gray shadows. The finishing touches had been put +on life for me. I looked out at the dying glow in the west, and wondered +vaguely if the sun would ever cross the Gloriettas again, or ever the +Sangre-de-Christo grow radiant with the scarlet stain of that ineffable +beauty that uplifts and purifies the soul of him who looks on it. + + + + +XVII + +SWEET AND BITTER WATERS + + + Trust me, it is something to be cast + Face to face with one's self at last, + To be taken out of the fuss and strife, + The endless clatter of plate and knife, + The bore of books, and the bores of the street, + And to be set down on one's own two feet + So nigh to the great warm heart of God, + You almost seem to feel it beat + Down from the sunshine, and up from the sod. + + JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + + +My hair is very white now, and my fingers hold a pen more easily than +they could hold the ox-goad or the rifle, and mine to-day is all the +backward look. Which look is evermore a satisfying thing because it +takes in all of life behind in its true proportion, where the forward +look of youth sees only what comes next and nothing more. And looking +back to-day it seems that, of the many times I walked the long miles of +that old Santa Fe Trail, no journey over it stands out quite so +clear-cut in my memory as the home trip after I had watched the going +away of Eloise, and witnessed the flight of Ferdinand Ramero, and +listened to the story of Jondo's life. + +When Little Blue Flower left me sitting beside Fort Marcy's wall my +mind went back in swift review over the flight of days since Beverly +Clarenden and I had come from Cincinnati. I recalled the first meeting +of Eloise with my cousin. How easily they had renewed acquaintance. I +had been surprised and embarrassed and awkward when I found her and +Little Blue Flower down by the Flat Rock below St. Ann's, in the Moon of +the Peach Blossom. I remembered how I had monopolized all of her time in +the days that followed, leaving good-natured Bev to look after the +little Indian girl who never really seemed like an Indian to him. And +keen-piercing as an arrow came now the memory of that midnight hour when +I had seen the two in the little side porch of the Clarenden home, and +again I heard the sorrowful words: + +"Oh, Beverly, it breaks my heart." + +Eloise had just seen Beverly kiss Little Blue Flower in the shadows of +the porch. And all the while, good-hearted, generous boy that he was, he +had never tried to push his suit with her, had made her love him more, +no doubt, by letting me have full command of all of her time, while he +forgot himself in showing courtesy to the Indian girl, because Bev was +first of all a gentleman. I thought of that dear hour in the church of +San Miguel. Of course, Eloise was glad to find me there--poor, hunted, +frightened child! She would have been as glad, no doubt, to have found +big Bill Banney or Rex Krane, and I had thought her eyes held something +just for me that night. She had not seen Beverly at the chapel beside +the San Christobal River, and to me she had not given even a parting +glance when she went away. If she had cared for me at all she would not +have left me so. And I had climbed the tortuous trail with her and stood +beside her in the zone of sanctuary safety that Father Josef had thrown +about us two. + +These things were clear enough to me, but when I tried to think again of +all that Little Blue Flower had said an hour ago my mind went numb: + +"Her mother knew her, but only as the little Eloise long lost and never +missed till now. The mother, too, was very beautiful, and young in face, +and child-like in her helplessness. The lonely ranch-house, old, and +strong as a fort, girt round by tall cañon walls, nestled in a grassy +open place; and not a comfort had been denied the woman there. For +Gloria Ramero, Ferdinand's wife, had governed that. And Eloise had +entered there to stay. This much was clear enough. But that which +followed seemed to twist and writhe about in my mind with only one thing +sure--Eloise loved Beverly, would always love him. And he could not love +any one else. He could be kind to any girl, but he would not be happy. +Some day when he was older--a real man--then he would long for the girl +of his heart and his own choice, and he would find her and love her, +too, and she would love him and those who stood between them they both +would hate. And Eloise loved Beverly. She could not send Gail any words +herself, but he would understand." + +So came the Indian girl's interpretation of the case, but the conclusion +was the message meant for me. I wondered vaguely, as I sat there, if the +vision had come to Beverly years ago as it had come to me: three +men--the soldier on his cavalry mount, Jondo, the plainsman, on his big +black horse, and between the two, Esmond Clarenden, neither mounted nor +on foot, but going forward somehow, steady and sure. And beyond these +three, this side of misty mountain peaks, the cloud of golden hair, the +sweet face, with dark eyes looking into mine. I had not been a dreamer, +I had been a fool. + +Through Beverly I learned the next day that Ferdinand Ramero had come +into Santa Fé late at night and had left early the next morning. Marcos +Ramero, faultlessly dressed, lounged about the gambling-halls, and +strolled through the sunny Plaza, idly and insolently, as was his +custom. But Gloria Ramero, to whom Marcos long ago ceased to be more +than coldly courteous, had left the city at once for the San Christobal +Valley, to devote herself to the care of the beautiful woman whom her +brother Felix Narveo in his college days had admired so much. + +As for Jondo, years ago when we had met Father Josef out by the sandy +arroyo, he had left us to follow the good man somewhere, and had not +come back to the Exchange Hotel until nightfall. Something had come into +his face that day that never left it again. And now that something had +deepened in the glance of his eye and the firm-set mouth. It was +through that meeting with Father Josef that he had first heard of the +supposed death of Mary Marchland St. Vrain, and it was through the +priest in the chapel he had heard that she was still alive. + +Neither Beverly nor Bill Banney nor Rex Krane knew what I had heard in +the church concerning Jondo's early career, and I never spoke of it to +them. But to all of us, outside of that intensified something +indefinable in his face, he was unchanged. He met my eye with the open, +frank glance with which he met the gaze of all men. His smile was no +less engaging and his manner remained the same--fearless, unsuspicious, +definite in serious affairs, good-natured and companionable in +everything. I could not read him now, by one little line, but back of +everything lay that withering, grievous thought--he was a murderer. +Heaven pity the boy when his idol falls, and if he be a dreaming +idealist the hurt is tenfold deeper. + +And yet--the trail was waiting there to teach me many things, and +Jondo's words rang through the aisles of my brain: + +"If you ever have a real cross, Gail, thank the Lord for the open plains +and the green prairies, and the danger stimulus of the old Santa Fé +Trail. They will seal up your wounds, and soften your hard, rebellious +heart, and make you see things big, and despise the little crooks in +your path." + +Our Conestoga wagons, with their mule-teams, and the few ponies for +scout service, followed the old trail out of the valley of the Rio +Grande to the tablelands eastward, up the steep sidling way into the +passes of the Glorietta Mountains, down through lone, wind-swept cañons, +and on between wild, scarred hills, coming, at last, beyond the +picturesque ridges, snow-crowned and mesa-guarded, into the long, gray, +waterless lands of the Cimmarron country. Here we journeyed along +monotonous levels that rose and fell unnoted because of lack of +landmarks to measure by, only the broad, beaten Santa Fé Trail stretched +on unbending, unchanging, uneffaceable. + +As the distance from spring to spring decreased, every drop of water +grew precious, and we pushed on, eager to reach the richer prairies of +the Arkansas Valley. Suddenly in the monotony of the way, and the +increasing calls of thirst, there came a sense of danger, the plains-old +danger of the Comanche on the Cimarron Trail. Bill Banney caught it +first--just a faint sign of one hostile track. All the next day Jondo +scouted far, coming into camp at nightfall with a grave report. + +"The water-supply is failing," he told us, "and there is something wrong +out there. The Comanches are hovering near, that's certain, and there is +a single trail that doesn't look Comanche to me that I can't account +for. All we can do is to 'hold fast,'" he added, with his cheery smile +that never failed him. + +That night I could not sleep, and the stars and I stared long at each +other. They were so golden and so far away. And one, as I looked, +slipped from its place and trailed wide across the sky until it +vanished, leaving a stream of golden light that lingered before my eyes. +I thought of the trail in the San Christobal Valley, and again I saw the +sunlight on golden hair as Eloise with Little Blue Flower passed out of +sight around the shoulder of a great rock beside the way. At last came +sleep, and in my dreams Eloise was beside me as she had been in the +church of San Miguel, her dark eyes looking up into mine. I knew, in my +dream, that I was dreaming and I did not want to waken. For, "Eloise +loved Beverly, would always love him." Little Blue Flower had said it. +The face was far away, this side of misty mountain peaks, and farther +still. I could see only the eyes looking at me. I wakened to see only +the stars looking at me. I slept again deeply and dreamlessly, and +wakened suddenly. We were far and away from the Apache country, but +there, for just one instant, a face came close to mine--the face of +Santan--the Apache. It vanished instantly as it had come. The night +guard passed by me and crossed the camp. The stars held firm above me. I +had had another dream. But after that I did not sleep till dawn. + +The day was very hot, with the scorching breeze of the plains that sears +the very eyeballs dry. Through the dust and glare we pressed on over +long, white, monotonous miles. Hovering near us somewhere were the +Comanches--waiting; with us was burning thirst; ahead of us ran the +taunting mirage--cool, sparkling water rippling between green +banks--receding as we approached, maddening us by the suggestion of its +refreshing picture, the while we knew it was only a picture. For it is +Satan's own painting on the desert to let men know that Dante's dream is +mild compared to the real art of torment. Men and animals began to give +way under the day's burden, and we moved slowly. In times like these +Jondo stayed with the train, sending Bill Banney and Beverly scouting +ahead. That was the longest day that I ever lived on the Santa Fé Trail, +although I followed its miles many times in the best of its freighting +years. + +The weary hours dragged at last toward evening, and a dozen signs in +plains lore told us that water must be near. As we topped a low swell at +the bottom of whose long slide lay the little oasis we were seeking, we +came upon Bill Banney's pony lying dead across the trail. And near it +Bill himself, with bloated face and bleared eyes, muttering +half-coherently: + +"Water-hole! Poison! Don't drink!" + +And then he babbled of the muddy Missouri, and the Kentucky blue grass, +and cold mountain springs in the passes of the Gloriettas, warning us +thickly of "death down there." + +"Down there," beside the little spring shelved in by shale at the lower +edge of the swell, we found a tiny cairn built of clumps of sod and bits +of shale. Fastened on it was a scrap from Bill's note-book with the +words + + Spring poisoned. Bev gone for water not very far on.--BILL. + +So Bill had drunk the poisoned water and had tried to reach us. But for +fear he might not do it, he had scrawled this warning and left it here. +Brave Bill! How madly he had staggered round the place and threshed the +ground in agony when he tried to mount his poisoned pony, and his first +thought was for us. The plains made men see big. Jondo had told me they +could do it. Poor Bill, moaning for water now and tossing in agony in +Jondo's wagon! The Comanches had been cunning in their malice. How we +hated them as we stood looking at the waters of that poisoned spring! + +Rex Krane's big, gentle hands were holding Bill's. Rex always had a +mother's heart; while Jondo read the ground with searching glance. + +"We will wait here a little while. Bev will report soon, I hope. Come, +Gail," he said to me. "Here is something we will follow now." + +A single trail led far away from the beaten road toward a stretch of +coarse dry yucca and loco-weeds that hid a little steep-sided draw +across the plains. At the bottom of it a man lay face downward beside a +dead pony. We scrambled down, shattering the dry earth after us as we +went. Jondo gently lifted the body and turned it face upward. It was +Ferdinand Ramero. + +The big plainsman did not cry out, nor drop his hold, but his face +turned gray, and only the dying man saw the look in the blue eyes gazing +into his. Ramero tried to draw away, fear, and hate, and the old +dominant will that ruled his life, strong still in death. As he lay at +the feet of the man whose life hopes he had blasted, he expected no +mercy and asked for none. + +"You have me at last. I didn't put the poison in that spring. I would +not have drunk it if I had. It was the one below I fixed for you. And +I'm in your power now. Be quick about it." + +For one long minute Jondo looked down at his enemy. Then he lifted his +eyes to mine with the victory of "him that overcometh" shining in their +blue depths. + +"If I could make you live, I'd do it, Fred. If you have any word to say, +be quick about it now. Your time is short." + +The sweetness of that gentle voice I hear sometimes to-day in the low +notes of song-birds, and the gentle swish of refreshing summer showers. + +Ferdinand Ramero lifted his cold blue eyes and looked at the man bending +over him. + +"Leave me here--forgotten--" + +"Not of God. His Mercy endureth forever," Jondo replied. + +But there was no repentance, no softening of the hard, imperious heart. + +We left him there, pulling down the loose earth from the steep sides of +the draw to cover him from all the frowning elements of the plains. And +when we went back to the waiting train Jondo reported, grimly: + +"_No enemy in sight."_ + +We laid Bill Banney beside the poisoned spring, from whose bitter waters +he had saved our lives. So martyrs filled the unknown graves that made +the milestones of the way in the days of commerce-building on the old +Santa Fé Trail. + +The next spring was not far ahead, as Bill's note had said, but the +stars were thick above us and the desolate land was full of shadows +before we reached it--a thirst-mad, heart-sore crowd trailing slowly on +through the gloom of the night. + +Beverly was waiting for us and the refreshing moisture of the air above +a spring seemed about him. + +"I thought you'd never come. Where's Bill? There's water here. I made +the spring myself," he shouted, as we came near. + +The spring that he had digged for us was in the sandy bed of a dry +stream, with low, earth-banks on either side. It was full of water, +hardly clear, but plentiful, and slowly washing out a bigger pool for +itself as it seeped forth. + +"There is poison in the real spring down there." Beverly pointed toward +the diminished fountain we had expected to find. "I've worked since noon +at this." + +We drank, and life came back to us. We pitched camp, and then listened +to Beverly's story of the sweet and bitter waters of the trail that day. +And all the while it seemed as if Bill Banney was just out of sight and +might come galloping in at any moment. + +"You know what happened up the trail," my cousin said, sadly. "Bill was +ahead of me and he drank first, and galloped back to warn me and beg me +to come on for water. I thought I could get down here and take some +water back to Bill in time. It's all shale up there. No place to dig +above, nor below, even if one dared to dig below that poison. But I +found a dead coyote that had just left here, and all springs began to +look Comanche to me. I lariated my pony and crept down under the bank +there to think and rest. Everything went poison-spotted before my eyes." + +"Where's your pony now, Bev?" Jondo asked. + +"I don't know sure, but I expect he is about going over the Raton Pass +by this time," Beverly replied. "Down there things seemed to swim around +me like water everywhere and I knew I'd got to stir. Just then an Indian +came slipping up from somewhere to the spring to drink. He didn't look +right to me at all, but I couldn't sit still and see him kill himself. +If he needed killing I could have done it for him, for he never saw me. +Just as he stooped I saw his face. It was that Apache--Santan--the +wander-foot, for I never heard of an Apache getting so far from the +mountains. I ought to have kept still, Jondo"--Beverly's ready smile +came to his face--"but I'd made that fellow swear he'd let me eternally +alone when we had our little fracas up by the San Christobal Arroyo, so +something like conscience, mean as the stomach-ache, made me call out: + +"'Don't drink there; it's poison.' + +"He stopped and stared at me a minute, or ten minutes--I didn't count +time on him--and then he said, slow-like: + +"'It's the spring west that is poisoned. I put it there for you. You +will not see your men again. They will drink and die. Who put this +poison here?' + +"'Lord knows. I didn't,' I told him. 'Two of you carrying poison are two +too many for the Cimarron country.' + +"And I hadn't any more conscience after that, but I was faint and slow, +and my aim was bad for eels. He could have fixed me right then, but for +some reason he didn't." + +Beverly's face grew sad. + +"He made six jumps six ways, and caught my pony's lariat. I can hear his +yell still as he tore a hole in the horizon and jumped right through. +Then I began on that spring. 'Dig or die. Dig or die.' I said over and +over, and we are all here but Bill. I wish I'd got that Apache, though." + +Jondo and I looked at each other. + +"The thing is clear now," he said, aside to me. "That single trail I +found back yonder day before yesterday was Santan's running on ahead of +us to poison the water for us and then steal a horse and make his way +back to the mountains. An Apache can live on this cactus-covered sand +the same as a rattlesnake. He fixed the upper spring and came down here +to drink. Only Beverly's conscience saved him here. Heaven knows how +Fred Ramer got out here. He may have come with some Mexicans on ahead of +us and left them here to drop his poison in this lower spring. Then he +turned back toward Santa Fé and found his doom up there at Santan's +spring. + +"I'm like Bev. I wish he had gotten the Apache, now. I don't know yet +how I was fooled in him, for he has always been Fred Ramer's tool, and +Father Josef never trusted him. And to think that Bill Banney, in no way +touching any of our lives, should have been martyred by the crimes of +Fred and this Apache! But that's the old, old story of the trail. Poor +Bill! I hope his sleep will be sweet out in this desolate land. We'll +meet him later somewhere." + +The winds must have carried the tale of poisoned water across the +Cimarron country, for the Comanches' trail left ours from that day. +Through threescore and ten miles to the Arkansas River we came, and +there was not a well nor spring nor sign of water in all that distance. +What water we had we carried with us from the Cimarron fountains. But +the sturdy endurance of the days was not without its help to me. And the +wide, wind-swept prairies of Kansas taught me many things. In the +lonely, beautiful land, through long bright days and starlit nights, I +began to see things bigger than my own selfish measure had reckoned. I +thought of Esmond Clarenden and his large scheme of business; Felix +Narveo, the true-hearted friend; and of Father Josef and his life of +devotion. And I lived with Jondo every day. I could not forget the hour +in the little ruined chapel in the San Christobal Valley, and how he +himself had made no effort to clear his own name. But I remembered, +too, that Father Josef, mercilessly just to Ferdinand Ramero, had not +even asked Jondo to defend himself from the black charge against him. + +The sunny Kansas prairies, the far open plains, and the wild mountain +trails beyond, had brought their blessing to Jondo, whose life had known +so much of tragedy. And my cross was just my love for a girl who could +not love me. That was all. Jondo had never forgotten nor ceased to love +the mother of Eloise St. Vrain. I should be like Jondo in this. But the +world is wide. Life is full of big things. Henceforth, while I would not +forget, I, too, would be big and strong, and maybe, some time, just as +sunny-faced as my big Jondo. + +The trail life, day by day, did bring its blessing to me. The clear, +open land, the far-sweeping winds, the solitude for thought, the bravery +and gentleness of the rough men who walked the miles with me, the +splendor of the day-dawn, the beauty of the sunset, the peace of the +still starlit night, sealed up my wounds, and I began to live for others +and to forget myself; to dream less often, and to work more gladly; to +measure men, not by what had been, but by how they met what was to be +done. + +From all the frontier life, rough-hewn and coarse, the elements came +that helped to make the big brave West to-day, and I know now that not +the least of source and growth of power for these came out of the +strength and strife of the things known only to the men who followed the +Santa Fé Trail. + + + + +III + +DEFENDING THE TRAIL + + + + +XVIII + +WHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN + + + The mind hath a thousand eyes, + And the heart but one. + --BOURDILLON. + + +Busy years, each one a dramatic era all its own, made up the annals of +the Middle West as the nation began to feel the thrill for expansion in +its pulse-beat. The territorial days of Kansas were big with the tragic +events of border warfare, and her birth into statehood marked the +commencement of the four years of civil strife whose record played a +mighty part in shaping human destiny. + +Meanwhile the sunny Kansas prairies lay waiting for the hearthstone and +the plow. And young men, trained in camp and battle-field, looked +westward for adventure, fortune, future homes and fame. But the tribes, +whose hunting-grounds had been the green and grassy plains, yielded +slowly, foot by foot, their stubborn claim, marking in human blood the +price of each acre of the prairie sod. The lonely homesteads were the +prey of savage bands, and the old Santa Fé Trail, always a way of +danger, became doubly perilous now to the men who drove the vans of +commerce along its broad, defenseless miles. The frontier forts +increased: Hays and Harker, Larned and Zarah, and Lyon and Dodge became +outposts of power in the wilderness, whose half-forgotten sites to-day +lie buried under broad pasture-lands and fields of waving grain. + +One June day, as the train rolled through the Missouri woodlands along +rugged river bluffs, Beverly Clarenden and I looked eagerly out of the +car window, watching for signs of home. It was two years after the close +of the Civil War. We had just finished six years of Federal service and +were coming back to Kansas City. We were young men still, with all the +unsettled spirit that follows the laying aside of active military life +for the wholesome but uneventful life of peace. + +The time of our arrival had been uncertain, and the Clarenden household +had been taken by surprise at our coming. + +"I wonder how it will seem to settle down in a store, Bev, after toting +shooting-irons for six years," I said to my cousin, as the train neared +Kansas City. + +"I don't know," Beverly replied, with a yawn, "but I'm thinking that +after we see all the folks, and play with Mat's little boys awhile, and +eat Aunty Boone's good stuff till we begin to get flabby-cheeked and +soft-muscled, and our jaws crack from smiling so much when we just +naturally want to get out and cuss somebody--about that time I'll be +ready to run away, if I have to turn Dog Indian to do it." + +"There's a new Clarenden store at a place called Burlingame out in +Kansas now, somewhere on the old trail. Maybe it will be far enough away +to let you get tamed gradually to civil life there, if Uncle Esmond +thinks you are worth it," I suggested. + +"Rex Krane is to take charge of that as soon as we get home. Yonder are +the spires and minarets and domes of Kansas City. Put on your company +grin, Gail," Beverly replied, as we began to run by the huts and cabins +forming the outworks of the little city at the Kaw's mouth. + +Six years had made many changes in the place, but the same old welcome +awaited us, and we became happy-hearted boys again as we climbed the +steep road up the bluff to the Clarenden house. On the wide veranda +overlooking the river everybody except one--Bill Banney, sleeping under +the wind-caressed sod beside the Cimarron spring--was waiting to greet +us. There were Esmond Clarenden and Jondo, in the prime of middle life, +the one a little bald, and more than a little stout; the other's heavy +hair was streaked with gray, but the erect form and tremendous physical +strength told how well the plains life had fortified the man of fifty +for the years before him. The prairies had long since become his home; +but whether in scout service for the Government, or as wagon-master for +a Clarenden train on the trail, he was the same big, brave, loyal +Jondo. + +And there was Rex Krane, tall, easy-going old Rex, with his wife beside +him. Mat was a fair-faced young matron now, with something Madonna-like +in her calm poise and kindly spirit. Two little boys, Esmond, and Rex, +Junior, clinging to her gown, smiled a shy welcome at us. + +In the background loomed the shining face and huge form of Aunty Boone. +She had never seemed bigger to me, even in my little-boy days, when I +considered her a giant. Her eyes grew dull as she looked at us. + +"Clean faces and finger-nails now. Got to stain 'em up 'bout once more +'fore you are through. Hungry as ever, I'll bet. I'll get your supper +right away. Whoo-ee!" + +As she turned away, Mat said: + +"There is somebody else here, boys, that you will be glad to meet. She +has just come and doesn't even know that you are expected. It is 'Little +Lees.'" + +A rustle of silken skirts, a faint odor of blossoms, a footfall, a +presence, and Eloise St. Vrain stood before us. Eloise, with her golden +hair, the girlish roundness of her fair face, her big dark eyes and +their heavy lashes and clear-penciled brows, her dainty coloring, and +beyond all these the beauty of womanly strength written in her +countenance. + +Her dress was a sort of pale heliotrope, with trimmings of a deeper +shade, and in her hands she carried a big bunch of June roses. She +stopped short, and the pink cheeks grew pale, but in an instant the rich +bloom came back to them again. + +"I tried to find you, Eloise. The boys have just come in almost +unannounced," Mat said. + +"You didn't mean to hide from us, of course," Beverly broke in, as he +took the girl's hand, his face beaming with genuine joy at meeting her +again. + +Eloise met him with the same frank delight with which she always greeted +him. Everything seemed so simple and easy for these two when they came +together. Little Blue Flower was right about them. They seemed to fit +each other. + +But when she turned to me her eyes were downcast, save for just one +glance. I feel it yet, and the soft touch of her hand as it lay in mine +a moment. + +I think we chatted all together for a while. I had a wound at Malvern +Hill that used to make me dizzy. That, or an older wound, made my pulse +frantic now. I know that it was a rare June day, and the breeze off the +river came pouring caressingly over the bluff. I remember later that +Uncle Esmond and Jondo and Rex Krane went to the Clarenden store, and +that Mat was helping Aunty Boone inside, while Beverly let the two +little Kranes take him down the slope to see some baby squirrels or +something. And Eloise and I were left alone beneath the trees, where +once we had sat together long ago in the "Moon of the Peach Blossom." +For me, all the strength of the years wherein I had built a wall around +my longing love, all my manly loyalty to my cousin's claims, were swept +away, as I have seen the big Missouri floods, joined by the lesser Kaw, +sweep out bridges, snapping like sticks before their power. + +"Eloise, it seems a hundred years since I saw you and Little Blue Flower +ride away up the San Christobal River trail out of my sight," I said. + +"It has been a long time, but we are not yet old. You seem the same. And +as for me, I feel as if the clock had stopped awhile and had suddenly +started to ticking anew." + +It was wonderful to sit beside her and hear her voice again. I did not +dare to ask about her mother, but I am sure she read my thoughts, for +she went on: + +"My mother is gone now. She was as happy as a child and never had a +sorrow on her mind after her dreadful fever, although the doctors say +she might have been restored if I had only been with her then. But it is +all ended now." + +Eloise paused with saddened face, and looked out toward the Missouri +River, boiling with June rains and melted snows. + +"It is all right now," she went on, bravely. "Sister Gloria--you know +who she was--stayed with me to the last. And I have a real mound of +earth in the cemetery beside my father." The last two words were spoken +softly. "Sister Gloria is in the convent now. Marcos is a common +gambler. His father disappeared and left him penniless. Esmond Clarenden +says that his father died out on the plains somewhere." + +"And Father Josef?" I inquired. + +"Is still the same strong friend to everybody. He spends much time +among the Hopi people. I don't know why, for they are hopelessly +heathen. Their own religion has so many beautiful things to offset our +faith that they are hard to convert." + +"And Little Blue Flower--what became of her?" I asked. "Is she a squaw +in some hogan or pueblo, after all that the Sisterhood of St. Ann's did +for her?" + +A shadow fell on the bright face beside me. + +"Let's not talk of her to-day." There was a pleading note in Eloise's +voice. "Life has its tragedies everywhere, but I sometimes think that +none of them--American, English, Spanish, French, Mexican, nor any +others of our pale-faced people, have quite such bitter acts as the +Indian tragedy among a gentle race like the people of Hopi-land." + +"I hope you will stay with us now." + +I didn't know what I really did hope for. I was no longer a boy, but a +young man in the very best of young manhood's years. I had seen this +girl ride away from me without one good-by word or glance. I had heard +her message to me through Little Blue Flower. I had suffered and +outgrown all but the scar. And now one touch of her hand, one smile, one +look from her beautiful eyes, and all the barrier of the years fell +down. I wondered vaguely now about Beverly's wish to turn Dog Indian if +things became too monotonous. I wondered about many things, but I could +not think anything. + +"I have no present plans. Father Josef and Esmond Clarenden thought it +would be well for me to come up to Kansas and look at green prairies +instead of red mesas for a while; to rest my eyes, and get my strength +again--which I have never lost," Eloise said, with a smile. "And Jondo +says--" + +She did not tell me what Jondo had said, for Beverly and Mat and the two +rollicking boys joined us just then and we talked of many things of the +earlier years. + +I cannot tell how that June slipped by, nor how Eloise, in the full +bloom of her young womanhood, with the burdens lifted from her heart and +hands, was no more the clinging, crushed Eloise who had sat beside me in +the church of San Miguel, but a self-reliant and deliciously +companionable girl-woman. With Beverly she was always gay, matching him, +mood for mood; and if sometimes I caught the fleeting edge of a shadow +in her eyes, it was gone too soon to measure. I did not seek her company +alone, because I knew that I could not trust myself. Over and over, +Jondo's words, when he had told me the story of Mary Marchland, came +back to me: + +"And although they loved each other always, they never saw each other +again." + +Nobody, outside of those touched by it, knew Jondo's story, except +myself. He was Theron St. Vrain's brother, yet Eloise never called him +uncle, and, except for the one mention of her father's grave, she did +not speak of him. He was not even a memory to her. And both men's names +were forever stained with the black charge against them. + +One evening in late June, Uncle Esmond called me into council. + +"Gail, Rex leaves to-morrow for the new store at Burlingame, Kansas. It +is two days out on the Santa Fé Trail. Bev will go with him and stay for +a while. I want you to drive through with Mat and the children and +Eloise a day or two later." + +"Eloise?" I looked up in surprise. + +"Yes; she will visit with Mat for a while. She has had some trying years +that have taxed her heavily. The best medicine for such is the song of +the prairie winds," Uncle Esmond replied. + +"And after that?" I insisted. + +"We will wait for 'after that' till it gets here," my uncle smiled as he +spoke. "There are more serious things on hand than where out Little Lees +will eat her meals. She seems able to take care of herself anywhere. +Wonderfully beautiful and charming young woman she is, and her troubles +have strengthened her character without robbing her of her youth and +happy spirits." + +Esmond Clarenden spoke reminiscently, and I stared at him in surprise +until suddenly I remembered that Jondo had said, "We were all in love +with Mary Marchland." Eloise must seem to him and Jondo like the Mary +Marchland they had known in their young manhood. But my uncle's mood +passed quickly, and his face was very grave as he said: + +"The conditions out on the frontier are serious in every way right now. +The Indians are on the war-path, leaving destruction wherever they set +foot. Something must be done to protect the wagon-trains on the Santa Fé +Trail. I have already lost part of two valuable loads this season, and +Narveo has lost three. But the appalling loss of property is nothing +compared to the terror and torture to human life. The settlers on the +frontier claims are being massacred daily. The Governor of Kansas is +doing all he can to get some action from the army leaders at Washington. +But you haven't been in military service for six years without finding +out that some army leaders are flesh and blood, and some are only +wood--plain wooden wood. Meantime, the story of one butchery doesn't get +to the Missouri River before the story of another catches up with it. +It's bad enough when it's ruinous to just my own commercial +business--but in cases like this, humanity is my business." + +What a man he was--that Esmond Clarenden! They still say of him in +Kansas City that no sounder financier and no bigger-hearted humanitarian +ever walked the streets of that "Gateway to the Southwest" than the +brave little merchant-plainsman who builded for the generations that +should follow him. + +"What will be the outcome, Uncle Esmond? Are we to lose all we have +gained out here?" I asked. + +"Not if we are real Westerners. It's got to be stopped. The question +is, how soon," my uncle replied. + +That night in a half-waking dream I remembered Aunty Boone's prophetic +greeting a few days before, and how her eyes had narrowed and grown dull +as she said, "One more stainin' of your hands 'fore you are through." + +I had given six good years to army service--the years which young men +give to college and to establishing themselves in their life-work. But +the vision of the three men whom I had seen under the elm-tree at Fort +Leavenworth came back to me, and only one--the cavalry man--moved +westward now. I knew that I was dreaming, but I did not want to waken +till the vision of a fair face whose eyes looked into mine should come +to make my dream sweet and restful. + +But in my waking hours, in spite of the gravity of conditions that +troubled Esmond Clarenden, in spite of the terrible tidings of daily +killings on the unprotected plains, I forgot everything except the girl +beside me as I went with her and Mat and the children to the new home in +the village of Burlingame beside the Santa Fé Trail. + +Eloise St. Vrain had come up to Kansas to let the green prairies shut +out the memory of tall red mesas. About the little town of Burlingame +the prairies were waiting for her eyes to see. It nestled beside a deep +creek under the shelter of forest trees, with the green prairie lapping +up to its edges on every side. The trail wound round the shoulder of a +low hill, and, crossing the stream, it made the main street of the +town, then wandered on westward to where a rim of ground shut the view +of its way from the settlement under the trees by the creek. A stanch +little settlement it was, and, like many Kansas towns of the '60's, with +big, but never-to-be realized, ambition to become a city. Into its life +and up-building Rex Krane was to throw his good-natured Yankee +shrewdness, and Mat her calm, generous spirit; vanguards they were, +among the home-makers of a great State. + +My stay in the place was brief, and I saw little of Eloise until the +evening before I was to return to Kansas City. I had meant to go away, +as she had left me in the San Christobal Valley, without one backward +look, but I couldn't do it; and at the close of my last day I went to +the Krane home, where I found her alone. It was the long after-sunset +hour, with the refreshing evening breezes pouring in from all the green +levels about us. + +"Rex is at the store, and the others are all gone fishing," Eloise said, +in answer to my inquiry for the family. + +"Mat and Bev always did go fishing on every occasion that I can +remember, and they will make fishermen of little Esmond and Rex now. +Would you like to go up to the west side of town and look into New +Mexico?" I asked, wondering why Beverly should go fishing with Mat when +Eloise was waiting for his smile. + +But I was desperately lonely to-night, and I might not see Eloise again +until after she and Beverly--I could not go farther. She smiled and +said, lightly: + +"I'm just honin' for a walk, as Aunty Boone would say, but I'm not quite +ready to see New Mexico yet." + +"Oh, it's only a thing made of evening mists rising from the meadows, +and bits of sunset lights left over when the day was finished," I +assured her. + +So we left the shadow of the tall elms and strolled up the main street +toward the west. + +Where the one cross-street cut the trail in the center of the village +there was a public well. The ground around it was trampled into mud by +many hoofs. A Mexican train had just come in and was grouped about this +well, drinking eagerly. + +"What news of the plains?" I asked their leader as we passed. + +"I cannot tell you with the lady here," he replied, bowing courteously. +"It is too awful. A spear hung with a scalp of pretty baby hair like +hers. I see it yet. The plains are all _alive--alive_ with hostile red +men; and the worst one of all--he that had the golden scalp--is but a +half-breed Cheyenne Dog. Never the Apaches were so bad as he." + +The cattle horned about the well, with their drivers shouting and +struggling to direct them, as we went wide to avoid the mud, then passed +up to the rise beyond which lay the old trail's westward route. + +The mists were rising from the lowlands; along the creek the sunset sky +was all a flaming glory, under whose deep splendor the June prairies lay +tenderly green and still; down in the village the sounds of the Mexicans +settling into camp; the shouting of children, romping late; and out +across the levels, the mooing call of milking-time from some far-away +settler's barn-yard; a robin singing a twilight song in the elms; +crickets chirping in the long grass; and the gentle evening breeze sweet +and cool out of the west--such was the setting for us two. We paused on +the crest of the ridge and sat down to watch the afterglow of a prairie +twilight. We did not speak for a long time, but when our eyes met I knew +the hour had been made for me. In such an hour we had sat beside the +glistening Flat Rock down in the Neosho Valley. I was a whole-hearted +boy when I went down there, full of eagerness for the life of adventure +on the trail, and she a girl just leaving boarding-school. And now--life +sweetens so with years. + +"I think I can understand why your uncle thought it would be well for me +to come to Kansas," Eloise said at last. "There is an inspiration and +soothing restfulness in a thing like this. Our mountains are so huge and +tragical; and even their silences are not always gentle. And our plains +are dry and gray. And yet I love the valley of the Santa Fé, and the old +Ortiz and Sandia peaks, and the red sunset's stain on the +Sangre-de-Christo. Many a time I have lifted up my eyes to them for +help, as the shepherd did to his Judean hills when he sang his psalms of +hope and victory." + +"Yes, Nature is kind to us if we will let her be. Jondo told me that +long ago, and I've proved it since. But I have always loved the +prairies. And this ridge here belongs to me," I replied. + +Eloise looked up inquiringly. + +"I'll tell you why. When I was a little boy, years ago, a day-dreaming, +eager-hearted little boy, we camped here one night. That was my first +trip over the trail to Santa Fé. You haven't forgotten it and what a big +brown bob-cat I looked like when I got there. I grew like weeds in a +Kansas corn-field on that trip." + +"Oh, I remember you. Go on," Eloise said, laughingly. + +"That night after supper, everybody had left camp--Mat and Bev were +fishing--and I was alone and lonely, so I came up here to find what I +could see of the next day's trail. It was such an hour as this. And as I +watched the twilight color deepen, my own horizon widened, and I think +the soul of a man began, in that hour, to look out through the little +boy's eyes; and a new mile-stone was set here to make a landmark in my +life-trail. The boy who went back slowly to the camp that night was not +the same little boy that had run up here to spy out the way of the next +day's journey." + +The afterglow was deepening to purple; the pink cloud-flecks were +turning gray in the east, and a kaleidoscope of softest rose and tender +green and misty lavender filled the lengthening shadows of the twilight +prairie. + +"Eloise, I had a longing that night, still unfulfilled. I wish I dared +to tell you what it was." + +I turned to look at the fair girl-woman beside me. In the twilight her +eyes were always like stars; and the golden hair and the pink bloom of +her cheeks seemed richer in their shadowy setting. To-night her gown was +white--like the Greek dress she had worn at Mat's wedding, on the night +when she met Beverly in the little side porch at midnight. Why did I +recall that here? + +"What was your wish, Gail?" The voice was low and sweet. + +I took her hand in mine and she did not draw away from me. + +"That I might some day have a real home all my own down there among the +trees. I was a little homesick boy that night, and I came up here to +watch the sunset and see the open level lands that I have always loved. +Eloise, Jondo told me once of three young college men who loved your +beautiful mother, and because of that love they never married anybody, +but they lived useful, happy lives. I can understand now why they should +love her, and why, because they could not have her love, they would not +marry anybody else. One was my uncle Esmond, and one was Father Josef." + +"And the third?" The voice was very low and a tremor shook the hand I +held. + +"He did not tell me. And I speak of it now only to show you that in what +I want to say I am not altogether selfish and unkind. I love you, +Eloise. I have loved you since the day, long ago, when your face came +before me on the parade-ground at Fort Leavenworth. I told you of that +once down on the bluff by the Clarenden home at Kansas City. I shall +love you, as the Bedouin melody runs, + + Til the sun grows cold, + And the stars are old, + And the leaves of the judgment + Book unfold! + +"But I know that it will end as Uncle Esmond's and Father Josef's loving +did, in my living my life alone." + +Eloise quickly withdrew her hand, and the pain in her white face haunts +me still. + +"I do not want to hurt you, oh, Eloise. I know I do wrong to speak, but +to-night will be the last time. I thought that night in the church at +San Miguel, and that next day when we rode for our lives together, that +you cared for me who would have walked through fire for you. But in that +hour in the little chapel a barrier came between us. You rode away +without one word or glance. And I turned back feeling that my soul was +falling into ruins like that half-ruined little pile of stone that some +holy padre had built his heart into years and years ago. Then Little +Blue Flower brought your message to me and I knew as I sat beside Fort +Marcy's wall that night, and saw the sun go down, that the light of my +life was going out with it." + +"But, Gail," Eloise exclaimed, "I said I could not send you any word, +but you would understand. I--I couldn't say any more than that." Her +voice was full of tears and she turned away from me and looked at the +last radiant tints edging the little cloud-flecks above the horizon. + +"Of course I understand you, Eloise, and I do not blame you. I never +could blame you for anything." I sprang to my feet. "You'll hate me if I +say another word," I said, savagely. + +She rose up, too, and put her hand on my arm. Oh, she was beautiful as +she stood beside me. So many times I have pictured her face, I will not +try to picture it as it looked now in this sweet, sacred moment of our +lives. + +"Gail, I could never hate you. You do not understand me. I cannot help +what is past now. I hoped you might forget. And yet--" She paused. + +All men are humanly alike. In spite of my strong love for Beverly and my +sense of right, the presence of the woman whose image for so many years +had been in the sacredest shrine of my heart, Eloise, in all her beauty +and her womanly strength and purity, standing beside me, her hand still +on my arm--all overpowered me. + +I put my arms about her and held her close to me, kissing her forehead, +her cheek, her lips. The world for one long moment was rose-hued like +the sunset's afterglow; and sky and prairie, lowlands along the winding +creek, and tall elm-trees above the deepening shadows, were all engulfed +in a mist of golden glory, shot through with amethyst and sapphire, the +dainty coraline pink of summer dawns, and the iridescent shimmer of +mother-of-pearl. + +Heaven opens to us here and there such moments on the way of life. And +the memory of them lingers like perfume through all the days that +follow. + +We turned our faces toward the darkening village street and the tall +elms above the gathering shadows, and neither spoke a word until we +reached the door where I must say good night. + +"I cannot ask you to forgive me, Little Lees, because you let me have a +bit of heaven up there. I shall go away a better man. And, remember, +that no blessing in your life can be greater than I would wish for you +to have." + +The brave white face was before my eyes and the low voice was in my ears +long after I had left her door. + +"Gail, I cannot help what has been, but I do not blame you. I should +almost wish myself shut in again by the tall red mesas; but maybe, after +all, the prairies are best for me. I am glad I have known you. Good +night." + +"Goodnight," I said, and turned away. + +And that was all. The last light of day had gone from the sky, and the +stars overhead were hidden by the thick leafage of the Burlingame elms. + + + + +XIX + +A MAN'S PART + + + Don't you guess that the things we're seeing now will haunt us through + the years; + Heaven and hell rolled into one, glory and blood and tears; + Life's pattern picked with a scarlet thread, where once we wove with + a gray, + To remind us all how we played our part in the shock of an epic day? + + --ROBERT W. SERVICE. + + +However darkly the sun may go down on hope and love, the real sun shines +on, day after day, with its inexorable call to duty. In less than a week +after I had left Eloise and the vague hope of a home of my own under the +big elm-trees of Burlingame, Governor Crawford of Kansas sent forth a +call for a battalion of four companies of soldiers, and I heard the call +and answered it. + +It was to be known as the Eighteenth Kansas Cavalry, with Col. Horace L. +Moore, a veteran soldier of tried mettle, at the head. We were to go at +once to Fort Harker, in the valley of the Smoky Hill River, to begin a +campaign against the Indians, who were laying waste the frontier +settlements and attacking wagon-trains on the Sante Fé Trail. + +On the evening before I left home I sat on the veranda of the Clarenden +house, waiting for Uncle Esmond to join me, when suddenly Beverly +Clarenden strode over the edge of the hill. The sunny smile and the +merry twinkle of his eye were Bev's own, and there wasn't a line on his +face to show whether it belonged to the happy lover or the rejected +suitor. I thought I could always read his moods when he had any. He had +none to-night. + +"I just got in from Burlingame. At what hour do you leave to-morrow? I'm +going along to chaperon you, as usual," he declared. + +"Why, Beverly Clarenden, I thought you were fixed at Burlingame, selling +molasses and calico by the gallon," I exclaimed, but my real thought was +not given to words. + +"And let the Cheyennes, and Kiowas, and Arapahoes, and other desperadoes +of the plains gnaw clear into the heart of us? Not your uncle Esmond +Clarenden's nephew. And, Gail, this won't be anything like we have had +since those six Kiowas staked you out on Pawnee Rock once. The +thoroughbred Indians are bad enough, but there is a half-breed leader of +a band of Dog Indians that's worst of all. He's of the yellow kind, with +wolf's fangs. A Mexican on the trail told me that this half-breed ties +up with the worst of every tribe from the Coast Range mountains to +Tecumseh, Kansas," Beverly declared. + +"I remember that Mexican. I saw him at the well in Burlingame," I +replied, turning to look at the Kaw winding far away, for the memory of +everything in Burlingame was painful to me. + +Aunty Boone's huge form appearing around the corner of the house shut +off my view of the river just then. Her face was glistening, but her +eyes were dull as she looked us over. + +"You stainin' your hands again," she purred. "Yes, Aunty. We are going +to lick the redskins into ribbons," Beverly replied. + +"You never get that done. Lickin' never settles nobody. You just hold +'em down till they strong enough to boost you off their heads again, and +up they come. Whoo-ee!" + +The black woman gave a chuckle. + +"Well, I'd rather sit on their heads than have them sitting on mine, or +yours, Aunty Boone," Beverly returned, laughingly. + +Aunty Boone's eyes narrowed and there was a strange light in them as she +looked at us, saying: + +"You get into trouble, Mr. Bev, you see me comin', hot streaks, to help +you out. Whoo-ee!" + +She breathed her weird, African whoop and turned away. + +"I'll depend on you." Beverly's face was bright, and there was no shadow +in his eyes, as he called after her retreating form. + +We chatted long together, and I hoped--and feared--to have him tell me +the story of his suit with Eloise, and why in such a day, of all the +days of his life, he should choose to run away to the warfare of the +frontier. He could not have failed, I thought. Never a disappointed +lover wore a smile like this. But Beverly had no story to tell me that +night. + + * * * * * + +The mid-July sun was shining down on a treeless landscape, across which +the yellow, foam-flecked Smoky Hill River wound its sinuous way. Beside +this stream was old Fort Harker, a low quadrangle of quarters, for +military man and beast, grouped about a parade-ground for companionship +rather than for protection. The frontier fort had little need for +defensive strength. About its walls the Indian crawled submissively, +fearful of munitions and authority. It was not here, but out on lonely +trails, in sudden ambush, or in overwhelming numbers, or where long +miles, cut off from water, or exhausting distance banished safe retreat, +that the savage struck in all his fury. + +Eastward from Harker the scattered frontier homesteads crouched, +defenseless, in the river valleys. Far to the northwest spread the +desolate lengths of a silent land where the white man's foot had hardly +yet been set. Miles away to the southwest the Santa Fé Trail wound among +the Arkansas sand-hills, never, in all its history, less safe for +freighters than in that summer of 1867. + +In this vast demesne the raiding Cheyenne, the cruel Kiowa, the +blood-thirsty Arapahoe, with bands of Dog Indians and outlaws from every +tribe, contested, foot by foot, for supremacy against the out-reaching +civilization of the dominant Anglo-American. The lonely trails were +measured off by white men's graves. The vagrant winds that bear the odor +of alfalfa, and of orchard bloom to-day, were laden often with the smoke +of burning homes, and often, too, they bore that sickening smell of +human flesh, once caught, never to be forgotten. The story of that +struggle for supremacy is a tragic drama of heroism and endurance. In it +the Eighteenth Kansas Cavalry played a stirring part. + +It seems but yesterday to me now, that July day so many years ago, when +our four companies, numbering fewer than four hundred men, detrained +from the Union Pacific train at Fort Harker on the Smoky Hill. And the +faces of the men who were to lead us are clear in memory. Our commander, +Colonel Moore, always brave and able; and our captains, Henry Lindsay, +and Edgar Barker, and George Jenness, and David Payne, with the shrewd, +courageous scout, Allison Pliley, and the undaunted, clear-thinking, +young lieutenant, Frank Stahl. Ours was not to be a record of unfading +glory, as national military annals show, yet it may count mightily when +the Great Records are opened for final estimates. Those men who marched +two thousand miles, back and forth, upon the trackless plains in that +four months' campaign, have been forgotten in the debris of uneventful +years. Our long-faded trails lie buried under wide alfalfa-fields and +the paved streets of western Kansas towns. From the far springs that +quenched our burning thirst comes water, trickling through a nickel +faucet into a marble basin, now. Where the fierce sun seared our +eyeballs, in a treeless, barren waste, green groves, atune with +song-birds, cast long swaths of shade on verdant sod. The perils and the +hardships of the Eighteenth Kansas Cavalry are now but as a tale that is +told. + +And yet of all the heroes whose life-trails cut my own, I account among +the greatest those men under whose command, and with whose comradeship, +I went out to serve the needs of my generation among the vanguards of +the plains. And if in a sunset hour on the west ridge beyond the little +town of Burlingame I had left a hopeless love behind me, I put a man's +best energy into the thing before me. + +The battle-field alone is not the soldier's greatest test. I had kept +step with men who charge an enemy on an open plain or storm a high +defense in the face of sure defeat. I had been ordered with my company +to take redoubts against the flaming throats of bellowing cannon in the +life-and-death grip before Richmond. I had felt the awful thrill of +carnage as my division surged back and forth across the blood-soaked +lengths of Gettysburg, and I never once fell behind my comrades. The +battle-field breeds courage, and self-forgetfulness, and exaltation, +from the sense of duty squarely met. + +There were no battle-fields in 1867, where Greek met Greek in splendid +gallantry, out on the Kansas plains. Over Fort Harker hung the pall of +death, and in the July heat the great black plague of Asiatic cholera +stalked abroad and scourged the land. Men were dying like rats, lacking +everything that helps to drive death back. The volunteer who had offered +himself to save the settlers from the scalping-knife had come here only +to look into an open grave, and then, in agony, to drop into it. Such +things test soldiers more than battle-fields. And our men turned back in +fear, preferring the deserter's shame to quick, inglorious martyrdom by +Asiatic cholera. I had a battle of my own the first night at Fort +Harker. There was a growing moon and the night breeze was cool after the +heat of the day. Beverly Clarenden and I went down to the river, whose +tawny waters hardly hid the tawny sands beneath them. The plains were +silent, but from all the hospital tents about the fort came the sharp, +agonized cries of pain that forerun the last collapse of the +plague-stricken sufferers. To get away from the sound of it all we +wandered down the stream to where the banks of soft, caving earth on the +farther side were higher than a man's head, and their shadow hid the +current. We sat down and stared silently at the waters, scarcely +whispering as they rolled along, and at the still shade of the farther +bank upon them. The shadows thickened and moved a little, then grew +still. We also grew still. Then they moved again just opposite us, and +fell into three parts, as three men glided silently along under the +bank's protecting gloom. We waited until they had reached the edge of +the moonlight, and saw three soldiers pass swiftly out across the +unprotected sands to other shadowy places further on. + +"Deserters!" Beverly said, half aloud. "You can stay here if you want +to, Gail. I'd rather go up and listen to those poor wretches groan than +stick down here and listen to the fiend inside of me to-night." + +He rose and stalked away, and I sat listening to myself. I could join +those three men easily enough. The world is wide. I had no bond to hold +me to one single place in it. I was young and strong, and life is sweet. +Why let the black plague snuff me out of it? I had come here to serve +the State. I should not serve it in a plague-marked grave. I rose to +follow down the stream, to go to where the Smoky Hill joins the big +Republican to make the Kaw, and on to where the Kaw reaches to the +Missouri. But I would not stop there. I'd go until I reached the ocean +somewhere. + +Would I? + +The memory of Jondo's eyes when they looked into mine on Pawnee Rock +came unbidden across my mind. Jondo had lived a nameless man. How strong +and helpful all his years had been! How starved had been my life without +his love! I would be another Jondo, somewhere on earth. + +I stared after three faintly moving shadows down the stream. 'Twas well +I waited, for Esmond Clarenden came to me now, clean-cut, honest, +everybody's friend. How firm his life had been; and he had built into me +a hatred of deceit and lies. And Jondo was another Uncle Esmond. In +spite of the black shadow on his name, he walked the prairies like a +prince always. I could not be like him if I were a deserter. Up-stream +death was waiting for me; down-stream, disgrace. I turned and followed +up the river's course, but the strength that forced me to it was greater +than that which made me brave on battle-fields. And ever since that +night beside the Smoky Hill I have felt gentler toward the man who +falls. + +We were not idle long for Fort Harker had just been informed of an +assault on a wagon-train on the Santa Fé Trail and our cavalry squadron +hurried away at once to overtake and punish the assailants. + +We came into camp on the bank of Walnut Creek, at the close of a long +summer day of blazing light and heat over the barren trails where there +was no water; a day of long hours in the saddle; a day of nerve-wearing +watchfulness. But we believed that we had left the plague-cursed region +behind us, so we were light-hearted and good-natured; and we ate, and +drank, and took our lot cheerfully. + +Among the men at mess that night I saw a new face which was nothing +remarkable, except that something in it told me that I had already seen +that face somewhere, some time. It is my gift never to forget a face, +once seen, no matter how many years may pass before I see it twice. This +soldier was a pleasant fellow, too, and, in a story he was telling, +clever at imitating others. + +"Who is that man, Bev? The third one over there?" I asked my cousin. + +"Stranger to me. I don't believe I ever saw him before. Who is the +fellow with the smile, Captain?" Beverly asked the officer beside him. + +"I don't know. He's not in my company. I'm finding new faces every day," +the captain replied. + +As twilight fell I saw the man again at the edge of the camp. He smiled +pleasantly as he passed me, turning to look at Beverly, who did not see +him, and in a minute he was cantering down to the creek beside our camp. +I saw him cross it and ride quickly out of sight. But that smile brought +to the face the thing that had escaped me. + +"I know that fellow now," I said to Beverly and the officer who came up +just then. "He's Charlie Bent, the son of Colonel Bent. Don't you +remember the little sinner at old Fort Bent, Bev?" + +"I do, and what a vicious little reptile he was," Beverly replied. "But +Uncle Esmond told me that his father took him away early and had him +schooled like a gentleman in the best Saint Louis had to give. I wonder +whose company he is in." + +The officer stared at us. + +"You mean to say you know that cavalryman to be Charlie Bent?" he fairly +gasped. + +"Of course it's Charlie. I never missed a face in all my life. That's +his own," I replied. + +"The worst Indian on the plains!" the captain declared. "He stirs up +more fiendishness than a whole regiment of thoroughbred Cheyennes could +ever think of. He's led in every killing here since March." + +"Not Colonel Bent's son!" I exclaimed. + +"Yes, he's the half-breed devil that we'll have to fight, and here he +comes and eats with us and rides away." + +"He must be the fellow that the Mexican told us about back at +Burlingame, Gail. I remember now he did say the brute's name was Bent, +but I didn't rope him up with our Fort Bent chum. Gail would have run +him down in half a minute if he had heard the name. I never could +remember anything," Beverly said, in disgust. But the smile was peeping +back of his frown, and he forgot the boy he was soon to have cause +enough to remember. + +"We must run that rascal down to-night," the Captain declared, as he +hurried away to consult with the other officers. + +But Charlie Bent was not run down that night. Before we had time to get +over our surprise a scream of pain rang through the camp. Another +followed, and another, and when an hour had passed a third of our forces +was writhing in the clutches of the cholera. + +I shall never forget the long hours of that night beside the Walnut, nor +Beverly Clarenden's face as he bent over the suffering men. For all of +us who were well worked mightily to save our plague-stricken comrades, +whose couches were of prairie grass and whose hospital roof was the +starlit sky. However forgetful Beverly might be of names and faces, his +strong hand had that soothing firmness that eased the agony of cramping +limbs. Dear Bev! He comforted the sick, and caught the dying words, and +straightened the relaxed bodies of the dead, and smiled next day, and +forgot that he had done it. + +At last the night of horror passed, and day came, wan and hot and weary +out of the east. But five of our comrades would see no earthly day +again; and three dozen strong men of the day before lay stretched upon +the ground, pulseless and shrunken and purple, with wrinkled skin and +wide, unseeing eyes. + +Before the sun had risen our dead, coffined only by their army blankets, +lay in unmarked graves. Our helpless living were placed in commissary +wagons, and we took the trail slowly and painfully toward the Arkansas +River. + +If Charley Bent had gathered up his band to strike that night there +would have been a different chapter in the annals of the plains. + +I cannot follow with my pen the long marches of that campaign, and there +was no honorable nor glorious warfare in it. It is a story of +skirmishes, not of battles; of attack and repulse; of ambush and pursuit +and retreat. It is a story of long days under burning skies, by whose +fierce glare our brains seemed shriveling up and the world went black +before our heat-bleared eyes. A story of hard night-rides, when weary +bodies fought with watchful minds the grim struggle that drowsiness can +wage, though sleep, we knew, meant death. It is a story of fevered +limbs and bursting pulse in hospitals whose walls were prairie +distances. A story of hunger, and exhausted rations; of choking thirst, +with only alkali water mocking at us. And never could the story all be +told. There is no rest for cavalrymen in the field. We did not suffer +heavy loss, but here and there our comrades fell, by ones, and twos, at +duty's post; and where they fell they lie, in wayside graves, waiting +for glorious mention until the last reveille shall sound above the +battlements of heaven. + +And I was one among these vanguards of the plains, making the old Santa +Fé Trail safe for the feet of trade; and the wide Kansas prairies safe +for homes, and happiness, and hope, and power. I lived the life, and +toughened in its grind. But in my dreams sometimes my other life +returned to me, and a sweet face, with a cloud of golden hair, and dark +eyes looking into mine, came like a benediction to me. Another face came +sometimes now--black, big, and glistening, with eyes of strange, far +vision looking at me, and I heard, over and over, the words of Esmond +Clarenden's cook: + +"If you get into trouble, Mr. Bev, I'll come, hot streaks, to help you." + +But trouble never stuck to "Mr. Bev," because he failed to know it when +it came. + +Mid-August found us at Fort Hays on the Smoky Hill, beyond whose +protecting guns the wilderness ruled. A wilderness checkered by faint +trails of lawless feet, a wilderness set with bloody claws and poison +stings and cruel fangs, and slow, agonizing death. And with all a +wilderness of weird, fascinating distances and danger, charm and beauty. +The thrill of the explorer of new lands possessed us as we looked far +into the heart of it. Here in these August days the Cheyenne and +Arapahoe and Kiowa bands were riding trails blood-stained by victims +dragged from lonely homesteads, and butchered, here and there, to make +an Indian holiday. The scenes along the valleys of the Sappa and the +Beaver and the Prairie Dog creeks were far too brutal and revolting to +belong to modern life. Against these our Eighteenth Kansas, with a small +body of United States cavalry, struck northward from Fort Hays. We +rested through the long, hot days and marched by night. The moon was +growing toward the full, and in its clear, white splendor the prairies +lay revealed for miles about us. Our command was small and meagerly +equipped, and we were moving on to meet a foe of overwhelming numbers. +Men took strange odds with Fate upon the plains. + +Beyond the open, level lands lay a rugged region hemming in the valley +of the Prairie Dog Creek. Here picturesque cliffs and deep, earth-walled +cañons split the hills, affording easy ambush for a regiment of red men. +And here, in a triangle of a few miles area, a new Thermopylae, with no +Leonidas but Kansas plainsmen, was staged through two long August days +and nights. One hundred and fifty of us against fifteen hundred +fighting braves. + +In the early morning of a long, hot August day, we came to an open plain +beyond the Prairie Dog Creek. Our supply-wagons and pack-mules were +separated from us somewhere among the bluffs. We had had no food since +the night before, and our canteens were empty--all on account of the +blundering mismanagement of the United States officer who cammanded +us. I was only a private, and a private's business is not to +question, but to obey. And that major over us, cashiered for cowardice +later, was not a Kansas man. Thank heaven for that! + +A score of us, including my cousin and myself, under a sergeant, and +with good Scout Pliley, were suddenly ordered back among the hills. + +"Where do we go, and why?" Beverly asked me as we rode along. + +"I don't know," I replied. "But Captain Jenness and a file of men were +lost out here somewhere last night. And Indian tracks step over one +another all around here. I guess we are out to find what's lost, maybe. +It isn't a twenty minutes' job, I know that." + +"And all our canteens empty, too! Why cut off all visible means of +support in a time like this? Look at these bluffs and hiding-places, +will you! A handful of Indians could scoop our whole body up and pitch +us into the Prairie Dog Creek, and not be missed from a set in a +war-dance," Beverly insisted. "Keep it strictly in the Clarenden family, +Gail, but our honorable commander is a fool and a coward, if he is a +United States major." + +"You speak as one expecting a promotion, Bev," I suggested. + +"I'd know how to use it if I got it," he smiled brightly at me as we +quickened our pace not to fall behind. + +Every day of that campaign Beverly grew dearer to me. I am glad our +lives ran on together for so many years. + +The cañons deepened and the whole region was bewildering, but still we +struggled on, lost men searching for lost men. The sun blazed hotly, and +the soft yellow bluffs of bone-dry earth reached down to the dry beds of +one-time streams. + +High noon, and still no food, no water, and no lost men discovered. We +had pushed out to a little opening, ridged in on either side by high, +brown bluffs, when a whoop came from the head of the line. + +"Yonder they are! Yonder they are!" + +Half a dozen men, led by Captain Jenness, were riding swiftly to join us +and we shouted in our joy. For some among us that was the last joyous +shout. At that moment a yell from savage throats filled the air, and the +thunder of hoofs shook the ground. Over the west ridge, half a mile +away, five hundred Indians came swooping like a hurricane down upon us. +And we numbered, altogether, twenty-nine. I can see that charge to-day: +the blinding, yellow sky, the ridge melting into a cloud of tawny dust, +the surge of ponies with their riders bending low above them; fronting +them, our little group of cavalrymen formed into a hollow square, on +foot, about our mounts; the Indians riding, in a wide circle around us, +with blankets flapping, and streamer-decked lances waving high. And as I +see, I hear again that wild, unearthly shriek and taunting yell and +fiendish laughter. From every point the riflle-balls poured in +upon us, while out of buffalo wallow and from behind each prairie-dog +hillock a surge of arrows from unmounted Indians swept up against us. I +had been on battle-fields before, but this was a circle out of hell set +'round us there. And every man of of knew, as we sent back ball for +ball, what capture here would mean for us before the merciful hand of +death would seal our eyes. + +Suddenly, as we moved forward, the frantic circle halted and a hundred +braves came dashing in a fierce charge upon us. Their leader, mounted on +a great, white horse, rode daringly ahead, calling his men to follow +him, and taunting us with cowardice. He spoke good English, and his +voice rang clear and strong above the din of that strange struggle. +Straight on he came, without once looking back, a revolver in each hand, +firing as he rode. A volley from our carbines made his fellows stagger, +then waver, break, and run. Not so the rider of the splendid white +horse, who dared us to strike him down as he dashed full at us. + +"Come on, you coward Clarenden boys, and I'll fight you both. I've +waited all these years to do it. I dare you. Oh, I dare you!" + +It was Charlie Bent. + +Nine balls from Clarenden carbines flew at him. Beverly and I were +listed among the cleverest shots in Kansas, but not one ball brought +harm to the daring outlaw. A score of bullets sung about his insolent +face, but his seemed a charmed life. Right on he forged, over our men, +and through the square to the Indian's circle on the other side, his +mocking laughter ringing as he rode. A bloody scalp hung from his spear, +and, turning 'round just out of range of our fire, shaking his trophy +high, he shouted back: + +"We got all of the balance of your men. We'll get you yet." + +The sun glared fiercely on the bare, brown earth. A burning thirst began +to parch our lips. We had had no food nor drink for more than twenty +hours. Our horses, wounded with many arrows, were harder to care for +than our brave, stricken men. + +Night came upon the cañons of the Prairie Dog, and with the darkness the +firing ceased. Somewhere, not far away, there might be a wagon-train +with food for us. And somewhere near there might be a hundred men or +more of our command trying to reach us. But, whether the force and +supplies were safe or the wagons were captured and all our comrades +killed, as Charlie Bent had said, we could not know. We only knew that +we had no food; that one man, and all but four of our cavalry horses +lay dead out in the valley; that two men in our midst were slowly dying, +and a dozen others suffering from wounds of battle, among these our +captain and Scout Pliley; that we were in a wild, strange land, with +Indians perching, vulture-like, on every hill-top, waiting for dawn to +come to seize their starving prey. + +We heard an owl hoot here and there, and farther off an answering hoot; +a coyote's bark, a late bird's note, another coyote, and a fainter hoot, +all as night settled. And we knew that owl and coyote and twilight +song-bird were only imitations--sentinel signals from point to point, +where Indian videttes guarded every height, watching the trail with +shadow-piercing eyes. + +The glossy cottonwood leaves, in the faint night breeze, rippled like +pattering rain-drops on dry roofs in summertime, and the thin, willow +boughs swayed gently over us. The full moon swept grandly up the +heavens, pouring a flood of softened light over the valley of the +Prairie Dog, whose steep bluffs were guarded by a host of blood-lusting +savages, and whose cañons locked in a handful of intrepid men. + +If we could only slip out, undiscovered, in the dark we might find our +command somewhere along the creek. It was a perilous thing to undertake, +but to stay there was more perilous. + +"Say, Gail," Beverly whispered, when we were in motion, "somebody said +once, 'There have been no great nations without processions,' but this +is the darndest procession I ever saw to help to make a nation great. +Hold on, comrade. There! Rest on my arm a bit. It makes it softer." + +The last words to a wounded soldier for whom Bev's grip eased the ride. + +It was a strange procession, and in that tragic gloom the boy's +light-hearted words were balm to me. + +Silently and slowly we moved forward. The underbrush was thick on either +side of the narrow, stony way that wound between sheer cliffs. We had +torn up our blankets and shirts to muffle the horses' feet, that no +sound of hoofs, striking upon the rocky path, might reach the ears of +the Cheyenne and his allies crouching watchfully above us. At the head +marched Captain Jenness and Scout Pliley, each with his carbine for a +crutch and leaning on each other for support. Followed five soldiers as +front guard through the defile. And then four horses, led by careful +hands, bearing nine suffering, silent men upon their backs. Two of the +horses carried three, and one bore two, and the last horse, one--a dying +boy, whispering into my ear a message for his mother, as I held his +hand. Behind us came the sergeants with the remainder, for rear-guard. +And so we passed, mile after mile, winding in and out, to find some +sheltering spot where, sinking in exhaustion, we might sleep. + +The midnight winds grew chill, and the tense strain of that slow march +was maddening, but not a groan came from the wounded men. The vanguards +of the plains knew how to take perilous trails and hold their peace. + +When the sun rose on the second day the hills about us swarmed with +savages, whose demoniac yells rent the air. Leonidas had his back +against a rock at old Thermopylae, but our Kansas plainsmen fought in a +ring of fire. + +At day-dawn, our brave scout, Pliley, slipped away, and, after long +hours among the barren hills, he found the main command. + +Men never gave up hope in the plains warfare, but each of us had saved +one bullet for himself, if we must lose this game. The time for that +last bullet had almost come when the sight of cavalrymen on a distant +ridge told us that our scout was on its way to us again. It took a +hero's heart to thread unseen the dangerous trails and find our comrades +with the cavalry major and bring back aid, but Pliley did it for us--a +man's part. May the sod rest lightly where he sleeps to-day. + +Meantime, on the day before, the main force of our cavalry, who had +given us up for lost, had had their own long, fearful struggle. In the +early morning, Lieutenant Stahl, scouting forward in an open plain, +rushed back to give warning of Indians everywhere. And they were +everywhere--a thousand strong against a feeble hundred caught in their +midst. They rode like centaurs, and their aim was deadly true as they +poured down, a murderous avalanche, from every hillslope. Their ponies' +tails, sweeping the ground, lengthened by long horse-hair braids, with +sticks thrust through at intervals by way of ornament; their waving +blankets, and streamered lances held aloft; the savage roar from ten +hundred throats; the mad impetus of their furious charge through clouds +of dust and rifle smoke--all made the valley of the Prairie Dog seem but +a seething hell bursting with fiendins shouts, shot through with +quivering arrows, shattered by bullets, rocked with the thunderous beat +of horses' hoofs, trampling it into one great maelstrom of blood and +dirt. + +All day, with neither food nor water, amid bewildering bluffs and +gorges, alive with savage warriors, the cavalrymen had striven +desperately. Night fell, and in the clear moonlight they forced their +way across the Prairie Dog, and neither man nor horse dared to stop to +drink because an instant's pause meant death. + +And the evening and the morning were the first day. And the second was +like unto it, albeit we were no longer a triangle, made up of +wagon-train here and main command there, and our twenty-nine--less two +lost ones--under Captain Jenness, at a third point. Before noon, our +force was all united and we joined hands for the finish. + +Beverly and I rode side by side all day. Everywhere around us the +half-breed, Charlie Bent, dashed boldly on his big, white horse calling +us cowardly dogs and taunting us with lack of marksmanship. + +"I'm getting tired of that fellow, Gail. I'll pick his horse out from +under him pretty soon, see if I don't." My cousin called to me as +Bent's insolent cry burst forth: + +"Come out, and let me show you how to shoot." + +Beverly leaped out toward the Indian horde surrounding Bent. He raised +his carbine, and with steady aim, fired far across the field of battle, +the cleanest shot I ever saw. Years ago my cousin had urged Uncle Esmond +to let him practise shooting on horseback. He was a master of the art +now. Charlie Bent's splendid white steed fell headlong, hurling its +rider to the ground and dragging him, face downward, in the dirt. + +I cannot paint that day's deeds with my pen, nor ever artist lived whose +brush could reproduce it. If we should lose here, it meant the turning +of the clock from morning back to midnight on the Kansas plains. + +Between this and the safety of the prairies stood fewer than a hundred +and fifty men, against a thousand warriors, led by cunning half-breeds +skilled in the white man's language and the red man's fiendishness. + +If we should lose--We did not go out there to lose. When each man does a +man's part there is no failure possible at last. + +As the sun sank toward late afternoon, the savage force massed for its +great, crushing blow that should annihilate us. The strong center, made +up of the flower of every tribe engaged, was on the crest of a long, +westward-reaching slope, a splendid company of barbaric +warriors--strong, eager, vengeful, doggedly determined to finish now +the struggle with the power they hated. + +The air was very clear, and in its crystal distances we could see every +movement and hear each command. + +The valley rang with the taunts and jeers and threats and mocking +laughter of our foes, daring us to come out and meet them face to face, +like men. And we went out and met them face to face, like men. + +A little force of soldiery fighting, not for ourselves, but for the +hearthstones of a nobler people, our cavalry swung up that long, western +slope in the face of a murderous fire, into the very heart of Cheyenne +strength, enforced by all the iron of the allied tribes. I marvel at it +now, when, in solid phalanx, our foes might easily have mowed us down +like a thin line of standing grain; for their numbers seemed unending, +while flight on flight of arrows and fierce sheets of rifle-fire swept +our ranks as we rode on to death or victory. But each man's face among +us there was bright with courage, and with our steady force unchecked we +swept right on to the very crest of the high slope, scattering the +enemy, at last, like wind-blown autumn leaves, until upon our guidons +victory rested and the long day was won. + + + + +XX + +GONE OUT + + + I wander alone at dead of night, + But ever before me I see a light, + In darkest hours more clear, more bright; + And the hope that I bear fails never. + + FREDRICH RÜCKERT. + + +The waters of the Smoky Hill flowed yellow, flecked with foam, beside +our camp, where, in a little grove of cottonwood trees, we rested from a +long day's march. The heat of a late Kansas summer day was fanned away +at twilight by the cool prairie breeze. There was an appealing something +in the air that evening hour that made me homesick. So I went down +beside the river to fight out my daily battle and let the wide spaces of +the landscape soothe me, and all the opal tints of sunset skies and the +soft radiance of a prairie twilight bring me their inspiration. + +Each day my heart-longing for the girl I must not love grew stronger. I +wondered, as I sat here to-night, what trail would open for me when +Beverly and Eloise should meet again, as lovers must meet some time. We +had not once spoken her name between us, Bev and I, in all the days and +nights since we had been in service on the plains. + +As I sat lonely, musing vaguely of a score of things that all ran back +to one fair face, Beverly dropped down beside me. His face was grave and +his eyes had a gentle, pleading look, something strange and different +from the man whose moods I knew. + +"I'm homesick, Gail." He smiled as he spoke, and all the boy of all the +years was in that smile. + +"So am I, Bev. It must be in the water here," I replied, lightly. + +But neither one misunderstood the other. + +"I'd like to see Little Lees to-night. Wouldn't you?" he asked, +suddenly. + +The question startled me. Maybe my cousin wanted to confide in me here. +I would not be selfish with him. + +"Yes, I always like to see her. Why to-night, though?" I asked, +encouragingly. + +Beverly looked steadily into my face. + +"I want to tell you something, Gail. I haven't dared to speak before, +but something tells me I should speak to-night," he said slowly. + +I looked away along the winding valley of the Smoky Hill. I must hear it +some time. Why be a coward now? + +"Say on, I'm always ready to hear anything from you, Beverly." + +I tried to speak firmly, and I hoped my voice did not seem faltering to +him. He sat silent a long while. Then he rose and straightened to his +full height--a splendid form of strength and wholesomeness and grace. + +"I'll tell you some time soon, but not to-night. Honor is something with +me yet." + +And so he left me. + +I dreamed of him that night with Eloise. And all of us were glad. I +wakened suddenly. Beverly was standing near me. He turned and walked +away, his upright form and gait, even in the faint light, individually +Bev's own. I saw him lie down and draw his blanket about him, then sit +up a moment, then nestle down again. Something went wrong with sleep and +me for a long time, and once I called out, softly: + +"Bev, can't you sleep?" + +"Oh, shut up! Not if you fidget about me," he replied, with the old +happy-go-lucky toss of the head and careless tone. + +It was dim dawn when I wakened. My cousin was sleeping calmly just a few +feet away. An irresistible longing to speak to him overcame me and I +slipped across and gently kicked the slumbering form. Two cavalry +blankets rolled apart. A note pinned to the edge of one caught my eye. I +stooped to read: + + DEAR GAIL, Don't hate me. I'm sick of army life. They will call me + a coward and if they get me they will shoot me for a deserter. I + have disgraced the Clarenden name. You'll never see me again. + Good-bye, old boy. + + BEV. + +Deserter! + +The yells of all the tribes in the battle on the Prairie Dog Creek +shrieked not so fiercely in my ears as that word rang now. And all the +valley of the Smoky Hill echoed and re-echoed it. + +Deserter! + +My Beverly--who never told a lie, nor feared a danger, nor ever, except +in self-defense, hurt a creature God had made. I could bury Bev, or +stand beside him on his wedding-day. But Beverly disgraced! O, God of +mercy toward all cowards, pity him! + +I sat down beside the blankets I had kicked apart and looked back over +my cousin's life. It offered me no help. I thought of Eloise--and his +longing to see her on the night before; of his struggle to tell me +something. I knew now what that something was. Poor boy! + +He was not a boy, he was a man--strong, fearless, happy-hearted. How +could the plains make cowards out of such as he? They had made a man of +Jondo, who had all excuse to play the coward. The mystery of the human +mind is a riddle past my reading--and I had always thought of Beverly's +as an open book. The only one to whom I could turn now was not Eloise, +nor my uncle, nor Mat nor Rex, but Jondo, John Doe, the nameless man, +with whom Esmond Clarenden had walked all these years and for whose sake +he had rescued Eloise St. Vrain. They had "toted together," as Aunty +Boone had said. Oh, Aunty Boone with dull eyes of prophecy! I could hear +her soft voice saying: + +"If you get into trouble, Mr. Bev, I come, hot streaks, to help you." + +She could not come "hot streaks" now, for Beverly had deserted. But +there was Jondo. + +I wrote at once to him, inclosing the crumpled note, and then, as one +who walks with neither sight nor feeling any more, I rode the plains and +did a man's part in that Eighteenth Cavalry campaign of '67. The days +went slowly by, bringing the long, bright autumn beauty to the plains +and turning all the elms to gold along the creek at Burlingame. Time +took away the sharp edge from our grief and shame, and left the dull +pain that wears deeper and deeper, unnoticed by us; and all of us who +had loved Beverly lived on and were cheerful for one another's sake. + +When Jondo--as only Jondo could--bore the news of my letter to Esmond +Clarenden, he made no reply, but sat like an image of stone. Rex Krane +broke down and sobbed as if his heart would break. But Mat, calm, +poised, and always merciful, merely said: + +"We must wait awhile." + +It was many days before she broke the news to Eloise St. Vrain, who only +smiled and said: + +"Gail is mistaken. Beverly couldn't desert." + +It was when the word came to Aunty Boone that the storm broke. They told +me afterward that her face was terrible to see, and that her eyes grew +dull and narrow. She went out to the bluff's edge and sat staring up the +valley of the Kaw as if to see into the hidden record of the coming +years. + +One October day, when the Kranes and Eloise sat with my uncle and Jondo +in the soft afternoon air, looking out at the beauty of the Missouri +bluffs, Aunty Boone loomed up before them suddenly. + +"I got somebody's fortune, just come clear before me," she declared, in +her soft voice. "Lemme see you' hand, Little Lees!" + +Eloise put her shapely white hand upon the big, black paw. + +Aunty Boone patted it gently, the first and last caress she ever gave to +any of us. + +"You' goin' to get a letter from a dark man. You' goin' to take a long +journey. And somebody goin' with you. An' the one tellin' this is goin' +away, jus' one more voyage to desset sands again, and see Africy and her +own kingdom. Whoo-ee!" + +Never before, in all the years that we had known her, had she expressed +a wish for her early home across he seas. Her voice trailed off weirdly, +and she gazed at the Kaw Valley for a long moment. Then she said, in a +low tone that thrilled her listeners with its vibrant power: + +"Bev ain't no deserter. He's gone out! Jus' gone out. Whoo-ee!" + +She disappeared around the corner of the house and stood long in the +little side porch where Beverly had kissed Little Blue Flower one night +in the "Moon of the Peach-Blossom," and Eloise had found them there, and +I had unwittingly heard what was said. + +"Is there no variation in palmistry?" Rex Krane asked. "I never knew a +gypsy in all my life who read a different set of prophecies. It's always +the dark man--I'm light (darn the luck)--and a journey and a letter. But +I thought maybe an African seer, a sort of Voodo, hoodoo, bugaboo, would +have it a light man and a legacy and company coming, instead of you +taking a journey, Eloise." + +Eloise smiled. + +"You musn't envy me my good fortune, Rex," she declared. "Aunty Boone +says she is going back to Africa, too. You'll need a new cook, Uncle +Esmond. Let me apply for the place right now." + +My uncle smiled affectionately on her. + +"I could give you a trial, as I gave her. I remember I told her if she +could cook good meals I'd keep her; if not, she'd leave. Do you want to +take the risk?" + +"That's where you'll get your journey of the prophecy, Eloise," Jondo +suggested. + +"Well, you leave out the best part of it all," Mat broke in. "She added +that Beverly isn't a deserter, he's just 'gone out.' Why don't you +believe it all, serious or frivolous?" + +A shadow lifted from the faces there as a glimpse of hope came slowly +in. + +"And as to letters, Eloise," Uncle Esmond said, "I must beg your pardon. +I have one here for you that I had forgotten. It came this morning." + +"See if it isn't from a dark man, inviting you to take a journey," Rex +suggested. + +"It must be, it's from Santa Fé," Eloise said, opening the letter +eagerly. + +Aunty Boone had come back again and was standing by the corner of the +veranda, half hidden by vines, watching Eloise with steady eyes. The +girl's face grew pale, then deadly white, and her big, dark eyes were +opened wide as she dropped the letter and looked at the faces about her. + +"It is from Father Josef," she gasped. "He writes of Little Blue Flower +somewhere in Hopi-land. He asks me to go to Santa Fé at once for her +sake. And it says, too--" The voice faltered and Eloise turned to Esmond +Clarenden. "It says that Beverly is there somewhere and he wants you. +Read it, Uncle Esmond." + +As Eloise rose and laid the letter in my uncle's hand, Aunty Boone, +hidden by the vines, muttered in her soft, strange tone: + +"He's jus' gone out. Thank Jupiter! He's jus' gone out. I'm goin', hot +streaks, to help him, too. Then I go to my own desset where I'm honin' o +to be, an' stay there till the judgment Day. Whoo-ee!" + +In the early morning of a rare October day upon the plains I sat on my +cavalry horse beside Fort Hays, waiting for one last word from my +superior officer, Colonel Moore. He was my uncle's friend, and he had +been kind to the Clarenden boys, as military kindness runs. + +"You are honorably discharged," he said. "Take these letters to Fort +Dodge. You will meet your friends there, and have some safeguard from +there on, by order of General Sheridan. God bless you, Gail. You have +ridden well. I wish you a safe journey, and I hope you'll find your +cousin soon. He was a splendid boy until this happened. He may be +cleared some day." + +"He is splendid still to me in spite of everything," I replied. + +"Yes, yes," my colonel responded. "Never a Clarenden disgraced the name +before. That is why General Sheridan is granting you a squad to help +you. It is a great thing to have a good name. Good-by." + +"Good-by. I thank you a thousand times," I said, saluting him. + +"And I thank you. A chain, you know, is as strong as its weakest link. A +cavalry troop is as able as its soldiers make it." + +He turned his horse about, and I rode off alone across the lonely plains +a hundred miles away toward old Fort Dodge, beside the Arkansas River. +Jondo and Rex were to meet me there for one more trip on the long Santa +Fé Trail. + + +Late September rains had blessed the valley of the Arkansas. The level +land about Fort Dodge showed vividly green against the yellow sand-hills +across the river, and the brown, barren bluffs westward, where a little +city would one day rise in pretty picturesqueness. The scene was like +the Garden of Eden to my eyes when I broke through the rough ridges to +the north on the last lap of my long ride thither and hurried down to +the fort. I grant I did not appear like one who had a right to enter +Eden, for I was as brown as a Malayan. Nearly four months of hard +riding, sleeping on the ground, with a sky-cover, eating buffalo meat, +and drinking the dregs of slow-drying pools, had made a plainsman of me, +of the breed that long since disappeared. Golf-sticks and automobile +steering-wheels are held by hands to-day no less courageous than those +that swung the carbine into place, and flung aside the cavalry +bridle-rein in a wild onslaught in our epic day. Each age grows men, +flanked by the coward and the reckless daredevil. + +Rex Krane was first to recognize me when I reached the fort. + +"Oh, we are all here but Mat: Clarenden, Jondo, Aunty Boone, and Little +Lees; and a squad of half a dozen cavalry men are ready to go with us." +Rex drawled in his old Yankee fashion, hiding an aching heart underneath +his jovial greeting. + +"All of us!" I exclaimed. + +"Yes. Here they all come!" Rex retorted. + +They all came, but I saw only one, veiling the joy in my eyes as best I +could. For with the face of Eloise before me, I knew the hardest battle +of my life was calling me to colors. I had forgotten how womanly she +was, or else her summer by the blessed prairies that lap up to the edge +of the quiet town of Burlingame had brought her peace and helped her to +put away sad memories of her mother. + +Behind her--a black background for her fair, golden head--was Aunty +Boone. + +"Our girl was called to Santa Fé, and Daniel here goes with her. I +couldn't stay behind, of course," my uncle said. "The Comanches are +making trouble all along the Cimarron, and we will go up the Arkansas by +the old trail route. It is farther, but the soldiers say much safer +right now, and maybe just as quick for us. There is no load of freight +to hinder us--two wagons and our mounts. Besides, the cavalrymen have +some matters to look after near the mountains, or we might not have had +their protection granted us." + +The beauty of that early autumn on the plains and mountains lingers in +my memory still, though half a century has passed since that journey on +the old, long trail to Santa Fé. + +At the closing of an Indian summer day we pitched our camp outside the +broken walls of old Fort Bent. Every day found me near Eloise, although +the same barrier was between us that had risen up the day she left me in +the ruined chapel by the San Christobal River. Every day I longed to +tell her what Beverly had said to me the night he--went out. It was due +her that she should know how tenderly he had thought of her. + +The night was irresistible, soft and balmy for the time of year, as that +night had been long ago when we children were marooned inside this +stronghold. A thin, growing moon hung in the crystal heavens and all +the shadowy places were softened with gray tones. Jondo and Uncle Esmond +and Rex Krane were talking together. Aunty Boone was clearing up after +the evening meal. The soldiers were about their tasks or pastimes. Only +Eloise and I were left beside the camp-fire. + +"Let's go and find the place where we spent our last evening here, +Little Lees," I said, determined to-night to tell her of Beverly. + +"And just as many other places as we can remember," Eloise replied. + +We clambered over heaps of fallen stone in the wide doorway, and stood +inside the half-roofless ruin that had been a stronghold at the +wilderness crossroads. + +The outer walls were broken here and there. The wearing elements were +slowly separating the inner walls and sagging roofs. Heaps of debris lay +scattered about. Over the caving well the well-sweep stuck awry, marking +a place of danger. Everywhere was desolation and slow destruction. + +We sat down on some fallen timbers in the old court and looked about us. + +"It was a pity that Colonel Bent should have blown up this splendid +fortress, and all because the Government wouldn't pay him his price for +it," I declared. + +"Destroyed what he had built so carefully, and what was so useful," +Eloise commented. "Sometimes we wreck our lives in the same way." + +I have said the twilight seemed to fit her best, although at all times +she was fair. But to-night she was a picture in her traveling dress of +golden brown, with soft, white folds about her throat. I wondered if she +thought of Beverly as she spoke. It hurt me so to be harsh with his +memory. + +"Yes, Charlie Bent blew up all that the Colonel built into him, of +education and the ways of cultured folks--a leader of a Dog Indian band, +he is a piece of manhood wrecked. And by the way," I went on, "Beverly +shot his beautiful white horse on the Prairie Dog Creek. You should have +seen that shot. It was the cleanest piece of long-range marksmanship I +ever saw. He hated Bev for that." + +"Maybe he gloats over our lost Beverly to-day. He is only 'gone out' to +me," Eloise said softly. + +"Let me tell you something, Little Lees. Beverly and I never spoke of +you--you can guess why--until that last night beside the Smoky Hill. He +wanted to tell me something that night." + +"And did he?" Eloise asked, eagerly. + +"No. He said honor was something with him still. I thought he meant to +tell me of himself and you. Forgive me. I do not want any confidences +not freely given. But now I know it was the struggle in which he went +down that night that he wanted to tell me about. He said first, 'I'm +homesick. I'd like to see Little Lees.' And his eyes were full of +sympathy as he looked at me." + +"Did he say anything more?" Eloise's voice was almost a whisper. + +"That was all. I thought that night I should hunt a lonely trail--when +he went home to claim--happiness. But now I feel that I could live +beside him always--to have him safe with us again." + +As I turned to look at Eloise something was in her big, dark +eyes--something that disappeared at once. I caught only a fleeting +glimpse of it, and I could not understand why a thrill of something near +to happiness should sweep through me. It was but the shadow of what +might have been for me and was not. + +"Do you recall our prophecies here that night when we were children?" +Eloise asked. + +"Yes, every one. Mat wanted a home, Bev to fight the Indians, and you +wanted me to keep Marcos Ramero in his place. I tried to do it," I +replied. + +And both of us recalled, but did not speak of, the warm, childish kiss +of Little Lees upon my lips, and how we gripped hands in the shadows +when the moon went cold and grey. Life was so simple then. + +"It may be, if our problems and our tragedies crowd into our younger +years, they clear the way for all the bright, unclouded years to +follow," Eloise said, as we rose to go back to the camp-fire. + +"I hope they will leave us strong to meet the bright, unclouded years," +I answered her. + +On the next day the cavalrymen left us for a time, and we went on alone +southward toward our journey's end. + +Autumn on the mountain slopes, and in the mesa-girdled valleys of New +Mexico hung rainbow-tinted lights by day, with star-beam pointed paths +trailing across the blue night-sky. And all the rugged beauty of a +picturesque land, basking in lazy warmth, out-breathing sweet, pure air, +made the old trail to Santa Fé an enchanting highway to me, despite the +burden of a grief that weighed me down. For I could not shut from my +mind the pitiful call of Little Blue Flower that had come to Eloise, nor +all the uncertainty surrounding my cousin somewhere in the Southwest +wanting us. + +The little city of adobe walls seemed not to have changed a hair's turn +in the six years since I had seen it last. Out beyond the sandy arroyo +again Father Josef waited for us. The same strong face and dark eyes, +full of fire, the same erect form and manly bearing were his. Except for +a few streaks of gray in his close-cropped hair the years had wrought no +change in him, save that his countenance betokened the greater +benediction of a godly life upon it. As we rode slowly to the door of +San Miguel I fell behind. The years since that day when the saucy little +girl had called me a big, brown, bob-cat here came back upon my mind, +and, though my hope had vanished, still I loved the old church. + +Before we had passed the doorway Eloise left her wagon and stood beside +my horse. + +"Gail, let us stop here with Father Josef while the others go down to +Felix Narveo's. It always seems so peaceful here." + +"You are always welcome here, my children," Father Josef said, +graciously, as I leaped from my horse and stuck its lariat pin down +beside the doorway. + +Inside there were the same soft lights from the high windows, the same +rare old paintings about the altar, the same seat beside the door. + +The priest spoke to us in low tones befitting sanctuary stillness. "You +have come on a long journey, but it is one of mercy. I only pray you do +not come too late," he said. + +"Tell us about it, Father," Eloise urged. "The men will get the story +from Felix Narveo, but Gail and I seem to belong up here." She smiled up +at me with the words. + +I could have almost hoped anew just then, but for the thought of +Beverly. + +"Let us pray first," the holy man replied. + +Beverly and I had been confirmed in the Episcopalian faith once long +ago, but the plains were hard on the religion of a high-church man. And +yet, all sacred forms are beautiful to me, and I always knew what +reverence means. + +"You may not know," Father Josef said, "that I have Indian blood in my +veins--a Hopi strain from some French ancestors. Po-a-be, our Little +Blue Flower, is my heathen cousin, descended from the same chief's +daughter. The Hopi's faith is a part of him, like his hand or eye, and I +have never gained much with the tribe save through blood-ties. But +because of that I have their confidence." + +"You have all men's confidence, Father Josef," I said, warmly. + +"Thank you, my son," the priest replied. "When Santan, the Apache, came +back from a long raid eastward, he told Little Blue Flower that Beverly +had spared his life beside a poisoned spring in the Cimarron valley, +urging him to go back and marry her; life had other interests now to +white men who must forget all about Indian girls, he declared, and with +Apache adroitness he pressed his claims upon her. But Santan had slain +Sister Anita beside the San Christobal Arroyo. A murderer is abhorrent +to a Hopi, who never takes life, save in self-defense or in legitimate +warfare--if warfare ever is legitimate," he added, gravely. + +"My little cousin was heart-broken, for all the years since her rescue +at Pawnee Rock she had cherished one face in memory; and maybe Beverly +in his happy, careless way had given her cause to do so." + +"We understand, I think," Eloise said, turning inquiringly to me. + +I nodded, and Father Josef went on. "She knew her love was foolish, but +few of us are always wise in love. So Santan's suit seemed promising for +a time. But the Hopi type ran true in her, and she put off the Apache +year after year. It is a strange case in Indian romance, but romance +everywhere is strange enough. The Apache type also ran true to dogged +purpose. Besides being an Apache, Santan has some Ramero blood in his +veins, to be accounted for in the persistence of an evil will. He was +as determined to win Po-a-be as she that he should fail. And he was +cunning in his schemes." + +Father Josef paused and looked at Eloise. + +"To make the story short," he began again, "Santan could not make the +Hopi woman hate Beverly, although she knew that her love was hopeless, +as it should be. Pardon me, daughter," Father Josef said, gently. "She +heard you two talking in a little porch one night at the Clarenden home, +and she has believed ever since that you are lovers. That is why she +sent for you to come to help her now." + +"I saw Beverly give Little Blue Flower a brotherly kiss that night, and +I told him, frankly, how it grieved me, because I had known at St. Ann's +about her love for him. I had urged her to go with me to the +Clarendens', hoping that when she saw Beverly again she would quit +dreaming of him." + +I looked away, at the paintings and the crucifix above the altar, and +the long shafts of light on gray adobe walls, wondering, vaguely, what +the next act of this drama might reveal. + +"Beverly was always lovable," Father Josef said. "But now the message +comes that he is out in the heart of Hopi-land, and because Little Blue +Flower is protecting him her people may turn against her. For Beverly's +sake, and for her sake, too, my daughter, we must start at once to find +her and maybe save his life. She wants you. It is the call of +sisterhood. Sister Gloria and I will go with you. I have much influence +with my Hopi people." + +"Will they put Beverly to death?" I asked. + +"I cannot tell, but--see how long the arm of hate can be, my +son--Santan, the Apache, has been informed of Beverly's coming by Marcos +Ramero, gambler and debauchee. And Marcos got it in some way from +Charlie Bent, a Cheyenne half-breed, son of old Colonel Bent, a fine old +gentleman. Maybe you knew young Bent?" + +"Yes, he holds a grudge against the Clarenden name because we made him +play square with us at the old fort when we were children," I told the +priest. "He yelled defiance at us in the battle on the Prairie Dog Creek +last August. Bev shot his horse from under him just to humble the +insolent dog! Beverly never was a coward," I insisted, all my affection +for my cousin overwhelming me. + +"This makes it clearer," Father Josef said. "Through Bent to Ramero and +Ramero to Santan, the word went, somehow. The Apache has gathered up a +band of the worst of his breed and they are moving against the Hopis to +get Beverly. You and Jondo and Clarenden and Krane will join the little +squad of cavalry you left up in the mountains, and turn the Apache back, +and all of us must start at once, or we may be too late. May heaven +bless our hands and make them strong." + +We bowed in reverence for a moment. When we hurried from the dim church +into the warm October sunlight, Aunty Boone sat on the door-step beside +my horse. + +"'He's jus' gone out,' I told 'em so, back there on the Missouri River. +He's gone out an' I'm goin', hot streaks, to find him, Little Lees. +Whoo-ee!" + + + + +XXI + +IN THE SHADOW OF THE INFINITE + + + And though there's never a grave to tell, + Nor a cross to mark his fall, + Thank God! we know that he "batted well" + In the last great Game of all. + + --SERVICE. + + +We left Santa Fé within an hour, and struck out toward the unknown land +where Beverly Clarenden, in the midst of uncertain friends, was being +hunted down by an Apache band. As our little company passed out on the +trail toward Agua Fria, I recalled the day when we had gone with Rex +Krane to this little village beside the Santa Fé River. Eloise and +Father Josef and Santan and Little Blue Flower were all there that day; +and Jondo, although we did not know it then. Rex Krane had told Beverly, +going out, that an Indian never forgets. In all the years Santan had not +forgotten. + +To-day we covered the miles rapidly. Jondo and Father Josef rode ahead, +with Esmond Clarenden and Felix Narveo following them; then came Eloise +St. Vrain with Sister Gloria; behind them, Aunty Boone, with Rex and +myself bringing up the rear. Three pack-mules bearing our equipment +went tramping after us with bobbing ears and sturdy gait. + +I looked down the line of our little company ahead. The four men in the +lead were college chums once, and all of them had loved the mother of +the girl behind them. I have said the girl looked best by twilight. I +had not seen her in a coarse-gray riding-dress when I said that. I had +seen her when she needed protection from her enemies. I had not seen her +until to-day, going out to meet hardship fearlessly, for the sake of one +who wanted her--only an Indian maiden, but a faithful friend. In the +plainest face self-forgetfulness puts a beauty all its own. That beauty +shone resplendent now in the beautiful face of Mary Marchland's +daughter. + +The world can change wonderfully in sixty minutes. As we rode out toward +the Rio Grande, the yellow sands, the gray gramma grass, the purple +sage, the tall green cliffs, and, high above, the gleaming snow-crowned +peaks, took on a beauty never worn for me before. Why should a hope +spring up within me that would die as other hopes had died? But back of +all my thought was the longing to help Beverly, and a faith in Aunty +Boone's weird, prophetic grip on things unseen. He had just "gone out" +to her--why not to all of us? I could not understand Little Blue +Flower's part in this tragedy, so I let it alone. + +A day out from Santa Fé we were joined by the little squad of cavalrymen +with whom we had parted company back at the Fort Bent camping-place. +With these we had little cause to dread personal danger. The Apache band +was a small, vicious gang that could do much harm to the Hopis, but it +seemed nothing for us to fear. + +Our care was to reach Beverly before the Hopis should rise up against +Little Blue Flower, or the band led by Santan should fall upon them. +Father Josef had sent a runner on to tell them of our coming and to warn +them of the Apache raid. But runners sometimes come to grief. + +It is easy enough now to sleep most of the hours away across the and +lands that lie between the Rockies and the Coast Range mountains, where +the great "through limiteds," swinging down their long trail of steel, +sweep farther in one day than we crept in two long, weary weeks in that +October fifty years ago. Only Father Josef's unerring Indian accuracy +brought us through. + +We crawled up rugged mountain trails and skirted the rims of dizzy +chasms; we wound through cañons, with only narrow streams for paths, +between sheer walls of rock; we pitched our camp at the bases of great, +red sand stone mesas, barren of life; we followed long, yellow ways over +stretches of unending plain; we wandered in the painted-desert lands, +where all the colors God has made bewilder with their beauty, in the +barest, dreariest, most unlovely bit of unfinished world that our great +continent holds; the lands forgotten, maybe, when, in Creation's busy +week, the evening and the morning were the sixth day, and the Great +Builder looked on His work and called it good. + +We found the Hopi trails, but not the Hopi clan that we were seeking. We +found Apache trails behind them, but only dimly marked, as if they blew +one moccasin track full of sand before they made another. + +The October days were dreams of loveliness, and dawn and sunset on the +desert were indescribably beautiful. But the nights were bitterly cold. +Eloise and Sister Gloria were native to the Southwest and they knew how +to dress warmly for it. Aunty Boone had never felt such chilling night +breezes, but not one word of complaint came from her lips in all that +journey. + +One night we gathered into camp beneath the shelter of a little butte. +We had overtaken Father Josef's Indian runner an hour before. He had not +found the Hopis yet, and so we held a council. + +"The Hopi is ahead of us northwest," the Indian declared. + +"Is the Apache following?" Jondo asked. + +The runner nodded. "They have been pursued, but they have slipped away; +the Apache goes north, they turn north-west. They take the dry lands and +the pine forests beyond; their last chance. If they hold out till the +Apache leaves, they will return safely. You follow them, wait for them, +or go back without them. It is your choice." + +We turned toward the three women, one in the bloom of her young +womanhood, one with the patient endurance of the nun, one black and +strong and always unafraid. + +"I do not want to leave Little Blue Flower in her hour of peril," Eloise +said. + +"I can go where I am needed," Sister Gloria declared. + +"This is my land, I never know Africa was right out here. I thought they +was oceans on both sides of it. I go where Bev's gone out an then I come +here and stay. Whoo-ee!" + +We smiled at her mistaken dream of her far African home, and, cheering +one another on, when morning came we moved northwest. + +Jondo rode beside me all that day, and we talked of many things. + +"Gail," he said, "Aunty Boone is right. This is her Africa. I don't +believe she will ever leave it." + +"She can't stay here, Jondo," I replied. + +"She will, though. You will see. Did she ever fail to have her way?" + +"No. She is a type of her own, never to be reproduced, but like a great +dog in her faithful loyalty," I declared. + +"And shrewder than most men," Jondo went on. "She supplied the lost link +with Santan for me last night. Years ago, when Little Blue Flower +brought me a message from Father Josef on the morning that we took +Eloise from Santa Fé, I caught a glimpse of the Apache across the plaza +and read the message--_'trust the bearer anywhere'_--to mean that boy. +Aunty Boone had just peered out and scared the little girl away. She +told me all about it last night, when she was bewailing Beverly's hard +fate. How small a thing can open the road to a big tragedy. I trusted +that whelp till that day at San Christobal." + +"I hope we will finish this soon," I said. "I don't understand Beverly +at all and I marvel at Little Blue Flower's love for him. Don't you?" + +Jondo looked up with a pathos in his dark-blue eyes. + +"Don't hurry, Gail. The trails all end somewhere soon. Life is a +stranger thing from day to day, but the one thing that no man will ever +fully understand is a woman's love for man. There is only one thing +higher, and that is mother-love." + +"The kind that you and Uncle Esmond have," I said. + +"Oh, I am only a man, but Clarenden has a woman's heart, as you and +Beverly and my sister's child all know." + +"Your sister's child?" I gasped. + +"Yes. When her parents went with yellow fever, too, I could not adopt +Mat--you know why. Clarenden did it for me. She has always known that I +am her uncle, but Mat was always a self-contained child." + +I loved Mat more than ever from that hour. + +The next day our trail ran into pine forests, where tall, shapely trees +point skyward. Not a dense woodland, but a seemingly endless one. Snows +lay in the darker places, and here and there streams trickled out into +the sunlight, whose only sources were these melting snows. It was a +land of silence and loneliness--a land forgotten or unknown to record. +The Hopi trail was stronger here and we followed it eagerly, but night +overtook us early in the forest. + +That evening we gathered about a huge fire of pine boughs beneath a low +stone ridge covered with evergreen trees that sheltered us warmly from +the sharp west winds. We heard the cries of night-roving beasts, and in +the darkness, now and then, a pair of gleaming eyes, seen for an +instant, and then the rush of feet, told us that some wild creature had +looked for the first time on fire. + +"To-morrow night will see our journey's end," Jondo declared. "The Hopi +can't be far away, and I'm sure they are safe yet, and we shall reach +them before the Apache does." + +The Indian runner's face did not change its blankness, but I felt that +he doubted Jondo's judgment. That night he slipped away and we never saw +him again. + +We were all hopeful that night, and hopeful the next morning when we +broke camp early. A trail we had not seen the night before ran up the +low ridge to the west of us. Eloise and I followed it up a little way, +riding abreast. The ridge really was a narrow, rocky tableland, and +beyond it was another higher slope, up which the same trail ran. The +trees were growing smaller and the sky flowed broad and blue above their +tops. The ground was only rock, with a thin veneer of soil here and +there. Gnarled, stunted cedars and gray, twisted cypress clung for a +roothold to these barren ledges. The morning breeze swept, sharp and +invigorating, out of a broad open space beyond the edge of this rocky +woodland height. Eloise and I pushed on a little farther, leaving the +others still on the narrow shelf above our camping-place. + +Suddenly, as we rode out of the closer timber to where the scattered +growths were hardly higher than our heads, the first heaven and the +first earth seemed to pass away--not in irreverence I write it--and we +stood face to face with a new heaven and a new earth--where, in the +Grand Cañon of the Colorado River, the sublimity of the Almighty +Builder's beauty and omnipotence was voiced in one stupendous Word, +wrought in enduring color in everlasting stone. Cleaving its way +westward to some far-off sea, a wide abyss, a dozen miles across from +lip to lip, yawned down to the very vitals of the earth. We stood upon +the rim of it--a sheer cliff that dropped a thousand feet of solid +limestone, in one plummet line, to other cliffs below, that dropped +again through furlongs of black gneiss, red sandstone, and gray granite. + +Beyond this mighty chasm great forest trees were, to our eyes, only as +weeds along its rim. Between that rim and ours we could look down upon +high mountain buttes and sloping red tablelands, and dizzy gorges with +pinnacled walls and towers and domes--vast forms no pen will ever +picture--not hurled in wild confusion by titan fury, but symmetrical and +purposeful and calm. + +Through slowly crawling millions of patiently wearing years, while stars +grew old and perished from the firmament, with cloud, and frost, and +wind, and water, and sharp cutting sands, these strata of the old +earth's crust were chiseled into gigantic outlines, and all the +worn-down, crumbled atoms of debris were swept through long, tortuous +leagues of distance toward the sea by a mad river swirling through the +lowest depths. A mile straight down, as the crow never flies here, it +rushes, but to us the river was a mere creek, seen only where the lower +gorges open to the channel. + +In the early light of that October morning the weird, vast shapes that +filled, the abyss were bathed in a bewildering opulence of color. Pale +gold along the farther rim, with pink and amber, blue and gray, and +heliotrope and rose--all blending softly, tone on tone. Deeper, the +heart of every rift and chasm that flows into the one stupendous +mother-rift was full of purple shadows. Not the thin lavender of the +upper world where we must live, but tensely, richly regal, beyond words +to paint; with silvery mists above, soft, filmy veils that draped the +jutting rocks and rounded each harsh edge, melting pink to rose and gray +to violet. Eternal silence brooded over all this symbol, wrought in +visible form, of His Almightiness, to whom a thousand years are as a +day, and in the hollow of whose hand He holds the universe. Measureless, +motionless, voiceless, it seemed as if all the cañons of all the +mountains of our great contienent might have given to it here +their awful depth and height and rugged strength; their picturesqueness, +color, graceful outlines, dizzy steeps and awe-inspiring lengths and +breadths. And fusing all these into itself, height on height, and +breadth on breadth, entrancing charm on charm, with all the hues that +the Great Alchemist can throw from His vast prism, it seemed to say: + +"'Twas only in a vision that St. John saw the four-square city whose +twelve gates are each a single pearl! whose walls are builded on +foundation stones of jasper, sapphire, and chalcedony, emerald and +topaz, chrysolite and amethyst; whose streets are of pure gold, like +unto clear glass; whose light is ever like unto a stone most precious. + +"To you who may not dream the vision beautiful, the Mighty Maker of all +things sublime has given me a token here in finite stone and earthly +coloring of that undreamed sublimity of all things omnipotent." + +My companion and I sat on our horses speechless, gazing down at this +overwhelming marvel below us. We forgot ourselves, each other, our +companions of the journey, its purpose, Beverly, and his enemy Santan, +the desert, the brown plains, green prairies, rivers, mountains, the +earth itself, as we stood there in the shadow of the Infinite. + +At last we turned and looked into each other's eyes for one long moment. +In its space we read the old, old story through, and a great, +up-leaping joy illumined our faces. God, who had let us know each +other, had let us stand by _this_ to feel the barrier of +misunderstanding fall away. + + * * * * * + +A sound of horses' hoofs on the rocky slope below us, a weird Indian +call, and a great shout from our calverymen drew us to earth +again. The Hopis were coming. Father Josef knew the signal. Our Indian +runner had found them in the night and sent them toward us. We dashed +into the forest, keeping close together; and here, a mile away, under +green pines, surrounded by a little group of a desert Hopi clan, was +Beverly Clarenden--big, strong, unhurt and joyful. And Little Blue +Flower. + +The years since that far night when I had seen two maidens in Grecian +robes beside the Flat Rock in the "Moon of the Peach Blossom," had left +no trace on Eloise St. Vrain, save to imprint the graces of womanliness +on her girlish face. But the picturesque Indian maiden of that night +looked aged and sorrowful in the pine forest of her native land, bent, +as she was, with the dull existence of her own people; she, who had +known and loved a different form of life. Only the big, luminous eyes +held their old charm. + +We came together in a little open space with pine-trees all about us. +The minutes went swiftly then--and I must hurry to what came hurrying +on, for much of it is lost in mist and wonder. + +In the moment of glad reunion Aunty Boone suddenly gave a whoop the +like of which I had never heard before, and, dashing wildly toward +Eloise and Sister Gloria, she drove them in a fierce charge straight +back into the shelter of the pine-trees. + +At the same time a sudden rain of bullets, like a swift hail-storm, and +a yell--the Apache cry of vengeance--filled the air. Long afterward we +learned that our Indian runner had met this band and tried to turn it +back--and failed. He would have saved us if he could. + +It was over soon--that encounter in the forest where each tree was a +shield. The cavalrymen and maybe, too, we who had been plainsmen, knew +how to drive back a villianous handful of Apaches. In any other +moment since we had ridden out of Sante Fé we would have laughed +at such a struggle. They took us in the most unguarded instant of that +fortnight's journey. + +The Hopis fled wildly out of sight. Here and there, from the defeated, +scattered band, an Apache warrior sprang back and lost himself quickly +in the shadows. But Santan, plunging into our very midst, seized Little +Blue Flower in his iron grip, and the bullet from a cavalry carbine, +meant for him, struck her. + +He laughed and threw her back and, whirling, dashed--into the arms of +Aunty Boone--and stopped. + +We carried our wounded tenderly up the steep wooded slope and out into +the sweet sunlight of its crest, where we laid them down beside that +wondrous rift with its shimmering mist and velvet shadows, and colorings +of splendor, folded all in the magnificence of its immensity and its +eternal silence. + +We knew that Jondo's wound was mortal, and Father Josef and Eloise and +Rex Krane sat beside him, as the brave eyes looked out across the +sublimity of earthly beauty toward the far land no eye hath seen, +facing, unafraid, the outward-leading trail. + +But Beverly was in the prime of young manhood, and we felt sure of him, +as Esmond Clarenden and Sister Gloria; and I ministered to his wants. + +"It's no use, Gail." My cousin lifted a pleading face to mine a moment, +as on that day, years ago on the parade-ground at Fort Leavenworth. Then +the bright smile came back to stay. + +"Why, Bev, you have a life before you, and you aren't the only +Eighteenth Kansas man who deserted. We can pull you through somehow--and +people will forget. Even General Sheridan was willing to send a squad +with us, on the possibility of a mistake somewhere." + +"Deserted!" Beverly's voice was too strong for a dying man's. "Uncle +Esmond, Jondo, Eloise--all of you--Gail calls me a deserter. Me! Knock +him over that precipice, won't some of you?" + +We listened eagerly as he went on: + +"Why, don't you know that Charlie Bent and his renegade dogs crawled +into camp like snakes and carried me out by force. They had a time of +it, too, but never mind. Bent told me he left a note for you. I supposed +he would say I was dead. And when Gail stirred, half awake, he went +pacing around the camp, looking so near like me I thought it was myself +and I was Charlie Bent. I was roped and gagged then, but I could see. +Deserter! I'm glad I got that white horse of his on the Prairie Dog +Creek, anyhow." + +Beverly's face paled suddenly and he lay still a little while. + +"I'd better hurry." The smile was winsome. "They didn't give me a ghost +of a chance to escape, but they didn't harm a hair. They kept me for a +meaner purpose, and, well, I was landed, finally, at Santan's door-step +in the Apache-land. Santan offered to let me go free if I'd persuade +Little Blue Flower--dead down there--to marry him. He had her come to me +on pretense of my sending for her. She hated the brute, and she was a +woman, if she was an Indian. I told him I'd see him in hell first, and I +told her never to give in. Poor girl! It was a cruel test, but Santan +knew how to be cruel. He said he'd fix me, and I guess he has done it." + +"Oh no, Bev. You are good for a century," I declared, affectionately, +holding his head on my knee. + +"Little Blue Flower managed, somehow, to fool the Apache dog, and we +escaped and got away to her people," Beverly continued, speaking more +slowly, "then she sent word to Father Josef. But the Hopi folks were +scared about the Apaches coming against them on account of harboring +me, like a Jonah, among 'em; and they were going to make it hard for +Little Blue Flower. I don't know heathen ethics in such things, but a +handful of us had to cut for it. I'm no deserter, though. Don't forget +that. As soon as I could be sure the little Indian woman's life was safe +I was going to get away and come home. I could not leave her to be +sacrificed after she had saved me from Santan's scalping-knife." + +Beverly paused and looked at us. His voice seemed weaker when he spoke +again: + +"I thought, sometimes, that even if I wasn't to blame for it, I ought to +take Little Blue Flower with me when I got away. Dear little girl! she +gave me one smile and whispered _'Lolomi'_ before she went just now. I +told her long ago I was just everybody's friend. I never meant to spoil +anybody's life, and I can meet her down at the end of the trail and +never fear." + +Just then a half-wailing, half-purring cry came from Aunty Boone, who +was standing beside a gnarled cypress-tree. + +"I knowed the morning we picked up Little Blue Flower, back at Pawnee +Rock, we was pickin' up trouble for the rest of the trail. I see it +then. You can trust a nigger 'cause they never no 'count, but you don't +know what you gettin' when you trust an Indian. But, Cla'nden, that +Apache Indian, Santan, ain't goin' to trouble you no more. When the +world ain't no fit place for folks they needs helpin' out of it, and I +sees to it they gets it, too. Whoo-ee!" She paused and leaned against +the crooked cypress. Half turning her face toward us, she continued in a +clear, soft voice: + +"That man they call Ramero down in Santy Fee--I knowed him when he was +just Fred Ramer back in the rice-fields country. His father, old man +Ramer, tried to kill me once, 'cause he said I knowed too much. I helped +him into kingdom come right then and saved a lot of misery. They blamed +some other folks, I guess, but they never hunted me up at all. Good-by, +Clan'den, and you, too, Felix, and Dick Verra. I've knowed you all these +years, but nobody takes no 'count of niggers' knowin's. Good-by, Little +Lees, and all you boys. I'll see you again pretty soon, I'm goin' back +to my desset now. It's over yonder just a little way. Jondo--but you +won't be John Doe then. Whoo-ee!" + +Aunty Boone slowly settled down beside the cypress, with her face toward +her beloved "desset," and when we went to her a little later, her eyes, +still looking eastward, saw nothing earthly any more forever. + +Jondo's face seemed glorified as he caught Aunty Boone's last words, and +his voice was sweet and clear as he looked up at Eloise bending over +him. + +"Thank God! It is all made right at last. Eloise, the charge of murder +against your father's name would have broken the heart of the woman that +I always loved--your mother. One of us had to bear the shame. I took the +guilt on myself for her sake--and for yours. I have walked the trails +of my life a nameless man, but I have kept my soul clean in God's sight, +and I know His name will soon be written on my forehead over there." + +He gazed out toward the glorious beauty of the view beyond him, then +closed his eyes, and, bravely as he had lived, so bravely he went forth +on the Long Trail, leaving a name sweet with the perfume of +self-sacrifice and love. + +We did not speak of him to Beverly, for our boy had suddenly grown +restless, and his blood was threshing furiously in his veins, and he was +in pain, but only briefly. + +Presently he said, "Let us be alone a little." The others drew away. + +"Lean down, Gail. I want to tell you something." He smiled sweetly upon +me as I bent over him. + +"I tried to tell you back on the Smoky Hill, but I'd promised not to. +And honor was something to me still. But I'm going pretty soon. So +listen! I loved Eloise always--always. But she never cared for me. She +was only my good chum. I've been too happy-hearted all my days, though, +Gail, to make a cross of anything that would break me down. Men differ +so, you know, and I never was a dreamer like you. Turn me a little, +won't you, so that I can see that awful beauty down there." + +I lifted his shoulders gently and placed him where his eyes could rest +on the majestic scene spread out before him. + +"Eloise loves you, but she thinks you would not marry her because they +say her father was a murderer. I don't believe that, Gail. I told her +that you didn't, either, not one little minute. You care for her, I +know, and losing her will break your heart. I tried to tell you long +ago, but Little Lees made me promise not to say a word that night at +Burlingame when you had gone away and I thought maybe I had a +half-chance with her. Tell me you'll make her happy, Gail." + +"Oh, Beverly, I'll do my best," I murmured, softly. + +"Come closer, Gail. Look at those colors there. Is it so far across, or +only seeming so? And see the soft white clouds drop purple shadows down. +Is that the way the trail runs? How beautiful it must be farther on. +Good-by, old boy of my heart's heart, and don't forget, however long the +years, and wide away your feet may go, to keep the old trail law. 'Hold +fast.'" + +We laid them away in the deep pine forest--Aunty Boone, of strange, +prophetic vision; Santan, the cruel Indian; the loyal Hopi maiden; Jondo +and Beverly. God made them all and in His heaven they will be rightly +placed. + +Beside the cañon's rim, in the soft twilight hour of that October day, +Eloise St. Vrain and I plighted our troth, till death us do part--for +just a little while. Plighted it not in happy, selfish affection, such +as youth and maiden give, sometimes, each to each; but in the deep, +marvelous love of man and woman pledged where, in sacred moments on +that day, we had seen the mortal put on immortality. To us there could +be no grander, richer, lovelier setting for life's best and holiest hour +than here, where, upon things finite, there rests the beneficent +uplifting beauty that shadows forth the Infinite. + + + + +IV + +REMEMBERING THE TRAIL + + + + +XXII + +THE GOLDEN WEDDING + + + The heart that's never old! Oh the heart that's never old!-- + 'Tis a vision of the lavender, the crimson and the gold + Of an airy, fairy morning, when the sky is all ablaze + With an ever-changing splendor, driving back the gloom and haze! + + 'Tis the vision of an orchard in the balmy month of May, + Where the birds are ever singing, and the leaves are ever gay; + Where the sun is ever shining with a glory never told, + And the trees are ever blooming--for the heart that's never old! + + --JAMES E. HILKEY. + + +The summers and winters of fifty golden years have brought to the plains +their balmy breezes and blazing heat, their soft, life-giving showers, +and their fierce, blizzard anger. And down through these fifty years +Eloise St. Vrain and I have walked the love trails of the plains +together. + +In the early spring of this, our "golden-wedding" year, we sat on the +veranda of our suburban home in Kansas City, above the picturesque Cliff +Drive, rippling with automobiles. The same drive winds in its course +somewhere near the old, rough road that once led from the Clarenden +home, above the valley of the Kaw, down to the little city of great +promise--now fulfilled. + +"Eloise, youth may have a charm that is all its own," I said to my wife, +"but I wonder if it really matches the enduring charm of age when one +looks back on busy years of service." + +Eloise smiled up at me--the same gracious smile that has lighted all my +days with her. + +"You are a dreamer still, Gail. But dreams do so sweeten life and keep +the fires of romance forever burning." + +"When did romance begin with you, Little Lees?" I asked. + +"I think it was on that day when I came bounding up to the door of the +old San Miguel church," Eloise replied, "and saw you looking like a big, +brown bob-cat, or something else, that might have slept in the Hondo +'Royo all your life. But withal a boy so loyal to the helpless that you +were willing to fight for me against an assailant bigger than yourself. +You became my prince in that hour, and all my dreams since then have +been of you. When did romance begin with you, or have you forgotten in +the busy years of a life swallowed up in mercantile pursuits?" + +"My life may have been, as you say, swallowed up in building trade that +builds empire, but I have never forgotten the things that make it fine +to me," I answered her. "Romance for me began one day, long ago, out on +the parade-ground at Fort Leavenworth. I've been a Vanguard of the +Plains since then, bull-whacker for the ox-teams that hauled the +commerce of the West; cavalryman in hard-wearing Indian campaigns that +defended the frontier; and merchant, giving measure for measure always, +like that grand man who taught me the worth of business--Esmond +Clarenden." + +"On the parade-ground? How there?" Eloise asked. + +"It came the day that I first knew we were to go with Uncle Esmond to +Santa Fé--for you. We didn't know that it was for you then. I think I +was born again that day into a daring plainsman, who had been a sort of +baby-boy before. I sat with Mat and Beverly on the edge of the +parade-ground, when I looked up to see, with a boy's day-dreaming eyes, +somewhere this side of misty mountain peaks, a vision of a cloud of +golden hair about a sweet child face, with dark eyes looking into mine. +That vision stayed with me until, one morning, fifty years ago, on the +rim of the Grand Cañon--you looked into my eyes again and I knew my life +dream had come true." + +I rose and, bending over my wife's cloud of beautiful silvery hair, I +kissed her gently on each fair cheek. + +"Gail, why not take the old trail for our golden-wedding anniversary--a +long journey, clear to the mountains?" Eloise suggested. + +"There is no trail now; only its ghost haunting the way," I replied, +"but, Little Lees, I don't believe that we who look back on so many +happy years, after the stormy ones of early life, could find any other +path half so dear to us as that long path we knew in childhood and early +youth, and the one we followed together in our first years of mature +womanhood and manhood." + +And so we did not celebrate one October day with all of our children and +grandchildren and friends coming to offer us gold coins, gold-headed +canes--which I do not use--and gold-rimmed glasses for eyes that see +farther and clearer than my spectacled grandsons at the university can +see to-day. We made a golden summer of the thing and followed where, +like a will-o'-the-wisp of memory, the Santa Fé Trail of threescore +years ago reached from the raw frontier at Independence on to the +Missouri bluffs, clear to the sunny valley of the Holy Faith. + +Only a headstone at long intervals shows the way now--a stone that well +might read: + + Here ran the old Santa Fé Trail. This stone, set here, is sacred to + the memory of the Vanguards of the Plains who followed it. + +They stand, these "markers" now, on hilltops and in deep valleys; by +country crossroads and where main streets cut each other in the towns +and villages. They ornament the city parks, they show where splendid +concrete bridges, re-enforced with structural steel, span streams that +once the ox-teams doubled and trebled strength to ford. They gleam where +corn grows tall and black on fertile prairies; where seas of wheat have +flooded barren, burning plains, and perfumey alfalfa sweetens the air +above what was once grassless desolation. They whisper of a day gone by +among the silent mountains, where tunnels let the iron trail run easily +under the old trail's dizzy path. They nestle in the shadows of +gray-green cliffs and by red mesa heights; until the last monument, +sacred to the memory of a day forgotten, speaks at the corner of the old +Plaza in the heart of Santa Fé. + +That was a journey long to be remembered--the long, golden-wedding +journey of Gail Clarenden with his wife, Eloise St. Vrain, and all of it +was sweet with memories of other days. Not in peril and privation and +uncertainty did we follow the trail now. The Pullman has replaced the +Conestoga wagon, dainty viands the coarse food smoke-blackened over +camp-fires, and never fear of Kiowa nor Comanche broke our slumber. The +long shriek that cuts the air of dawn was not from wild marauders on a +daybreak raid down lonely cañons, but from the throats of splendid, +steel-wrought engines swinging forth upon their solid, certain course. + +The prairies still lap up to the edges of the little town of Burlingame, +whose main street is still the old trail's path. The well has long since +disappeared from the center of the place. Where once the thirsty +gathered here to drink, there stands a monument sacred to the memory of +the old trail days. And sacred, too, to the memory of the one +far-visioned woman, Fannie Geiger Thompson, who first conceived the +thought of marking for the coming generations the course of commerce +that built up the West in years gone by. + +We never lived in Burlingame, where once--a heart-hungry little boy--I +longed to have a home. But the Krane children and their children's +children still make it an abiding-place for us. + +To Council Grove, and old Pawnee Rock, the Cimarron Crossing of the +Arkansas River, the open plain about the site of old Fort Bent--where +only ghosts of walls and the court remain, and on to Santa Fé, dreamy +and picturesque--hoary with age, and sweet with sacred memories, we +wandered on our golden-wedding trail. + +The name of Narveo in New Mexico still stands for gentleman. The old +church of San Miguel still shelters troubled hearts, and in the San +Christobal valley the Pictured Rocks still build up a rude stair for +feet that still may need the sanctuary rim of safety set about them. +Along the length of the old trail a marvelous fifty years have enriched +a history whose epic days record the deeds of vanguards, who foreran and +builded for the softer days of golden-wedding years. + +The last lap of all that wondrous journey bore us in ease and comfort +beyond the desert--the Africa, of Aunty Boone's weird fancy--to the +Grand Cañon of the Colorado. Here, as of old, the riven crust, in its +eternal silence, and sublimity, and beauty indescribable, calmly, year +by year, reveals its mighty purpose: + + To quarry the heart of earth, + Till, in the rock's red rise, + Its age and birth, through an awful girth + Of strata, should show the wonder-worth + Of patience to all eyes. + +Amid luxurious surroundings we lived the October days upon the cañon's +rim, where, half a century ago, we had gone in hardship and looked on +tragedy. We crept down all the dizzy lengths to the very heart of it, +and ate and slept in easy comfort, and gazed upward at the sky-cleaving +edges thousands of feet above us; we stood beside the raging Colorado +River, which no man had explored when we first looked upon it here. In +the serene hours of our sunset years we went back in memory over the +long way our feet had come. Life is easy for us now, made so by all the +splendid, simple forces of those who, in justice, honesty, and broad +human sympathy build enduring empire. Not empire gained by bomb and +liquid fire, defended by sharp entanglement and cross-trenched to shut +out enemies; but empire builded on the commerce of the land, value for +value; empire of bridged rivers, quick transportation on steel-marked +trails that girdle harvest fields and fruitful pastures; empire of homes +and schools and sacred shrines. + +Our fifty golden years have seen such empire rise and grow before our +eyes, made great by thrift and business sense, swayed by the Golden +Rule. An empire rich in love and sweet romance and thrilling deeds of +courage and self-sacrifice. Glad am I to have been a vanguard of its +trails upon the Kansas prairies and the far Western plains, sure now, as +always down the years, that its old law is still a righteous one: To +that which is good-- + +"HOLD FAST." + + +THE END + + + +BOOKS BY +SIR GILBERT PARKER + +_THE WORLD FOR SALE_ +_THE MONEY MASTER_ +_THE JUDGMENT HOUSE_ +_THE RIGHT OF WAY_ +_THE LADDER OF SWORDS_ +_THE WEAVERS_ +_THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG_ +_WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC_ +_THE LANE THAT HAD NO TURNING_ +_NORTHERN LIGHTS_ +_PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE_ +_AN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH_ +_A ROMANY OF THE SNOWS_ +_CUMNER'S SON, AND OTHER_ +_SOUTH SEA FOLK_ + + + * * * * * + +HARPER & BROTHERS + +NEW YORK ESTABLISHED 1817 LONDON + + + + +BOOKS BY +MARGARET DELAND + + +_THE RISING TIDE. Illustrated_ +_AROUND OLD CHESTER. Illustrated_ +_THE COMMON WAY. 16mo_ +_DR. LAVENDAR'S PEOPLE. Illustrated_ +_AN ENCORE. Illustrated_ +_GOOD FOR THE SOUL. Illustrated_ +_THE HINDS OF ESAU. Illustrated_ +_THE AWAKENING OF HELENA RICHIE. Illustrated_ +_THE IRON WOMAN. Illustrated_ +_OLD CHESTER TILES. Illustrated_ +_PARTNERS. Illustrated_ +_R.J.'S MOTHER. Illustrated_ +_THE VOICE. Illustrated_ +_THE WAY TO PEACE. Illustrated_ +_WHERE THE LABORERS ARE FEW. Illustrated_ + + +HARPER & BROTHERS + +NEW YORK ESTABLISHED 1817 LONDON + + +NOVELS OF + +THOMAS HARDY + +The New Thin-Paper Edition of the greatest living English novelist is +issued in two bindings: Red Limp-Leather and Red Flexible Cloth, 12mo. +Frontispiece in each volume. + + +_DESPERATE REMEDIES +FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD +A GROUP OF NOBLE DAMES +THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA +JUDE THE OBSCURE +A LAODICEAN +LIFE'S LITTLE IRONIES +THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE +A PAIR OF BLUE EYES +THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE +TESS OF THE D'URBERVILLES +THE TRUMPET MAJOR +TWO ON A TOWER +UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE +THE WELL-BELOVED +WESSEX TALES +THE WOODLANDERS_ + + * * * * * + +HARPER & BROTHERS +NEW YORK ESTABLISHED 1817 LONDON + + + + + +RECENT BOOKS OF TRAVEL + + * * * * * + +_IN VACATION AMERICA_ By HARRISON RHODES + +_In this book of leisurely wanderings the author journeys among the +various holiday resorts of the United States from Maine to Atlantic +City, Newport, Bar Harbor, the Massachusetts beaches, Long Island Sound, +the Great Lakes, Niagara, ever-young Greenbriar White and other Virginia +Springs, Saratoga, White Mountains, the winter resorts of Florida, the +Carolinas and California._ Illustrated in Color + + +_ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS_ + +By WILLIAM C. PRIME + +_All those who are on the lookout for an unusual way to spend a vacation +will find suggestions here. This book of leisurely travel in New +Hampshire and Vermont has been reprinted to meet the demand for a work +that has never failed to charm since its first publication more than a +decade ago._ Illustrated + + +_AUSTRALIAN BYWAYS_ By NORMAN DUNCAN + +_In this book the author gives a chatty account of his trip along the +outskirts of Australian civilization. The big cities were merely passed +through, and the journeying was principally by stage-coach, on +camel-back, or by small coastal steamers from Western Australia to New +Guinea._ Illustrated in Tint + + +_CALIFORNIA: An Intimate History_ + +By GERTRUDE ATHERTON + +_The California of to-day and the California of yesterday with its +picturesque story, are set forth in this book by the one writer who +could bring to it the skill united with that love for the task of a +Californian-born, Gertrude Atherton. This story of California covers the +varied history of the state from its earliest geological beginnings down +to the California of 1915._ Illustrated + + * * * * * + +HARPER & BROTHERS + +NEW YORK ESTABLISHED 1817 LONDON + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Vanguards of the Plains, by Margaret McCarter + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13345 *** |