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