s 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 Fe, 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 Fe. I
would ask no questions, and nobo