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 Fe Trail wound among
the Arka