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 Fe, 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 Fe.

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