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 Fe 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 a