es being an Apache, Santan has some Ramero blood in his
veins, to be accounted for in the persistence of an evil will. He was
as determined to win Po-a-be as she that he should fail. And he was
cunning in his schemes."

Father Josef paused and looked at Eloise.

"To make the story short," he began again, "Santan could not make the
Hopi woman hate Beverly, although she knew that her love was hopeless,
as it should be. Pardon me, daughter," Father Josef said, gently. "She
heard you two talking in a little porch one night at the Clarenden home,
and she has believed ever since that you are lovers. That is why she
sent for you to come to help her now."

"I saw Beverly give Little Blue Flower a brotherly kiss that night, and
I told him, frankly, how it grieved me, because I had known at St. Ann's
about her love for him. I had urged her to go with me to the
Clarendens', hoping that when she saw Beverly again she would quit
dreaming of him."

I looked away, at the paintings and the crucifix above the altar, and
the long shafts of light on gray adobe walls, wondering, vaguely, what
the next act of this drama might reveal.

"Beverly was always lovable," Father Josef said. "But now the message
comes that he is out in the heart of Hopi-land, and because Little Blue
Flower is protecting him her people may turn against her. For Beverly's
sake, and for her sake, too, my daughter, we must start at once to find
her and maybe save his life. She wants you. It is the call of
sisterhood. Sister Gloria and I will go with you. I have much influence
with my Hopi people."

"Will they put Beverly to death?" I asked.

"I cannot tell, but--see how long the arm of hate can be, my
son--Santan, the Apache, has been informed of Beverly's coming by Marcos
Ramero, gambler and debauchee. And Marcos got it in some way from
Charlie Bent, a Cheyenne half-breed, son of old Colonel Bent, a fine old
gentleman. Maybe you knew young Bent?"

"Yes, he holds a grudge against the Clarenden name because we made him
play square with us at the old fort when we were children," I told the
priest. "He yelled defiance at us in the battle on the Prairie Dog Creek
last August. Bev shot his horse from under him just to humble the
insolent dog! Beverly never was a coward," I insisted, all my affection
for my cousin overwhelming me.

"This makes it clearer," Father Josef said. "Through Bent to Ramero and
Ramero to Santan, the word went, somehow. The Apache has gather