t hard up there. Some ponies dead, and mebby
an Indian or two. I didn't hunt 'em up. I can't use 'em that way," he
added. "So I just said, 'Pax vobiscum!' and a lot of it, and came
kittering back."

Little Blue Flower's eyes glistened.

"Gone, all gone. The rain god drove them away. Now I know I may go with
you. The rain god loves you."

It was to Beverly, and not to my uncle, that her eyes turned as she
spoke, but he was not even listening to her. To him she was merely an
Indian. She seemed more than that to me, and therein lay the difference
between us.

If she had been interesting under the starlight, in the light of day she
became picturesque, a beautiful type of her race, silent, alert of
countenance, with big, expressive, black eyes, and long, heavy braids of
black hair. With her brilliant blanket about her shoulders, a turquoise
pendant on a leather band at her throat, silver bracelets on her brown
arms, she was as pleasing as an Indian maiden could be--adding a touch
of picturesque life to that wonderful journey westward from Pawnee Rock
to Santa Fe. Aunty Boone alone resented her presence among us.

"You can trust a nigger," she growled, "'cause you know they none of 'em
no 'count. But you can't tell about this Injun, whether she's good or
bad. I lets that sort of fish alone."

Little Blue Flower looked up at her with steady gaze and made no reply.

Out of that morning's events I learned a lasting lesson, and I know now
that the influence of Rex Krane on my life began that day, as I recalled
how he had followed Aunty Boone about the dark corners of the little
trading-post on the Neosho; and how he had looked at Mat Nivers once
when Uncle Esmond had suggested his turning back to Independence; and
how he had gone before all of us, the vanguard, to the top of the bluff
west of Council Grove; and now he had followed this Indian girl. From
that time I knew in my boy heart that this tall, careless Boston youth
had a zealous care for the safety of women and children. How much care,
events would run swiftly on to show me. But welded into my life from
that hour was the meaning of a man's high, chivalric duty. And among all
the lessons that the old trail taught to me, none served me more than
this one that came to me on that sweet May morning beneath the shadow of
Pawnee Rock.

VI

SPYING OUT THE LAND

City of the Holy Faith,
In thy streets so dim with age,
Do I read not Faith's decay,