heart of
old Mexico, I decided at once that they would be safer with me in New
Mexico than without me in Missouri.

"In the night I passed this Mexican gang at Council Grove, waiting to
seize me in the morning. At Pawnee Rock a storm scattered a band of
Kiowa Indians to whom these same Mexicans had given a little Indian
slave girl as a reward for attacking our train if the Mexicans should
fail to get us themselves. Through every peril that threatens that long
trail we came safely because the hand of the Lord preserved us."

Esmond Clarenden paused, and the priest bowed a moment in prayer.

"If I have dared fate in this journey," the merchant went on, "it was
not to be foolhardy, nor for mere money gains, but to keep my own with
me, and to rescue the daughter of Mary St. Vrain, of Santa Fe, and take
her to a place of safety. It was her mother's last pleading call, as
you, Father Josef, very well know, since you yourself heard her last
words and closed her dead eyes. Under the New Mexican law, the
guardianship of her property rests with others. Mine is the right to
protect her and, by the God of heaven, I mean to do it!"

Esmond Clarenden's voice was deep and powerful now, filling the old
church with its vehemence.

Up by the altar, the little girl sat up suddenly and looked about her,
terrified by the dim light and the strange faces there.

"Don't be afraid, Eloise."

How strangely changed was this gentle tone from the vehement voice of a
moment ago.

The little girl sprang up and stared hard at the speaker. But no child
ever resisted that smile by which Esmond Clarenden held Beverly and me
in loving obedience all the days of our lives with him.

Shaking with fear as she caught sight of Ferdinand Ramero, the girl
reached out her hands toward the merchant, who put his arm protectingly
about her. The big, dark eyes were filled with tears; the head with its
sunny ripples of tangled hair leaned against him for a moment. Then the
fighting spirit came back to her, so early in her young life had the
need for defending herself been forced upon her.

"Where have I been? Where am I going?" she demanded.

"You are going with me now," Uncle Esmond said, softly.

"And never have to fight Marcos any more? Oh, good, good, good! Let's go
now!"

She frowned darkly at Ferdinand Ramero, and, clutching tightly at Esmond
Clarenden's hands, she began pulling him toward the open door.

"Eloise," Father Josef said, "you are abo