face
and big dark eyes, under the curl-shadowed forehead.

Jondo stared hard toward the hills in the southeast. Then he turned to
my uncle with grim face and burning eyes; His was a wonderful voice,
clear, strong and penetrating. But in danger he always spoke in a low
tone.

"I've watched those dust-whirls for an hour. The wind isn't making all
of them. Somebody is stirring them up for cover. Every whirl has an
Indian in it. It's all of ten miles to Bent's. We must fight them off
and let the others run for it, before they cut us off in front. Look at
that!"

The exclamation burst from the plainsman's lips.

That was my last straight looking. The rest is ever a kaleidoscope of
action thrilled through with terror. What I saw was a swiftly moving
black splotch coming out of the hills, with huge dust-heaps flying here
and there before it. Then a yellow cloud spiral blinded our sight as a
gust of hot wind swept round us. I remember Jondo's stern face and
blazing eyes and his words:

"Mexicans behind the Indians!"

And Uncle Esmond's voice:

"Narveo said they would get us, but I hoped we had outrun them."

The far plains seemed spotted with Indians racing toward us, and coming
at an angle from the southeast a dozen Mexicans swept in to cut us off
from the trail in front.

I remember a quick snatching of precious things in boxes placed for such
a moment as this, a quick snapping of halter ropes around the ponies'
necks, a gleaming of gun-barrels in the hot sunlight; a solid cloud of
dust rolling up behind us, bigger and nearer every second; and the
urgent voice of Jondo: "Ride for your lives!"

And the race began. On the trail somewhere before us was Bent's Fort. We
could only hope to reach it soon. We did not even look behind as we tore
down that dusty wilderness way.

At the first motion Aunty Boone had seized Eloise St. Vrain with one
hand and the big dun mule's neck-strap with the other.

"Go to the devil, you tigers and cannibals!" She roared with the growl
of a desert lioness, shaking her big black fist at the band of Mexicans
pouring out of the hills.

And dun mule and black woman and white-faced, terror-stricken child
became only a dust-cloud far in front of us. Mat and Beverly and I
leaped to the ponies and followed the lead of the African woman. Nearest
to us was Rex Krane, always a shield for the younger and less able. And
behind him, as defense for the rear and protection for the van, came
Esmond