o sign some papers here," he said. "It is the
agreement for the trip among the three companies owning the trains."

I read aloud the contract setting forth how one Jean Deau, representing
Esmond Clarenden, of Kansas City, with Smith and Davis, representing two
other companies from St. Louis, together agreed to certain conditions
regarding the journey.

Smith and Davis had already signed, and as I took the pen, a
white-haired old trapper who was sitting near by burst out:

"Jean Deau! Jean Deau! Who the devil is Jean Deau?"

Jondo did not look up, but the lines hardened about his mouth.

"It's a sound. Don't get in the way, old man. Go ahead, Clarenden,"
Smith commanded.

Few questions were asked in those days, for most men on the plains had a
history, and it was what a man could do here, not what he had done
somewhere else, that counted.

So I, representing Esmond Clarenden, signed the paper and the two
managers hurried away. But the old trapper sat staring at Jondo.

"Say, I'm gittin' close to the end of the trail, and the divide ain't
fur off for me. D'ye mind if I say somethin'?" he asked at last.

Jondo looked up with that smile that could warm any man's heart.

"Say on," he commanded, kindly.

"You aint never signin' your own name nowhere, it sorter seems."

Jondo shook his head.

"Didn't you and this Clarenden outfit go through here 'bout ten years
ago one night? Some Mexican greasers was raisin' hell and proppin' it up
with a whisky-bottle that night, layin' fur you vicious."

Jondo smiled and nodded assent.

"Well, them fellers comin' in had a bargain with a passel of Kioways to
git you plenty if they missed you themselves; to clinch their bargain
they give 'em a pore little Hopi Injun girl they'd brung along with a
lot of other Mexicans and squaws."

"I had that figured out pretty well at the time," Jondo said, with a
smile.

"But, Jean Deau--" the old man began.

"No, Jondo. Go on. I'm busy," Jondo interrupted.

The old man's watery eyes gleamed.

"I just want to say friendly-like, that them Kioways never forgot the
trick you worked on 'em, an' the _tornydo_ that busted 'em at Pawnee
Rock they laid to your bad medicine. They went clare back to Bent's Fort
to fix you. Them and that rovin' bunch of Mexicans that scattered along
the trail with 'em in time of the Mexican War. They'd 'a' lost you but
fur a little Apache cuss they struck out there who showed 'em to you."

Jondo looked up qu