y.

As he turned to leave the church, an Indian rose from the shadows beyond
it and stepped before him.

"You remember me, Santan, the Apache, at Fort Bent?" he questioned.

Jondo looked keenly to be sure that his memory fitted the man before
him.

"Yes, you are Santan. You brought me a message from Father Josef once."

The Indian's face did not change by the twitch of an eyelash as he
replied.

"I would bring another message from him. He would see you an hour later
than you planned. The young riders, where shall I tell him they have
gone?"

"To the old ranch-house on the San Christobal Arroyo," Jondo replied.

The Indian smiled, and turning quickly, he disappeared up the dark
street. A sudden thrill shook Jondo.

"Father Josef said I could trust that boy entirely. Surely old Dick
Verra, part Indian himself, couldn't be mistaken. But that Apache lied
to me. I know it now; and I told him where our boys are taking Eloise. I
never made a blunder like that before. Damned fool that I am!"

He ground his teeth in anger and disgust, as he sat down in the doorway
of the church to await the coming of Ferdinand Ramero and his son,
Marcos.

Out on the trail our ponies beat off the miles with steady gait. As the
way narrowed, we struck into single file, moving silently forward under
the guidance of Little Blue Flower, now plunging into dark canons, where
the trail was rocky and perilous, now climbing the steep sidling paths
above the open plain. Morning came swiftly over the Gloriettas. Darkness
turned to gray; shapeless masses took on distinctness; the night chill
softened to the crisp breeze of dawn. Then came the rare June day in
whose bright opening hour the crystal skies of New Mexico hung above us,
and about us lay a landscape with radiant lights on the rich green of
the mesa slopes, and gray levels atint with mother-of-pearl and gold.

The Indian pueblos were astir. Mexican faces showed now and then at the
doorways of far-scattered groups of adobe huts. Outside of these all was
silence--a motionless land full of wild, rugged beauty, and thrilling
with the spell of mystery and glamour of romance. And overbrooding all,
the spirit of the past, that made each winding trail a footpath of the
centuries; each sheer cliff a watch-tower of the ages; each wide sandy
plain, a rallying-ground for the tribes long ago gone to dust; each
narrow valley a battle-field for the death-struggle between the dusky
sovereigns of a wi