lossom leads
us, and Bev Clarenden and I will not let anything happen to you."

I meant what I said, and my heart is always young when I recall that
morning ride toward the San Christobal Arroyo and my abounding vigor and
confidence in my courage and my powers.

Our trail ran into a narrow plain now where a yellow band marked the way
of the San Christobal River toward the Rio Grande. On either hand tall
cliffs, huge weather-worn points of rock, and steep slopes, spotted with
evergreen shrubs, bordered the river's course. The silent bigness of
every feature of the landscape and the beauty of the June day in the
June time of our lives, and our sense of security in having escaped the
shadows and strife in Santa Fe, all combined to make us free-spirited.
Only Sister Anita rode, alert and sorrowful-faced, between Beverly and
the gaily-robed Indian girl, and myself with Eloise, the beautiful.

As we rounded a bend in the narrow valley, Little Blue Flower halted us,
and pointing to an old half-ruined rock structure beside the stream, she
said:

"See, yonder is the chapel where Father Josef comes sometimes to pray
for the souls of the Hopi people. The house we go to find is farther up
a canon over there."

"I remember the place," Eloise declared. "Father Josef brought me here
once and left me awhile. I wasn't afraid, although I was alone, for he
told me I was always safe in a church. But I was never allowed to come
back again."

Sister Anita crossed herself and, glancing over her shoulder, gave a
sharp cry of alarm. We turned about to see a group, of horsemen dashing
madly up the trail behind us. The wind in their faces blew back the
great cloud of dust made by their horses hoofs, hiding their number and
the way behind them. Their steeds were wet with foam, but their riders
spurred them on with merciless fury. In the forefront Ferdinand Ramero's
tall form, towering above the small statured evil-faced Mexican band he
was leading, was outlined against the dust-cloud following them, and I
caught the glint of light on his drawn revolver.

"Ride! Ride like the devil!" Beverly shouted.

At the same time he and the Hopi girl whirled out and, letting us pass,
fell in as a rear guard between us and our pursuers. And the race was
on.

Jondo had said the lonely ranch-house whither we were tending was as
strong as a fort. Surely it could not be far away, and our ponies were
not spent with hard riding. Before us the valley narrow