,
and life grew rose-colored for me in a moment.

"We are all going to Santa Fe over the long trail. Every last gun of us.
Aunty Boone, and Mat, and you, and me, and Jondo, and Uncle Esmond,
rag-tag and bobtail. Whoop-ee-diddle-dee!" Beverly threw up his cap,
and, catching Mat by the arms, they whirled around the room together.

"Who says so, Bev?" I asked, eagerly.

"Them as knows and bosses everything in this world. Jondo told me, and
he's just the boss's shadow. Now guess who," Beverly replied.

"It's all true, Gail," Mat assured me. "Esmond Clarenden _is_ going to
Santa Fe in spite of 'war, pestilence, famine, and sword,' as my
_History of the World_ says, and he _is_ going to take son Beverly, and
son Gail to watch son Beverly; and Miss Mat Nivers to watch both of them
and shoo Indians away; and Aunt Daniel Boone to scare the Mexicans into
the Gulf of California, if they act ugly, see!"

She capered about the room, and as she passed me she stooped and patted
me on the forehead. I didn't want her to do that. I had taken a long
jump away from little-boy-dom a week ago, but I was supremely content
now that all of us were to take the long trail together.

That evening while Mat and Beverly went to look after some fishing-lines
they had set--Mat and Bev were always going fishing--and Jondo was down
at the store, the officer in command of the fort came in. He paid no
attention to me lying there, all eyes and ears whenever shoulder-straps
were present.

"What did you decide to do about the trip to Santa Fe?" he asked, as he
tipped back in his chair and settled down to cigars and an evening chat.

"We shall be leaving on the boat in the morning," my uncle replied.

The colonel's chair came down with a crack. "You don't mean it!" he
exclaimed.

"I told you a week ago that I would be starting as soon as possible,"
Esmond Clarenden said, quietly.

"But, man, the war is raging, simply raging, down in Mexico right now.
Our division will be here to commence drill in a few weeks, and we start
for the border in a few months. You are mad to take such a risk." The
commander's voice rose.

"We must go, that's all!" my uncle insisted.

"We? We? Who the devil are 'we'? None of my companies mutinied, I hope."

The words did not sound like a joke, and there was little humor in the
grim face.

"'We' means Jondo, Banney, a young fellow from Kentucky--" Uncle Esmond
began.

"Humph! Banney's father carried a gun at Fort D