and I'm
foot-loose. It's my job to give the address of welcome over t'other side
of this Mexican settlement."

The tall, thin young man slouched his cap carelessly on his head and
strode away toward the river. Youth was reckless in those days, and the
trail was the home of dramatic opportunity. But none of us had dreamed
hitherto of Rex Krane's degree of daring and his stubborn will.

The big yellow moon was sailing up from the east; the Neosho glistened
all jet and silver over its rough bed; the great shadowy oaks looked
ominously after us as we moved out toward the threatening peril before
us. Slowly, as though she had time to kill, Aunty Boone sent the brown
mule and trusty dun down to the river's rock-bottom ford. Slowly and
unconcernedly she climbed the slope and passed up the single street
toward the saloon she had already "prospected." Pausing a full minute,
she swung toward a far-off cabin light to the south, jogging over the
rough ground noisily. The door of the drinking-den was filled with dark
faces as the crowd jostled out. Just a lone wagon making its way
somewhere about its own business, that was all.

As the crowd turned in again three ponies galloped up the street toward
the slope leading out to the high level prairies beyond the Neosho
valley. But who could guess how furiously three young hearts beat, and
how tightly three pairs of young hands clutched the bridle reins as we
surged forward, forgetting the advice to keep in the shadow.

Just after we had crossed the river, a man on horseback fell in behind
us. We quickened our speed, but he gained on us. Before we reached the
saloon he was almost even with us, keeping well in the shadow all the
while. In the increasing moonlight, making everything clear to the eye,
I gave one quick glance over my shoulder and saw that the horseman was a
Mexican. I have lived a life so fraught with danger that I should hardly
remember the feeling of fear but for the indelible imprint of that one
terrified minute in the moonlit street of Council Grove.

Two ruffians on watch outside the saloon sprang up with yells. The door
burst open and a gang of rowdies fairly spilled out around us. We three
on our ponies had the instinctive security on horseback of children born
to the saddle, else we should never have escaped from the half-drunken
crew. I recall the dust of striking hoofs, the dark forms dodging
everywhere, the Mexican rider keeping between us and the saloon door,