Poor Eloise!  The net about her had been skilfully drawn.

“I don’t know Father Josef’s motive, but I can trust him.  And no shadow shall trouble you long, Little Lees.  Jondo and Uncle Esmond tote together,’ Aunty Boone said long ago.  They know something about the Ramero blood, and Jondo has promised to tell me his story some day.  He must do it to-night, and to-morrow we’ll see the end of this tangle.  Trust me, Eloise,” I said, comfortingly.

“But, Gail, I’m afraid Ferdinand will kill you if you get in his way.”  Eloise clung to my arm imploringly.

“Six big Kiowas got fooled at that job.  Do you think this thin streak of humanity would try it?” I asked, lightly.

Eloise stood up beside me.

“I must go away now,” she said.

“Then I’ll go with you.  Thank you, Father Josef, for your kindness,” I said as the priest came toward us.

“You are welcome, my son.  In the sanctuary circle no harm can come.  Peace be with both of you.”

There was a world of benediction in his deep tones, and his smile was genial, as he followed us to the street and stood as if watching for some one.

“I will meet you at San Miguel’s to-morrow afternoon, Gail,” Eloise said, as we reached a low but pretentious adobe dwelling.  “This is my home now.”

“Your new Mexican homes are thick-walled, and you live all on the inside,” I said, as we paused at the doorway.  “They make me think of the lower invertebrates, hard-shelled, soft-bodied animals.  Up on the Kansas prairies and the Missouri bluffs we have a central vetebra—­the family hearth-stone—­and we live all around it.  That is the people who have them do.  There isn’t much home life for a freighter of the plains anywhere.  Good by, Little Lees.”  I took her offered hand.  “I’m glad you have let me be your friend, a hard-shelled bull-whacker like me.”

The street was full of shadows and the evening air was chill as the door closed on that sweet face and cloud of golden hair.  But the pressure of warm white fingers lingered long in my sense of touch as I retraced my steps to the trail’s end.  At the church door I saw Father Josef still waiting, as if watching for somebody.

All that Eloise had told me ran through my mind, but I felt sure that neither financial nor churchly influence in Santa Fe could be turned to evil purposes so long as men like Felix Narveo and Father Josef were there.  And then I thought of Esmond Clarenden, himself neither Mexican nor Roman Catholic, who, nevertheless, drew to himself such fair-dealing, high-minded men as these, always finding the best to aid him, and combating the worst with daring fearlessness.  Surely with the priest and the merchant and Jondo as my uncle’s representative, no harm could come to the girl whom I knew that I should always love.

And with my mind full of Eloise and her need I sought out Jondo and listened to his story.