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 wilderness kingdom and the pale-faced conquerors of the coat of mail and the dominant soul.  The sense of danger lessened with distance and no knight of old Spain ever rode more proudly in the days of chivalry than Beverly Clarenden and I rode that morning, fearing nothing, sure of our power to protect the golden-haired girl, thrilled by this strange flight through a land of strange scenes fraught with the charm of daring and danger.  Beverly rode forward now with Little Blue Flower.  I did not wonder at her spell over him, for she was in her own land now, and she matched its picturesque phases with her own picturesque racial charm.

I rode beside Eloise, forgetting, in the sweet air and glorious June sunlight, that we were following an uncertain trail away from certain trouble.

The white-faced nun in her somber dress, rode between, with serious countenance and downcast eyes.

“What happened to you, Little Lees, after I left you?” I asked, as we trotted forward toward the San Christobal valley.

“Everything, Gail,” she replied, looking up at me with shy, sad eyes.  “First Ferdinand Ramero came to me with the command that I should consent to be married this morning.  By this time I would have been Marcos’ wife.”  She shivered as she spoke.  “I can’t tell you the way of it, it was so final, so cruel, so impossible to oppose.  Ferdinand’s eyes cut like steel when they look at you, and you know he will do more than he threatens.  He said the Church demanded one-half of my little fortune and that he could give it the other half if he chose.  He is as imperious as a tyrant in his pleasanter moods; in his anger he is a maniac.  I believe he would murder Marcos if the boy got in his way, and his threats of disgracing me were terrible.”

“But what else happened?” I wanted to turn her away from her wretched memory.

“I have not seen anybody else except Little Blue Flower.  She has an Indian admirer who is Ferdinand’s tool and spy.  He let her come in to see me late last night or I should not have been here now.  I had almost given up when she brought me word that you and Beverly would meet me at the church at daylight.  I have not slept since.  What will be the end of this day’s work?  Isn’t there safety for me somewhere?” The sight of the fair, sad face with the hunted look in the dark eyes cut me to the soul.