“I’m like Bev.  I wish he had gotten the Apache, now.  I don’t know yet how I was fooled in him, for he has always been Fred Ramer’s tool, and Father Josef never trusted him.  And to think that Bill Banney, in no way touching any of our lives, should have been martyred by the crimes of Fred and this Apache!  But that’s the old, old story of the trail.  Poor Bill!  I hope his sleep will be sweet out in this desolate land.  We’ll meet him later somewhere.”

The winds must have carried the tale of poisoned water across the Cimarron country, for the Comanches’ trail left ours from that day.  Through threescore and ten miles to the Arkansas River we came, and there was not a well nor spring nor sign of water in all that distance.  What water we had we carried with us from the Cimarron fountains.  But the sturdy endurance of the days was not without its help to me.  And the wide, wind-swept prairies of Kansas taught me many things.  In the lonely, beautiful land, through long bright days and starlit nights, I began to see things bigger than my own selfish measure had reckoned.  I thought of Esmond Clarenden and his large scheme of business; Felix Narveo, the true-hearted friend; and of Father Josef and his life of devotion.  And I lived with Jondo every day.  I could not forget the hour in the little ruined chapel in the San Christobal Valley, and how he himself had made no effort to clear his own name.  But I remembered, too, that Father Josef, mercilessly just to Ferdinand Ramero, had not even asked Jondo to defend himself from the black charge against him.

The sunny Kansas prairies, the far open plains, and the wild mountain trails beyond, had brought their blessing to Jondo, whose life had known so much of tragedy.  And my cross was just my love for a girl who could not love me.  That was all.  Jondo had never forgotten nor ceased to love the mother of Eloise St. Vrain.  I should be like Jondo in this.  But the world is wide.  Life is full of big things.  Henceforth, while I would not forget, I, too, would be big and strong, and maybe, some time, just as sunny-faced as my big Jondo.

The trail life, day by day, did bring its blessing to me.  The clear, open land, the far-sweeping winds, the solitude for thought, the bravery and gentleness of the rough men who walked the miles with me, the splendor of the day-dawn, the beauty of the sunset, the peace of the still starlit night, sealed up my wounds, and I began to live for others and to forget myself; to dream less often, and to work more gladly; to measure men, not by what had been, but by how they met what was to be done.

From all the frontier life, rough-hewn and coarse, the elements came that helped to make the big brave West to-day, and I know now that not the least of source and growth of power for these came out of the strength and strife of the things known only to the men who followed the Santa Fe Trail.

III