the last collapse of the plague-stricken sufferers.  To get away from the sound of it all we wandered down the stream to where the banks of soft, caving earth on the farther side were higher than a man’s head, and their shadow hid the current.  We sat down and stared silently at the waters, scarcely whispering as they rolled along, and at the still shade of the farther bank upon them.  The shadows thickened and moved a little, then grew still.  We also grew still.  Then they moved again just opposite us, and fell into three parts, as three men glided silently along under the bank’s protecting gloom.  We waited until they had reached the edge of the moonlight, and saw three soldiers pass swiftly out across the unprotected sands to other shadowy places further on.

“Deserters!” Beverly said, half aloud.  “You can stay here if you want to, Gail.  I’d rather go up and listen to those poor wretches groan than stick down here and listen to the fiend inside of me to-night.”

He rose and stalked away, and I sat listening to myself.  I could join those three men easily enough.  The world is wide.  I had no bond to hold me to one single place in it.  I was young and strong, and life is sweet.  Why let the black plague snuff me out of it?  I had come here to serve the State.  I should not serve it in a plague-marked grave.  I rose to follow down the stream, to go to where the Smoky Hill joins the big Republican to make the Kaw, and on to where the Kaw reaches to the Missouri.  But I would not stop there.  I’d go until I reached the ocean somewhere.

Would I?

The memory of Jondo’s eyes when they looked into mine on Pawnee Rock came unbidden across my mind.  Jondo had lived a nameless man.  How strong and helpful all his years had been!  How starved had been my life without his love!  I would be another Jondo, somewhere on earth.

I stared after three faintly moving shadows down the stream.  ’Twas well I waited, for Esmond Clarenden came to me now, clean-cut, honest, everybody’s friend.  How firm his life had been; and he had built into me a hatred of deceit and lies.  And Jondo was another Uncle Esmond.  In spite of the black shadow on his name, he walked the prairies like a prince always.  I could not be like him if I were a deserter.  Up-stream death was waiting for me; down-stream, disgrace.  I turned and followed up the river’s course, but the strength that forced me to it was greater than that which made me brave on battle-fields.  And ever since that night beside the Smoky Hill I have felt gentler toward the man who falls.

We were not idle long for Fort Harker had just been informed of an assault on a wagon-train on the Santa Fe Trail and our cavalry squadron hurried away at once to overtake and punish the assailants.

We came into camp on the bank of Walnut Creek, at the close of a long summer day of blazing light and heat over the barren trails where there was no water; a day of long hours in the saddle; a day of nerve-wearing watchfulness.  But we believed that we had left the plague-cursed region behind us, so we were light-hearted and good-natured; and we ate, and drank, and took our lot cheerfully.