We were sitting in a circle under the thin shade of some cottonwood-trees beside a little stream; the air of noon, hot above our heads, was tempered with a light breeze from the southwest.  As my uncle spoke, Rex glanced over at Mat Nivers, sitting beside him, and then gazed out thoughtfully across the stream.  I had never thought her pretty before.  But now her face, tanned by the sun and wind, had a richer glow on cheek and lip.  Her damp hair lay in little wavelets about her temples, and her big, sunny, gray eyes were always her best feature.

Girls made their own dresses on the frontier, and I suppose that anywhere else Mat would have appeared old-fashioned in the neat, comfortable little gowns of durable gingham and soft woolen stuffs that she made for herself.  But somehow in all that long journey she was the least travel-soiled of the whole party.

At my uncle’s words she looked up questioningly and I saw the bloom deepen on her cheek as she met the young man’s eyes.  Somebody else saw that shadow of a blush—­Bill Banney lying on the ground beside me, and although he pulled his hat cautiously over his face, I thought he was listening for the answer.

The young New-Englander stared long at the green prairie before he spoke.  I never knew whether it was ignorance, or a lack of energy, that was responsible for his bad grammar in those early days, for Rex Krane was no sham invalid.  The lines on his young face told of suffering, and the thin, bony hands showed bodily weakness.  At length he turned to my uncle.

“I started out sort of reckless on this trip,” he said, slowly.  “I’m nearly twenty and never been worth a dang to anybody anywhere on God’s earth; so I thought I might as well be where things looked interestin’.  But”—­he hesitated—­“I’m gettin’ a lot stronger every day, a whole lot stronger.  Mebby I’d be of some use afterwhile—­I don’t know, though.  I reckon I’d better wait till we get to that Council Grove place.  Sounds like a nice locality to rest and think in.  Are you goin’ on, anyhow, Clarenden, crowd or no crowd?”

“Though the heavens fall,” my uncle answered, simply.

Jondo had turned quickly to hear this reply and a great light leaped into his deep-set blue eyes.  I glanced over at Aunty Boone, sitting apart from us, as she ever chose to do, her own eyes dull, as they always were when she saw keenest; and I remembered how, back at Fort Leavenworth, she had commented on this journey, saying:  “They tote together always, an’ they’re totin’ now.”  Child though I was, I felt that a something more than the cargo of goods was leading my uncle to Santa Fe.  What I did not understand was his motive for taking Beverly and Mat and me with him.  I had been satisfied before just to go, but now I wanted very much to know why I was going.