In the dim light her face seemed bright with courage.  It is no wonder that we all trusted her.  And trust was the large commodity of the plains in those days, when even as children we ran to meet danger with courageous daring.

“You must cross the river letting the ponies pick their own ford,” Jondo commanded us.  “Then go through to the ridge on the northwest side of town.  Keep out of the light, and if anybody tries to stop you, ride like fury for the ridge.”

“Lemme go first,” Aunty Boone interposed.  “Nobody lookin’ for me this side of purgatory.  ’Fore they gets over their surprise I’ll be gone.  Whoo-ee!”

The soft exclamation had a breath of bravery in it that stirred all of us.

“You are right, Daniel.  Lead out.  Keep to the shadows.  If you must run make your mules do record time,” Uncle Esmond said.

“You’ll find me there when you stop,” Rex Krane declared.  No sick man ever took life less seriously.  “I’m goin’ ahead to John-the-Baptist this procession and air the parlor bedrooms.”

“Krane, you are an invalid and a fool.  You’d better ride in the wagon with me,” Bill Banney urged.

“Mebby I am.  Don’t throw it up to me, but I’m no darned coward, and I’m foot-loose.  It’s my job to give the address of welcome over t’other side of this Mexican settlement.”

The tall, thin young man slouched his cap carelessly on his head and strode away toward the river.  Youth was reckless in those days, and the trail was the home of dramatic opportunity.  But none of us had dreamed hitherto of Rex Krane’s degree of daring and his stubborn will.

The big yellow moon was sailing up from the east; the Neosho glistened all jet and silver over its rough bed; the great shadowy oaks looked ominously after us as we moved out toward the threatening peril before us.  Slowly, as though she had time to kill, Aunty Boone sent the brown mule and trusty dun down to the river’s rock-bottom ford.  Slowly and unconcernedly she climbed the slope and passed up the single street toward the saloon she had already “prospected.”  Pausing a full minute, she swung toward a far-off cabin light to the south, jogging over the rough ground noisily.  The door of the drinking-den was filled with dark faces as the crowd jostled out.  Just a lone wagon making its way somewhere about its own business, that was all.

As the crowd turned in again three ponies galloped up the street toward the slope leading out to the high level prairies beyond the Neosho valley.  But who could guess how furiously three young hearts beat, and how tightly three pairs of young hands clutched the bridle reins as we surged forward, forgetting the advice to keep in the shadow.

Just after we had crossed the river, a man on horseback fell in behind us.  We quickened our speed, but he gained on us.  Before we reached the saloon he was almost even with us, keeping well in the shadow all the while.  In the increasing moonlight, making everything clear to the eye, I gave one quick glance over my shoulder and saw that the horseman was a Mexican.  I have lived a life so fraught with danger that I should hardly remember the feeling of fear but for the indelible imprint of that one terrified minute in the moonlit street of Council Grove.