“All in good time.  It was a nasty mess of fish.  A dozen Mexicans and as many Indians had followed us all the way from the sunny side of the Gloriettas.  You and Bev and Mat had got by the Mexics.  Daniel Boone and ‘Little Lees’ were climbing the North Pole by that time.  The rest of us were giving battle straight from the shoulder; and someway, I don’t know how, just as we had the gang beat back behind us—­you had a sniff of a bullet just then—­an Indian slipped ahead in the dust.  I was tendin’ to mite of an arrow wound in my right calf, and I just caught him in time, aimin’ at Bev; but he missed him for you.  I got him, though, and clubbed his scalp a bit loose.”

Rex paused and stared at his right leg.

“How did that boy get here, Rex?  Is he a friendly Indian?” I asked.

“Oh, Jondo brought him in out of the wet.  Says the child was made to come along, and as soon as he could get away from the gang he had to run with up here; he came right into camp to help us against them.  Fine young fellow!  Jondo has it from them in authority that we can trust him lyin’ or tellin’ the truth. He’s all right.”

“How did he get hurt?” I inquired, still remembering in my own mind the day at Agua Fria.

“He’d got into our camp and was fightin’ on our side when it happened,” Rex replied.

“Some of them shot at him, then?” I insisted.  “No, I beat him up with the butt of my gun for shootin’ you,” Rex said, lazily.

“At me!  Why don’t you tell Jondo?”

“I tried to,” Rex answered, “but I can’t make him see it that way.  He’s got faith in that redskin and he’s going to see that he gets back to New Mexico safely—­after while.”

“Rex, that’s the same boy that was down in Agua Fria, the one Bev laughed at.  He’s no good Indian,” I declared.

“You are too wise, Gail Clarenden,” Rex drawled, carelessly.  “A boy of your brains had ought to be born in Boston.  Jondo and I can’t agree about him.  His name, he says, is Santan.  There’s one ‘n’ too many.  If you knock off the last one it makes him Santa—­’holy’; but if you knock out the middle it’s Satan.  We don’t knock out the same ‘n’, Jondo and me.”

Just then the little child came tumbling noisily into the room.

“Look here, youngun.  You can’t be makin’ a racket here,” Rex said.

The boy stared at him, impudently.

“I will, too,” he declared, sullenly, kicking at my cot with all his might.

Rex made no reply but, seizing the child around the waist, he carried him kicking and screaming outside.

“You stay out or I’ll spank you!” Rex said, dropping him to the ground.

The boy looked up with blazing eyes, but said nothing.

“That’s little Charlie Bent.  His daddy runs this splendid fort.  His mother is a Cheyenne squaw, and he’s a grim clinger of a half-breed.  Some day he’ll be a terror on these plains.  It’s in him, I know.  But that won’t interfere with us any.  And you children are a lot safer here than out on the trail.  Great God!  I wonder we ever got you here!” Rex’s face was very grave.  “Now go to sleep and wake up well.  No more thinkin’ like a man.  You can be a child again for a while.”