“I remember Felix Narveo and Ferdinand Ramero mighty well,” I commented.

Jondo stared at me.

“Can’t a boy remember things?” I inquired.

“It takes a boy to remember; and they grow up and we forget they have had eyes, ears, feelings, memories, all keener than we can ever have in later years.  Gail, the Mexican train comes from Felix Narveo, and Narveo is a man of a thousand.  They bring word, however, that the Kiowas are unusually friendly and that we have nothing to fear this side of the Cimarron.  They don’t feel sure of the Utes and Apaches.”

“Good enough!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, only they lie when they say it.  It’s a trap to get us.  No Kiowa on the plains will let a Clarenden train through peacefully, because we took their captive, Little Blue Flower.  It’s a hatred kept alive in the Kiowas by one man in Santa Fe through his Mexican agents with Narveo’s train.”

“And that man is Ramero?” I questioned.

“That man is Ramero, and his capacity for hate is appalling.  Gail, there’s only one thing in the world that is stronger than hate, and that is love.”

Jondo looked out over the moonlit plains, his fine head erect, even in his meditative moods.

“When a Mexican says a Kiowa has turned friendly, don’t believe him.  And when a Kiowa says it himself—­kill him.  It’s your only safe course,” Jondo said, presently.

“Jondo, why does Ramero stir up the Indians and Mexicans against Uncle Esmond?” I asked.

“Because Clarenden drove him into exile in New Mexico before it was United States territory,” Jondo replied.

“What did he do that for?” I asked.

“Because of what Ramero had done to me,” Jondo replied.

“Well, New Mexico is United States territory now.  What keeps this Ramero in Santa Fe, if he is there?”

“I keep him there.  It’s safer to know just where a man like that is.  So I put a ring around the town and left him inside of it.”

Jondo paused and turned toward me.

“Yonder comes Banney to go on guard now.  Gail, I’ll tell you all about it some day.  I couldn’t on a night like this.”

The deep voice sent a shiver through me.  There was a pathos in it, too manly for tears, too courageous for pity.

The days that followed were hard ones.  Word had gotten through the camp that the Indians were very friendly, and that we need not be uneasy this side of the Cimarron country.  Smith and Davis agreed with the train captain, Jondo, in taking no chances, but most of the one hundred sixty bull-whackers stampeded like cattle against precaution, and rebelled at his rigid ruling.  He had begun to tighten down upon us as we went farther and farther into the heart of a savage domain.  The night guard was doubled and every precaution for the stock was demanded, giving added cause for grumbling and muttered threats which no man had the courage to speak openly to Jondo’s