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That priest, footing it out by that dry creek-thing they call a 'royo?" "Oh no, no! He and Jondo made up together, and Jondo's nobody's bad man even in a story. It will be that Ferdinand Ramero," I insisted. "But, say, Bev, Jondo wrote a new name on the register this evening, or somebody wrote it for him, maybe. It wasn't his own writing. 'Jean Deau. I saw it in big, round, back-slanting letters.
"Here are samples of the latter: ecclesiastiques, coeur de roche, a deau eaux, fourreau, chateau d'eau, and so on. But, alas, none of them fits; the French Government has a new key. Indeed, she changes it every month or oftener; sometimes she changes it just for a single letter." "Then we must apply ourselves to obtaining the French key-word," Harleston remarked. "Can you do it?"
Smith and Davis had already signed, and as I took the pen, a white-haired old trapper who was sitting near by burst out: "Jean Deau! Jean Deau! Who the devil is Jean Deau?" Jondo did not look up, but the lines hardened about his mouth. "It's a sound. Don't get in the way, old man. Go ahead, Clarenden," Smith commanded.
"It is the agreement for the trip among the three companies owning the trains." I read aloud the contract setting forth how one Jean Deau, representing Esmond Clarenden, of Kansas City, with Smith and Davis, representing two other companies from St. Louis, together agreed to certain conditions regarding the journey.
"I had that figured out pretty well at the time," Jondo said, with a smile. "But, Jean Deau " the old man began. "No, Jondo. Go on. I'm busy," Jondo interrupted. The old man's watery eyes gleamed. "I just want to say friendly-like, that them Kioways never forgot the trick you worked on 'em, an' the tornydo that busted 'em at Pawnee Rock they laid to your bad medicine.
"Go back to your own folks, then, and tell your Daddy Joseph a man just stole a big bunch of something and rode south with it. He can look after that man. We can get along somehow. Now go." The voice was like a growl, and the little Indian maiden shrank back in the shadow of the wall. The next minute Aunty Boone was rapping softly on the door of the room whose guest had registered as Jean Deau.
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