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It was mid-afternoon and the two riders were faint from the hardship of the chase, but nobody who knew Jondo ever expected him to give up. The sun blazed down in the heat of the late afternoon, and the baking earth lay brown and dry beneath the heat-quivering air. There was no sound nor motion on the plains as the two faithful brothers in purpose followed hard on the track of the Dog Indian band.
Both of us had once expected to marry her when we grew up, unless Jondo should carry her away as his bride before that time. He was a dozen years older than Mat, who was only fourteen and small for her age. A flush always came to her cheeks when we talked of Jondo in that way. We didn't know why. We sat silent for a little while.
"The first and last law of the trail is to 'hold fast," Jondo said, as we broke up the circle about the camp-fire. "If you can keep that law we will take you into full partnership to-night," Esmond Clarenden added, and we knew that he meant what he said. A stone's throw from either hand, From that well-ordered road we tread, And all the world is wide and strange.
You know just enough to be good to yourselves. You don't think much about anybody else," Jondo said, with a smile. "I think of others, Jondo, and for that reason I want you to tell me that story about Ferdinand Ramero that you promised to tell me one night back on the trail." Jondo gave a start. "I'd like to forget that man, not talk about him," he replied.
And any man who would use such infamous means to get what he wants is too small to have much influence if he doesn't get it. This is a big, wide, good world, Little Lees, and the father of Marcos Ramero, with all his power and wealth, has a short lariat that doesn't let him graze wide. Jondo holds the other end of that lariat, and he knows." Eloise listened eagerly, but her face was very white.
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.
The young riders, where shall I tell him they have gone?" "To the old ranch-house on the San Christobal Arroyo," Jondo replied. The Indian smiled, and turning quickly, he disappeared up the dark street. A sudden thrill shook Jondo. "Father Josef said I could trust that boy entirely. Surely old Dick Verra, part Indian himself, couldn't be mistaken. But that Apache lied to me.
He sprang up and took aim at the fort with an imaginary bow and arrow. But there was a hollow note in his voice as if it covered a sob. "She can shoot Indians as good as you can, Beverly Clarenden, and, besides, there isn't anybody to mother her here but Jondo, and I reckon he'll go with us, won't he?" I urged. Mothering was not in my stock of memories.
The scorn of Ramero's eyes and voice as he looked at Jondo were withering. "And this thing keeps me here by threats of attacks, even when he knows that by such attacks he will reveal himself. It has been a grim game." Something of a grin showed all of the man's fine teeth. "A grim game, and never played to a finish till now.
"Then came an awful day out at Agua Fria, and Father Josef took me in his arms as he would take a baby, and sang me to sleep with the songs my mother loved to sing. I think it must have been midnight when I wakened. It was dreary and cold, and Esmond Clarenden and Ferdinand Ramero were there, and Father Josef and Jondo."
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