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Updated: June 5, 2025
When he reached the top of the bluff he made straight across the square toward my uncle Esmond Clarenden's little storehouse, and I lost sight of him. Something about him seemed familiar to me, for the gift of remembering faces was mine, even then.
Before we had time to get over our surprise a scream of pain rang through the camp. Another followed, and another, and when an hour had passed a third of our forces was writhing in the clutches of the cholera. I shall never forget the long hours of that night beside the Walnut, nor Beverly Clarenden's face as he bent over the suffering men.
Rex Krane, who had hurried hither from the chapel, closed the eyes and folded the thin hands of the martyred woman, and sent Beverly forward for help to dispose of the garment of clay that had been Sister Anita. From that day something manly and serious came into Beverly Clarenden's face to stay, but his sense of humor and his fearlessness were unchanged.
And this morning they seemed drearier than ever, beaten upon by the fitful swish of the rain. In contrast with these were my uncle's snug quarters, for warmth was a part of Esmond Clarenden's creed.
"He'll get a deuced lot of it in a hurry, if you persuade him off with you." A flush swept over Esmond Clarenden's face, but his good-natured smile did not fail as he replied: "I don't persuade anybody.
The impulse to halt, and the duty to press on for the protection of the girl beside me, holding me in doubt. Instantly I saw the dark crew, with Ferdinand Ramero leading fiercely forward, almost upon us, and I heard Beverly Clarenden's voice filling the valley "Run, Gail, run! You can beat 'em up there."
At the name Little Blue Flower's eyes looked as they did on that hot May night out at Pawnee Rock when she heard Beverly Clarenden's boyish voice ring out, defiantly: "Uncle Esmond, let's take her, and take our chances." But the great light that had leaped into the girl's eyes died slowly out as she gazed at me. "You are not Beverly Clarenden," she said, in a low voice.
"And never have to fight Marcos any more? Oh, good, good, good! Let's go now!" She frowned darkly at Ferdinand Ramero, and, clutching tightly at Esmond Clarenden's hands, she began pulling him toward the open door. "Eloise," Father Josef said, "you are about to go away with this good man who will be a father to you. Be a good child as your mother would want you to be."
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