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Updated: June 12, 2025
Big as New York was there was likely to be but one O'Gavin in it who would have a car such as this one anchored in front of the Clarenden and that would be the noted bookmaker. Trencher played his card. "Jerome O'Gavin's, eh?" he inquired casually as though stating a foregone conclusion. "Yes, sir; it's his car." And now the driver twisted his body and half-faced Trencher.
We were young men still, with all the unsettled spirit that follows the laying aside of active military life for the wholesome but uneventful life of peace. The time of our arrival had been uncertain, and the Clarenden household had been taken by surprise at our coming.
She was dressed in her own Indian garb now, with her bright blanket drawn picturesquely about her head and shoulders. Silently she moved about the camp, peering toward the shadows hiding me. Then with noiseless step she slipped toward where Beverly Clarenden lay, his boyish face upturned to the stars, sleeping the dreamless sleep of youth and health.
Cabs moved to and fro, shuttle fashion, but seemingly no pedestrians were following behind him. He was not particularly fearful of being pursued. Since he had cleared out from the Clarenden without mishap it was scarcely to be figured that anyone would or could now be shadowing him.
And then we spoke of other things: the stream of emigration flowing into the country, the possibilities of the prairies, the future of the city that should hold the key to the whole Southwest, and especially of the chance and value of the trail trade. "It's the big artery that carries the nation's life-blood here," Esmond Clarenden declared.
Presently Jondo and Rex Krane and Bill and Beverly rolled their blankets about them and went to sleep, leaving Esmond Clarenden and myself alone beside the dying fire. The air was sharp and the night silence deepened as the stars came into the skies. "Why don't you go to bed, Gail?" my uncle asked. "I'm not sleepy. I'm homesick," I replied. "Come here, boy."
"They's two of him I know there is," Rex Krane declared. "One of him went east, to cut us off I reckon; an' t'other faded into nothin' toward the river. Kind of a double deal, looks to me." Both men looked doubtingly at the young man; but without further words, Jondo took command, and we knew that the big plainsman would put through whatever Esmond Clarenden had planned.
The words did not sound like a joke, and there was little humor in the grim face. "'We' means Jondo, Banney, a young fellow from Kentucky " Uncle Esmond began. "Humph! Banney's father carried a gun at Fort Dearborn in 1812. I thought that young fellow came here for military service," the colonel commented, testily. "Rather say he came for adventure," Esmond Clarenden suggested.
The prairies had long since become his home; but whether in scout service for the Government, or as wagon-master for a Clarenden train on the trail, he was the same big, brave, loyal Jondo. And there was Rex Krane, tall, easy-going old Rex, with his wife beside him. Mat was a fair-faced young matron now, with something Madonna-like in her calm poise and kindly spirit.
Just then Jim an' Barbie came around the corner o' the house, an' I sez: "Mr. an' Mrs. Bill Hammersly, allow me to make you introduced to the Earl o' Clarenden an' his bride." They was totally devoid of remarks for some time. Jim was the first to speak, an' he seemed a trifle put out. "What do you mean by such nonsense, Happy?" sez he.
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