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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Oh, she had yellow hair and big sort of dark eyes! She could squeal like anything. She wasn't a baby girl at all, but a regular little fighter kind of a girl." I grew bashful all at once and hesitated, but my uncle did not seem to hear me, for he turned to Rex Krane and said, in low, earnest tones: "Krane, if you can locate that child for me you will do me an invaluable service.
Into its life and up-building Rex Krane was to throw his good-natured Yankee shrewdness, and Mat her calm, generous spirit; vanguards they were, among the home-makers of a great State. My stay in the place was brief, and I saw little of Eloise until the evening before I was to return to Kansas City.
She held up her hands. They were lacerated and bleeding. She slipped the bright blanket from her brown shoulder. It was bruised and swollen. "You go to Santa Fé? Take me. I do you good, not bad." "What would these Kiowas do to us, then?" It was Bill Banney who spoke. "They follow you kill you." "Oh, cheerful! I wish you were twins," Rex Krane said, softly. Jondo lifted his hand.
It was due her that she should know how tenderly he had thought of her. The night was irresistible, soft and balmy for the time of year, as that night had been long ago when we children were marooned inside this stronghold. A thin, growing moon hung in the crystal heavens and all the shadowy places were softened with gray tones. Jondo and Uncle Esmond and Rex Krane were talking together.
I saw the end, and as the boys swung forward I urged them on. "To the river. To the river. Head 'em south!" I cried. And Rex Krane, like a centaur, swirled by me to do the thing I ordered. Behind me rode Beverly Clarenden bareheaded, his face aglow with power. As I looked back the dust engulfed him for a moment, and then I heard an arrow sing, and a sharp cry of pain.
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.
There was a terrible Indian fight here once; the Pawnees in the king-row, and all the hosts of the Midianites, and Hivites, and Jebusites, Kiowa, Comanche, and Kaw, rag-tag and bobtail, trying to get 'em out. I don't know who won, but the citadel got christened Pawnee Rock. It took a fountain filled with blood to do it, though." Rex Krane gave a long whistle.
When it shone out again we were dashing by separate ways up the steep slope to the west ridge, but, strangely enough, the Mexican horseman with a follower or two had turned away from us and was chasing off somewhere out of sight. Up on top of the bluff, with Rex Krane and Aunty Boone, we watched and waited.
"Krane, you are an invalid and a fool. You'd better ride in the wagon with me," Bill Banney urged. "Mebby I am. Don't throw it up to me, but I'm no darned coward, and I'm foot-loose. It's my job to give the address of welcome over t'other side of this Mexican settlement." The tall, thin young man slouched his cap carelessly on his head and strode away toward the river.
He was not with us. When Rex Krane told his bride good-by up in the Clarenden home on the Missouri bluff, Mat had whispered one last request: "Look after Bev. He never sees danger for himself, nor takes anything seriously, least of all an enemy, whom he will befriend, and make a joke of it."
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