They made Steven sleep again for a few hours. It was decided to cross the mesa that night and to start from the western mountains in the morning, crossing another mesa to the river valley that lay beyond. Twenty-four hours later brought them to a fertile valley, where, it was decided, they would part. Don Tiburcio had decided to return to Santa Fe, after all, and Steven therefore determined to confide Doren to his care. Steven knew that it would please the Mexican greatly to be able to return the boy to his sister. He himself would continue on down to Mexico, where he would join the movement of Pedraza’s sympathizers about which Don Tiburcio had confided to him the details as they rode along together. Perhaps he would make toward the coast, and would fight, a soldier of fortune, with Santa Anna near the coast. From there he could return, across the Gulf to his home, should he survive. Don Tiburcio tried to discourage this determination. “Do you realize that only in companies do travelers find any safety on this trail? It is a three to four months’ journey to Chihuahua and you would travel alone.” “The trappers hunt alone for months at a time and survive for years.” Steven shrugged. “But not down through Chihuahua,” Don Anabel insisted. “If you must do it, however, cling close to the Cordilleras, for in the mountains there is always refuge.” Steven was now so removed by time and distance from all hope of the love of Consuelo that to plunge into wars that did not concern him seemed a fine thing. It never occurred to Steven that Consuelo had not meant exactly what she said. He pondered Don Tiburcio’s remark, that women did not always mean the firmest thing they said. He wondered if Don Tiburcio were returning with Doren because he wanted to see Hope Bragdon again, because he still had hopes of her, or to find out if the caravan had come with arms and ammunition. He proposed a rendezvous with Don Tiburcio in Vera Cruz six months from that date, but Don Tiburcio replied that he had an idea their meeting would be much sooner than that and not so far away. They parted, nevertheless, to go in opposite directions. Doren kissed Steven and clung to him, brushing away his tears. Doren had never spoken of his father but once, and when they had told him why Bragdon was not with them he had turned silently away, his lip quivering. That was all. He could remember nothing that had happened after they had gone up on the White Sands, and did not care to talk about the rest of the trip. He did say once to Steven, “My father thought that if a young boy was with a man Indians would not kill him. They would want to take the boy for an Indian brave when he grew up and they would let the father come along. Don Tiburcio told me so long ago when we were in Santa Fe, and that is why my father would not let me leave him.” And so they parted, waving Steven good-by to the south and hastening their own journey back to Santa Fe.