"Where the devil--I mean the holy saints and angels, did you come from?" Beverly cried, in delight, at seeing a familiar face. "I came here to do Father Josef some service. He has been good to me. I bring a message." She reached out her hand with a letter. Beverly took the letter and the hand. He put the message in his pocket, but he did not release the hand. "That's something for Jondo. I'll see that he gets it, all right. Tell me all about yourself now, Little Run-Off-and-Never-Come-Back." It was Beverly's way to make people love him, because he loved people. It was late at last, too late for prudence, older heads would agree, when these two separated, and my cousin came to pounce upon me in the hotel court to tell me of his adventure. "And I learned a lot of things," he added. "That Indian in the Plaza to-day is Santan, or Satan, dead sure; and you'd never guess, but he's the same redskin--Apache red--that was out at Agua Fria that time we were there long ago. The very same little sneak! He followed us clear to Bent's Fort. He put up a good story to Jondo, but I'll bet he was somebody's tool. You know what a critter he was there. But listen now! He's got his eye on Little Blue Flower. He's plain wild Injun, and she's a Saint Ann's scholar. Isn't that presumption, though! She's afraid of him, too. This country fairly teams with romance, doesn't it?" "Bev, don't you ever take anything seriously?" I asked. "Well, I guess I do. I found that Santan, dead loaded with jealousy, sneaking after us in the dark to-night when I took Little Blue Flower for a stroll. I took him seriously, and told him exactly where he'd find me next time he was looking for me. That I'd stand him up against La Garita and make a sieve out of him," Beverly said, carelessly. "Beverly Clarenden, you are a fool to get that Apache's ill-will," I cried. "I may be, but I'm no coward," Beverly retorted. "Oh, here comes Jondo. I've got a letter from Father Josef. Invitation to some churchly dinner, I expect." Beverly threw the letter into Jondo's hands and turned to leave us. "Wait a minute!" Jondo commanded, and my cousin halted in surprise. "When did you get this? I should have had it two hours ago," Jondo said, sternly. "Father Josef must have waited a long time up at the church door for his messenger to come back and bring him word from me." Beverly frankly told him the truth, as from childhood we had learned was the easiest way out of trouble.