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McCarter, Margaret Hill, 1860-1938

"Vanguards of the Plains"

Louis trains, had fallen
suddenly ill; drinking-water had been warm and muddy; and, most of all,
the consciousness of wide-spread opposition to Jondo's strict ruling
where there were no signs of danger made a very ugly-spirited group of
men who sat down together to eat our evening meal. Bets were openly
made that we wouldn't see a hostile redskin this side of Santa Fe.
Covert sneers pointed many comments, and grim silence threatened more
than everything else. Jondo's face was set, but there was a calmness
about his words and actions, and even the most rebellious that night
knew he was least afraid of any man among us.
At midnight he wakened me. "I want you to help me, Gail," he said. "The
Kiowas will gather for us at Pawnee Rock. They missed us there once
because they were looking for a big train, and it was there we took
their captive girl. The boys are ready to mutiny to-night. I count on
you to stand by me."
Stand by Jondo! In my helpless babyhood, my orphaned childhood, my
sturdy growing years toward young manhood, Jondo had been father,
mother, brother, playmate, guardian angel. I would have walked on
red-hot coals for his sake.
"I want you to slip away to-night, when Rex and Bev are on guard, and
find out what's over that ridge to the north.


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