"I don't know," Beverly replied, with a yawn, "but I'm thinking that
after we see all the folks, and play with Mat's little boys awhile, and
eat Aunty Boone's good stuff till we begin to get flabby-cheeked and
soft-muscled, and our jaws crack from smiling so much when we just
naturally want to get out and cuss somebody--about that time I'll be
ready to run away, if I have to turn Dog Indian to do it."
"There's a new Clarenden store at a place called Burlingame out in
Kansas now, somewhere on the old trail. Maybe it will be far enough away
to let you get tamed gradually to civil life there, if Uncle Esmond
thinks you are worth it," I suggested.
"Rex Krane is to take charge of that as soon as we get home. Yonder are
the spires and minarets and domes of Kansas City. Put on your company
grin, Gail," Beverly replied, as we began to run by the huts and cabins
forming the outworks of the little city at the Kaw's mouth.
Six years had made many changes in the place, but the same old welcome
awaited us, and we became happy-hearted boys again as we climbed the
steep road up the bluff to the Clarenden house. On the wide veranda
overlooking the river everybody except one--Bill Banney, sleeping under
the wind-caressed sod beside the Cimarron spring--was waiting to greet
us.
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