It's bad enough when it's ruinous to just my own commercial
business--but in cases like this, humanity is my business."
What a man he was--that Esmond Clarenden! They still say of him in
Kansas City that no sounder financier and no bigger-hearted humanitarian
ever walked the streets of that "Gateway to the Southwest" than the
brave little merchant-plainsman who builded for the generations that
should follow him.
"What will be the outcome, Uncle Esmond? Are we to lose all we have
gained out here?" I asked.
"Not if we are real Westerners. It's got to be stopped. The question
is, how soon," my uncle replied.
That night in a half-waking dream I remembered Aunty Boone's prophetic
greeting a few days before, and how her eyes had narrowed and grown dull
as she said, "One more stainin' of your hands 'fore you are through."
I had given six good years to army service--the years which young men
give to college and to establishing themselves in their life-work. But
the vision of the three men whom I had seen under the elm-tree at Fort
Leavenworth came back to me, and only one--the cavalry man--moved
westward now. I knew that I was dreaming, but I did not want to waken
till the vision of a fair face whose eyes looked into mine should come
to make my dream sweet and restful.
Pages:
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357