We were all together in the deserted dining-room on our first evening in
Santa Fé when the man whom I had seen on the Plaza strolled leisurely
in. He sat down at one of the farthest tables from us, and his eyes,
glistening like blue-black steel, were fixed on us.

Once at Fort Leavenworth I had watched in terror as a bird fluttered
helplessly toward a still, steel-eyed snake holding it in thrall. And
just at the moment when its enemy was ready to strike, Jondo had
happened by and shot the snake's head off. The same terror possessed me
now, and I began half-consciously to long for Jondo.

In the midst of new sights I had hardly thought of him since he had left
us out beyond the big arroyo. He had come into town at dusk, but soon
after supper he had disappeared. His face was very pale, and his eyes
had a strange look that never left them again. Something was different
in Jondo from that day, but it did not change his gentle nature toward
his fellow-men. During our short stay in Santa Fé we hardly saw him at
all. We children were too busy with other things to ask questions, and
everybody but Rex Krane was too busy to be questioned. Having nothing
else to do, Rex became our chaperon, as Uncle Esmond must have foreseen
he would be when he measured the young man in Independence on the day we
left there.

To-night Esmond Clarenden, smiling and good-natured, paid no heed to the
sharp eyes of this stranger fixed on him.

"What's the matter now, little weather-vane? You are always first to
sense a coming change," he declared.