as Little Blue Flower turned away, but I am sure she caught his words
and saw his smile.

We would have called to her, but Rex Krane evidently did not hear her,
for he neither halted nor turned his head. So, remembering our command
to be quiet, we passed on.

"I guess we are about to the end of this 'pure water' resort. It's
gettin' late. Let's go back home now," our leader said, dispiritedly. So
we turned back toward Santa Fé.

At the narrow opening where we had seen Little Blue Flower the young
Indian boy stood upright and motionless, and again he gave no sign of
seeing us.

"Let's just run over to that church a minute while we are here. Looks
interestin' over there," Rex suggested.

I wondered if he could have heard Little Blue Flower, and thought her
suggestion was a good one, or if this was a mere whim of his.

The church, a crude mission structure, stood some distance from the
trail. As we entered a priest came forward to meet us.

"Can I serve you?" he asked.

The voice was clear and sweet--the same voice that we had heard out
beyond the arroyo southeast of town, the same face, too, that we had
seen, with the big dark eyes full of fire. Involuntarily I recalled how
his hand had pointed to the west when he had pronounced a blessing that