are some forces against them already."

"Well, you are going to a perilous place, over a most perilous trail, in
a most perilous time of national affairs, to meet such treacherously
villainous men as New Mexico offers in her market-places right now? And
all for the sake of the commerce of the plains? Why do you take such
chances to do business with such people, Clarenden?"

Esmond Clarenden had been staring at the burning logs in the big
fireplace during this conversation. He turned now and faced the young
army officer squarely as he said in that level tone that we children had
learned long ago was final:

"Colonel, I'd go straight to hell and do business with the devil himself
if I had any business dealings with him."

The colonel's face fell. Slowly he relighted his cigar, and leaned back
again in his chair, and with that diplomacy that covers a skilful
retreat he said, smilingly:

"If any man west of the Missouri River ever could do that it would be
you, Clarenden. By the holy Jerusalem, the military lost one grand
commander when you chose a college instead of West Point, and the East
lost one well-bred gentleman from its circles of commerce and culture
when you elected to do business on the old Santa Fé Trail instead of
Broadway. But I reckon the West will need just such men as you long
after the frontier fort has become a central point in the country's
civilized area. And, blast you, Clarenden, blast your very picture! No
man can help liking you. Not even the devil if he had the chance. Not
one man in ten thousand would dare to make that trip right now. You've