CHAPTER XVIII
THE TRAIL OF THE COFFEE
“You done right to come to the mission after me, for I’d ride to the gatepost of hell to turn a trick agin Saul Chadron!”
Banjo’s voice had a quaver of earnestness in it that needed no daylight to enforce. The pitchy night made a bobbing blur of him as he rode his quick-stepping little horse at Frances Landcraft’s side.
“Yes, you owe him one,” Frances admitted.
“And I’ll pay him before mornin’ or it won’t be no fault of mine. That there little ten-cent-size major he’d ’a’ stopped you if he’d ’a’ known you was goin’, don’t you suppose?”
“I’m sure he would have, Mr. Gibson.”
“Which?” said Banjo.
“Banjo,” she corrected.