“I’ll have to be saddlin’ up, mom,” said he, his own voice thick, “and I’ll say adios to you now.”
“Good-bye, Banjo, and may God bless you in that country you’re goin’ to so fur away from the friends you used to know!”
Banjo’s throat moved as he gulped his sorrow. “I’ll not come back in the house, but I’ll wave you good-bye from the gate,” said he.
“I had hopes you might change your mind, Banjo,” she said, as she took his hand and held it a little while.
“If I could’a’got to somebody’s heart that I’ve pined for many a day, I would’a’changed my mind, mom. But it wasn’t to be.”
“It wasn’t to be, Banjo,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t think she’ll ever marry—she’s changed, she’s so changed!”
“Well, adios to you, mom, and the best of luck.”
“Adios, Banjo, boy; good-bye!”
She waited at the window for him to pass the gate. He appeared there leading his horse, and bent to examine the girths before putting foot to the stirrup. She hoped that he was coming back, to tell her that he could not find it in his heart to go. But no; the change that was coming over the cattle country was like an unfriendly wind to the little troubadour. His way was staked into the west where new ties 321 waited him, where new hearts were to be won. He mounted, turned to the window, waved his hat and rode away.
Mrs. Chadron sat in her old place and watched him until he passed beyond the last hill line and out of her sight. Her last glimpse of him had been in water lines through tears. Now she reached for her basket and took out her unfinished knitting. Broken off there, like her own life it was, she thought, never to be completed as designed. The old days were done; the promise of them only partly fulfilled. She was bidding farewell to more than Banjo, parting with more than friends.