“Good-bye, Banjo,” she murmured, looking dimly toward the farthest hill; “adios!”
CHAPTER XXV
“HASTA LUEGO”
Frances came into the room as fresh as a morning-glory. Her cheeks were like peonies, and the fire of her youth and strength danced in her happy eyes. Macdonald rose to greet her, tall, gaunt, and pale from the drain that his wound had made upon his life. He had been smoking before the fireplace, and he reached up now to put his pipe away on the manteltree.
“And how are things at the post?” he asked, as she stood before him in her saddle dress, her sombrero pressing down her hair, her quirt swinging by its thong from her gloved wrist.
Before replying she intercepted the hand that was reaching to stow the pipe away, pressed it firmly back, inserted the stem between his close lips.
“In this family, the man smokes,” she said.
His slow smile, which was reward enough to her for all the trouble that it took to wake it, twinkled in his eyes like someone coming to the window with a light.
“Then the piece of a man will go ahead and smoke,” said he, drawing a chair up beside his own and leading her to it with gentle pressure upon her hand.