Armitage, intent with his own affairs, had not looked at Claiborne for several minutes, but he glanced at him now as though just recalling a duty.
“Lord, man! I didn’t mean to throw you into the road! There’s a clean bed in there that you’re welcome to—go in and get some sleep.”
“I’m not going into the valley,” roared Claiborne, “and I’m not going to bed; I’m going with you, damn you!”
“But bless your soul, man, you can’t go with me; you are as ignorant as a babe of my affairs, and I’m terribly busy and have no time to talk to you. Oscar, that coffee scalded me. Claiborne, if only I had time, you know, but under existing circumstances—”
“I repeat that I’m going with you. I don’t know why I’m in this row, and I don’t know what it’s all about, but I believe what you say about it; and I want you to understand that I can’t be put in a bag like a prize potato without taking a whack at the man who put me there.”
“But if you should get hurt, Claiborne, it would spoil my plans. I never could face your family again,” said Armitage earnestly. “Take your horse and go.”
“I’m going back to the valley when you do.”
“Humph! Drink your coffee! Oscar, bring out the rest of the artillery and give Captain Claiborne his choice.”
He picked up his sword again, flung the blade from the scabbard with a swish, and cut the air with it, humming a few bars of a German drinking-song. Then he broke out with:
“I do not think a braver gentleman,
More active-valiant or more valiant-young,
More daring or more bold, is now alive
To grace this latter age with noble deeds.
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry;—