“Want it for yourself?”
Benson shook his head.
“Well, present it to her as coming from me, will you?”
“Certainly,” and Benson slipped the blade back into the sheath, and the sheath into his pocket. Gibbs watched him with a smile that constantly widened.
“So you are going across the plains to look for Stephen Landray?” he observed drily.
“Yes.”
“Interested in finding any of the others of the party?” asked the captain.
“I am as much interested in the others as I am in him,” said Benson quickly.
“Oh, no you ain't, you don't give more than a casual damn about the others. I can tell you why you're going—no—you don't want me to? Well, I'll tell you anyhow; she asked you to.” He shook his finger playfully in Benson's face. “Oh, fie—fie, my dear young friend, and you would have me think your motive purely disinterested.”
Benson shrugged his shoulders, and said rather sternly: