Before Benson went to bed that night he wrote to Virginia, and arranged his purchases, stowing them away in the canvas packs he had bought for that purpose; then he undressed and stretched himself out on the bed.
It was barely dawn, and he seemed to have slept but an hour or so, when he heard Rodney pounding on his door, bidding him be stirring. He dressed by candle-light, and hurried downstairs, where he found the trader and his two Mexican packers already at breakfast.
In the inn yard their horses were being saddled and the heavy packs with which the trader's mules were to be freighted were ready to be strapped to the backs of the animals.
When they had finished their breakfast, Benson followed Rodney into the yard. As he swung himself into the saddle the lawyer felt he was about to turn his back on the decorous, and, as he would have expressed it, the civilized life of the East, and he gave a last thought to his clients, and hoped the judge would do his best by them.
But he had no sooner left the yard than he dismounted hastily, for there, hurrying up the street, was the captain and Mrs. Gibbs.
“She would come, Jake!” panted the captain. “I told her you wouldn't expect it, but she would come!”
“It was very kind of you,” said Benson, “but I don't know that I deserved it.”
“Law!” cried Mrs. Gibbs briskly. “Do you think I'd let you go off like this without seeing the last of you?” and she bestowed a vigorous embrace upon him.
“I fear I'm keeping them waiting,” said Benson. “Good-bye, Gibbs—good-bye, Julia—God bless you both! I shall see you when I return. Good-bye.” He kissed Mrs. Gibbs, shook hands warmly with the captain, and mounted his horse again.
Now that he was really going, and the parting over with, Mrs. Gibbs wept copiously, while the captain endeavoured to console her.