“But wait a bit afore you an’ me gits too busy talkin’.  Ye see, I’m with Major Banion, yan, an’ the Missoury train.  We’re in camp ten mile below.  We wouldn’t mix with these people no more—­only one way—­but I reckon the Major’s got some business o’ his own that brung him up.  I rid with him.  We met the boy an’ ast him to bring us in.  We wasn’t sure how friendly our friends is feelin’ towards him an’ me.”

He grinned grimly.  As he spoke they both heard a woman’s shrilling, half greeting, half terror.  Wingate turned in time to see his daughter fall to the ground in a sheer faint.

Will Banion slipped from his saddle and hurried forward.

CHAPTER XXVII

TWO WHO LOVED

Jesse Wingate made a swift instinctive motion toward the revolver which swung at his hip.  But Jed sprang between him and Banion.

“No!  Hold on, Pap—­stop!” cried Jed.  “It’s all right.  I brought him in.

“As a prisoner?”

“I am no man’s prisoner, Captain Wingate,” said Banion’s deep voice.

His eyes were fixed beyond the man to whom he spoke.  He saw Molly, to whom her mother now ran, to take the white face in her own hands.  Wingate looked from one to the other.

“Why do you come here?  What do I owe you that you should bring more trouble, as you always have?  And what do you owe me?”

“I owe you nothing!” said Banion.  “You owe me nothing at all.  I have not traveled in your train, and I shall not travel in it.  I tell you once more, you’re wrong in your beliefs; but till I can prove that I’ll not risk any argument about it.”

“Then why do you come to my camp now?”

“You should know.”

“I do know.  It’s Molly!”

“It’s Molly, yes.  Here’s a letter from her.  I found it in the cabin at Ash Hollow.  Your friend Woodhull could have killed me—­we passed him just now.  Jed could have killed me—­you can now; it’s easy.  But that wouldn’t change me.  Perhaps it wouldn’t change her.”

“You come here to face me down?”

“No, sir.  I know you for a brave man, at least.  I don’t believe I’m a coward—­I never asked.  But I came to see Molly, because here she’s asked it.  I don’t know why.  Do you want to shoot me like a coyote?”

“No.  But I ask you, what do I owe you?”

“Nothing.  But can we trade?  If I promise to leave you with my train?”

“You want to steal my girl!”

“No!  I want to earn her—­some day.”

The old Roman before him was a man of quick and strong decisions.  The very courage of the young man had its appeal.

“At least you’ll eat,” said he.  “I’d not turn even a black Secesh away hungry—­not even a man with your record in the Army.”

“No, I’ll not eat with you.”

“Wait then!  I’ll send the girl pretty soon, if you are here by her invitation.  I’ll see she never invites you again.”