up, the thought of him, and the longing for him,
without regret, Frances; I can't!"

"I wouldn't have you do it. I want you to have regret, and pain--not
too deep nor too lasting, but some corrective pain. Now, go to
sleep."

Frances pressed her back to the pillow, and touched her head with
light caress.

"Frances," she whispered, a new gladness dawning in her voice, "I'll
go and see those poor people, and try to help them--if they'll let me.
Maybe we _were_ wrong--partly, anyhow."

"That's better," Frances encouraged.

"And I'll try not to care for him, or think about him, even one little
bit."

Frances bent and kissed her. Nola's arms clung to her neck a little,
holding her while she whispered in her ear.

"For I'm going to be different, I'm going to be good--abso-_lutely_
good!"

CHAPTER XXIV

BANJO FACES INTO THE WEST

"You don't tell me? So the old colonel's got what his heart's been
pinin' for many a year. Well, well!"

Mrs. Chadron was beside her window in her favored rocker again, less
assertive of bulk in her black dress, not so florid of face, and with
lines of sadness about her mouth and eyes. A fire was snapping in the
chimney, for the gray sky was driving a bitter wind, and the first
snowflakes of winter were straying down.

Banjo Gibson was before the fire, his ears red, his cheeks redder,
just in from a brisk ride over from the post. His instruments lay
beside him on the floor, and he was limbering his fingers close to the
blaze.

"Yes, he's a brigamadier now," said he.

"Brigadier-General Landcraft," said she, musingly, looking away into
the grayness of the day; "well, maybe he deserves it. Fur as I'm
concerned, he's welcome to it, and I'm glad for Frances' sake."

"He's vinegar and red pepper, that old man is! Takin' him up both
sides and down the middle, as the feller said, I reckon the
colonel--or brigamadier, I guess they'll call him now--he's about as
good as they make 'em. I always did have a kind of a likin' for that
old feller--he's something like me."

"It was nice of you to come over and tell me the news, anyhow, Banjo;
you're always as obligin' and thoughtful as you can be."

"It's always been a happiness and a pleasure, mom, and I've come a
good many times with news, sad and joyful, to your door. But I reckon
it'll be many a long day before I come ridin' to Alamito with news
ag'in; many a long, long day."

"What do you mean, Banjo? You ain't goin'--"

"To C