"And Frosty will have to go with me as far as Osage.

We can make it by to-morrow noon--through King's Highway.

I mean to get that early afternoon train." The last sentence I sent back over my shoulder, on my way to the house.
Dad sick--dying?
I cursed the miles between us.

Frisco was a long, a terribly long, way off; it seemed in another world.
By then I was on my way back to the corral, with a decent suit of clothes on and a few things stuffed into a bag, and with a roll of money--money that I had earned--in my pocket.

I couldn't have been ten minutes, but it seemed more.