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Updated: April 30, 2025
"She's as sweet as locus' blooms," Mrs. Chadron declared, unstintingly. "But she's kind of distant; nothing friendly and warm-hearted like your little Nola, mom." "She's a little cool to strangers, but when she knows a body she comes out." Banjo nodded, drawing little whispers of melody from his fiddle-strings by fingering them against the neck.
Chadron fell back from her a step, his eyes staring, his mouth open, his hand lifted as if to silence her. He stood so a moment, casting his wild look around, fearful that somebody else had heard her passionate denunciation. "What in the hell do you mean?" he asked, crouching as he spoke, his teeth clenched, his voice smothered in his throat. "I mean that I know you're a murderer and worse!
He sat grinding his bridle-reins in his gloved hand, as if he had the bones of the nesters in his palm at last. "You will proceed, with the rescued party under guard, to Meander," continued Major King to his officer, speaking as if he had plans for his own employment aside from the expedition. "There, Mr. Chadron will furnish transportation to return them whence they came."
"Sir, I can sympathize with you in your unfortunate business, but if I had millions of my own at stake under similar conditions I would be powerless to employ, on my own initiative, the forces of the United States army to drive those brigands away." Chadron looked at him hard, his hat on his head, where it had remained all the time, his eyes staring in unspeakable surprise.
Chadron was impatient; he looked at his watch. "Well, I'd be purty sure to make a speech from the gallers I always intended to and lay everything open that ever took place between me and you and the rest of them big fellers. There's a newspaper feller in Cheyenne that wants to make a book out of m' life, with m' pict're in the inside of the lid, to be sold when I'm dead.
Frances had heard the cattleman's loud demand for instant audience. Now the maid was explaining in temporizing tones. "The colonel he's busy with military matters this early in the day, sir, and nobody ever disturbs him. He don't see nobody but the officers. If you'll step in and wait " "The officers can wait!" Chadron said, in loud, assertive voice that made the servant shiver. "Where's he at?"
The guns were gone. Saul Chadron had removed them, foreseeing that they might stand her in the place of a friend. She lit a lamp and began a search of the lower part of the house for arms. There was not a single piece left in any of the places where they commonly were a familiar sight. Even the shotgun was gone from over the kitchen door.
Nola's light chatter rose out of the sound of the home-coming like a bright thread in a garment, and the genteel voice of Major King blended into the bustle of welcome with its accustomed suave placidity. Frances felt downcast and lonely as she listened to them, and the joyous preparations for refreshing the travelers which Mrs. Chadron was pushing forward.
"That's about the size of it," Chadron nodded, frowning sternly. "Oh, it seems impossible that anybody could be so heartless and low!" "A man that'd burn brands is low enough to go past anything you could imagine in that little head of yours, Miss Frances. Do you mind runnin' in and tellin' no, here she comes." "Couldn't this trouble between you and the homesteaders " "Homesteaders!
But they're usurping the public domain, and they'll overreach themselves one of these days. Chadron has title to this homestead, but that's every inch of land that he's got a legal right over. In spite of that, he lays the claim of ownership to the land fifteen miles north of here, where I've nested. He's been telling me for more than two years that I must clear out."
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