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Updated: September 19, 2025
Frances had it in mind to suggest some milder remedy, but held her peace, feeling that if Banjo survived the treatment he surely would be in no danger from his hurt. The door of Nola's room was open as Frances passed, and there was a depression in the counterpane which told where the lost girl's mother had knelt beside it and wet it with her tears.
When she had finished the relation of Nola's ravishment, he sat with head drooped in dusty silence a moment. Then he looked her in the eyes with such a steady blaze of indignation that she felt her own rage kindle to meet it.
But she saw that he was there, indeed, as she went out to give Mrs. Mathews farewell at the door. Nola came pattering to her as she turned back in the house again to find Maggie, for her young appetite was clamoring. Nola's eyes were round, her face set in an expression of shocked protest. "Isn't this an outrage, this high-handed business of Major King's?"
Two shots in that quiet room, one following the other so closely that they seemed but a divided one; two shots, delivered so quickly after Nola's awful scream that no man could whip up his shocked nerves to obedience fast enough to interpose. Saul Chadron pitched forward, his hands clutching, his arms outspread, and fell dead, his face groveling upon the floor.
Macdonald did not share her case of mind as he stood with his eye to the squint-hole that he had bored beside the rotting jamb. "How did you find her? where was she?" she asked, her thoughts more on the marvel of Nola's return than her own present danger.
But she was beginning to doubt the sincerity of Nola's repentance. There, under the shadow of her bereavement, she could think of nothing but the hopelessness of love. "But I didn't want you to come up just to pet me and be good to me, Frances I wanted to give you something."
Pity for herself brought Nola's tears gushing again, and her choking sobs into her throat. Her voice was hoarse from her lamentations; there seemed to be only sorrow for her in every theme. Frances held her shivering slim body in her supporting arm, and Nola's face bent down upon her shoulder. It seemed that her renunciation was complete, her regeneration undeniable.
"For me, certainly." She had no need to ask him whence the messenger came. She could see the horsemen returning to the ranchhouse by the river in the gray morning light, in the triumph of their successful hunt. Alan Macdonald had fallen. It had been Nola's hand that had dispatched this evidence of what she could but guess to be the disloyalty of Frances to her betrothed.
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