Part 19 (1/2)

No matter for the justice of the homesteaders' cause, and the sincerity of their leader, neither of which she doubted or questioned, the weight of numbers and resources would be on the side of the cattlemen. It could result only in the homesteaders being driven from their insecure holdings after the sacrifice of many lives. If she could see Macdonald, and appeal to him to put down this foolish, even though well-intended strife, something might result.

It was an inconsequential turmoil, it seemed to her, there in that sequestered land, for a man like Alan Macdonald to squander his life upon. If he stood against the forces which Chadron had gone to summon, he would be slain, and the abundant promise of his life wasted like water on the sand.

”I'll go with you, Nola,” she said, rising from the table in quick decision.

CHAPTER XII

”THE RUSTLERS!”

”I've stood up for that man, and I've stood by him,” said Banjo Gibson, ”but when a man shoots a friend of my friend he ain't no friend of mine. I'm done with him; I won't never set a boot-heel inside of his door ag'in.”

Banjo was in Mrs. Chadron's south sitting-room, with its friendly fireplace and homely things, including Mrs. Chadron and her apparently interminable sock. Only now it was a gray sock, designed not for the mighty foot of Saul, but for Chance Dalton, lying on his back in the bunkhouse in a fever growing out of the handling that he had gone through at Macdonald's place.

Banjo had arrived at the ranch the previous evening. He was sitting now with his fiddle on his knee, having gone through the repertory most favored by his hostess, with the exception of ”Silver Threads.”

That was an afternoon melody, Banjo maintained, and one would have strained his friends.h.i.+p and shaken his respect if he had insisted upon the musician putting bow to it in the morning hours.

”Yes,” sighed Mrs. Chadron, ”it was bad enough when he just shot cowboys, but when it come to Chance we felt real grieved. Chance he ain't much to look at, but he's worth his weight in gold on the ranch.”

”Busted his right arm all to pieces, they tell me?”

”Right here.” Mrs. Chadron marked across her wrist with her knitting needle, and shook her head in heavy sadness.

”That'll kind of spile him, won't it?”

”Well, Saul says it won't make so much difference about him not havin'

the use of his hand on that side if it don't break his nerve. A man loses confidence in himself, Saul says, most always when he loses the hand or arm he's slung his gun with all his life. He takes the notion that everybody's quicker'n he is, and just kind of slinges back and drops out of the game.”

”Do you expect Saul he'll come back here with them soldiers he went after?”

”I expect he'll more'n likely order 'em right up the river to clear them rustlers out before he stops or anything,” she replied, in high confidence.

”The gall of them low-down brand-burners standin' up to fight a man on his own land!” Banjo's indignation could not have been more pointed if he had been a lord of many herds himself.

”There comes them blessed girls!” reported Mrs. Chadron from her station near the window. Banjo crossed over to see, his fiddle held to his bosom like an infant. Nola and Frances were nearing the gate.

”That colonel girl she's a up-setter, ain't she?” Banjo admired.

”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.

”I noticed when she smiles she seems to change,” he said. ”It's like puttin' bow to the strings. A fiddle's a glum kind of a thing till you wake it up; she's that way, I reckon.”

”Well, git ready for dinner--or lunch, as Nola calls it--they'll be starved by this time, ridin' all the way from the post in this chilly wind. I'm mighty afraid we're goin' to have some weather before long.”