he hide and hair of 'em!"

"Couldn't it be settled without all this fighting and killing?" she
went on, pressing her point.

"It's all over now but the shoutin'," said he. "There's only one way
to handle a rustler, Miss Frances, and that's to salt his hide."

"I'd be willing--I'd be glad--to go up there myself, alone, and take
any message you might send," she offered. "I think they'd listen to
reason, even to leaving the country if you want them to, rather than
try to stand against a ga--force like this."

"You can't understand our side of it, Miss Frances,"--Chadron spoke
impatiently, reaching out for the bundle that his wife was bringing
while she was yet two rods away--"for you ain't been robbed and
wronged by them nesters like we have. You've got to live it to know
what it means, little lady. We've argued with 'em till we've used up
all our words, but their fences is still there. Now we're goin' to
clear 'em out."

"But Macdonald seemed hurt when I asked him how much money they wanted
you to pay as Nola's ransom," she said.

"He's deep, and he's tricky--too deep and too slick for you." Chadron
gathered up his reins, leaned over and whispered: "Don't say anything
about that Thorn yarn to her"--a sideways jerk of the head toward his
wife--"her trouble's deep enough without stirrin' it."

Chadron had the bundle now, and Mrs. Chadron was helping him tie it
behind his saddle, shaking her head sadly as she handled the
belongings of her child with gentle touch. Tears were running down her
cheeks, but her usually ready words seemed dead upon her tongue.

From the direction of the barn a little commotion moved forward among
the horsemen, like a wave before a breeze. Banjo Gibson appeared on
his horse as the last thong was tied about Nola's bundle, his hat
tilted more than its custom to spare the sore place over his eye.

The cowboys looked at his gaudy trappings with curious eyes. Chadron
gave him a short word of greeting, and bent to kiss his wife
good-bye.

"I'm with you in this here thing, Saul," said Banjo; "I'll ride to
hell's back door to help you find that little girl!"

Chadron slewed in his saddle with an ugly scowl.

"We don't want any banjo-pickers on this job, it's men's work!" he
said.

Banjo seemed to droop with humiliation. Chuckles and derisive words
were heard among Chadron's train. The little musician hung his
bandaged head.

"Oh, you ortn't be hard on Banjo, he means well," Mrs. Chadron