can't be seen," he
said.

"Where are you goin', Banjo, with the country riled up this way, and
you li'ble to be shot down any place by them rustlers?" Mrs. Chadron
asked, looking at him appealingly, her apron ready to stem her gushing
tears.

"I'll go over to the mission and stay with Mother Mathews till I'm
healed up. I'll be welcome in that house; I'd be welcome there if I
was blind, and had m' back broke and couldn't touch a string."

"Yes, you would, Banjo," Mrs. Chadron nodded.

"She's married to a Injun, but she's as white as a angel's robe."

"She's a good soul, Banjo, as good as ever lived."

Frances took advantage of Banjo's trip to the reservation to send a
note to her father apprising him of the tragedy at the ranch. Banjo
buttoned it inside his coat, mounted his horse, and rode away.

Mrs. Chadron watched him out of sight with lamentations.

"I wish he'd 'a' stayed--it 'd 'a' been all right with Saul; Saul
didn't mean any harm by what he said. He's the tender-heartedest man
you ever saw, he wouldn't hurt a body's feelin's for a farm."

"I don't believe Banjo is a man to hold a grudge very long," Frances
told her, looking after the retreating musician, her thoughts on him
but hazily, but rather on a little highland bonnet with a bullet hole
in its crown.

"No, he ain't," Mrs. Chadron agreed, plucking up a little brightness.
"But it's a bad sign, a mighty bad sign, when a friend parts from you
with a hurt in his heart that way, and leaves your house in a huff and
feels put out like Banjo does."

"Yes," said Frances, "we let them go away from us too often that way,
with sore hearts that even a little word might ease."

She spoke with such wistful regret that the older woman felt its note
through her own deep gloom. She groped out, tears blinding her, until
her hand found her young friend's, and then she clasped it, and stood
holding it, no words between them.

CHAPTER XV

ONE ROAD

Twenty-four hours after Banjo's departure a messenger arrived at the
ranchhouse. It was one of the cowboys attached to the ranch, and he
came with his right arm in a sling. He was worn, and beaten out by
long hours in the saddle and the pain of his wound.

He said they had news of Nola, and that Chadron sent word that she
would be home before another night passed. This intelligence sent Mrs.
Chadron off to bedroom and kitchen to make preparations for her
reception and restoration.

As she left the room