o the open
door, through which the dismounted troopers could be seen standing
back a respectful distance in the shaft of light that fell through it.
At his appearance there, at the sight of that old battered hat and
familiar uniform, the men lifted a cheer. Little tyrant that he was,
hard-handed and exacting, they knew him for a soldier and a man. They
knew, too, that their old colonel had not been given a square deal in
that business, and they were glad to see him back.

The colonel acknowledged the greeting with a salute, his old head held
prouder at that moment than he ever had carried it in his life.

"Sergeant Snow!" he called.

The sergeant hurried forward, stepped out into the light, came up at
salute with the alacrity of a man who found pleasure in the service to
be demanded of him.

"Bring a detail of six men into this room, disarm Major King, and
place him under guard."

The colonel wheeled again to face Chadron and King.

"I am not under the obligation of explaining my authority to enter
this house to any man," said he, "but for your satisfaction, madam,
and in deference to you, Miss Chadron, I will tell you that I was
recalled by the department on my way to Washington and sent back to
resume command of Fort Shakie."

Chadron was biting his mustache like an angry horse mouthing the bit.
In the background a captain and two lieutenants, who had arrived with
Chadron and King, stood doubtful, it seemed, of their part in that
last act of the cattleman's rough melodrama.

Frances had returned to Macdonald's side, fearful that the excitement
might bring on a hemorrhage in his wound. She stood soothing him with
low, soft, and unnecessary words, unconscious of their tenderness,
perhaps, in the stress of her anxiety. But that they were appreciated
was evident in the slow-stealing smile that came over his worn, rugged
face like a breaking sun.

Major King surrendered his arms to the sergeant with a petulant, lofty
shrug of his shoulders.

"I'm not through with you yet, you old cuss!" said Chadron. "I never
started out to git a man but what I got him, and I'll git you.
I'll--"

Chadron's voice caught in his throat. He stood there looking toward
the outside door, drawing his breath like a man suffocating.
Stealthily his hand moved toward his revolver, while his wife and
daughter, even Frances, struck by a thrill of some undefined terror,
leaned and looked as Chadron was looking, toward the open door.

A t