“Nola—Nola!” he gasped.
Mrs. Chadron, already beside him, laid hold of him now and shook him.
“Tell it, you little devil—tell it!” she screamed.
Frances, with gentler hand, drew Banjo from her.
“What’s happened to Nola?” she asked.
“The rustlers!” he said, his voice falling away in horror.
“The rustlers!” Mrs. Chadron groaned, her arms lifted above her head. She ran in wild distraction into the dining-room, now back to the chimney to 159 take down a rifle that hung in its case on a deer prong over the mantel.
“Nola, Nola!” she called, running out into the garden. Her wild voice came back from there in a moment, crying her daughter’s name in agony.
Banjo had sunk to the floor, his battered face held in his hands.
“My God! they took her!” he groaned. “The rustlers, they took her, and I couldn’t lift a hand!”