Mrs. Chadron was asleep when he entered the living-room where Frances was keeping lonely watch before the chimney fire.
“What’s happened?” she asked, hastening to meet him.
Chadron stood there gray and dusty, his big hat down hard on his head, his black eyes shooting inquiry into the shadowed room.
“Where is she?” he whispered.
“Upstairs, asleep—I’ve only just been able to persuade her to lie down and close her eyes.”
“Well, there’s no use to wake her up for bad news.”
“You haven’t found Nola?”
“I know right where she is. I could put my hand on her if I could reach her.”
“Then why—?”
“Hell!” said Chadron, bursting into a fire of passion, “why can’t I fly like an eagle? Young woman, I’ve got to tell you I’ve been beat and tricked for the first time in my life! They’ve got my men hemmed in, I tell you—they’ve got ’em shut up in a cañon as tight as if they was nailed in their coffins!”