“You flatter me, Mr. Chadron, and the uniform of the United States army,” returned King, with barely covered contempt. “Suppose we allow events to 238 shape themselves in regard to Miss Chadron. She’ll hardly be entertaining marriage notions yet—after her recent experience.”
Chadron got up so quickly he overturned his chair.
“By God, sir! do you mean to intimate you wouldn’t have her after what she’s gone through? Well, I’ll put a bullet through any man that says—”
“Oh, hold yourself in, Chadron; there’s no call for this.”
King’s cold contempt would have been like a lash to a man of finer sensibilities than Saul Chadron. As it was, Frances could hear the heavy cattleman breathing like a mad bull.
“When you talk about my little girl, King, go as easy as if you was carryin’ quicksilver in a dish. You told me she was all right a little while ago, and I tell you I don’t like—”
“Miss Chadron was as bright as a redbird when I saw her this afternoon,” King assured him, calmly. “She has suffered no harm at the hands of Macdonald and his outlaws.”
“He’ll dance in hell for that trick before the sun goes down on another day!”
“His big play for sympathy fell flat,” said King, with a contemptuous laugh. “There wasn’t much of a crowd on hand when he arrived at the ranch.”
Silence. A little shifting of feet, a growl from Chadron, and a curse.