“Yes, he stole her to make that play!” Chadron said, either still deceived, or still stubborn, but in any case full of bitterness.
“I’ll never believe that, father!” Nola spoke braver than Frances had expected of her. “But friend or enemy, common charity, common decency, would—”
“Common hell! Git away from in front of that door! I’m goin’ to throw his damned carcass out of this house—I can’t breathe with that man in it!”
“Oh, Saul, Saul! don’t throw the poor boy out!” Mrs. Chadron begged.
“Will I have to jerk you away from that door by the hair of the head? Let me by, I tell you!”
Frances ran down stairs blindly, feeling that the moment for her interference, weak as it might be, and ineffectual, had come. Now Major King was speaking, his voice sounding as if he had placed himself between Chadron and the door.
“I think you’d better listen to your wife and daughter, Chadron. The fellow can’t harm anybody—let him alone.”
“No matter for the past, he’s our guest, father, he’s—”
“Hell! Haven’t they told you fool women the straight of it yet? I tell you I had to shoot him to save my own life—he was pullin’ a gun on me, but I beat him to it!”