“Busted his right arm all to pieces, they tell me?”
“Right here.” Mrs. Chadron marked across her wrist with her knitting needle, and shook her head in heavy sadness.
“That’ll kind of spile him, won’t it?”
“Well, Saul says it won’t make so much difference about him not havin’ the use of his hand on that side if it don’t break his nerve. A man loses confidence in himself, Saul says, most always when he loses the hand or arm he’s slung his gun with all his life. He takes the notion that everybody’s quicker’n he is, and just kind of slinges back and drops out of the game.”
“Do you expect Saul he’ll come back here with them soldiers he went after?”
“I expect he’ll more’n likely order ’em right up the river to clear them rustlers out before he stops or anything,” she replied, in high confidence.
“The gall of them low-down brand-burners standin’ up to fight a man on his own land!” Banjo’s indignation could not have been more pointed if he had been a lord of many herds himself.
“There comes them blessed girls!” reported Mrs. Chadron from her station near the window. Banjo crossed over to see, his fiddle held to his bosom like an infant. Nola and Frances were nearing the gate.
“That colonel girl she’s a up-setter, ain’t she?” Banjo admired.