"Well, we ain't heard hide nor hair of her"--he looked round cautiously, lest Mrs. Chadron surprise him in the truth--"and them rustlers they're clean gone and took everything but their houses and fences along--beds and teams and stock, and everything." "Gone!" she repeated, staring at him blankly; "where have they gone?" "Macdonald's doin' it; that man's got brainds," the cowboy yielded, with what he knew to be unlawful admiration of the enemy's parts. "He's herdin' 'em back in the hills where they've built a regular fort, they say. Some of us fellers caught up to a few of the stragglers last night, and that's when I got this arm put on me." "Have any of the rustlers been killed?" "No," he admitted, disgustedly, "they ain't! We've burnt all the shacks we come to, and cut their fences, but they all got slick and clean away, down to the littlest kid. But the boss's after 'em," he added, with brisk hopefulness, "and you'll have better news by mornin'." Chadron himself was the next rider to arrive at that anxious house, and he came as the messenger of disaster. He arrived between midnight and morning, his horse spur-gashed, driven to the limit, himself sunken-eyed from his anxiety and hard pursuit of his elusive enemy. 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!" If Chadron had been clearer of sight and mind in that moment of his towering anger, he would have seen her cheeks flush at his words, and her nostrils dilate and her breath come faster. But he was blind; his little varnish of delicacy was gone. He was just a ranting, roaring, dark-visaged brute with murder in his heart. "That damned Macdonald done it, led 'em into it like they was blind! He's a wolf, and he's got the tricks of a wolf, he skulked ahead of 'em with a little pack of his rustlers and led 'em into his trap, then the men he had hid there and ready they popped up as thick as grass. They've got fifty of my men shut up there where they can't git to water, and where they can't fight back. Now, what do you think of that?"