“Stop your whistling and listen, Douglas,” suggested Fowler.

Douglas obeyed, and faintly on the frosty air sounded the reiterated yelps of a dog.

“That’s Prince and he’s in trouble!” exclaimed Doug.

“He’s up on the shoulder of Lost Chief, I depone,” said Johnny.

“I’ll go up there.”  Douglas took his rifle from behind the door and hurried out to the corral.  The two men followed him, and by the time Doug had buckled on his spurs, they had saddled his horse.

“Either he’s got into a trap or he’s tackled something too big for him,” said Douglas; “and it’s up to me to look out for my pal.”

The moon had risen and the snow was very light.  Prince continued to yelp and it was not long before Douglas found the dog’s tracks and was able to follow them without difficulty.  They led up to the tree line on the east flank of Lost Chief Peak.  The yelps appeared to come from not far within the border of pines.

Douglas chuckled.  “He sure has bitten off more than he can chew this time!  I’ll have to tell that old dog that—­”

A revolver shot interrupted his thoughts.  The yelps abruptly ceased.  Douglas spurred his horse and in a moment saw the figure of a man standing beside an outcropping rock.  It was Charleton Falkner.  Douglas threw himself from his horse, Prince, his paw in a trap, lay motionless on the ground beside the badly mangled body of a wolverine.  Charleton’s face in the moonlight was coolly vindictive.

“I’ll teach a dog to spoil a pelt for me!” he said.  “He didn’t realize there were two traps here.”

“But that was my dog, Prince!” exclaimed Doug.

“I don’t care if it was the Almighty’s dog!  He can’t rob my traps if I know it!” snarled Charleton.

Douglas advanced slowly.  “You don’t seem to get the idea, Charleton.  That was my old dog that grew up with me—­the faithfulest little chap in Lost Chief.  I’d have paid you for the pelt and you know it.  What did you shoot him for?”

Charleton’s jaws worked.  “I’ll show you and Scott and the whole valley that my traps and my hunts are not to be interfered with!”

“Still you don’t get the idea,” Douglas was now not an arm’s-length from Charleton.  “You can’t shoot a man’s dog, at least this man’s dog and go unpunished.  You and Dad have bullied this valley long enough, Charleton.  Put up your hands and take your punishment.”

He struck the six-shooter from Charleton’s hand and the battle was joined.  Douglas’ only advantage over his adversary was in point of youth, for Charleton was as lean and powerful as a gorilla.  But youth was a powerful ally and eventually it was Charleton who lay in the snow, blinking at the moon.  Douglas, panting and still so angry that it was difficult for him not to kick Charleton where he lay, released Prince’s paw and threw the familiar gray body across the saddle.  Then he mounted, laying Prince across his knees.