Charleton sat up slowly.

“That licking wasn’t all for poor old Prince,” said Douglas.  “Part of it was for the kid whose mind you deliberately tried to poison, and part of it is for Inez.  You were the first man, you boasted to me, who ever went to Rodman’s.  And part of it’s for the loneliness you’ve made in Lost Chief.  What have you got to say—­huh?”

Charleton rose.  “Nice young buck you are to attack a man old enough to be your father!  This is what I get for my kindness to you.  This is a bad night’s work for you, you young whelp!”

Douglas, one hand on his old dog’s stiffening shoulder, bit back his resurging wrath and tapped his horse with the spurs.  Fowler and Old Johnny came out to meet him.  He gave Prince to Johnny and then dismounted.

“Charleton shot my dog!” he said.

“What shall I do with him?” asked Johnny.

“Shut him up in the feed shed and I’ll bury him in the morning.”  Douglas stalked into the house, where the two others shortly followed him.  They looked at his face and for a moment even old Johnny hesitated to speak.  In spite of his cold ride, Doug’s face was deadly white, his lips worked, and his eyes were dark with feeling.  He took off his spurs slowly, and hung them carefully on their nail.  Then he sat down on his bunk and stared at the preacher.

“What happened, Douglas?” asked Fowler.

“Prince evidently tackled a wolverine in one of Charleton’s traps and I’m not so sure either but it might have been Scott’s.  Anyhow he surprised some kind of a deal Charleton was trying to put over.  Then he got his paw in a free trap and started yelping.  Charleton got to him before I did and shot him.”

“What was he doing riding his traps at this hour?” asked the preacher.

“I don’t know.  I loved that dog and so did Jude.  It will make her sick when she hears.  He was good for two or three years more and he should have died like a good rancher, right at home, here.”

“What did you say to Charleton?”

“I said what I thought beside knocking him down.”

Fowler said nothing more but he put his hand on Doug’s knee.  Doug cleared his throat and rose ostensibly to put a stick of wood in the stove.

Old Johnny picked up the rifle and started for the door.

“Where are you going, Johnny?” asked Douglas, huskily.

“I’m going to watch.  Charleton he ain’t never going to stop now till he fixes you.  He’s got to get me first.  Maybe I ain’t as smart as Prince was but I depone I’ll do my best.”

Douglas laughed a little brokenly.  He put his arm around old Johnny’s shoulder and with his free hand took the gun.

“Don’t you worry about me, Johnny.  Your job is the church and the preacher and you remember you promised not to shoot until you told me about it.”

“That’s right,” exclaimed the preacher.  “And now I suggest that you let me read a chapter from the Bible and that we then get to bed.”