“Get together?  What for?  Some of this pious stuff, I suppose!”

“No, it’s not!  It’s just common sense.  We both plan to spend our lives in this valley.  Why fight all the time?”

“You can bet I do plan to spend my life in this valley.  Neither you nor Charleton can run me out.  Lost Chief is as much mine as it is yours.  Don’t you ever get it into that thick head of yours that you can be Big Chief here.  I am going to have a finger in this pie myself.”

“Aw, draw it mild, Scott!” protested the sheriff.  “Nobody’s afraid of your threats.  Doug’s advice is good.  Come out of your grouch and join the crowd.”

“Whose crowd?  Doug’s?  I didn’t know he had one except for idiots,” sneered Scott.

“No,” said Douglas cheerfully, “we don’t want any idiots in our crowd.  We want good friends and watchmen, hey, Johnny?  Come on in, Scott.  The going is pretty good.”

Scott uttered an oath.  Douglas, a straight, rather tense figure in the dusk, did not speak again for a long moment; then he said quietly, “All right, Scott!  I’m through.  Get off my place, quick!”

He dismounted and unsaddled the Moose.  Scott rode off at a gallop.

“Want any help with the bull, Doug?” asked Frank Day.

“No, thanks!  We’ll get him into the stable and then look him over.  Get the lantern, will you, Johnny?”

“Then I’ll be riding,” said the sheriff.  “My chores should have been done an hour ago,” and he jingled down the trail.

It was not difficult to lead Sioux into the little log cow stable.  But here all progress ceased.  The bull became so frantic whenever they tried to examine his wounds that after a prolonged struggle they left him.  Johnny and Douglas finished the chores while the preacher went into the cabin and got supper.  They sat long over the meal.  Old Johnny was deeply excited.  A fight always upset his poor old tangled nerves.  Douglas finally suggested that he take the lantern and clean up after the dinner; and the old man, who loved to potter about the chapel almost as much as did the preacher, acquiesced enthusiastically.

After he had gone, Fowler said, “Douglas, that little chap is going to do some one bodily harm if we aren’t careful.  He is getting fanatically devoted to you.  I had to keep my hand on his arm all the afternoon.”

“The poor old dogy!” Doug shook his head.  “We’ll keep the guns away from him, and then he won’t get into trouble.  I’m more bothered about you and Scott than I am about me and Johnny, though!”

“Scott means mischief,” said the preacher.

Douglas nodded.  “I don’t want you to go anywhere without me.  He is plenty smart enough to know that the best way to get me is through you—­or Judith!”

“Don’t worry about me, Douglas.  I heard Bryan say once, ’My body is covered with the callouses of defeat.  No one can hurt me.’  I am like Bryan.  No one can hurt me.  And I would guess that Judith can look out for herself.”