“What’re you bringing him in here for, John?” demanded Peter harshly.  “Doug’s in no state for a row.”

“I don’t know why not!” exclaimed Douglas coolly.  “I don’t have to talk or listen with my shoulder.  Where’d you pick him up, Dad?”

“Never mind that!” replied John impatiently.  “He’s here.  What do you want done with him, Doug?”

All eyes focused on Scott.  In mud-spattered chaps and leather coat, his sombrero on the back of his head, a cigarette hanging from his hard, handsome mouth, Scott leaned easily against the table, eying Judith.  Douglas looked from Scott to Judith and from Judith out of the window where beyond the yellow green of rabbit bush that carpeted the valley there lay the green shadow of the Forest Reserve.  After a moment’s thought he said: 

“What made you draw on me like that, Scott?”

“I thought you’d pulled your gun.”

“I punched you right and left.  You knew I hadn’t pulled a gun.  As far as I’m concerned, you’re too free and easy with that six-shooter of yours.”

“Me, too,” agreed the sheriff, scratching Prince’s ear.

“He’s the gun pullingest guy in the Rockies,” volunteered Jimmy.

“All I want to say,” Doug announced, “is that when I get use of my shooting arm again, I’m going to pot Scott on sight.”

Peter looked at Douglas’ tanned face beneath the tumbled golden hair.

“Let’s sit down,” said Peter, “and go over this thing carefully.  Scott’s leading with the wrong foot in this valley, but I don’t know as shooting him on sight is the answer.”

Scott and Jimmy perched on the table, John and Judith on the foot of the bed.  The others found chairs.  Doug stared at Peter, at first with resentment, then with an air of curiosity.

“Don’t you try any soft stuff, Peter!” protested John.  “Scott’s worn his welcome out in Lost Chief and that’s all there is to it.”

“My folks came here a year before yours did, John,” retorted Scott.  “I’ve got as good a right in this valley as anybody.”

“Nobody that makes a nuisance of himself has got any rights in this valley,” asserted Douglas.  “I suppose you think because your grandfather killed Indians here you’ve got a right to shoot white men.  Well, sir, I’m going to teach you different.”

“Pot-shooting at him isn’t going to teach him anything except perhaps what is over the Great Divide, Doug,” said Peter dryly.

Scott laughed sardonically.

“The law has got something to say in this case,” announced the sheriff, lighting a small black pipe.

“No, it hasn’t,” exclaimed Douglas; “not if I don’t want it to.”

“You aren’t the whole of Lost Chief, Doug,” said Charleton.  “I’ve got a small grudge to settle with Scott, myself.”

“And I’ve got several,” added John.

“Enjoy yourself, folks,” suggested Scott, winking openly at Judith over the cigarette he was lighting.