"Yes. Because he wouldn't let your dog rob his traps."
"Prince got after a wolverine in his or Scott's traps and Charleton shot the old pup. He'd better be thankful I didn't boot him all the way home."
Douglas' face was growing white again. John looked at his tall son with a mixture of admiration and bewilderment in his eyes.
"By the Great Sitting Bull, Doug, I can't understand you! Here you go for six months making a blank sissy of yourself over a sky pilot and then you give the most dangerous man in the Valley the gol-dingest mauling and beating he ever had in his life! Why, even I won't go up against Charleton. He's a bad man!"
"He's a bag of wind!" said Douglas contemptuously. "I found that out years ago when his boy was born. Does Jude know?"
"No; she was asleep and he stayed in the kitchen with me and washed up. But don't think you've finished with him. He's a mean man, Douglas."
"Yes, he's mean enough. On the other hand, Charleton knows I've got his number and he'll let me alone. I'm not worrying about him. That guy can't even keep his temper. Loan me the tar-pot, will you, and the searing-iron."
John suddenly laughed. Douglas grinned faintly, then said, "I know now how Jude felt when you shot that little old Swift horse."
"I suppose if you'd been big enough, you'd have treated me as you did Charleton," said John cheerfully.
"I sure would have tried to," replied Douglas.
"Where's Jude?"
"Working on the little wild mare in the corral."
