"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.
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.