words I have heard nothing but trouble and quarrel. Nothing but gun shots and hostility. I understand it so well, Buck, that I am going to go ahead just as my father wished. If I were like the ordinary woman, I'd call everything off. If I thought that peace would come for the asking, I would never let a Box M man lift a hand. But it won't—it never will. These beasts that creep in the night will never let us alone, until they are gone or we are gone."
"I think you ought to rely a little on my judgment, Sherry," pressed Manners. "It's a man's country."
"So it is," agreed the girl, "and I shall do as men do. Not because I want vengeance, but because until all that terrible crowd is wiped out there will be no end of sorrow. Clint, you go ahead. The ranch and all the men and all our resources are yours to use. Consider that you are in command. My father wanted it that way—and so it shall be. I am as much of a Nickum as he was."
Manners pressed his lips together. Once more Charter-house got the impression of an enormous will and vitality surging in the man's body, ready to burst against barriers at any convenient opportunity. Manners was weighing him with the same calculation he had noticed in the saloon when they matched strength; the same flashing, fighting purpose glimmered in his blue eyes. Finally the ranchman shrugged his shoulders. "It amounts to turning me down, Sherry. Have I no place in your affairs at all? What makes you so sure Charterhouse is a better fighter than I am? It's yet to be proved."
"Be patient with me, Buck. And help us when Clint asks it. He has proved himself and you know it. I can't marry you until this is all settled. Then—"
"Then what?" insisted Manners, still struggling to keep the sharpness from his words.
The girl turned away. "We'll wait and see. Clint, will you send a man to Angels for a doctor?"
Clint nodded. Both men went out, leaving Sherry alone behind the closed door. Seastrom and Fitzgibbon waited on the porch, and Haggerty was crossing the yard slowly.
Manners rolled a cigarette, scowling at his finger tips. "Well, Charterhouse, it looks like you're first fiddle and I'm second. Seems you've done pretty well by yourself in the space of two days. Now what?"
Clint disregarded the latent antagonism. The waiting punchers drifted toward the porch. Haggerty slouched on the steps, staring at him without friendliness. "We're going to move out and start the ball. Right away."
"Can't you wait until Nickum's decently buried?" fretted Manners.
"I don't observe the other side standing on etiquette," replied Clint. "The question is, which way to hit. What would you do, Manners?"
"Wait them out," was the ranchman's prompt reply. "I believe in letting the other fellow lead from his chest."
"What would you do, Seastrom?"
"I'd hightail into Dead Man Range and bust up Curly," opined the puncher.
"Too much chasing around," countered Clint. "He'd play hide and seek with us until our tongues were hanging out."
"Right," agreed Fitzgibbon. "Why play another gent's favorite game? Better idea is to swarm down on Shander's joint and burn it to the ground and take that buzzard out to the nearest tree."
"You fellows are talking too much lynch law," stated Manners abruptly. "I said I'd stand behind you, Charter-house, and I mean it. But I won't be a party to unprovoked attack. Whatever we think of Shander or the others, at least we ought to have some open act of aggression on their part before we take so much authority in our hands. You've got to abide by some rules."
Charterhouse began to see why old John Nickum had doubted his prospective son-in-law's ability in rough and tumbling fighting. Manners kept singing the song of orderliness while the lawless elements in Casabella laughed. Some curious streak of hesitancy seemed to blend in with the ranchman's otherwise frank and rowdy nature.
Clint turned to Haggerty. "What's your opinion?"
But Haggerty sourly rejected the invitation. "I'll listen to wise men. You're supposed to do the thinking, ain't you?"
"Correct," assented Charterhouse, refusing to rise to the bait. "Sherry Nickum has told me to go ahead and fight my own style. I'm sorry to say I can't see Manners' desire to walk humbly. There can be no doubt about Shander or Curly, none whatsoever. They made their bed and they know what to expect. We'll never get any place by waiting for somebody else to be shot. From today on there will be nothing but straight, stiff fighting, and if anybody in this crowd doesn't like the looks of it, or if anybody doesn't feel he wants to take my orders and do as he's told, then I want him to speak up now, get his war bag and quit."
Absolute silence met the challenge. Clint waited a little while and went on, feeling he had the crew with him. "I'm not always going to take the trouble to explain things as we go. When we ride, we ride fast. When we hit, we hit hard. Seastrom, I want you to take eight men, pack a little cold grub in your roll, and hit down the trail toward Angels. Make camp in the trees below the Bowlus place where the road from Dead Man cuts over the ridge to town. Keep out of sight. Curly's outfit and Shander's uses that trail a lot. Take whatever comes along."
Seastrom rose with a suppressed grin. "That sounds good to me," he stated. Manners shook his head.
"Not to me. It's a style of war I don't approve of. I'll lend a hand against any attack they make, but I won't send men bushwhacking, Charterhouse."
"Won't ask it," delcared Charterhouse. "But will you send one of your men for the doctor? I can't trust a single Box M man in Angels."
"I'm riding down there on a quick trip. I'll see to it." Manners swung to the saddle and gathered his riders. He studied the Box M crew thoughtfully. "You boys are hell-bent on fighting now. But when some of you get riddled, you'll see my policy is better. However, I'm not the boss. Whatever happens, I'll be keeping a watch on the ranch-house. There'll always be one of my men cruising around to see that nothing happens to Sherry. I'll hold you personally to account if anything does happen to her, Charterhouse. I'll be back tonight to take care of old John's funeral."
Clint nooded and watched the group swing south. Seastrom had gone about his chore enthusiastically and was even now bringing up his chosen riders. One of them went to the kitchen for cold grub.
Clint beckoned Seastrom apart from the rest and spoke a low warning. "Watch your flanks, Heck. Don't be taken by surprise."
Seastrom looked lazily at him. "I was wondering if you had some other reason for sending us down there."
"Sugar draws flies," said Clint. "Do what I tell you—and don't move away from that trail until you get word."
Seastrom winked blandly. "I guess you're dry behind the ears." He motioned his party to follow. They filed past the kitchen, got their provisions and posted along in pursuit of Manners' party.
Charterhouse turned back and spoke to Fitzgibbon. "You collect ten more hands, Fitz. We're riding another way. May not be back tonight. Now the rest of you," nodding at the assembled crew, "are to stick tight. Keep a strict watch and let nobody surprise you. Haggerty, you're in charge of quarters. Keep a guard out tonight. You've got about fifteen men and that's ample to stave off any sort of trouble."
"I reckon I know my business," grunted Haggerty.
So far Charterhouse had let the foreman's hostile talk pass unnoticed. He saw now it was time for him to challenge Haggerty so that the crew would know exactly where he stood.
"Listen, if I didn't think you knew your business, you'd be on your way. You work with me—or you take your time and walk. Is that clear?"
"I'm a Box M man," growled Haggerty. "And was one long before you came. I know what to do. I'll stick. But that ain't saying you and me won't settle our private argument some of these days."
"I'm looking forward to the time—with interest," drawled Charterhouse.
Haggerty glared harshly at him and stalked away. Fitzgibbon was organizing the second group of riders as quickly and efficiently as Seastrom had the first, but with only a tenth of the