the easiest way out is to let me take charge completely. Join the ranches. We might as well look at it frankly. We're to be married and it would have happened some day. Why not now? It would throw all this trouble on my shoulders and I doubt if there's any group of men in Casabella willing to tackle as big an outfit as mine and Box M put together. It seems a very simple and easy solution to me."
Sherry's eyes seemed to hold an appeal for Clint. He shook his head. "I reckon this is something I haven't got any part in, folks. It's your problem. I can say, however, that I'm ready to carry out what Sherry's dad intended me to do. If it is decided to fight the battle clear to the end, I'll do it."
"Why fight?" insisted Manners. "Double up the outfits under me and there won't be any fight. Shander and Curly can't muster enough men to beat me."
Rather reluctantly Clint found himself arguing against the idea, somehow feeling the girl wanted him to do so. "If that bunch of renegades have been willing to bust against Nickum, when they knew all along that you supported him, why wouldn't they be willing to bust against you alone? I don't see any difference. But it ain't my problem and I'll keep still."
"Thanks," was Manners short answer. Charterhouse caught the veiled antagonism and couldn't find it in his mind to blame the man. It was only human to resent the advice of an outsider. "Still," went on the yellow-haired ranchman, "I think it would take all the worry away from Sherry. Good Lord, she can't live here and go through a range war. Don't you understand, Sherry, that this is going to be mighty grim business? That pack of wolves might do anything. Anything, Sherry."
"I understand it better than you do, Buck," said the girl tonelessly. "Except for me, they have wiped out the family. I wouldn't even put it beyond them to kill me. What makes you think I don't understand war? Since I was old enough to know the meaning of 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
