“This ain’t no josh,” Duffy declared, embellishing his statement with an earnest oath. “And I suppose all a man can expect when he finds that a bunch of thieves is loose on the range is for featherheads like you to make a joke of it. If it was your cattle that’d been killed, you’d sing a different tune.” Charlie Shaw’s laughing mouth shut in a tight line. “I would, Elmer,” he said quietly. “I’d keep my mouth shut and go after ’em. I wouldn’t waste my breath cussin’.” “_You_ wouldn’t waste your breath cussin’!” Elmer exploded. “No! All you c’n waste is the outfit’s time an’ your money at poker. If I had to depend on boneheads like you to protect the outfit’s interests, the Seventy-seven would go to hell in two seasons. Josh--that’s all you know how to do.” Charlie took a step toward him. He was tall and slim, older in years and experience than his boyish face told, and his merry blue eyes suddenly ceased to be merry. “Don’t get too personal in your remarks, Elmer,” he warned. “I might get serious myself.” “Personal! Personal!” Duffy bellowed. “Say, lemme tell you somethin’.” As an offset to his unfortunate disposition, Elmer Duffy had a reasonable amount of common sense; otherwise, he could not have guided the destiny of the Seventy-seven. He realized that he _had_ got too personal. And he couldn’t back down without losing face. He had no high opinion of Charlie Shaw’s intelligence. No serious-minded man ever has a high opinion of light-minded youth, and Charlie had been the play boy of the Seventy-seven all that summer--a competent enough range rider, with no proper sense of responsibility, according to Elmer. But Shaw had nerve. His record and his actions made even Elmer Duffy concede that. And Elmer didn’t hunger for war over a mere matter of levity. “You go onto the wagon,” he said stiffly, refusing to pursue the contention farther. “Catch your horses, pack your bed, and we’ll part company. Here’s your time.” * * * * * He disregarded Charlie’s palpably belligerent attitude, sat himself on the grass, drew a check book and indelible pencil from his pocket, and proceeded to write out a check. “You drew most all you had comin’ last trip,” he said, as he handed over the green slip. “There’s the balance.” “So you think I’m a bonehead, do you?” Charlie inquired gravely. “I wonder if I couldn’t sort of change your mind about that.” “I don’t want to have no fuss with you, Shaw,” Elmer said curtly. “I can’t have a man in the outfit I don’t hitch with. You’re young an’ careless an’ hot-headed an’----” “An’ you’re middle-aged an’ staggerin’ under a tremendous weight of responsibility an’ cranky as a bull with the seven-year itch,” Shaw retorted. “I don’t give a damn about you firin’ me, Elmer. But nobody can talk to me----”