"I suppose I'll have to lend my support," said Judith. "But I still think you are a fool." "You can think me all the fools you want to, if you'll just keep backing me," replied Douglas, striding out to the whinnying Moose. He found old Johnny and the preacher on terms of easy friendship. Johnny was inclined to be patronizing but Douglas caught the twinkle in Fowler's eyes and made no attempt to control Johnny's manners. It was not until nearly bed time that Doug missed Prince. The old dog was gradually giving up the solitary coyote hunts he had taken in his younger days and, contrary too, to his earlier habits, he now liked to sleep indoors. He was usually shivering on the doorstep waiting for a chance to scramble under the stove when Doug went out to look at the stock for the night. But to-night he was not there, nor did his short bark come in response to Doug's whistling. Old Johnny and the preacher came to the door. "Stop your whistling and listen, Douglas," suggested Fowler. Douglas obeyed, and faintly on the frosty air sounded the reiterated yelps of a dog. "That's Prince and he's in trouble!" exclaimed Doug. "He's up on the shoulder of Lost Chief, I depone," said Johnny. "I'll go up there." Douglas took his rifle from behind the door and hurried out to the corral. The two men followed him, and by the time Doug had buckled on his spurs, they had saddled his horse. "Either he's got into a trap or he's tackled something too big for him," said Douglas; "and it's up to me to look out for my pal." The moon had risen and the snow was very light. Prince continued to yelp and it was not long before Douglas found the dog's tracks and was able to follow them without difficulty. They led up to the tree line on the east flank of Lost Chief Peak. The yelps appeared to come from not far within the border of pines. Douglas chuckled. "He sure has bitten off more than he can chew this time! I'll have to tell that old dog that--" A revolver shot interrupted his thoughts. The yelps abruptly ceased. Douglas spurred his horse and in a moment saw the figure of a man standing beside an outcropping rock. It was Charleton Falkner. Douglas threw himself from his horse, Prince, his paw in a trap, lay motionless on the ground beside the badly mangled body of a wolverine. Charleton's face in the moonlight was coolly vindictive. "I'll teach a dog to spoil a pelt for me!" he said. "He didn't realize there were two traps here." "But that was my dog, Prince!" exclaimed Doug. "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!"