But the autocrat of Castonia had a courage of his own. He set back his head and marched up to MacLeod, who was standing in the middle of the road, his jacket thrown back, his thumbs in his belt. "Colin," he demanded, indifferent as to listeners, "what's all this about my girl? Can't she come along home, minding her own business like the good girl that she is, without a fuss that has set all the section wagging tongues? I thought you were a different chap from this!" "He had his lie made up when he got here, did he?" growled MacLeod. "I believe what my own girl says," the father retorted. "So he's got as far as that, has he? I tell ye, Rod Ide, if you don't know enough--don't care enough about your own daughter to keep her out of the clutches of a cheap masher like that--the kind I've seen many a time before--then--it's where I grab in. Ye'll live to thank me for it. I say, ye will! You don't know what you're talking about now. But you'll know your friends in the end." He put up one arm, stiffened it against Ide's breast, and slowly but relentlessly pushed him aside. Viewed in the code of larrigan-land, the situation was one that didn't admit of temporizing or mediation. The set faces of the men who looked on showed that the trouble between these two, brooding through the hours of that long day, was now to be settled. As for his men, Colin MacLeod had his prestige to keep--and a man who had suffered a stranger to carry off the girl he loved without fitting rebuke could have no prestige in a lumber camp. And it was prestige that made him worth while, made him a boss who could get work out of men. The uncertain quantity in the situation was the stranger. With one movement of heads, all eyes turned to him. He was not a woodsman, and they expected from him something different from the usual duello of the woods. They got it! For instead of waiting for the champion of the Umcolcus to take the initiative, this city man calmly walked off the store platform at this juncture and bearded the champion. "And there ye have it--two bucks and one doe!" grunted old Martin. "The same old woods wrassle." The boss dropped his hands at his side as the time-keeper approached. He grinned evilly when he noted the limp. Wade came close and spoke without anger. "I see you are still determined to be a fool, MacLeod. I want no trouble with you. Aren't you willing to settle all this fuss like a man?" "That's what I'm here for," replied the boss, with grim significance. "Then go and offer an apology to that young lady. Do it, and I'll cancel the one you owe to me." If Wade had been seeking to provoke, he could have chosen no more unfortunate words. "Apology!" howled MacLeod. "Do ye hear it, boys? Talkin' to me like I was a Micmac and didn't know manners! Here's an Umcolcus apology for ye, ye putty-faced dude!"