“Honey!” he cried. “I’ll kill that skunk if he’s hurt you!” “Jimmy, what _has_ happened?” Bud turned his broad back and wryly moved his nose. There was more or less incoherent explanation and questioning from both and out of it, unexpectedly: “Jimmy--I won’t ask that apology if you don’t want to give it.” “I’m a bum. I give it, Mary. I’m just a stubborn bum.” “You give it! Jimmy! I’ll never ask another. And I take back everything.” A great and ponderous silence ensued, broken by the impatient Bud. “Here I trail this fella all day long and then you dog-gone wild cat--look what you done to me.” It was not a very strong story, but Jim Hunter was too preoccupied to pick flaws. “I’ll take Bottle-nose back with me,” continued Bud. “Say, just what was this quarrel about, anyway? Seein’s I got so durned involved in it, might as well tell me.” “He called me a useless butterfly, and I had to show him I wasn’t.” “Which was after she told me I couldn’t do anything worth while.” “For gosh sake,” stuttered the storekeeper. “Was _that_ all?” It was certainly queer what small things set people at a tangent. Stubborn people, chiefly. But what great fighters they made. Just the kind to populate this sturdy, harsh land. He fell gloomily to another thought. “Suppose now you’ll make up an’ go back to town.” “Not on your life,” declared Jim. “It’s the only place I’m worth anything. Why, I’m happy here!” “So’m I,” added the girl. “That settles it.” Bud was forced to a rare smile and looked like the cat who had swallowed the canary. “Well, I’m sure sorry my little peace efforts didn’t work. Took Bottle-nose to turn the trick. So long, folks.” It was later, entering the dark forest with his prisoner, that he lifted his face to the dim, star-scattered sky and gave thanks. Some day this country would blossom under the hands of these vigorous and clean-chosen people. Some day! [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 27, 1924 issue of _Western Story Magazine_.]