“Lumberjacks—real ones—is leavin’ this county as fast as they kin go. But there’s some left. Shouldn’t be s’prised if I could dig up a couple of dozen.” “I want clean men—no boozers—on duty. I want men to depend on in a pinch, who will keep their mouths shut. And I’d just as soon they wouldn’t be friends of Michael Moran.” “Mike Moran, is it?” Tim asked, his eyes gleaming. “Are you goin’ after him? ’Tis a glad day for Tim Bennett. Friends of Mike’s—there hain’t no sich animal, Mr. Ashe.” “Find all you can. Don’t tell ’em what’s up—because you don’t know,” Jim said, with a twinkle. “Don’t get ’em together in a gang, but have ’em meet to-morrow night in that bunch of cedar this side the red bridge. If they happen to have peavey handles they might bring them along.” “To use for canes where the walkin’s bad,” grinned Tim. “I’ll have them there.” Jim was not satisfied. He wired a friend in the old home town: Go down Patsy’s have him send twenty good boys. Ten on afternoon, ten on morning train to-morrow. With peavey handles. He knew this would be enough; that Patsy Garrity would send him the men he needed. Jim wanted advice, but hesitated to ask it. He knew Zaanan Frame was his friend, but the old man was on the side of law and order. He might frown on Jim’s intention, for, lawful as it was, it might, probably would, turn out to be anything but orderly or peaceful. Still, he decided to go. Zaanan listened to him quietly, let him finish without comment. “Blood’s young,” he said at the end, and wagged his head. “But this time I calc’late there hain’t no other way. Moran hain’t got no use for law, but he’ll go rushin’ off for a temp’rary injunction. That’ll tie you up till he kin collect his army. If I was doin’ this I calc’late I’d git there first. Eh? See young Bob Allen that’s runnin’ for prosecutor. He’ll draw the bill for you. You’re startin’ in on a real job, Jim. Better be reasonable sure you’re ready to finish it ’fore you start in. G’-by, Jim.” Jim went to Bob Allen. The young lawyer’s eyes shone as he listened. “It’s coming to him,” he said. “Moran’s been needing somebody to handle him without tongs. Mr. Ashe, if I get to be prosecutor, and you’ll back me, I’ll chase him round in circles. I’ll do it whether you back me or not. We want to handle this right. When do you plan to land your invasion?” “About midnight to-morrow.” “Then Judge Scudder’s due to have his rest broken. I’ll be at his house at midnight with the papers—and a deputy. He’ll issue the injunction, all right. By that time you’ll be in full blossom. The deputy will slide off to serve the restraining order. Gosh! I’d like to be along with you.” “I’d like to have you,” said Jim, heartily. “We’ve never had time to get acquainted, but I guess we’re going to. Eh?”