"He ain't allowing that he wants to be disturbed just now," he told them. "And he's too damned polite to monkey with. We'll wait. Likely he'll change his mind over-night." "Wait nothing," growled Duncan. "Bust the door in!" Allen grinned mildly. "Good advice," he said quietly. "Me and my men will set here while you do the busting. Don't imagine that we'll be sore because you take the lead in such a little matter as that." "If I was the sheriff----" began Duncan. "Sure," interrupted Allen with a dry laugh; "if you was the sheriff. There's a lot of things we'd do if we was somebody else. Maybe breaking down Dakota's door is one of them. But we don't want anyone killed if we can help it, and it's a dead sure thing that some one would cash in if we tried any monkey business with that door. If you're wanting to do something that amounts to something to help this game along, swap your cayuse for one of Dakota's and hit the breeze to the Double R for grub. We'll be needing it by the time you get back." Duncan had already ridden over sixty miles within the past twenty-four hours, and he made a grumbling rejoinder. But in the end he roped one of Dakota's horses, saddled it, and presently vanished in the darkness. Allen and his men built a fire near the edge of the clearing and rolled into their blankets. At eight o'clock the following morning, Langford appeared on the river trail, leading a pack horse loaded with provisions and cooking utensils for the sheriff and his men. Duncan, Langford told Allen while they breakfasted, had sought his bunk, being tired from the day's activities. "You're the owner of the Double R?" questioned Allen. "You and Dakota friendly?" he questioned again, noting Langford's nod. "We've been quite friendly," smiled Langford. "But you ain't now?" "Not since this has happened. We must have law and order, even at the price of friendship." Allen squinted a mildly hostile eye at Langford. "That's a good principle to get back of--for a weak-kneed friendship. But most men who have got friends wouldn't let a little thing like law and order interfere between them." Langford reddened. "I haven't known Dakota long of course," he defended. "Perhaps I erred in saying we were friends. Acquaintances would better describe it I think." Allen's eye narrowed again with an emotion that Langford could not fathom. "I always had a heap of faith in Dakota's judgment," he said. And then, when Langford's face flushed with a realization of the subtle insult, Allen said gruffly: "You say Doubler's dead?"