running out a few of these nesters. We've got more than we can use, I
reckon. The range is overstocked now--both with them and cows. Come a
bad year and half of our cattle will starve."

There was a moment of surcharged silence. Phil Sanderson had voiced the
growing feeling of them all, but he had flung it out as a stark
challenge before the time was ripe. It was one thing to resent the
coming of settlers; it was quite another to set themselves openly
against the law that allowed these men to homestead the natural parks in
the hills.

Brill Healy laughed. "The fat's in the fire now, sure enough. Just the
same, I back your play, Phil."

He turned recklessly to the man in the doorway. "You may tell your
friends up on Bear Creek that we own this range and mean to hold it. We
don't aim to let our cattle be starved, and we don't aim to lie down
before rustlers. Understand?"

The nester smiled, but there was no gayety in his eyes. They met those
of the cattleman with a grip of steel, and measured strength with him.
Each knew the other would go the limit before Keller made quiet answer:

"I think so."

And with that he dismissed the subject and his unfriendly audience. With
perfect ease, he read his letter, pocketed it, and whistled softly as he
impassively took stock of the scenery. Apparently he had wiped Public
Opinion from his map, and was interested only in the panorama before
him.