e
little living room.

"You see," cried Alice, pointing to the clock, "we arrived at almost the
exact moment we did a year ago--" she started slightly as a volley of
shots sounded down the street. "Oh!" she cried. "They're shooting
someone!"

Cameron shook his head: "No," he smiled, "we've learned that it is the
single shots or one and then another, that mean trouble. When they come
in volleys that way it means that some cowboy is 'celebrating' down at
the Red Front. When there are cowboys in town and they are singing, or
racing their horses up and down the street, or shooting into the air or
the ceiling, we know they're all right. Of course, one could wish that
they wouldn't drink--but, if they must drink, by all means let's have
the noise with it. If cowboys are drinking and silent, trouble follows
as surely as night follows day."

"Maybe it's Mr. Colston," giggled Alice.

"Colston, of the Y Bar," smiled Cameron, "no I think we can eliminate
Colston. Do you know him?"

Endicott shook his head: "No, except through correspondence. I was to
meet him here today on business."

Cameron regarded him with sudden interest: "I heard in Lewiston, a
couple of weeks ago, that the Y Bar might change hands and, frankly I
will tell you that I was sorry to hear it."

"Why?" asked Endicott.

The minister frowned thoughtfully: "Well, Y Bar Colston has been a power
in this country, and if the wrong man were to step into his place there
might be no end of trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Sheep and cattle. The Y Bar outfit has been a sort of buffer between
the two factions. If a rabid cattleman stepped in it would immediately
mean war, and if a weakling were to take Colston's place the result
would be the same, because the sheep-men would immediately proceed to
take advantage of him and encroach on the cattle range, and then the
cowboys would take matters into their own hands and we'd have a
repetition of the Johnson County War--sheep slaughtered by the thousands
upon the range, dead cattle everywhere, herders murdered and their
bodies left in the ashes of their burned camp wagons, and cowboys shot
from ambush as they rode the range. I tell you, Mr. Endicott, I don't
envy the man that succeeds Colston as owner of the Y Bar."

Endicott smiled: "Thank you for the tip. It may, or may not interest you
to know that, if the business can be satisfactorily arranged, I myself,
am about to assume that unenviable position."

"And