_You_ won't see none of it--they ain't such fools.

And what us small fellers do, we do it quiet, too.

We ain't ridin' up and down the trail, flourishin' our six-shooters and yellin' to the Sawtooth to come on and we'll clean 'em up!" "But you're fighting just the same, aren't you, dad?
You're not letting them----" "We're makin' out to live here--and we've been doin' it for twenty-five year," Brit told her, with a certain grim dignity.

"We've still got a few head uh stock left--enough to live on.

Playin' poker with a nickel, mebby--but we manage to ante, every hand so fur." His mind returned to the grisly thing Lorraine had seen.
"We can't run down the man that got Fred Thurman, supposin' he was killed, as you say.