"That's not the point," returned Douglas. "Women have to pay a price the men don't and that's all there is to it."

"It's not fair! It's not fair! I hate the world! I hate it! Looks like you'd either got to be like Mother or Inez Rodman."

"Your mother's all right. Only Dad's broke her just like he broke old Molly horse."

"Did I ever say my mother wasn't all right? Only I'll tell you one thing, Doug Spencer, Inez Rodman's given me more sensible warnings about men than my mother ever did."

Douglas wore a worried expression. "Seems like there's something wrong about that. Mother knows all about those things." He cleared his throat.

The half angry look on Judith's face gave way to a smile.

"O Doug! Doug! You old owl! What's the matter with you? After all, it's good to be alive! I wish I had a horse as good as Buster and I wouldn't ask for much more in life."

"I'll give you Buster," said Douglas suddenly.

Judith's jaw dropped. "Give me Buster!"

"I mean it."

"But—but—why, Douglas, what's happened to you?"

"Judith!" Douglas tossed back his yellow; hair and put a brown hand over Judith's. "Judith! I love you. Won't you be engaged to me?"

"Love me?" Judith's beautiful gray eyes opened their widest. "Why, it doesn't seem more than yesterday that you were calling me a pug-nosed maverick. And besides, I'm only fifteen and you're only seventeen."

"Is it Scott?" asked Douglas.

"It isn't anybody! Why, Douglas, you must be crazy!"

"Do I look crazy?"

Judith stared deep into Douglas' blue eyes. "No," slowly, "you don't."

"You can have Buster and Prince too," said Douglas.

"No, sir, Doug! Why, they're all you've got in the world!"

"I have that dapple gray Young Jeff gave me after the trial. He's old enough to break now."

There were tears in Judith's eyes. "Douglas Spencer, you are a gentleman! If I do have a horse like Buster, I can be lots more help handling the cattle."

"He's yours from this minute," repeated Douglas. "And so am I yours. But I'm not going to nag you about it. I'm just going to try to look out for you."

There was something so sober, so gentle, and so determined about Douglas that for once in her life Judith was at a loss for a reply. She started slowly for the cow shed. Then she turned back.

"But I'm not going to take Prince, Douglas. That's too much!"

"Well," said Douglas. "Maybe I will keep Prince for a while. It'll be kind of lonesome."

"Lonesome!" Judith repeated the phrase as though it struck a familiar chord. "Life is lonesome, isn't it Doug! Seems as though I never dare to be myself any more, since Oscar's death. That was the first time I ever realized how lonely you can be."

Douglas nodded, his eyes full of an understanding that was pitiful. Youth should not be allowed to contemplate this sort of loneliness. It is soul searing.

"But remember, Judith," he said, "that you've always got me."

She gave him an enigmatic look and returned to her work.



CHAPTER IV

THE HOUSE IN THE YELLOW CANYON

"Beauty: to see it, to hear it, to feel it: that's all that makes life worth while."

—Inez Rodman.

Douglas was both elated and dejected by his conversation with Judith. He was elated to feel that at last Judith knew his feeling toward her. He was dejected because he felt that she had no understanding of the depth and sincerity of this feeling. And with that marvelously naive egotism of the male, he gave many hours of heavy thought to Judith's weaknesses and temptations, none at all to his own. Perhaps more than anything, Judith's friendship with Inez began to worry him. The more he pondered on it, the more perturbed he became; and finally, a week or so after the dance, he resolved to ask Inez to break with Judith.

The Rodman house was built against the sheer yellow stone facing at the base of Lost Chief range, known incorrectly as the Yellow Canyon. The house of half a dozen rooms was the most picturesque cabin in the valley, for Grandfather Rodman had built the roof with an overhang, giving the house the hospitable shadows of a little Swiss chalet. There were several hundred acres belonging to the ranch. Free range had grown small before Inez' father died and he had gotten his acres well into grass and alfalfa. But when he and Inez' mother were wiped out by smallpox, leaving the ranch to Inez, the fields rapidly returned to the wild. Inez, fifteen at the time of her parents' death, was unwilling to lead the life of a ranch woman and for ten years the ranch had been going to pieces.

When Douglas rode up to the outer corral in the dusk of the June evening, he was struck anew by the disorder of the place. Cattle tramped freely about the house. An old steer was poking his head in at the kitchen window. Chickens roosted on a saddle, which was flung in the stable muck. Tin cans, old wagon wheels, the ruin of a sheep wagon, were heaped in confusion at one end of the cabin. Three or four dogs barked as Doug rode up on old Mike. He called Prince in and looked inquiringly at two other horses tied to the dilapidated corral fence. They were Beauty, his father's horse, and Yankee, Peter's roan.

As Doug sat hesitating, John and Peter came out of the kitchen laughing. They swung, spurs clanking, up to the fence.

"What the devil are you doing here, Doug?" asked Peter Knight.

"Hasn't he got a right to call on the Harlot of the Canyon?" demanded John, with a chuckle. "Hustle up, Peter! The crowd'll be there for the game before you are."

"They can't get in till I unlock," replied Peter. "Here, John, take the key and ride on. I want to talk to Doug."

John caught the key and trotted off. Sister snarled at Prince, who wagged his tail apologetically.

"Sister's a shrew, all right," grinned Douglas.

"She sure can run coyotes, though," said Peter.

"She and Grandma Brown run this valley," added Douglas.

Peter laughed. "I'm strong for the ladies! Did you ever watch the moon rise, Doug, from the top of the bench back of the cabin there?"

"No," answered Douglas.

"Come on up! It's not a long ride. I've been wanting to make you a proposition for some time."

Douglas followed the postmaster silently. The horses were panting and sweating by the time they reached the top, and the rim of the moon was just peering over the edge of the Indian Range. All the valley lay in darkness. The two dismounted and threw themselves down on the ledge. Douglas lighted a cigarette while Peter filled his pipe.

"What are you planning to do with yourself now you're through school, Douglas?"

"Ride for Dad."

"How'd you like to go East to school?"

"Nothing doing! I've got more education now than I'll need as a rancher."

"Well, I guess that's not particularly so," said Peter. "I was thinking—you know I'm alone in the world—that I might help you out if you had any leaning toward college or a profession."

"Ranching is good enough for me, thank you all the same, Peter."

For some moments Peter did not speak again. Coyotes wailed in the peaks above them. The moon showed more of its golden face.

"Does your father ever talk to you about your own mother, Doug?"

"No; I quit asking him questions years ago. Peter, all I know about my mother is that her name was Esther, that the smallpox wiped her folks out, and that they owned the north half of our ranch. There's an old photograph of her in Dad's bureau drawer. She was awful pretty."

"She was more than that, Doug! I knew her well. You see, I'm the only man in the valley that's a stranger, as you might say. I've only lived here twenty years. So I could appreciate your mother more than the natives. I came here a roundabout way from Boston. So did your mother's folks, about forty-five years ago. She looked as Yankee as her blood, thin and delicate, with a refined face. And all the coarse work women have to do in Lost Chief didn't coarsen her."

"How do you mean, coarse work?" asked Doug.

Dimly in the moonlight he saw the postmaster rub his hand across his forehead.

"Why don't you put Buster to hauling and plowing?" asked Peter.

"Too light and nervous."

"So was your mother too light and nervous for the kind of ranch work women have to do here. Women with blood and brains like most of the Lost Chief women are best used to keep alive the decencies and gentler things of life. Men lose those things in a cattle country unless the women keep 'em alive. If you keep women too close to the details of handling cattle and horses, they get rough and coarse too. And I calculate that Lost Chief and the world needs some decency and delicacy."

Douglas pondered over this for a long time, his eyes on the glory of the Indian peaks. Then he said, "You knew my mother well?"

"Yes. I'd have married her, Doug, if she hadn't already married your father. She—she was so devilishly overworked and unhappy! But she never complained. Your father was crazy about her but he treats a woman like he does a horse. He doesn't know any different."

"O, don't tell me any more!" said Douglas brokenly. "The poor little thing! Seems as if I couldn't stand it. Peter, I'm glad she died!"

The older man was silent for a time, then went on. "Your mother came of good people. Her grandfather was a friend of Emerson's. Tucked away somewhere she had some letters the two men exchanged. Your grandfather dreamed dreams about establishing a new New England out here. Those letters should have been saved for you."

The radiant light now swept across Lost Chief creek and to the foot of the wall, drenching the Rodman ranch in beauty and mystery. Sister crowded against her master's back and snored. Prince whined dolefully as he always did at the moon.

"So taking one thing with another," Peter Knight explained, "I thought I might see if you had anything in your head except horse wrangling; whether you're as much your Dad inside as outside."

"I don't see why ranching isn't a good enough profession for any one!" protested the boy.

"In lots of places it is. But it's not in Lost Chief."

"I don't see why," repeated Douglas.

"It's awful hard here on the women is one reason. I never heard your mother swear or use a foul word," said Peter. "I've been on ranches in other places where the women would have been shocked at the idea. How about Judith?"

"You know she only curses like the other women do around here."

"Do you like it?" asked the postmaster.

"I never thought anything about it."

"There you are!" groaned Peter. "If I can only make you see! Doug, a woman lets down the first bar when she begins to swear and drink. She begins where Judith is beginning. She's mighty apt to end where Inez is ending. You just think about ranching in Lost Chief from your mother's point of view. It's a rough kind of a community, Douglas, compared with the same class of people in other communities. The talk itself is rough; how rough you can't appreciate because you've never heard anything else."

There was another silence. Then Douglas asked heavily: "Peter, what am I going to do to keep Judith from going to Inez for advice?"

"Might not be such bad advice! Inez has no illusions about what she's doing or what she's paying."

"You don't mean to say Judith ought to go there?"

"No, I don't! But if a kid like you goes there himself, how can you preach to Judith? And she only goes there for the dancing and fun."

"But I'm a man!"

"I don't care what you are. You can't preach good sermons with a foul tongue. You ought to have the nerve to look at yourself as you are before you try to bring up Judith. Lost Chief is still fairly honest. Even your father calls Inez Rodman by her right title. There's hope in that!"

"But what shall I do about Judith, Peter?"

"Might make a man of yourself, Doug!"

"What's the matter with me?" demanded Doug, indignantly.

"Douglas, you haven't a clean-cut idea to your name. And a kid of seventeen as self-satisfied as you are isn't worth baiting a coyote trap with."

"There's not a guy in the valley works harder than I do!"

"Right! Nor uses his brain less!"

"I suppose you mean I ought to go to college and let Judith go to the devil."

"Judith's pretty good stuff, herself," protested Peter. "A half-baked kid like you can't influence Judith!"

Douglas started to his feet. "By God, I will! You'll see!"

"There's only one way. Show yourself fit to influence her. Don't get a grouch at me, Doug. I've come a long, hard, lonely road. And all because I thought everybody was wrong but myself. I don't want your mother's son to make the same mistake, if I can help it."

"I'm the unhappiest guy in the world!" cried Douglas, passionately.

He mounted his horse and, followed joyfully by Prince, turned down the trail. Peter did not stir. For a long time he sat with his arm around Sister. The moon was high over the valley before he said aloud:

"O Esther! Esther! The years are long!" Then he too mounted and rode away.

As Doug trotted through Rodman's door-yard, Inez crossed toward the corral.

"Hello, Doug! Where've you been? What's the matter with Buster?"

Douglas drew up. "I gave him to Judith."

"Why, you blank little fool! It must have hurt you deep!"

"I guess Judith's worth it! Say, Inez, is there anything I can do for you to get you to keep Judith away from here?"

"I won't hurt her, Doug."

"Aw, Inez, what's the use of saying that! Make out you're sore at her."

"I could, but that won't do so much for her. Judith ought to have something to look forward to beside breeding calves and wrangling firewood for some lazy dog of a rancher, before she or any other Lost Chief girl will think keeping away from here is worth while."

There was a depth of bitterness in the woman's voice which Douglas felt rather than understood. He sat in awkward silence. Inez put her hand on his knee and looked up at him. Her face was tragically beautiful in the moonlight.

"Douglas, do you ever stop to think how beautiful Lost Chief country is?"

"Not often," admitted Doug.

Inez went on. "Peter Knight's been all over the United States and he says there's no place passes it in beauty. Sometimes when I see the valley looking like it does to-night, I cry. Doug, you are more promising than these other kids. When you ride round on the range try to keep your mind a little bit off cattle and horses and women and keep it on that line of the Forest Reserve the way it looks to-night. Or the way this yellow wall looks in the snow and the sunrise on it. And then, when you get that habit, tell Judith about it and get her to thinking the same way. Beauty can't live on rot, Douglas. I know that now. I don't care what Charleton quotes."

"Inez," asked Douglas huskily, "why don't you burn that old cabin up?"

"It's too late," replied Inez shortly; and she turned on her heel and left him.

Douglas rode thoughtfully along the home trail. He was angry with Peter and sorry for Inez, and he missed his mother as he never had missed her before. He had been only a baby at the time of her death. This was the first time that he had been told of the type of woman she was though he had heard much of his mother's father, old Bill Douglas. He went to bed that night with an entirely new set of thoughts.

The heaviest ranch work of the year was now at hand. The hay harvest was begun. From dawn until dusk, Doug and Judith worked in the fields and tumbled to bed at night as soon as the chores were done. They had many opportunities during the day for conversations, however, for after the hay was raked, Douglas and Judith drove one rick team, John and old Johnny Brown the other. Heavy work it certainly was, but work of what fragrance, under skies of what an unbelievably deep blue, in air of what tingling warmth and clearness! What unthinkable distances were glimpsed from the wild hay patch on the flank of Dead Line Peak! It seemed to Douglas, lying at length, chin elbow-supported, on the top of the last load, which Judith had insisted on driving, that he never before had sensed the beauty of the haying season in Lost Chief Valley. And again he seemed to see Inez's tragic eyes, which had shed tears over the beauty of these very hills. He turned the memory of those eyes over in his mind with a memory of the sardonic twist of Charleton's mouth as he had uttered his philosophy of life, and suddenly Doug wished that he dared to talk to his father about these things. He had asked John about the Emerson letters but John professed never to have heard of them. And Douglas fell to wondering about his grandfather's dream for Lost Chief.

They were pulling through the swamp road above the home corral. It was heavy going and when they reached the shade of a little clump of blue spruce and aspen, Judith pulled the team up for a short rest. She pushed her broad straw hat back from her face and half turned to look at Douglas.

"Have you seen that new litter of pups of Sister's?" she asked Douglas.

He shook his head and Judith went on. "Peter says I can have the pick of the lot, but there's only one I'd look at. He's the image of Sister. I'm going to train him so's I can take him out to run wild horses with me when he grows up."

"Wild horses! The last time it was bronco busting you were going into. What's it all about, anyhow, Jude?"

"You don't suppose I'm going to spend my life in Lost Chief, do you?" demanded Judith.

Douglas swept the landscape with a lazy glance. "I don't see how you could beat it."

"O, for looks and stunts, yes!" Judith's voice was impatient. "But it's no place for a woman! I'm going to earn enough money to take me out where I can go on with my education and amount to something."

"I guess Peter's been talking to you," said Douglas.

Judith nodded. "Yes, and he offered to loan me the money for college. But I won't be beholden to a man outside the family. I'll earn it myself."

"What'll you do with a college education after you get it?" Doug's glance was not lazy now, as it rested on the young girl's eager face.

"I'll do something beside cooking and horse wrangling for some old Lost Chief rancher, I can tell you that!" cried Judith. "I'm going to get out and see the world and know life!"

"And give up your horses and dogs and the big old mountains? Jude, you'll never do it. I'd like to get out myself sometimes, but I know I'll never be happy anywhere else."

"I don't expect to be happy, but I've got to know things."

"What things, Judith?"

The girl turned from Douglas to gaze at the far light on Fire Mesa.

"The truth about things," she said at last. "Inez says there's just one big fact at the bottom of everything and that is sex, and that there's only one thing worth living for, to make sex beautiful."

"She's a liar!" exclaimed Douglas indignantly, as if Inez had said something shameful. "Where does she get that rotten stuff?"

"From Charleton and poetry, I guess. How do you know she's wrong, Doug?"

Douglas sat up, his clear eyes blazing like blue stars out of his sunburned face. "Because I know! I want to have the biggest, finest ranch in the Rockies. Is that sex? You want a good education. Is that sex? Peter wants me to carry on some dreams my mother and grandfather had. Is that sex? What does that woman think the world was made for, I'd like to know?"

"That's just it," Judith sighed with all the sadness of sixteen, "what is it made for?"

There was silence for a moment on the hay rick while the two young questioners gazed at the incomparable grandeur about them. And as he gazed there returned to Douglas the sense of panic that had harassed him after Oscar's death. What did it all mean? Whither was he directed and by what? How long before he too would be swept into the awful void beyond the grave?

"That's what religion did for folks all these years," he said suddenly. "They never asked these questions, I'll bet. I wish I had it."

"I don't want to believe fairy tales just because I'm scared!" Judith tossed her head stoutly.

"I don't either," agreed Douglas dejectedly.

"I'm going to drive on home and get something to eat," said Judith, lifting the reins. "Food's the only thing that'll rid me of the dumb horrors."

Douglas settled back against the hay, and the rest of the ride was continued in silence.

Old Johnny Brown stayed on for a day or so to clean up odd jobs neglected during the haying season. He was a gentle, timid little chap, the butt of the entire valley, of course, and particularly of John Spencer. Douglas often wondered why old Johnny consented to work each year at this season for his father. This wonderment was solved the day after Doug's and Jude's conversation on the load of hay and in a manner destined in a small way to have its influence on Douglas' affairs in the years to come.

Just before supper Judith returned from the post-office and rushed into the kitchen with a huge, long-legged, ugly puppy in her arms. She set him on the floor where his four knotty legs pointed in four different directions and where his long back sagged like the letter U. He was covered with rough gray hair and his eyes were huge and brown.

"Isn't he a perfect lamb? He's mine!" cried Judith, squatting beside him.

"Oh! A lamb!" grunted John, who was combing his hair at the wash-basin in the corner. "I thought it was a buffalo calf."

"Don't be stupid!" cried Judith. "Of course, you're no judge of dogs, but Peter says he's just like Sister was at two months, only bigger."

Mary Spencer looked him over critically, coffee-pot in hand. "Isn't he awful homely, even for a mongrel, Judith?" she asked.

"Mongrel! What is the matter with all you folks?" exclaimed Judith. "He's no more mongrel than anybody else! Come here to your missis, you precious!" and she gathered the great pup into her lap, where he sat complacently, his legs in a hopeless tangle.

"What's his name?" asked old Johnny, mildly.

"Wolf Cub. And you wait till I'm through with him! You'll see the best trained dog in the valley, like Sioux will be the best trained bull and Buster the best trained horse. O, look, Doug!" as Douglas came in. "See what I've got!"

"I dare you to name its pedigree, Doug!" chuckled John.

Douglas lifted the pup to the floor and ran his hands over its skull, along its back, and down its erratic legs. "Some dog, Judith! You'll have to muzzle him by the time he's six months old."

Judith smiled triumphantly. "No, I won't! Wait till you see how I train him."

"You get that from your mother, Judith. She was always gregus smart with critters," said old Johnny.

Judith laughed skeptically. "She was!" The little old man nodded his head. "I remember. I deponed that same thing to Peter the other day. How Mary could break anything when she was a girl, like you."

"Well, but Mother won't touch anything that isn't broke now!" exclaimed Judith.

"Just what I deponed," nodded Johnny. "John broke her just like he broke old Molly horse, so she lost her nerve. I deponed just that. An awful rough breaker. I deponed just that."

"O dry up, Johnny!" grunted John, drawing his chair up to the table. "I've put up with an awful lot of drool from you, and I'm getting sick of it."

Old Johnny was always most explanatory when he was most frightened. "I wasn't drooling, John. I was just deponing. Any one can do that, can't they? And Mary did used to be like Judith."

"Will you shut up!" shouted John.

The puppy, startled, gave a sudden loud howl.

"Put that thing out and come to supper, Jude! If he howls to-night, I'll shoot him." Judith left the house indignantly.

"No, you won't, Dad," said Douglas quietly, as he buttered a biscuit.

"If you're going to give me back talk, young fellow, you leave the table now, before I lose my temper."

"I'm not giving you any more back talk than you deserve," replied Douglas. "Any man that would threaten to shoot a pup because it howls deserves something more than back talk. Let's forget it. Johnny, how about this stunt of Mother's breaking horses?"

Old Johnny gave John a timid glance. "I don't remember," he muttered.

Mary laughed. "What's the use of a woman breaking horses when she's got a man to do it for her?"

"Did you ever see her break a horse, Johnny?" insisted Doug.

"Once," said the old man, "a lot of the boys tied me on a mule and the mule ran away. It wasn't broke, that mule. Seem like it had run a gregus long way when Mary come along. She was just a walking and she reached up and grabbed the mule and she rode him back with me. And she made them untie me. And I loved her ever since. I came up here every year to see how John is treating her. I depone—"

John rose and, striding around the table, he seized the old man by the collar. Douglas put his hand on his father's arm.

"Drop it, Dad, or I swear I'll think old Johnny is a better man than you. I asked him to tell. Throw me out if you want to. Keep your hands off this little chap. One thing is sure. He appreciates Mother more than any of the rest of us have."

"Get the half-wit out of my sight, then," growled John, returning to his seat.

"I wish a lot of folks with whole wits knew how to be as good a friend as Johnny," said Douglas stoutly.

"So do I!" Mary's voice trembled, but her glance at the little old man was very lovely.

The rest of the meal was finished in silence, Douglas turning over in his mind this strange new picture of Judith's mother. Could anything, he wondered, change Judith so? A curious anger against his father's stupidity was at that moment born in Douglas' heart, an anger that never was wholly to leave him.

That evening, as Douglas sat in his favorite place beside the alfalfa stack, old Johnny led up his little gray mare.

"I'll be cowling myself along home now, Doug," he said. "John is awful insidious to me. I just want to say, Doug, that you're the first man in this valley ever stuck up for me and some day I depone I'll get even with you."

"Good for you, Johnny!" nodded Douglas. "When I get my old ranch going, you come up and work for me."

"I will so do," replied the old man solemnly, and he rode away in the moonlight.

And Douglas returned to the new theme old Johnny had given him. Of what were women made that they could be over-broken as his father had over-broken Mary? And why should Lost Chief, so small that control was simple, permit such a thing to be?



CHAPTER V

THE HUNT ON LOST CHIEF

"A guy that don't rustle cattle when the rustling is good, is a fool."

—Scott Parsons.

One hot afternoon in August Douglas had just unhitched the panting team from the plow in the new oat field when Charleton Falkner trotted up on Democrat.

"How's the fall plowing, Doug?"

"Just out of the woods, Charleton."

"Your father says he can spare you for a day or two. I wish you'd come down to my place to-night. I'm planning a trip. I don't suppose John would loan you Beauty for a couple of days?"

Douglas shook his head.

"Well," Charleton went on, "I guess Buster can stand up under the work."

"Buster belongs to Judith now. I've been trying to get time to break that dapple gray Young Jeff gave me, after the trial. He's a good horse. Darned if I don't think I can ride him now!"

"I know that horse and he is a good one," agreed Charleton. "Ride the young moose if you can stick on him. You'll need all his wind and limb on this trip!" and Charleton trotted away.

It was full starlight that night when Douglas freed his feet from the stirrups before Charleton's door and jumped like lightning from the saddle. His horse jumped with him, landing in the kitchen as Douglas brought up against the door-jamb. There was a roar of laughter from within, and as the horse lunged backward out of the door, Charleton appeared.

"So you and the moose are here! Better hobble him, Doug!"

Douglas laughed and tied the rearing horse to a hayrack. Then he followed Charleton into the kitchen. Scott Parsons was sitting by the table, hat on the back of his head, spurred boots on the cold stove hearth. Mrs. Falkner was just finishing the supper dishes. She greeted Douglas with a tired smile.

Douglas, with a resentful glance at Scott, shifted his gun belt, shoved his own hat to the back of his head, and sat down. Mrs. Falkner pitched the dish water out the back door and went into the next room.

"Well, fellows," said Charleton cheerfully, as he tipped back his chair and established his spurs beside Scott's, "there's a neat little job on the horizon. You both know the big canyon beyond Lost Chief Peak, that has the little creek that disappears under the range?"

The young men nodded, and Charleton continued.

"A Mormon named Elijah Nelson has settled there. I'm not certain of all he intends to do but I know this much: He's to homestead that canyon up there and hog the water rights on the creek. He's to be followed by nine other Mormon families. Some of 'em are going to raise cattle in the canyon. Some of 'em are going into the sheep business in the plains country beyond the canyon, where we Lost Creek folks have been in the habit of wintering our herd when the snow's too deep here. Some of us older Lost Chief men realize that these folks are the beginning of a march of Mormons up from Utah to run us Lost Chief folks out. And we're going to harry them till they are sick of living. Mormons and sheep must keep out of this country."

Douglas' eyes burned and his breath came quickly. Scott's hard young eyes did not flicker.

"We're going to ride over the range to-morrow night and the next morning gather up what we can of Nelson's herd that's grazing on Lost Chief. We'll bring 'em to a certain place I know of. I'll divide half to me, the other half to you two. Are you game?"

"I sure am," said Scott. "How many do you think we can gather in?"

"Not so many on one trip. Perhaps fifteen if we have good luck. A big herd leaves a big trail."

"There's an old corral up near the Government elevation monument," said Douglas. "It's all overgrown with bushes and young aspens so's I don't think one person out of twenty, knows it's there. Maybe we could corral 'em there?"

Charleton gave Douglas a quick glance. "How'd you come to know about it?"

"I happened on it last summer tracking a bear."

"That's what I planned to use," nodded Charleton. "We'll make a real cowman out of you yet. So you're ready to go, Doug?"

Douglas' eyes were blazing. "Go! You couldn't pay me enough to keep me away! Nothing ever happens in this old valley."

"All right! Be here by nine o'clock to-morrow night, wearing chaps. It'll be rough riding and that Moose of yours will be quite considerably broke by the time we get back, Doug. I'll supply the grub."

"Fine!" said Scott, rising. "If that's all, I'll be running along. Stage was late to-night and the crowd'll be there getting mail. I'll be with you on time, Charleton."

"Me too!" exclaimed Douglas, following Scott.

Weary as he was, Douglas was long in getting to sleep that night. Charleton Falkner was deeply admired by all the young men of Lost Chief. Not only was he of the ultra-sophisticated type, dear to adolescence, not only was he by far the cleverest hunter in the valley, but, most important of all, his name was whispered in connection with horse and cattle deals, never called questionable by Lost Chief but always mentioned with a wink and a chuckle for their adroitness. To have been asked by Charleton to go as a partner on one of his mysterious trips was intoxicating enough to take the sting out of the fact that Scott met Judith that evening at the post-office and rode home with her.

The next day Judith several times tried to discover where Doug was going and with whom.

"Don't you try tagging me again, like you did on the trip to the half-way house," he said with a warning grin, when they were finishing the evening chores together.

"No danger! I got a date of my own!" This with a toss of her curly head.

"Who with?"

"Don't you wish you knew! Other folks beside you can have interesting deals, Mr. Douglas Spencer!"

"Huh! Some little stunt with Maud, I suppose."

"No, it isn't either. Say, Doug, did you know Maud is going up to Mountain City to stay with her aunt and go to school there?"

"I suppose that's what you'd like to do?" Doug watched the eager face closely.

"Well, not just now," replied Judith with a little grin. "I want to keep my date, first."

"Well, don't get into mischief, daughter; that's all I have to say about your mysterious deal," said Douglas paternally.

Judith laughed and carried her pail of milk into the kitchen.

It was after ten o'clock that night when Charleton led his two young henchman along the west trail, past Rodman's and up the canyon toward the first shoulder of Lost Chief Peak. The Moose did not approve of the trip. He showed his disapproval by plunging and side jumping with nerve-racking persistency. Ginger and Democrat gave him ample turning room, biting or kicking him if he drew too near them. Midway in the canyon Charleton left the trail and turned abruptly to the left, up the sheer shoulder of the mountain.

"Need a hazer, Doug?" he called.

"Where are you going to camp, Charleton?" laughed Douglas, as the Moose refused the trail.

"On the west shoulder of the peak, just under the elevation monument."

"I'll find you there. I may be delayed for a while!"

Charleton laughed too. "Just so you get there by dawn!" he called; and Douglas saw the two figures, dim in the starlight, move upward on the barren shoulder of the mountain. He allowed the Moose to circle for a moment, then he drove the rowells deep. The snorting horse leaped up the steep incline, at a pace that shortly left him groaning for breath. But Douglas spurred him relentlessly to the far tree line. Here he permitted him to breathe while he listened to the receding thud of hoofs above.

When his horse had ceased to groan, Douglas turned him toward the dark shadow of the forest. The Moose reared and turned, falling heavily. Doug was out of the saddle when it cracked against the gravel and in it when the trembling horse rolled to his feet. Doug brought the knotted reins smartly across the animal's reeking flanks.

The Moose bolted. Doug laughed and swore and for a time made no effort to guide his mount. The Moose leaped fallen trunks and low bushes. He jumped black abysses. He thrashed into trees and rocks. But he could not dislodge the figure that clung to his back with knee and spur. Douglas did not know how long this mad fight lasted, but he was beginning to be exhausted, himself, when the Moose stopped on the edge of a black drop. The horse was shaking and groaning.

"Now listen here, you Moose," said Douglas. "If you expect to be friends with me, you've got to begin to show some interest in me. I sure do admire your speed and your nerve. You're a better horse than Buster, and I don't want to break you more than I have to. But how about showing interest in me? I'm here to stay, you know, so you might as well begin to put me in your calculations. Now, just to show you're a changed horse, suppose you push up here to the right. I think there's a clear space there where I can see the stars and locate ourselves."

The Moose turned slowly under the rein, and carried Doug cleverly into an open park. Here Doug studied the brilliant heavens.

"We'll just move south, old Moose," he announced, "climbing uphill all the time, till we run into something."

The Moose worked steadily enough now, but it seemed a long time to Douglas before he saw the faint glare of a fire through the trees. Charleton and Scott looked up grinning as he rode into the circle of light. Wide bare patches showed on Doug's chaps. One sleeve of his flannel shirt was hanging by a thread. His face was bleeding from many scratches, but he grinned amicably as he slid wearily from the saddle.

"Hello, Doug! Is your horse broke yet?" asked Charleton.

"Some," replied Douglas.

"We thought we heard you a while back!" said Scott. "Sounded as if a grizzly had been bitten by a hydrophobia skunk."

"He ain't as nervous as he was," grinned Douglas. "Anything to drink?"

Charleton indicated the coffee-pot and said, "It's only a short time to dawn. Better get what sleep you can!"

Douglas nodded, drank a tin cup of coffee, and then unsaddled the Moose. Scott, rolled in his blanket, watched him with a twisted grin.

"Some horse to take on a trip like this," he said. "A half-broke mule couldn't be worse. Funny if Doug don't gum the whole game for us, Charleton."

"You go to hell, Scott!" grunted Douglas.

Scott sat up with a jerk. Charleton spoke sharply. "No scrapping! You two get to sleep!"

Scott lay down reluctantly. Doug shrugged his broad shoulders, and shortly, head in his saddle, feet to the fire, he was fast asleep.

The trees were black against gray light when Charleton called the two young riders.

"Let's eat and be off," he said briefly.

Breakfast was a short affair of bread, bacon and coffee. While they were bolting it, Charleton outlined the campaign.

"You'll see Nelson's cattle have been all through here. No one else grazes hereabouts. Don't rope any cows with calves following 'em. They make too much bellowing. Get what steers you can by mid-morning into the old corral. There isn't one chance in a thousand we'll meet any one. Nelson's making hay five miles below here. But if any one should come along when you've roped a steer, get him to examine the brand for you, and of course if the brand isn't yours, let the critter go."

"Where is the old corral from here?" asked Scott.

"Show him, Doug," ordered Charleton.

The camp had been made just within the tree line below the peak. Above, against the glowing pink of the heavens, was etched the suave line of the peak and topping this a heap of rocks, surmounted by a staff. West of the staff and below it projected the top of a dead spruce on which sat an eagle. To this Douglas pointed.

"Down the mountain on a line with the staff and the dead spruce in a thick clump of young aspen, about an acre of it. The old corral is there."

Scott nodded. They broke camp at once and trotted off, each one for himself. The Moose was not yet a cow-pony, but, from Doug's viewpoint at least, he was now quite manageable. Any one in Lost Chief could rope a steer from a well-trained horse. Douglas proposed to repay Scott's sneer by bringing in on his half-broken mount as many animals as either of his companions on their seasoned cow-ponies. And although Doug risked his life a hundred times, four of the dozen fat steers that were milling about in the old corral by nine o'clock had been dragged in by the snorting, trembling Moose.

When Doug closed the bars on his fourth steer, he waited for a short time for Charleton and Scott, but as neither appeared, he set off after another brute. He had ridden a good mile from the corral when he heard the bellow of a bull and a shout from Charleton. He spurred the Moose in the direction of the cry. Democrat was standing with the reins over his head. Under a giant pine close by, Charleton was clinging desperately to the horns of a red bull. Blood was running over the back of his gray shirt. The bull was stamping in a circle in the vain attempt to trample his victim.

"Don't shoot!" gasped Charleton. "Rope his hind legs and throw him! By God, I'll keep him now!"

Twice Doug's lariat darted through the air before the loop caught. But the third attempt was successful and he raced the half-maddened Moose away and jerked the bull off his feet. Charleton rolled to his own lariat lying on the ground near Democrat. He grasped the rope, rose to his knees and twirled it. It twisted about the bull's mighty neck. Charleton sank back to a sitting position and pulled the rope taut.

"Dismount and come up on him, Doug, and hog tie him," he panted.

Douglas obeyed, and shortly the bull was helpless although he continued to bellow threateningly.

"He'll have Nelson up here even if he is five miles off," said Douglas anxiously. "Better let him go."

"Take a look at my ankle, Doug," ordered Charleton. "If it's nothing worse than a sprain, I'm in luck."

With many oaths on the part of Charleton, the high riding-boot was worked off, disclosing an ankle already puffed and discolored.

"A sprain! Well, I can sit Democrat with that. Now take a look at my shoulder."

Doug turned back the bloody shirt. The bull's horn had grazed the shoulder but not deeply. Doug tied the wound up with Charleton's neckerchief. He had just finished and was beginning with his own scarf on the ankle when Scott galloped up.

"Say, you can hear that bull for a thousand miles! What the devil are you up to? I want you both to come and help me get three I've roped down the draw a couple of miles below here."

Douglas explained the accident.

"My gawd, Charleton, don't you know enough not to tackle a bull on foot?"

"How'd I know there was a bull around?" retorted the wounded man. "I dropped my rope and when I dismounted to pick it up, he came after me like a Kansas cyclone."

"Well, I'll take the bull to the corral and come back here for grub if Douglas will fix it up. We will put plenty of whiskey and hot coffee in you, Charleton. Do you think you can get home, while Doug and I ride herd?"

"I sure can! Go ahead, Scott. You'd better blind the bull."

Scott nodded, and picking up several handsful of dry dirt, he threw them into the bull's wide, bloodshot eyes. The animal snorted and tossed his head. Scott continued with handful after handful until the bull's eyes were only muddy blanks under his tossing forehead. His bellowing ceased. Then Scott removed the ropes from his hind legs and, mounting, led him away. The bull was silent and entirely occupied in attempting to rub the dirt out of his streaming eyes.

"Make it as quick as you can, Scott," called Charleton. Then to Douglas, "Get busy with the whiskey and coffee, Doug. He ought to be back by the time you've fixed up a snack."

But Scott was long in returning.

"Oughtn't he to be back?" asked Doug, when the bacon was ready.

Charleton looked at his watch. "He's been gone over an hour. After you eat, you go see what kind of trouble he's in, Doug."

Douglas devoured the bacon and bread, then mounted and rode slowly through the silent, scented forest. His blue eyes danced with excitement, his tanned cheeks burned as he guided the Moose through the quivering aspens to the corral. Here he pulled up with a sudden oath. The corral was empty, the fence torn open in half a dozen places.

"That blankety-blank old bull must have started a stampede!" gasped Douglas. "I wouldn't have thought Scott would have left him free in here!"

He rode through and around the corral. Cattle tracks led in every direction. He trotted in widening circles. Perhaps a mile north of the corral, he pulled up and looked closely at the ground. Single cattle tracks here converged and a herd track led on northward. As he stared at it, the bull came thundering down the trail. Doug put the Moose after him but had not followed him for five minutes when Scott broke into the chase from the right.

"What do you think you've done, blank you?" he shouted. "What have you done with the rest of the herd?"

"Done with the herd?" roared Douglas. "What are you talking about?"

"I know you, you dogy rider, you! I told you that wild horse of yours would gum the game. There ain't a steer left! What do you mean by riding him into the corral?"

"You're drunk!" retorted Douglas. "You'd better ride after that bull or Charleton will pull a gun on you."

"Ride after nothing! Chase him yourself!"

"On second thoughts, I think I will. It's your turn to play nurse. Go on back and tell Charleton what's happened."

"Don't get fresh, young fellow!" snarled Scott.

Douglas pushed back his hat and the noon sun glimmered through the pines on his yellow hair. His clear blue eyes studied Scott appraisingly. Finally, he said, "I guess, on third thoughts, I'll take you back to Charleton."

Scott laughed. "Now you're drunk!"

Douglas' six-shooter appeared casually between the Moose's twitching ears. "Hold up your little brown hands, Scott, till I reach me your gun. Fine! Now ride ahead of me till we reach Charleton. Some boy I am on the draw, eh, old-timer?"

Scott swore, but rode ahead at a steady trot until they reached the noonday camp. Charleton looked at them in astonishment.

"Call this damn fool off my back, will you, Charleton?" drawled Scott. "He's mad because I called him for letting that wild cayuse of his stampede the herd."

"He's a liar! This is as good a cow-pony as he ever rode and better. Ain't a better horse in Lost Chief than this same Moose. He was after the bull like a hound after a coyote when Scott broke in on us, the dirty—"

"Hold on," interrupted Charleton, "What's your story, Scott?"

"The corral is broke in forty places and all the stock gone. I suppose this fool rode his wild horse into the herd and stampeded it. I found him running the bull like he and his horse was both loco."

Douglas uttered an oath. "Nothing of the kind! When I got there, the herd was gone and I'd just picked up the trail when the bull came along."

Charleton looked from one young man to the other. Doug with his long face entirely expressionless, sitting easily sidewise in his saddle; Scott, face flushed, eyes angry, standing tense in the stirrups. There came an ugly twist to Charleton's lips, but after a moment he spoke coolly.

"You fellows help me up on Democrat and we'll beat it for home."

"But you don't believe the Moose—" began Doug. But Charleton interrupted.

"If I wasn't crippled I'd mighty soon show you fellows what I believed. As it is, I'm going home. But if I find either of you has double-crossed me, I'll square accounts."

There was that in Charleton's eyes which caused the two riders to dismount without a word. They heaved him into his saddle and, with his lariat, arranged a sling for his injured ankle. When they had made him as comfortable and secure as possible, Scott said politely:

"You don't need two of us, Charleton. I think I'll go after a bear I saw in the raspberry patch beyond the corral."

"Nothing doing, Scott!" grunted Charleton.

"You've fallen down on the job, Charleton," Scott laughed, "so you've lost your right to boss."

"No, he hasn't," said Douglas. "You come along!"

But this time Doug's six-shooter flashed no more quickly than Scott's. Charleton, his face twisted with pain, waited for a thoughtful minute before he said:

"Put up your guns, boys. Let him go, Doug," and he turned his horse eastward.

Douglas reluctantly returned his gun to his hip and Scott disappeared at a canter. The Moose followed after Democrat.

"What did you do that for, Charleton?" demanded Douglas, resentfully. "That's just giving him the herd."

"If he has double-crossed me," returned the older man, "I'm in no shape to handle him just now. He never came back to meet you till he'd turned the herd over to an accomplice. In any case, I lose on this trick."

"But he didn't know you were going to meet up with a bull!"

"No, but he was going to keep us away from the corral, somehow. You remember he said he'd come back to get us to help him bring in some steers. Of course, you and he might be in cahoots on this, but Scott's tricky so I'm giving you some of the benefits of the doubt." Charleton turned in his saddle to favor Douglas with a suspicious stare.

"I didn't double-cross you, Charleton," said Douglas, not without a simple dignity that may or may not have impressed his mentor. At any rate, Charleton made no reply.

Douglas was entirely deflated. He drooped dejectedly in the saddle, guiding the stiff and weary Moose without interest. His wonderful expedition by which he was to establish his standing as a man with his father and Judith had ended in ignominy. He watched Charleton's painfully rigid back but he did not dare to speak to him until they were nearly home. As they neared the edge of the first line, the ground became tapestried with lilies, yellow, white and crimson. Tree-trunks turned blue against the blue skies that belled over the valley. As they descended, the Forest Reserve lifted gradually, a black green sea beyond the burning brown level of the ranches. But Douglas was in no frame of mind either to seek or to see beauty. He had a guilty sense that Charleton believed that he had failed him, and finally he summoned courage to call, "Doggone it, Charleton! I wanted to put it over, don't you suppose?"

Charleton did not answer, and when they crossed the canyon back of Rodman's, Douglas, hurt and resentful, turned the Moose onto the home trail. He had gone almost beyond hailing distance before Charleton called, "Come down and see me soon, old cattle rustler!"

Instantly Doug's spirits soared. He waved his hand with a grin and put the Moose to a trot.

It was supper time when he clanked into the kitchen. His father and mother were at the table.

"You're early, Doug!" exclaimed John.

Doug nodded. "Where's Judith?"

"Keeping that mysterious date of hers. Maud, of course! She won't be home till late. I hope it's not with Inez. You look tired, Doug."

"I am. Jude makes me sick. She's harder to watch than a boy!"

John laughed enigmatically and went out to finish his chores. Shortly, Douglas followed him and told the story of the miscarried adventure.

"I told Charleton not to let Scott in on it," exclaimed John. "Serves him right. I sure got the laugh on Charleton this time."

"He's awful sore! Acts kind of suspicious of me," said Douglas ruefully.

"A guy like Charleton don't even trust himself." John pitched down a forkful of hay. "Have you any idea what Maud and Jude are up to?"

"No, sir. Are you worried about her?"

John laughed. "As long as Scott Parsons was with you, why worry? We'd ought to let Young Jeff run that crook out of the valley."

"I'll do it myself, some day." Douglas squared his big shoulders as he spoke. He was still very thin and his clothes hung loose on him. But his father, looking him over, did not smile.

"Go to it, boy," he said.

Douglas had planned to lie awake until Judith returned. But the minute he touched his pillow he dropped into dreamless slumber from which he did not waken until breakfast time. John was scolding Judith when Doug reached the table.

"That's all right, to be so highty-tighty. You can get away with that with your mother but not with me. It was nearly three o'clock this morning when you came in."

"O, no, John! It wasn't that late," protested Mary anxiously.

"Now, Mary, don't put up one of your fool lies for the little devil. I know what time it was. What excuse have you, miss?"

Judith, who was looking tired, but singularly self-satisfied, answered demurely, "I was out on business, Dad. And I'm going to get pay for it, too. A horse that will really buck."

John's face was flushing when Douglas spoke. "Aw, let her keep her secret, Dad! I don't think she's done a thing but rope a stray pony."

Judith protested quickly. "Nothing of the kind! If you three just knew what I have done, you'd respect me. Anyway, Doug, I know where you were. Over on Fire Mesa with Charleton Falkner."

"Who told you that?" grinned Douglas.

"Somebody that knew. Dad, why don't you get after Doug like you do after me? What was he doing over on Fire Mesa, all night?"

"That's right, Doug! What were you doing on Fire Mesa?" asked John, all a broad smile now that infuriated Judith.

She jumped up from the table, took down her milking pail and went out. Nor did she give Douglas opportunity to talk to her during the rest of the day. Not until twilight had settled in the valley did Douglas find her alone. Then, searching for her, he discovered her behind the corral, curled up against the new alfalfa stack, her eyes on the sunset glow above Lost Chief Peak.

Douglas sat down beside her. "I didn't mean to tease you, this morning, Jude. I was just trying to steer Dad off."

"But you always do think my stunts never amount to anything, Doug!"

"Have I said a word like that, lately? I can't help being anxious, can I, when a girl like you stays out until three in the morning?"

"Yes, you were so anxious your snores shook the house!" returned Judith. "Now admit, Doug, that you really think it was nothing worth worrying about."

"Well, I don't see how it could be anything so very important."

"There, I knew it! Doug, I'm so proud of myself that if I don't tell some one, I'll burst. Give me your word of honor you'll never give it away and I'll tell you."

"I swear I'll die before I'll peep!"

"Still think it's funny, don't you! All right, mister, prepare to faint! I was out helping Scott Parsons run cattle."

Douglas gasped.

"There, Doug Spencer! You're such a wonder! Of course," honestly, "I didn't do the hardest part. Scott had got 'em all together in a corral before I got there. But I held the herd in a little canyon for a couple of hours while he got old Nelson off the scent. Then we drove 'em across the ridge, down into the desert country west of Mesa Pass. He's going to sell 'em in Mountain City and my share is a good bucking horse, like I told you."

Douglas sat perfectly still, so torn by conflicting emotions that for a time he was speechless. Finally, from the chaos of his mind rose an overwhelming anger.

"Do you think that's a decent thing to do? A girl, running cattle and with a confessed murderer at that? I sure am ashamed of you, Jude!"

"Can you beat a man!" cried Judith to the flaming heavens. "He won't even give me credit for being a cattle wrangler! And he says he loves me!"

Doug's voice was furious. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, stealing cattle and running round with that Inez Rodman!"

"You just be careful of what you say, Doug Spencer!" "Careful! Why should I be careful. You aren't careful!"

"I'm a whole lot better than you, at that! If it's so smart for you to do all these things, why isn't it for me?"

"A woman has to be good. It's her job to be good. If she isn't good in a cattle country like this, everything goes to pieces."

"It's a wonder you men don't set us women an example," said Judith coolly.

"Don't I try to keep you straight?"

"Yeh! A wonderful example you set me!"

Douglas' voice broke with anger. "Don't talk like a fool! The world isn't like that! The women have to be good. The men want 'em to be, no matter how hard they try to make the women bad. And the more you care for a girl, the more you want her to be perfect."

"The world is plumb loco and you with it!"

"You're as cold as a dead rabbit!" exclaimed Doug,

Judith laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, I'm cold! I'm as cold as fire!" And suddenly she put her head down on her knees and burst into tears.

Instantly Douglas melted. He put his arms about. Judith and drew her head to his shoulder. "O Jude! Don't! If I could only make you see it's my love for you makes me so mad!"

"You,—you don't want me to have any fun!" sobbed Judith. "How'd you like to be asked to give up everything yourself and stay home like a woman?"

"I wouldn't like it. But a regular girl oughtn't to want to do such things."

"Why not? I like horses and dogs and the wind on Fire Mesa just as much as you do. And dancing and hunting by moonlight and getting away with somebody else's cattle and all of it. I love it! And you ask me to give it up because you want me to be good. What do you call good, anyhow?"

Douglas did not answer at once. In the first place, Judith's flushed cheek in his neck upset his equilibrium, and in the second place he was overwhelmed with a sudden consciousness of the truth of Peter's statement, that he had not a clean-cut idea to his name.

But finally he stammered, "Well, I call being good not drinking or stealing or being loose with men or any of those things—for a girl."

"And for a man?" asked Judith, sitting erect.

"Aw, who wants a man to be good?" laughed Douglas.

"I do," replied Judith, with a sudden thrilling intensity in her young voice. "I want his strength to be as the strength of ten, because his heart is pure,"

"Judith, you really do?"

"Yes, I really do."

Douglas drew a long breath. "Judith, would you want me to be that way?"

"I sure would."

"Well, then, Judith, so help me God, I will be!"

Judith put her slender, muscular hand on Doug's, swallowed hard once or twice, but said nothing. Then the tense moment past, she asked, "Honest, Doug, don't you think that was kind of a smart stunt of mine?"

"I certainly do," with heart-felt conviction. "But I want you to promise me one thing. That you won't run any more cattle. Will you, Jude?"

"I'll promise you, if you'll promise me," returned Judith promptly.

"But it's different with a man," repeated Douglas.

"But you promised about that other."

"That was different. It was something personal between you and me. The other is business."

"All right! I don't promise unless you do."

"I can't promise, Jude. Honest, I can't."

Jude laughed and jumped to her feet. "You are a goose, Doug, but I sure am fond of you." Then she left him.

Douglas sat still, his head pressed against the indescribable sweetness of the alfalfa hay, eyes on the wonder of the stars. Finally he said aloud, "I wish there was somebody a fellow could talk to that knows things. I wish my grandfather Douglas was alive. Peter jaws too much. What I want is to know facts, then judge for myself."

His father passed by the haystack, pitchfork on shoulder. "Who are you talking to, Doug?" he asked.

"The biggest fool in Lost Chief," replied Douglas, rising and following his father to the house.



CHAPTER VI

LITTLE SWIFT CROSSES THE DIVIDE

"Ride 'em till they drop, then break another. That's what Nature does and that's what I do."

—John Spencer

The following afternoon when Douglas rode after the mail he went round by the west trail to call on Charleton. He found the crippled philosopher propped up in bed, reading the Atlantic Monthly and smoking a pipe. Mrs. Falkner and Little Marion were in the corral doing the chores.

"Well, how's the Moose after his disappointment?" asked Charleton.

"Going strong! Any news of Scott?"

"No; I don't expect any news for a week till I get on my feet."

"I guess we might as well let him go and try again without him," said Doug, looking out the door at Little Marion, who was astride a saddleless mule which was doing its best to climb the corral fence.

Charleton grinned. "No one can double-cross me without my taking the trouble to show him he can't do it twice, can they, Marion?" as his wife came in with an armload of wood she had just split.

"You are as revengeful as a wolf, if that's what you mean," replied Mrs. Falkner. "Not that you've tried it on me."

Charleton gave her an amused glance not unmixed with admiration.

"I don't know that even a wolf would tackle a lynx cat," he chuckled.

Douglas looked from the beautiful woman around the homelike room. "You're a lucky chap, Charleton," he said suddenly.

Mrs. Falkner had picked up her sewing-basket. "Nobody with a mind like Charleton's is so awful lucky," she said.

"Ouch!" grinned Charleton, and lighted his pipe afresh.

Douglas pondered on Mrs. Falkner's remark on his way back to the post-office. Peter was sitting on the doorstep with Sister. The mail had been distributed and most of Lost Chief had come and gone.

"That horse is tired, Doug," said Peter. "What have you been doing? Running him to break him?"

"Aw, he's all right," protested Douglas. "Don't climb a tree about him, Peter. I want to talk to you. Make Sister move over."

"Sister," said Peter, "don't you want to go down and speak nice to your old friend Prince?"

Prince, standing before the platform with slavering tongue, bright eyes shining, wagged his tail in a conciliatory manner. Sister sniffed, growled, whimpered, then walked deliberately down the steps and said something to Prince. He barked and they trotted over to the plains east of the post-office.

"She's got a dead coyote she keeps up there for her special friends," said Peter. "What's your trouble, Doug?"

Douglas sat down in Sister's place. "I've been over to see Charleton, and his wife said something that struck me as queer." He repeated Marion's comment.

Peter laughed. "The women in this valley beat any bunch I've seen anywhere. If the men were their equals, there wouldn't be a spot in the world could touch Lost Chief. What do you think of Charleton's mind, Doug?"

"I think he's a wonder. He's lived, that guy."

"Any guy of forty has lived. It's the way they look at life that makes men different. Charleton hasn't any faith in anything good. That's why he's unlucky. Don't let him influence you too much, Doug. I like Charleton but he's not good medicine for a boy of your kind. Have you thought anything about my offer of a couple of months ago?"

"Not much. I'm putting in most of my time worrying about Jude."

"Has she been doing anything special?"

"Well, yes. If I could just make her care for me, it would be easy. But, Peter, she cares a lot more for that poor old broken down Swift than she does for me."

"She's just a child. You'll have to be patient, Doug."

"I am patient, Peter. But, in the meantime, Scott, or—" He hesitated, then went on. "I tell you, this caring for a woman who don't care for you is hell, Peter!"

Peter stared off toward Fire Mesa, with its rolling clouds of red, and answered seriously, "Yes, it is, Douglas. But I told you in June all that I could think of, in regard to Judith, and you got sore at me."

"Well, I'm not sore now. I was a fool. Here comes Jimmy Day. Give me my mail, Peter, and I'll beat it. I'm in no frame of mind to talk to a kid."

Jimmy, who was perhaps a year older than Douglas, pulled his sweating horse to its haunches. His dog, a mongrel collie, ran up the trail to meet the returning Sister and Prince. There was a whining colloquy, then the three dogs turned back.

"Must be a scandal somewhere," suggested Jimmy.

"No, just a dead coyote," said Peter. "Sister ran him down yesterday. Ain't a dog in the State outside of a greyhound can touch her."

Douglas made a flying leap into the saddle while the Moose whirled on his hind legs.

"Some horse, Doug!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I'll swap this and a two-year-older heifer for him."

"I'm afraid he might hurt you. He's a regular man's horse, Jimmy." Doug lighted a cigarette while the Moose reared.

"Thanks," grunted Jimmy. "Say, did you know Scott Parsons has had four young calves by one milch cow, all the same age? Ree-markable man, Scott. Say, I was by there the other day and there sat Scott in the corral on Ginger cracking a black snake at this fool cow to make her let those four slicks eat. He'll die rich, Scott will. He's the calf-gettingest rider in the Rockies."

Douglas turned the Moose into the home trail. When he reached the ranch, Judith was strolling in the main corral with her arm about the neck of the bull Scott had given her. He would follow Judith about like a pet dog but would allow no one else to touch him.

"When he is a little older, you won't be able to play with him that way, Jude," said Douglas, eying the pair with admiration not untinctured with apprehension.

It was a brilliant afternoon, with the western sun throwing long golden shadows across old Dead Line Peak. The corral with its fringe of quivering aspens a silvery lavender; the great red bull; the young girl with her noble proportions, rubbing the brute's ferocious head with one slender brown hand, made an unforgettable picture. The puppy, Wolf Cub, was chewing an old boot beside the alfalfa stack.

"He'll always be fond of me if I handle him right," said Judith. "Won't you, Sioux? I'm going to saddle him, some day, Doug."

"Well, not while I'm around," exclaimed the young rider, as he pulled the bridle over the Moose's head. "Say, have you seen Scott yet?"

"No. Why?"

"I pity him. Charleton sure is after him."

"Charleton? Why?"

Douglas shrugged his shoulders. "You ask Scott why," and he strode off to his chores.

Doug did not see Charleton again for several days. But one afternoon, about a week after the return from the hunt, they met at the post-office and Charleton, who wanted to see John, rode home with him.

"Scott is back," said Doug.

"Yes; I saw him yesterday." Charleton smiled. "I found out who was his helper on that little deal."

"You did! How?" Douglas' voice was so sharp that the Moose jumped nervously.

"I bought the information. Swapped him something for it."

"Who was it? Do you believe him?" Doug spoke a little breathlessly.

"I don't know. I'm going to check up on it now."

"Charleton, who did he say it was? Please, Charleton!"

The older man turned to look suspiciously at Doug. "How long have you known it?"

"You've no call to speak that way to me," cried Douglas.

"Humph! Well, he says it was that young devil of a Jude."

"Look here, Charleton, don't say anything to my father about it. He'll go crazy."

"I don't know what I'll do. I'll talk to Jude, first." And Charleton would say no more.

He found Judith in the milking shed, and while he talked to her there Douglas engaged his father's attention in the living-room. Here Judith swept upon them.

"Doug Spencer, as long as I live, I'll not speak to you again! You promise breaker, you—"

"Wait, Jude! I haven't told anybody. Did I tell you, Charleton?"

"I've told her that you didn't but she won't believe me," grinned Charleton.

"Scott wouldn't have told. Doug was the only one that knew!" Judith paced the floor.

"What the devil has broke loose?" demanded John.

"Now you have started something, Jude," groaned Douglas.

"Judith! Do calm down!" pleaded her mother, who had taken her hands out of the biscuit dough and now stood, twisting her fingers, in the doorway.

"Well," said Charleton, "I don't know any reason why I should keep quiet after the pretty names Jude has called me. It was Judith that helped Scott double-cross us up on Lost Chief Peak. She claims she didn't know it was our deal."

"She didn't, either!" cried Douglas stoutly.

John gasped, "Jude! She got away with your cattle, Charleton? That sure-gawd is funny! Jude! O Lord!" And John burst into a tornado of laughter that lasted until he dropped weakly on his bed.

Judith stared at him, uncertainly, as did her mother. Douglas scowled. Charleton lighted a cigarette. "Of course, it has its humorous side," said Charleton, as John's shouts died down. "But I've served notice on Scott and I serve notice on Judith now, that I'm not the man who kisses the hand that spoils his deals."

This remark sobered John. "You're right, too, Charleton. Jude, how'd you come to do such a fool thing?"

"How'd Doug and Charleton come to do such a fool thing?" asked Judith. "Scott and I had as good a right to run cattle off them as they had off Elijah Nelson."

"O Judith! Judith!" exclaimed her mother.

"You know how I feel about Scott Parsons!" cried John. "Jude, I'm going to punish you for this so you'll never forget it.'"

"In other words, if Doug runs cattle, he's admired. If I run cattle, I'm punished!" Jude's fine eyes were flashing, her tanned cheeks burning.

"Doug's a boy; you're a girl," replied John. "And I've told you to let Scott Parsons alone."

"I wish I were dead!" exclaimed Jude.

"Well," said Charleton casually, "I must be getting back home." No one heeded him as he clanked out the door.

"How are you going to punish Jude, Dad?'" demanded Douglas.

"Doug," cried Judith, "you keep out of my affairs from now on! I'll show you that you can't break a promise to me."

"Judith, I tell you that I never breathed a word."

"I know better. Scott wouldn't be such a fool. And he told me not an hour ago that Charleton said you'd given me away. And, anyhow, I think more of Scott Parsons than I do of you and Dad put together! He's not always jawing at me. He thinks I'm just right as I am."

Douglas drew himself up, angry and offended.

"You'll come after me, miss, before I speak to you again!"

"That's exactly what I want!" retorted Judith.

During this dialogue, Mary stood with the tears running down her cheeks, begging the two to stop quarreling. John leaned against the table, his eyes half closed, his mouth distorted.

"So that's how the land lies with Scott?" he shouted suddenly.

"Yes, and if you lay hands on me, I'll shoot you," said Judith succinctly.

"I know how to get you, miss," sneered John.

He rushed out of the house. A moment later he galloped past the window on Beauty. Judith walked defiantly to the door and looked after him. Douglas went out to the corral. Shortly, John returned, leading Swift. He pulled up in front of the door and dismounted. He kicked Swift in the haunch to make her turn, and before Judith could do more than start toward him from the door, he put his six-shooter to Swift's patient little head and pulled the trigger. Swift dropped to her knees and rolled over.

"Now, Jude, try it again and I'll give Buster a dose," said John, standing tense as he waited for the girl's attack.

But with a look of such horror that John recoiled, she stopped in her tracks. She threw her arms about her head with a groan, ran across the yard to the stable and climbed into the hay-loft. Douglas stood for a moment as if turned to stone. Then he picked up a bridle and went into the corral for the Moose. As he adjusted the saddle, John led Beauty to the fence.

"You finish those chores, Doug!"

Douglas went on tightening the cinch.

"It was just a broken-down cow pony that should have been shot long ago," said John, sullenly.

Douglas leaped into the saddle, took the fence like a swallow, and was gone. Prince yelped on the trail before him.

Where he was going, Doug did not know. He thrust the spurs into the Moose and set him straight up the sheer barren side of Falkner's Peak until the Moose was winded, then he dismounted and led him up and up until they both were exhausted. Then Doug looped the reins over a clump of sage-brush and dropped to the ground. Prince squatted beside him, panting.

A blind despair had engulfed Doug. He could think of nothing to do. Nothing that would adequately punish his father, nothing that would solace Judith or bring her to her senses.

Nothing is so intolerably bitter to youth as its first realization of the fact that one is helpless to change life as it is. Douglas, biting his nails and railing at the heavens, was draining one of life's bitterest drinks. He was in deep trouble, utterly alone, and he had no spiritual star for guidance.

But when he finally descended the mountainside he had taken a resolve. He was going to leave home for a while. He was going to work for Charleton, who was greatly in need of a rider. He was not yet of age, but he was not afraid of John's forcing him to return.

His father and mother were in bed when he reached home. Judith's bed was empty. Douglas went out to the stable and climbed noiselessly to the loft. On the hay close to the open door lay Judith, her face dimly outlined in the moonlight. She was still sobbing in her sleep. Douglas stood looking down on her till his own eyes were tear-blinded. Then he knelt in the hay and kissed her softly on the lips. She stirred but did not open her eyes, and he slipped back to the ladder and down, without a sound.

He went to bed at once but was up in the morning before his father, leaving a note on the kitchen table:

I am going to work for Charleton till things are better here at home.

Douglas.

He found Charleton grooming Democrat. "Charleton," he said, "you made a lot of trouble for Jude last night."

"What happened?" asked Charleton.

Douglas told him.

"That was a rotten trick!" exclaimed Charleton. "I just thought he'd lick her. John's got a mean temper."

"I want to work for you a while, Charleton. I'm sick of the rows at home."

"John willing?"

"I haven't asked him."

Charleton grinned. "I need a rider, sure. You finish currying Democrat while I go in and talk to the missis. Little Marion's visiting at Lone Bend. Maybe my wife will think it's too much cooking for two men." But he came back in a little while, smiling cheerfully. "Come on in to breakfast. It's all right."

So Douglas settled to riding for Charleton Falkner. His father did not come after him, and when the two met on the Black Gorge trail a day or so after Doug's departure, John returned Douglas' muttered greeting with a silent, ugly stare. There was comment and conjecture in Lost Chief, but the fall round-up was coming and this soon engrossed the attention of the community. Of Scott, Douglas saw nothing.

The fall slipped into winter, which in Lost Chief country begins in September, and Christmas passed with none of the Spencers at the schoolhouse party excepting Judith, who attended with Scott. February slipped into March and Douglas' eighteenth birthday passed unnoticed. The snows were too deep to allow Charleton to undertake any of those mysterious missions for which he was so much admired, and Elijah Nelson was allowed to flourish unmolested. It was reported that the Mormon had accused Lost Chief of running some of his cattle, but he evidently had no desire to start a controversy with the valley. And Douglas came more and more under Charleton's influence.

Peter Knight, watching the boy more closely than Doug at all realized, was deeply troubled by what he felt might permanently distort Doug's ideas of life.

"How are you and Judith making it, Doug?" Peter asked him one Sunday afternoon early in April, when he and the young rider were sunning themselves in the post-office door.

"You know Judith hasn't spoken to me since last August," replied Doug impatiently.

"Too bad!" grunted Peter.

"O, I don't know," replied Douglas. "I don't see much to this marriage game anyhow. Look at the couples round here and point me out any of 'em that's been married over five years that're really in love. Just a houseful of brats and a woman to nag you."

"Dry up, Doug! You are just quoting Charleton Falkner. I've heard plenty of his empty ideas in the last twenty years. You've worked for him long enough, anyhow. Better go back to your home; or if you're through with Jude, take my offer and go East to school."

"Forget it, Peter! As soon as Fire Mesa opens up, I'm going after wild horses with Charleton. And you can roast him all you want to, but he knows life."

"Knows your foot!" snorted Peter. "If anybody could catch Charleton with his skin off, we'd find he gets happiness and sorrow out of the same things the rest of us do. He's just a big bluff, Charleton is."

"He's lived too much to let anything get him," said Douglas stoutly.

Peter laughed. "Nobody can accuse you of having lived too much, Douglas." Then he added soberly, "You're disappointing me a lot, Douglas. I never thought you'd let go of Jude."

"Jude let go of me," replied Douglas. "I suppose she thought I'd come running back to her, but she's mistaken. I'm through with women."

"Don't talk like an idiot, Doug," said Peter, after a long careful look at Douglas' face. "I know you. You are breaking your heart this minute for Judith. And she misses you a whole lot more than she'll admit."

"How do you know? Have you talked to her?" asked Douglas quickly. "How are things going up there?"

"Yes, I've talked to her. She's all right, but she's getting too many of Inez' ideas in her head. She says John doesn't say ten words a day. You'd better go back, Doug."

"Go back! With Jude believing I double-crossed her and nothing but rows going all the time? I'll admit I'm unhappy, but at least it's peaceful at Charleton's. He and his wife don't fight. I tell you that if home's just a place to fight in, I don't want a home."

"What do you want, Douglas?" asked Peter.

"I don't know," muttered the young rider.

"I know," said Peter softly. "You want a guiding star, you want something that's not to be found in this valley, an ideal fine enough to save your soul alive. You come of stock that lived and died by a spiritual idea, Doug, and you are going to be unhappy till you find one."

Douglas turned this over in his mind soberly for a few minutes. "Have you got one, Peter?" he finally asked, wistfully.

"No! I might have had if your mother had lived. She was an idealist if ever there was one. Work yourself out a plan, Doug, that is based on something fine, then fight to put it over. That's the only way you'll ever be contented."

"What I want," cried Douglas, "is something to take away this emptiness inside of me."

"Exactly! And I'm telling you how. And the reason I know is because I started out in life with the idea that women and the day's work were enough. Maybe they are for a man like your father, though I doubt it. But a man like you or me isn't built for promiscuity either in love or in work. We are the kind that have to choose a fine, straight line and then hew to it, keep our faith in it, never leave it."

He paused for so long a time that Douglas stirred uneasily, then said, "How did you learn different, Peter?"

"By doing all the things that impulse and youth suggested, regardless of any suggestions or advice, and arriving at middle life with my mind and heart as empty as yours. Don't do it, Doug. It makes tragedy of old age."

Douglas rose slowly. "I don't see what in the world I can do with myself," he said heavily, and he rode back to Charleton's ranch.

Books had perhaps been Douglas' greatest solace that long winter. Charleton had a good many, mostly representing his young delvings into the realms of agnosticism. His later purchases simmered down to a few volumes of poetry. There were several of Shakespeare's plays around the cabin and these Douglas read again and again. He did not see much of Little Marion, who was a great gad-about, and who, when she was at home, was monopolized by Jimmy Day. Mrs. Falkner he found immensely companionable. She had a half-caustic wit which he enjoyed, but he liked best to have her argue with Charleton on what she called his dog-eat-dog theory of life.

He had reason, not long after his conversation with Peter, to recall the postmaster's comments on Charleton. Very early one morning Charleton roused him and told him to ride like forty furies after Grandma Brown.

Douglas obeyed him literally and arrived at the Brown ranch with the Moose in a sweating lather. When he banged on the door, Grandma, clutching her nightdress at the throat, put her head out.

"The baby, I suppose!" she snapped. "Is Little Marion there?"

"Yes!"

"Well, let me dress."

"Hurry, please, Grandma! Charleton seemed awful scared."

"Charleton! Huh! I'm going to get my proper clothes on and drink my coffee, no matter how Charleton Falkner worries. He always was a baby. You go saddle Abe."

Abe was saddled and the Moose was breathing normally before Grandma appeared, plump and calm. Nor would she allow Abe to be hurried out of his usual gentle trot.

"Douglas, when you've seen as many new eyes open and old eyes close as I have, you'll quit hurrying," she said. "The Almighty generally looks out for mothers, anyhow."

So, sedately, in the glory of the sun bursting over the top of the Indian range, they trotted up to Falkner's cabin.

Charleton burst out of the door. "Where in the blank-blank have you been? Hurry, Grandma! I've been nearly crazy!"

"I'll bet your wife ain't crazy." Grandma dismounted with Doug's help. "Now, Douglas, you keep this lunatic outside, no matter what he says or does. It's just the way he acted when Little Marion came." She stamped into the house and closed the door.

"Let's go do the chores!" suggested Douglas.

"Chores! Chores! Don't you know that—"

"Yes, I know all about it," interrupted Doug. "Come on and get the milking done. Are you afraid your wife will die, Charleton, or what?"

"Or what!" gasped Charleton. "You poor, half-baked idiot!"

For an hour, Douglas sweated with Charleton. Then, as they rested for a time on the corral gate, the kitchen door opened and Grandma's head appeared.

"You go, Doug," said Charleton feebly.

But Grandma did not wait. "It's a boy, Charleton!" she shrieked. "A fine, big boy!" And she closed the door.

Charleton sat perfectly still on the fence. His lips moved but for several seconds no sound came forth. Then he said, "Charleton Falkner, Jr.! Charleton Falkner, Jr.! All my life I've been waiting for this moment!" Tears were on his cheeks. "Doug, you go up and ask 'em how my wife is and give her my love."

Douglas stared at his mentor, wonderingly, unwound his long legs from the fence and crossed the yard. Grandma answered his timid rap.

"Charleton says how's his wife and sends his love."

"O, he does!" witheringly. "Why don't he go over to the post-office and telephone us? You tell him she did fine like she always does everything. You folks go up and get Peter to give you some breakfast."

"I'm not going near Peter till I see the boy and my wife!" called Charleton.

Grandma slammed the door.

"I wouldn't go near the post-office," said Douglas, established again on the fence beside Charleton.

"Why not?"

"If—if I felt like you do, I'd want to stay by myself, just take a ride alone up to the top of Fire Mesa."

"I don't care what I do as long as the boy's here. Charleton Falkner, Jr.! I'll tell you, Doug, you'll never know what happiness life can hold for you till a woman like Marion gives you a son."

"Say!" cried Douglas in an outraged voice. "What's all this talk you've been giving me for a year about whiskey and women and horses?"

Charleton did not hear him. "Charleton Falkner, Jr.!" he was murmuring over an unlighted cigarette.

It seemed a very long time before they were admitted to the baby and breakfast. Douglas was entirely unimpressed by the squirming red morsel of humanity that Little Marion proudly brought into the kitchen for their inspection. But Charleton was maudlin with admiration. It was, it seemed, easily the first child ever born in Lost Chief, not excepting Little Marion who had been a wonderful baby herself.

Douglas listened, eating his breakfast grimly the while, filled with an embarrassed consternation at last beholding his mentor with, as Peter had said, his outer skin off.

This, then, was what Charleton really wanted; not whiskey, or promiscuous women, or wild horses, or Omar Khayham. What he wanted was a son, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, to carry on his name. And yet what had Charleton ever done to that name except to besmirch it? For Douglas now in his heart had no illusions about the proper nomenclature for his mentor's mysterious little deals.

"Charleton," he demanded suddenly, "do you want the kid to grow up to be just like you?"

Charleton looked at Douglas in astonishment. "Like me? Listen, Doug, old-timer, I'm going to spend the rest of my life licking out of him anything I see in him like me!"

Douglas gave up in despair and went out to finish the chores.

It was a disjointed day, of course. In the afternoon Charleton went to a choice gathering of spirits at the post-office; and Douglas, feeling particularly lonely and unsettled, rode up the south trail after three of Charleton's young mules which had strayed. He felt somehow that, with the dereliction of Charleton, the last hold he had on reality had gone.



CHAPTER VII

THE POST-OFFICE CONFERENCE

"Ride with your finger on the trigger—but smile before you shoot."

—Sheriff Frank Day.

Douglas had no luck at all on his mule hunt. And as if to add to his discomfort, while climbing down the trail from the cemetery, he saw Judith on Buster, accompanied by the leaping Wolf Cub, overtake Scott Parsons and saw them race toward the post-office. Twilight came on, with the mud of the trail stiffening in the frosty air. An overpowering sense of loneliness urged Douglas across the valley and brought him to pause beside the Rodman corral. He dismounted at the buck fence and stood for a moment in the shadow of the Moose, wondering why he had stopped here. He had stood thus but a few moments when two riders came up the trail. They trotted into the door-yard.

"I don't think I want to dance, after all, Scott," said Judith's voice.

"What harm is there in it?" demanded Scott.

"I make it a point never to go in here except when Inez is alone."

"I suppose you're afraid to meet Doug!" exclaimed Scott. "He's here half the time."

Douglas leaped over the fence, rushed to Scott's side and struck him twice.

"That's a lie! Get down and fight with your fists, you thief and murderer!" Doug's voice was low with passion.

There was a quick movement of Scott's right hand to his hip and Douglas felt a stinging pain in his left shoulder. Simultaneously with the shot, Scott put the spurs to Ginger, and Doug reeled as the mare's shoulder thrust against him. Judith jumped from Buster.

"Doug, did he get you?"

Douglas had not fallen. He pushed the girl aside and ran to the plunging Moose. Inez Rodman called from the door.

"Who's shooting?"

Still without speaking, Douglas threw himself on his horse and was off after the dim figure that raced down the west trail which led to the Pass. He did not heed Judith's call nor the quick patter of hoofs behind him. On and on through the frosty April night, Prince barking joyfully before, the Moose galloping at top speed, the stars sliding overhead. On past the Browns' noisy corral, past Falkner's brightly lighted cabin, and up the lifting trail to the Pass. The broken black line of the Pass, usually so clean-cut against the stars, looked wavering and uncertain. Douglas dropped forward and put his arms about the neck of the Moose.

Once in a while a horse is born with as much acumen as a mule plus the sensibility of a dog. The Moose, when he felt Doug's arms about his neck, dropped from a gallop to a trot and from a trot to a walk. Shortly, when Judith called, "Whoa-up, Moose!" he stopped and stood nickering uneasily. Judith dismounted and pulled the reins over Buster's head. Then she ran up to put her hand on Doug's knee.

"Doug! Doug! Where did he get you?"

"Don't hold me back, Jude!" said Douglas thickly. "Tie me onto the Moose and leave me after him. I'm going to finish him, now."

"You can't catch him. You're hurt too bad. Let me take you home, Doug."

There was no reply for a moment. The Moose moved his head uneasily up and down. Then, breathing heavily and brokenly, Douglas said, "Not—while you—think I told—Charleton."

That was the last he knew for some time. When he returned to consciousness, Peter and Judith were half dragging him, half lifting him into the post-office.

"I don't care what you want, Jude," Peter was saying, "you aren't going to drag him another hour over the trail. We'll get him onto my bed and see how bad off he is."

"My shoulder!" grunted Douglas.

"All right, Doug! Now, Judith, one more heave onto the bed. Get off there, Sister. Jude, pass me that bottle of whiskey, then go lock the outside door so's no one can bother till I've finished. Then come back here."

Judith, her eyes wide and brilliant, her cheeks feverish, obeyed without a word. She drew off Doug's short leather rider's coat and cut off his blood-saturated shirt and undershirt. Douglas watched her with beads of sweat on his lips. Peter in the meantime had thrust his late supper back from the front of the stove and had put a couple of disreputable looking towels to boil in the dishpan. When Judith had finished and Doug's beautiful thin torso lay white against the dingy Indian blanket, Peter scoured his hands and examined the hole in the shoulder from which the blood pulsed slowly.

"It's gone clean through from front to back," said Peter cheerfully. "Guess I can fix him. Eight years in the regular service is useful sometimes. Come here and hold him, Jude. I'm going to clean this hole with peroxide and he'll try to climb the wall."

"No, I won't! Go to it!" whispered Douglas.

Nor did he, for as Peter, with a piece of stove-pipe wire he had boiled as a probe, began his very thorough process of sterilization, Douglas quietly fainted. When he came to his senses, his shoulder was bandaged and Judith was pulling an old shirt of Peter's over his head.

"Now, Judith, make a fresh pot of coffee and drink some of it," said Peter. "You are as white as a sheet. How are you, Doug, my boy?"

"Fine! Peter, you get me drunk. I'm going after Scott to-night."

"Let's have the story." Peter's lips were grim, "You begin, Judith."

Judith set the coffee-pot on the red-hot stove and perched on the edge of the bed. She was wearing a middy blouse of dull blue. It was small for her and showed her fine shoulder and full-muscled throat and chest. She drew a deep breath and began at once.

"I was riding past Inez' place with Scott. He teased me to go in for a dance. When I wouldn't go, he asked me if I was sore at Inez because Douglas spent half his time there with her. Doug must have been behind his horse. He came out like a crazy man, called Scott a liar and told him to come down and fight, and hit him. Scott drew on him and shot him. Then he rode away like mad, and Doug after him. I followed and caught Doug part way up the Pass and brought him here."

Judith paused and Peter turned to Douglas. "All correct, Doug?"

But the young rider was staring at Judith. "Did you believe Scott, Judith?" he demanded.

"How do I know what you've been up to? You were there to-night."

"I hadn't seen Inez. I haven't been near her place since I made you a promise, once. I went over to-night because I was discouraged. I'd made up my mind that there wasn't anything real about anybody. Even Charleton isn't real. Now, Peter, you give me a quart of whiskey and help me onto the Moose. I'll—"

"You'll calm down, that's what you'll do," said Judith succinctly. "Won't he, Peter? When Scott finds he hasn't killed you, he'll be back and then you can settle with him. Peter, you telephone my mother I'm going to stay down here for a while and take care of Doug."

Peter hesitated. "I don't need you, Jude, though of course, it'll be pleasant to have you here."

"It's just as well you feel that way," said Judith, "because I intend to stay, anyhow."

Douglas blinked round eyed at Judith, then smiled seraphically and closed his eyes. He was asleep before Peter had succeeded in getting Mrs. Spencer on the telephone. All Lost Chief was on a party line and he carried on his conversation not without difficulty. Judith sat listening with a broad grin of appreciation.

"Hello, Mary. This is Peter Knight. Doug had an accident and I have him here with me—O, Inez telephoned you. Well, Judith overtook him and brought him here. He's in no particular danger—That you, Grandma? How's Marion?—No, it was Scott drew on Doug.—Wait a minute till I finish with his mother.—Listen, Mary! Don't get excited—You keep quiet, Inez.—Everybody butt out! Now, listen, you folks, if you've got to, but don't interrupt!—Scott said something that riled Doug and Doug hit him. Scott drew and got Doug through the left shoulder, bad, but clean, and I've got the wound dressed.—Say, if you women don't keep quiet, I'll sure-gawd hang up. O, hello, Charleton! Yes, Scott made a clean get-away.—Now, listen, Mary. I'm going to keep Judith here to-night to help me and you can come down to-morrow.—Yes, that you, John? Well, you come along now, but not Mary. She's too weepy.—What's that you say, Inez? The sheriff and Jimmy gone out after Scott? When did they start—Hello, Mrs. Day. Half an hour ago? That's good. Now, listen, John. You stop by here before you go crazy. Understand me? All right! Good-night, everybody!"